1 70 IRature StuMee In Berksbire. 



ical of all that a brook ought to be, outside of a 

 forest country ; a brook which from outlet to source 

 invited human companionship and lent itself to hu- 

 man comfort. 



We made acquaintance with it at its outlet, where 

 it loses itself in the lake it helps to feed. It was one 

 of our chief pleasures on hot July days to row be- 

 tween the beds of horse-tails and bulrushes which 

 mark its entrance, between banks where crowding 

 alders and willows screen the meadows on either 

 hand, and where copses of the jewel-weed and 

 loosestrife gleam against the green, under the 

 branches which meet above its yellow waters, until 

 our skift grounded on its pebbly shoals. These 

 brief voyages were always enlivened by sweet bird- 

 voices, the robin, the song sparrow, the unmelodious 

 catbird, and the clattering kingfisher all lending 

 their notes to protest against our presence. Half- 

 way up the navigable portion of the stream there 

 was a break in the thicket, a pathway, and a landing- 

 place. Through this portal to the meadow, one 

 caught frequent glimpses of the haymakers, while 

 the fragrance of the new-mown grass enriched the 

 breezes ; and in the near foreground rose the green 

 urn of one of those noble elms, the glory of New 

 England's fields, peerless in any land for beauty and 

 for grace. 



We met the brook again where it parallelled the 

 road for which centuries ago it had surveyed and 

 prepared a bed. The frequent rains of this moist 



