WHEN LIFE STIRS. 5 



gratulating each other on the fact that spring is 

 near. Dotted here and there over the turf are 

 the golden flowers of the celandine. Surely there is 

 beauty in common objects, if only there is a sym- 

 pathetic eye to note them. 



If we dip down from the top of this rough table- 

 land — if one may call it that, because it is higher 

 than most of that which surrounds it — we pass 

 through a copse, and find ourself by the river's 

 side. It is trout-water in certain parts; and here 

 we have either to follow the path by the river and 

 get into the main road, or to climb and scramble 

 over the ruined bridge that spans the river — a 

 structure which is really not of the least use now 

 for any purposes of traffic for man or beast, as the 

 water is not fordable. This at times puts some 

 wayfarer, who may have found his way by the 

 merest chance to it, in a fix. 



I decide to scramble over and make for the heart 

 of the country; and I get over all right, being 

 pretty lucky as a rule. Then I take a look up 

 and down the river, and at the old bridge, the 

 ruined brickwork of which is stained grey-brown 

 and yellow by patches of mosses and lichens. As 



