XXXIII 



BROOK AND LAGOON 



In the late summer there is no walk so de- 

 lightfully full of surprises nor so surprisingly full 

 of delights as that one along the bank of Clear 

 Brook. Back in the hills the stream rushes 

 through a narrow channel between walls of rock, 

 or leaps a sheer fifty feet into a mammoth pot- 

 hole. But after hurrying through the town it 

 finds its level in the lowland- and "fair dawdles." 

 A path along its bank is packed hard by fisher- 

 men and by bare-footed boys lured thither by the 

 opportunity for wading. 



Escaping the heat and dust of the sun-dried 

 uplands, what a relief it is to drop suddenly into 

 the cool shade along a wooded stream. Im- 

 mediately the scales drop from my eyes and I 

 begin to see what is worth while. Tangles of 

 jewel-weed have sprung up wherever a tree has 

 been taken out and a bit of moist soil left un- 

 tenanted. The new railroad bridge hangs against 

 the sky supported by the treetops so far as I can 

 see from down stream. Every available inch of 

 cleared space about the approaches of the bridge 

 has been taken up by this irresistible plant. It 

 does not grow entirely alone, however. Tower- 

 ing high above it here and there are gaunt plants 

 of angelica, like tall chandeliers. I could see, too, 



(179) 



