All around were images of that unspeakable peace which Nature whispers to those attuned to her music; all fitted to lull, but not to deject, the spirit,--images dear to the holiday of the world-worn man, to the contemplation of serene and retired age, to the boyhood of poets, to the youth of lovers.

But Mainwaring's step was heavy, and his brow clouded, and Nature that evening was dumb to him.

At the margin of the lake stood a solitary angler who now, his evening's task done, was employed in leisurely disjointing his rod and whistling with much sweetness an air from one of Izaak Walton's songs.

Mainwaring reached the angler and laid his hand on his shoulder.
"What sport, Ardworth ?" "A few large roach with the fly, and one pike with a gudgeon,--a noble fellow! Look at him! He was lying under the reeds yonder; I saw his green back, and teased him into biting.

A heavenly evening! I wonder you did not follow my example, and escape from a set where neither you nor I can feel very much at home, to this green banquet of Nature, in which at least no man sits below the salt-cellar.