Graham's Magazine Vol XXXIII No. 3 September 1848Various
General
Graham's Magazine Vol XXXIII No. 3 September 1848
Various
Literature -- Periodicals; Literature, Modern -- 19th century -- Periodicals
The bridge is now old and black, and has decayed and been broken into
quite a picturesque object. One of the platform pieces has been
fractured in the middle, and the two ends slant upwards, as if to take
observations of the sky; and there is a great hole in the very centre
of the bridge. Add to this the moss, which has crept over the whole
structure, making what remains of the platform a perfect cushion, and
hanging in long flakes of emerald, which fairly dip in the water, and
the whole object is before you. The stream has a slow, still motion,
with eddies, here coiling up into wrinkles like an old man's face, and
there dimpling around some stone like the smiling cheek of a young
maiden, but in no case suffering its demureness to break into a broad
laugh of ripples. In one spot tall bullrushes show their slender
shapes and brown wigs; in another there is a collection of waterflags;
in another there are tresses of long grass streaming in the light flow
of the current, whilst in a nook, formed by the roots of an immense
elm on one side, and a projection of the bank on the other, is a thick
coat of stagnant green--a perfect meadow for the frogs to hold their
mass meetings in, differing from ours, however, from the fact of
theirs being composed of all talkers and no listeners.
Let us look at the stream a little, which has here expanded into a
broad surface, and view its "goings on." There is a water-spider
taking most alarming leaps, as if afraid of wetting his feet; a
dragon-fly is darting hither and yon, his long, slender body flashing
with green, golden and purple hues; a large dace has just apparently
flattened his nose against the dark glass inward, dotting a great and
increasing period outward. A bright birch-leaf, "the last of its
clan," has just fallen down, and been snapped at most probably by a
little spooney of a trout, thinking it a yellow butterfly; and on the
bottom, which, directly under our eyes is shallow, are several
water-insects crawling along like locomotive spots of shadow and
reflected through the tremulous medium into distorted shapes. However,
we have lingered here long enough--let us onward.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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