copper beech that is the pride of Mrs. Slattery's heart and the Five Poplars. And you can see Slattery's lawn, the one by the river where the big forget-me-not beds are. And there, as I exist, is Mrs. Slattery with her scarlet parasol. And there's the island pool about a foot and a half below Mrs. Slattery. The fishes are rising greedily. Do I pretend to see them from this distance? Not at all. But am I not up here? What else, then, should they do but rise? Yet—what odds if they are rising? What odds if I am on Beacon Down and can't catch them. I can paint—that is, I can try to paint. Let them live! And I couldn't catch them if I were at the island pool. I know those fishes. I say, sir, let them live! Below, you will observe, at the Lower End the river turns again and is lost to sight. God speed it to the sea!
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Yes, I will be talking.
I always talk when I am happy, and it makes me very happy to use my new colours. Let me tell you what I am painting, for I am already beginning to have my doubts about the picture as evidence of my employment of this morning.
From the mill upwards you see the Beaulieu water, the other half of the horseshoe; a mile
