Let me describe the scene. To the left of the line as you travel
westward there lies a long grassy meadow on a gentle acclivity, set
with three or four umbrageous oaks and backed by a steep plantation
of oak saplings. At the foot of the meadow, close alongside the
line, runs a brook, which is met at the meadow's end by a second
brook which crosses under the permanent way through a culvert.
The united waters continue the course of the first brook, beside the
line, and maybe for half a mile farther; but, a few yards below their
junction, are partly dammed by the masonry of a bridge over which a
country lane crosses the railway; and this obstacle spreads them into
a pool some fifteen or twenty feet wide, overgrown with the leaves of
the arrow-head, and fringed with water-flags and the flowering rush.
Now I seldom pass this spot without sparing a glance for it; first
because of the pool's still beauty, and secondly because many rabbits
infest the meadow below the coppice, and among them for two or three
years was a black fellow whom I took an idle delight in recognising.
(He is gone now, and his place knows him no more; yet I continue to
hope for sight of a black rabbit just there.
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