268 FIELD AND HEDGEROW, 
through midland meads present a broad, calm surface, 
at the same level ‘from side to side ; they flow without 
sound, and if you stood behind a thick hedge you would 
not know that a river was near. They dream along the 
meads, toying with their forget-me-nots, too idle even 
to make love to their flowers vigorously. The brown 
Barle enjoys his life, and splashes in the sunshine like 
boys ‘bathing—like them he is sunburnt and brown. He 
throws the wanton spray over the ferns that bow and 
bend as the cool breeze his current brings sways them 
in the shade. He laughs and talks, and sings louder 
than the wind in his woods. 
Here is a pool by the bank under an ash—a deep 
green pool inclosed by massive rocks, which the stream 
has to brim over. The water is green—or is it the ferns, 
and the moss, and ‘the oaks, and the pale ash reflected ? 
This rock has a purple tint, dotted with moss spots 
almost black ; the green water laps at the purple stone, 
and there is.one place where a thin line of scarlet is 
visible, though I do not know what causes it. Another 
‘stone the spray does not touch has been dried to a 
bright white by the sun. Inclosed, the green water 
‘slowly swirls round till it finds crevices, and slips 
through. A few paces farther up there is a red rapid— 
reddened stones, and reddened growths beneath the 
‘water, a light that lets the red hues overcome the 
others—a wild rush of crowded waters rotating as they 
go, shrill voices calling. This next bend upwards 
dazzles the eyes, for every inclined surface and striving 
parallel, every swirl, and bubble, and eddy, and rush 
around a rock chances to reflect the sunlight. Not one 
long pathway of quiet sheen, such as stretches across a 
rippled lake, each wavelet throwing back its ray in just 
proportion, but a hundred separate mirrors vibrating, 
