166 



NATURE FOR ITS OWN SAKE 



more than a brook. And a brook is, or at 

 least may be, a river in miniature. It usualN 

 comes from the hills, but it may come from an 

 upland lake and creep across a flat meadow in a 

 stupid way, lying lazily under bridges and mak- 

 ing pools for cattle and ducks at every bend. 

 Again, it may wind down through some heavily 

 timbered country, its passage impeded by drift- 

 wood and fallen logs (like so many of the Adi- 

 rondack streams), with little beauty to com- 

 mend it save its golden-brown coloring taken 

 from decayed vegetation. Still again, it may 

 come off the moors and flow through the peat- 

 beds of Scotland on its way to some loch, pass- 

 ing by great bowlders in the bed and scrub- 

 timber on the banks, without being strikingly 

 beautiful save in the ale-like hue of the water 

 after a heavy rain. 



But none of these brooks quite realizes our 

 idea of a mountain-stream. The true brook is 

 to be found in the Catskills, in the Berkshires, 

 sometimes in the Alleghanies, the Blue Ridge, 

 or the Rocky Mountains. The local commu- 

 nity usually gives it the commonplace but de- 

 scriptive name of " Clear Brook " or " Stony 

 Brook." At its mouth it often joins the river, 

 much as the river joins the sea that is, with 



