buttercups and forget-me-nots, is behind her, but she has had enough of
that, and is open to more spiritual pleasures. The kingfishers and water-
wagtails flit about her. The water-rat jumps into the stream with a soft
plash, and his black body scuttles along to the opposite bank. The green
dragon-flies float hither and thither; the beautiful frail-winged water-
flies float over trout too lazy to snatch at them. The cow, in her
sensuous nirvana, may see and marvel at the warm boating-man as he tows
two stout young ladies in a heavy boat, or labours with the oar. Her
pleasure is far more enduring than that of the bathers in the lasher up
stream, and she has an enormous advantage over the contemplative man
trying to lie on the grass and enjoy nature, for he really is not
enjoying nature. The pleasures of lying on the grass are chiefly those
of imagination. You cannot get into a truly comfortable position. Your
back has a lump of grass under it here, or your arm tingles and "falls
asleep," as children say. No attitude will enable you to read, and the
black flies hover around and alight on such of your features as are
tempting--to a fly. Then you begin to be quite sure it is damp, and, as
you have nothing else to sit on, you sit down on your book, which no one
can call comfortable.

The notion of reclining on cushions in a punt is equally fallacious, and,
while promising much, ends in a headache. Besides, the river does not
always smell very nicely now that it has so long been unrelieved by rain.
All through the hot day, in fact, civilized northern man finds loafing
very difficult, especially as his Aryan impetuosity is always urging him
to do something active. Cows in this climate are the only true lotus-
eaters. Next to them in enjoyment comes the angler who approaches the
river about eight o'clock, at the time of the "evening rise." He, like
the cow, is knee-deep in water, wading; he listens to the plash of big,
hungry trout, sucking down gnats under the alders; he casts over them,