CO ATE FARM. 43 



the narrow bar over the deep % water. The 

 barred pike that used to come up in such 

 numbers are no more among the flags. The 

 perch used to drift down the stream, and then 

 bring up again. The sun shone there for a 

 very long time, and the water rippled and 

 sang, and it always seemed to me that I could 

 feel the rippling and the singing and the 

 sparkling back through the centuries. The 

 brook is dead, for when man goes nature ends. 

 I dare say there is water there still, but it 

 is not the brook ; the brook is gone like John 

 Brown's soul. There used to be clouds over 

 the fields, white clouds in blue summer skies. 

 I have lived a good deal on clouds ; they have 

 been meat to me often ; they bring something 

 to the spirit which even the trees do not. I 

 see clouds now sometimes when the iron grip 

 of hell permits for a minute or two ; they are 

 very different clouds, and speak differently. 

 I long for some of the old clouds that had na 

 memories. There were nights in those times 

 over those fields, not darkness, but Night, full 

 of glowing suns and glowing richness of life 

 that sprang up to meet them. The nights are 



