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The Water-Babies by Charles Kingsley
page 85 of 255 (33%)
Or was it like a Scotch stream, such as Arthur Clough drew in his
"Bothie":-


"Where over a ledge of granite
Into a granite bason the amber torrent descended. . . . .
Beautiful there for the colour derived from green rocks under;
Beautiful most of all, where beads of foam uprising
Mingle their clouds of white with the delicate hue of the
stillness. . . .
Cliff over cliff for its sides, with rowan and pendant birch
boughs." . . .


Ah, my little man, when you are a big man, and fish such a stream
as that, you will hardly care, I think, whether she be roaring down
in full spate, like coffee covered with scald cream, while the fish
are swirling at your fly as an oar-blade swirls in a boat-race, or
flashing up the cataract like silver arrows, out of the fiercest of
the foam; or whether the fall be dwindled to a single thread, and
the shingle below be as white and dusty as a turnpike road, while
the salmon huddle together in one dark cloud in the clear amber
pool, sleeping away their time till the rain creeps back again off
the sea. You will not care much, if you have eyes and brains; for
you will lay down your rod contentedly, and drink in at your eyes
the beauty of that glorious place; and listen to the water-ouzel
piping on the stones, and watch the yellow roes come down to drink
and look up at you with their great soft trustful eyes, as much as
to say, "You could not have the heart to shoot at us?" And then,
if you have sense, you will turn and talk to the great giant of a
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