steam dies out and leaves an atmosphere which but 

 for the cindery breath of the engine would be ninety- 

 five per cent. pure. But the real change, the awaken- 

 ing to the consciousness of a new vitality in every 

 draught, the sense of the gentle tonic of the Berkshire 

 Hills, only begins when Brookfield Junction is passed, 

 and New Milford, and down from the slopes of the 

 Litchfield Hills, and out of the valleys of Cornwall 

 and Canaan, come the sweet and quickening airs 

 which put life where languor was, and stir a quicker 

 pulse in the weariest heart. 



It is hard to do justice to this climatic charm, 

 without seeming to drop into unqualified panegyric ; 

 in which attitude one is immediately suspected of 

 special pleading and remunerated enthusiasm. But 

 the truth must be told about the air of Berkshire, 

 even at the risk of seeming partisanship and an excess 

 of adjectives. It comes near to being ideal. Yet it is 

 more than likely that the stranger will begin by think- 

 ing it not so very different from any climate he has 

 been used to. It is tonic. But the stimulation it im- 

 parts is not like that which comes from the wine 

 when it is red ; it is rather like the draught at the 

 wayside spring to the hot and thirsty wayfarer. It is 

 not aggressive ; yet it accomplishes things. Tired 

 people do not realise that it is affecting them until, 

 after a fortnight of it, they begin to wake up in the 

 morning without any tired feeling. 



There are ''bracing" airs which are almost fierce 

 in their attack upon an enfeebled or tired system, 



