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The Project Gutenberg eBook, Lost Leaders, by Andrew Lang, Edited by W. Pett Ridge This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net Title: Lost Leaders Author: Andrew Lang Editor: W. Pett Ridge Release Date: August 14, 2005 [eBook #16529] Language: English Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) ***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LOST LEADERS*** Transcribed from the 1889 Kegan Paul, Trench & Co. edition by David Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk LOST LEADERS by ANDREW LANG LONDON KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH & CO., 1 PATERNOSTER SQUARE 1889 PREFACE. These articles are reprinted, by the permission of the Editor, from the _Daily News_. They were selected and arranged by Mr. Pett Ridge, who, with the Publishers, will perhaps kindly take a share in the responsibility of republishing them. LOST LEADERS. SCOTCH RIVERS. September is the season of the second and lovelier youth of the river- scenery of Scotland. Spring comes but slowly up that way; it is June before the woods have quite clothed themselves. In April the angler or the sketcher is chilled by the east wind, whirling showers of hail, and even when the riverbanks are sweet with primroses, the bluff tops of the border hills are often bleak with late snow. This state of things is less unpropitious to angling than might be expected. A hardy race of trout will sometimes rise freely to the artificial fly when the natural fly is destroyed, and the angler is almost blinded with dusty snowflakes. All through midsummer the Scotch rivers lose their chief attractions. The bracken has not yet changed its green for the fairy gold, the hue of its decay; the woods wear a uniform and sombre green; the waters are low and shrunken, and angling is almost impossible. But with September the pleasant season returns for people who love "to be quiet, and go a-fishing," or a-sketching. The hills put on a wonderful harmony of colours, the woods rival the October splendours of English forests. The bends of the Tweed below Melrose and round Mertoun--a scene that, as Scott says, the river seems loth to leave--may challenge comparison with anything the Thames can show at Nuneham or Cliefden. The a
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