SUMMER IN SOMERSET. 269 
each inclined at a different angle, each casting a tre- 
mulous flash into the face. The eyelids involuntarily 
droop to shield the gaze from a hundred arrows ; they 
are too strong—nothing can be distinguished but a 
woven surface of brilliance, a mesh of light, under 
which the water runs, itsclf invisible. I will go back to 
the deep green pool, and walking now with the sun 
behind, how the river has changed | 
Soft, cool shadows reach over it, which I did not see 
before ; green surfaces are calm under trees ; the rocks 
are less hard ; the stream runs more gently, and the 
oaks come down nearer; the delicious sound of the 
rushing water almost quenches my thirst. My eyes 
have less work to do ‘to meet the changing features of 
the current which now seems smooth as my glance 
accompanies its movement. The sky, which was not 
noticed before, now appears reaching in rich azure 
across the deep hollow, from the oaks on one side to 
the oaks on the other. These woods, which cover the 
steep and rocky walls of the gorge from river to summit, 
are filled with the June colour of oak. It is not green, 
nor russet, nor yellow ; I think it may be called a glow 
of yellow under grecn. It is warmer than green ; the 
glow is not on the outer leaves, but comes up beneath 
from the depth of the branches. The rush of the river 
soothes the mind, the broad descending surfaces of 
yellow-green oak carry the glance downwards from the 
blue over to the stream in the hollow. Rush! rush !— 
it is the river, like a mighty wind in the wood. A 
pheasant crows, and once and again falls the tap, tap of 
woodmen’s axes—scarce heard, for they are high above. 
They strip the young oaks of their bark as far as they 
can while the saplings stand, then fell them, and as they 
all lie downhill there are parallel streaks of buff (where 
