An Old-fashioned Bridge. 



249 



birds were attracted by the sounds. Slow and solemn 

 airs they enjoyed seemingly, but whenever anything 

 lighter or more lively was played they were off. 



In a very little time we come to an old-fashioned 

 stone bridge rising high in the middle — a great resort 

 of anglers — a favourite starting-point indeed when pro- 

 ceeding to fish either up or down the stream. It is, 

 too, on certain afternoons a favourite resort for the 

 boys from a school near by, the younger ones running 

 about the greeny margins and searching for tiny eels, 



and this and that, while the elders ply the rod and line 

 and return proud of a few small dace or minnows. In 

 the warm afternoons of summer they will occasionally, 

 in protected leafy corners near by, indulge themselves 

 in a stealthy bathe, which is far more leisurely than 

 might be supposed possible in connection with any- 

 thing stolen, for they run about the banks and play 

 games in the water. 



Often have I stood by the side of the water here and 

 wondered at the fair reflection that this old bridge makes 

 in the afternoons when the sun is shining. The water 



