erhaps yonder, where
those tall Norwegian pines shoot up so boldly into the air. It is said
that the old earl's galley was once moored where is now that blue pool,
for the waters of that valley were not always sweet; yon valley was once
an arm of the sea, a salt lagoon, to which the war-barks of "Sigurd, in
search of a home," found their way.

I was in the habit of spending many an hour on the banks of that rivulet,
with my rod in my hand, and, when tired with angling, would stretch
myself on the grass, and gaze upon the waters as they glided past, and
not unfrequently, divesting myself of my dress, I would plunge into the
deep pool which I have already mentioned, for I had long since learned to
swim. And it came to pass, that on one hot summer's day, after bathing
in the pool, I passed along the meadow till I came to a shallow part,
and, wading over to the opposite side, I adjusted my dress, and commenced
fishing in another pool, beside which was a small clump of hazels.

And there I sat upon the bank, at the bottom of the hill which slopes
down from "the Earl's home"; my float was on the waters, and my back was
towards the old hall. I drew up many fish, small and great, which I took
from off the hook mechanically, and flung upon the bank, for I was almost
unconscious of what I was about, for my mind was not with my fish. I was
thinking of my earlier years--of the Scottish crags and the heaths of
Ireland--and sometimes my mind would dwell on my studies--on the sonorous
stanzas of Dante, rising and falling like the waves of the sea--or would
strive to remember a couplet or two of poor Monsieur Boileau.

"Canst thou answer to thy conscience for pulling all those fish out of
the water, and leaving them to gasp in the sun?" said a voice, clear and
sonorous as a bell.

I started, and looked round. Close behind me stood the tall figure of a
man, dressed in raiment of quaint and singular fashion, but of goodly
materials. He was in the prime and vigour of manhood; his features
handsome and noble, but full of calmness and benevolence; at least I
thought so, though they were somewhat shaded by a hat of finest beaver,
with broad drooping eaves. {148}

"Surely that is a very cruel diversion in which thou indulgest, my young
friend?" he continued.

"I am sorry for it, if it be, sir," said I, rising; "but I do not think
it cruel to fish."

"What are thy reasons for not thinking so?"

"Fishing is mentioned frequently i