] I LAUGHING WATERS] [" 



Though the world may seem discordant enough, 

 there is always this wholesome note. 



No two brooks are alike. As the result of the 

 chara&er of the country through which they flow, 

 they impress one as having strongly defined per- 

 sonalities. A creek flowing sluggishly through the 

 alluvial districts of the South is insipid compared 

 to a mountain stream in New England. Your 

 mountain brook is a strong, salient personality 

 which dominates the landscape. It sweeps in bold 

 curves about the base of cliffs, and contra&s into 

 a mere mill race cut in the distorted schist and 

 gneiss. Its suggestion is wholly of savage strength, 

 a rude, forceful thing of the wilderness; its song a 

 masterful strain, a triumphant chant of power. 

 Again, there are merry little streams tinkling in 

 the sunlight. 



In cutting down its channel, the brook may 

 reach a stratum seemingly richer than any above, 

 so that in April its banks become a garden. While 

 scarcely a flower is to be seen on the hillsides, the 

 fertile floor of the ravine is carpeted with spurred 

 violets, groundnut and spring beauties. 



One such as this falls into a glen over a little 

 precipice, spreading itself out like a fine veil which 



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