Miscellaneous Pieces, in ProseBarbauld, Mrs. (Anna Letitia)
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Miscellaneous Pieces, in Prose
Barbauld, Mrs. (Anna Letitia)
English prose literature -- 18th century
A delightfully pleasant evening succeeding a sultry summer-day, invited
me to take a solitary walk; and leaving the dust of the highway, I
fell into a path which led along a pleasant little valley watered by a
small meandering brook. The meadow-ground on its banks had been lately
mown, and the new grass was springing up with a lively verdure. The
brook was hid in several places by shrubs that grew on each side, and
intermingled their branches. The sides of the valley were roughened by
small irregular thickets; and the whole scene had an air of solitude
and retirement, uncommon in the neighbourhood of a populous town. The
Duke of Bridgewater’s canal crossed the valley, high raised on a mound
of earth, which preserved a level with the elevated ground on each
side. An arched road was carried under it, beneath which the brook that
ran along the valley was conveyed by a subterraneous passage. I threw
myself upon a green bank, shaded by a leafy thicket, and resting my
head upon my hand, after a welcome indolence had overcome my senses, I
saw, with the eyes of fancy, the following scene.
The firm-built side of the aqueduct suddenly opened, and a gigantic
form issued forth, which I soon discovered to be the _Genius of the
Canal_. He was clad in a close garment of a russet hue. A mural crown,
indented with battlements, surrounded his brow. His naked feet were
discoloured with clay. On his left shoulder he bore a huge pick-ax;
and in his right hand he held certain instruments, used in surveying
and levelling. His looks were thoughtful, and his features harsh. The
breach through which he proceeded, instantly closed; and with a heavy
tread he advanced into the valley. As he approached the brook, the
_Deity of the Stream_ arose to meet him. He was habited in a light
green mantle, and the clear drops fell from his dark hair, which was
encircled with a wreath of water lily, interwoven with sweet scented
flag. An angling rod supported his steps. The Genius of the Canal eyed
him with a contemptuous look, and in a hoarse voice thus began:
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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