BROOK MAGIC 



in and shading the glen with their im- 

 bricated branches. No rust of mill- 

 wheel, no trace of building remains, and 

 the very tradition of the mill and its 

 owners is gone. No one to-day knows 

 whether it ground corn or sawed boards 

 for the pioneer who built it, who laid the 

 sill of its dam so firm and level that the 

 wear of two centuries of swift water 

 has not entirely obliterated it. At the 

 very bottom of the glen it forms a shal- 

 low pool where brook magic and witch- 

 hazel glamour shall show you many 

 midsummer fantasies if you will but 

 look for them. 



It was in the glen that I found the 

 first real relief from the heat of midday. 

 The grasses of the sun-parched pasture 

 had crisped under foot and broken off, 

 so dry were they, all the way down to 

 the sweet-flag meadow. Here the brook 

 1.17 



