THE ROOKERY. 25 



friend whose home in the country has been a home for 

 a few lovers of him and of trout these many years. It is 

 a spot like which there are not many — of exceeding beau- 

 ty and attractiveness. The winds sigh as they pass over 

 it, because they can not pause and sleep as I do there. 

 The hemlocks on the mountain bend down toward it, 

 longing for that far day when they shall fall and rest on 

 the hill-side, and that more distant day when, dust of the 

 earth, they shall be brought by gentle rains down to the 

 depths of the valley, and find the calm that is so undis- 

 turbed and perfect. 



Many years ago, my friend discovered the spot and in- 

 habited it. It had been for a long time previous almost 

 a wilderness, though across the mountain, a few miles off, 

 was a fine farming country. The Rookery took its name 

 from an old log house which at first satisfied the wants 

 of an angler coming here only to pass a few days or 

 weeks in quiet sport. But a frame house grew against 

 the log house, and then a large and roomy stone house, 

 with abundance of places for friends ; and then, as he 

 loved the spot more and more for its associations, he filled 

 it with furniture, and brought his library from his city 

 house, and began to live here nine months of the year. 

 The glen became a very paradise. The bottom-land, when 

 cleared and drained, was a rich farm ; and a few houses 

 for his workmen made a settlement in the heart of the 

 forest. Then civilization approached in the shape of a 

 railroad, with a station two miles off, and the inevitable 

 law of human weakness introduced luxury into this once 

 remote forest home in the shape of regular newspapers — 

 the morning papers of the city — fortunately cooled off 

 from their city heat and impetuosity of thought and ex- 

 pression by a long day's ride on the rail before they reach 



