the stream draws the attention to a glorious mass of
violets on the mossy bank above; myriads of dainty cuckoo flowers,

"With cowslips wan that hang the pensive head,
And every flower that sad embroidery wears,"

are likewise to be seen. Farther away from the stream's bank, on the
upland lawn and along the hedge towards the downs, the deep purple of
the hyacinth and orchis, and the perfect blue of the little eyebright or
germander speedwell, are visible even at a distance. In a week the lilac
and sweet honeysuckle will fill the air with grateful redolence.

Ah! a may-fly. But I know this is only a false alarm. There are always a
few stray ones about at this time; the fly will not be "up" for ten days
at least. When it does come, the stream, so smooth and glassy now, will
be "like a pot a-boiling," as the villagers say. You would not think it
possible that a small brook could contain so many big fish as will show
themselves when the fly is up.

In conclusion, we will quote once more from dear old Charles Kingsley,
for what was true fifty years ago is true now--at all events, in this
part of Gloucestershire; and may it ever remain so!

"Come, then, you who want pleasant fishing days without the waste of
time and trouble and expense involved in two hundred miles of railway
journey, and perhaps fifty more of highland road; come to pleasant
country inns, where you can always get a good dinner; or, better still,
to pleasant country houses, where you can always get good society--to
rivers which always fish brimful, instead of being, as these mountain
ones are, very like a turnpike road for three weeks, and then like
bottled porter for three days--to streams on which you have strong
south-west breezes for a week together on a clear fishing water, instead
of having, as on these mountain ones, foul rain spate as long as the
wind is south-west, and clearing water when the wind chops up to the
north,--streams, in a word, where you may kill fish four days out of
five from April to October, instead of having, as you will most probably
in the mountain, just one day's sport in the whole of your
month's holiday."

[Illustration: A bridge over the Coln. 171.png]

CHAPTER VIII.

WHEN THE MAY-FLY IS UP.

"Just in the dubious point where with the pool
Is mix'd the trembling stream, or where it boils
Around the stone, or from the hollow'd bank
Reverted plays in undulating flow,
There t