26 I GO A-FISHING. 



the Rookery. Still, this is a forest home. The acres, 

 which count by the thousand, include mountains and 

 lakes, and you must drive a long way from the house be- 

 fore you strike on any sign of other human residence. 



Just in front of the house the mountains open in a ra- 

 vine, and down this comes a noble stream, wherein the 

 trout lie cool and quiet. Over the hill, in the winds of 

 September, the fat deer snuff the birch breezes, and come 

 sauntering down to the copse behind the gardens, where 

 they sometimes startle little El lie, the gardener's daugh- 

 ter, who runs in with brown eyes wide open, and tells of 

 the flashing eyes and lofty antlers that scared her as she 

 stood at the little swinging gate. 



I can not linger on these descriptions. You have heard 

 of such spots — dreamed of them. Some day, " if you are 

 good, and deserve it," as Ellie saith, I will bring you 

 here, where I found a company of old friends, and where, 

 with John Steenburger, the traveler, and John Johnston, 

 the clergyman, and others, old friends of Philip Alexan- 

 der, our host, I have let many a blessed month of May die 

 and be carried away by the breath of June without lament- 

 ing it. There has been other pleasant company there 

 that will not be there again, and that recollection gives us 

 all a love for the old place. 



The night had been cool and delightful. We had slept 

 the sleep of the innocent, but the Doctor roused me by 

 stumbling into my room before daybreak and lighting a 

 candle, wherewith he found my fly-book, and then sat 

 down to examine it. When, at last, I persuaded myself 

 to open my eyes, it was to see him at work by the candle- 

 light, dressing a fly for the benefit of the fish that he had 

 seen yesterday in a deep hole a mile up the glen. As 

 he worked he sang, changing the tune and time occasion- 



