106 FLY-FISHING IN MAINE LAKES. 



After dinner our four coal-black horses were 

 driven to the door, and as the guests of Mrs. 

 Thompson we started for Glen Ellis and the Cas- 

 cade. A beautiful drive, and then a charming 

 walk through the woods, brought us to the former. 

 Long and lovingly did we watch the dashing waters, 

 as they leaped from rock to rock in their rapid de 

 scent. The Glen Ellis is not an abrupt fall, bui 

 rathei a succession of rapids, whose foaming waters 

 seemingly gather strength as they press onward for 

 their final plunge into a pool of crystal clearness. 



We viewed them from their commencement ; then 

 we descended by staircases to the rocky bank, where 

 I left the ladies, and, climbing over the huge masses 

 of rock, followed the cataract in its descent till the 

 rushing torrent had again become a peaceful river, 

 and was murmuring onward, onward, to the sea, so 

 far away. 



Then I bathed my forehead in its cooling stream, 

 and drank of its liquid clearness ; and as I looked 

 back to where in its mad career it seemed to be 

 impatient to reach its goal, and was beating itself 

 against its mighty barriers, I thought : Yes, it is 

 just so with humanity ; we rush forward in the 

 struggle for supremacy, we beat against impassable 

 barriers, now catching our breath for a fresh start, 

 now borne onwaid by the passing wave of popular 



