THE SONG OF THE REEL. 



CHAPTER I. 



My Bridge of Dreams. 



A COMPARATIVELY insignificant little structure, time-worn 

 and moss-grown such is my Bridge of Dreams. A merry 

 streamlet glides beneath its single arch, and spreads over golden 

 gravel, in shallow, translucent waters that anon are swirling and 

 splashing among lichen-covered boulders ere they tumble to rest in 

 a diminutive pool, foam-flecked and slumberous. Thus, for a while, 

 the happy streamlet tarries below the bridge, whence again it flows 

 reluctantly, with many a twist and turn, past mill and farmstead, 

 to lose its individuality in that of a mighty river. 



This Bridge of Dreams, which has found so intimate a corner 

 in my heart, is built of stone ; and, though insignificant, is decidedly 

 picturesque, and congenial in its situation. Its low, broad parapet 

 might have been designed specially for the angler's behoof, so plea- 

 sant is it to lean upon ; whilst, like unto all other bridges, this one 

 possesses that attraction of semi-mystery, which ever stays the im- 

 mediate progress of the wayfarer. No friendly tree casts shadows 

 there, nor hill nor mountain offers shelter ; the bridge is in an open 

 spot, breezy and sunny, and full of the murmurings of restless waters. 

 Yet never was the shadiest woodland sanctuary more conducive to 

 meditation than the atmosphere that clings about the mossy stones 



