In the valleys lay velvety meadows with their stately groups of elms, beneath which droves of cattle and sheep were grazing. Now and then lakes gleamed like sheets of molten beryl in their forest setting. Here and there we observed spaces in the valley resembling sunken gardens, with houses surrounded by their graceful elms, or having tree-bordered fields in their midst. We knew not in which direction to look, for beauty was on every side and we absorbed new life, new hope, and spiritual tone from our wonderful environment. "Today we dine at the sign of the White Pine Bough," we said, as we beheld a fine forest of evergreens, whose myriad needles seemed to be calling us to enjoy their "restful solitude." Chickadees and warblers sang among their branches. The ground beneath them was covered with a thick soft carpet of rich brown needles. Large boulders covered with moss and lichens were scattered about, which served us for tables. Tall ferns grew in abundance. The air was heavy with fragrance of pine and hemlock. Our appetites were made unusually keen by our sampling of choke cherries that grew in abundance along the highway. How delicious is a meal of buns, with honey and butter, berries and pure spring water! One learns the real flavor of food out here where the odors of restaurants are but a memory. Thinking that there was a waterfall somewhere near, we penetrated quite a distance the forest, only to learn that we had heard naught but the wind among the pines. Here in the lovely Berkshire country near a charming lake we saw the sturdy New England farmers at work in their harvest fields. One farmer was still using the old self rake-reaper. It was interesting to watch the old reaper in operation. A real old gentleman seeing us, came out to the road and after a friendly greeting, asked: "And what be ye doing in Yankee land?" Mr. H. could not resist the temptation to bind a few sheaves for old times' sake, and soon was binding the golden bundles, and so fascinated was he, that an hour passed by (to the utter delight of the old man's son, let it be known) while he neatly bound his first New England sheaves. He was well aware that this stop had undoubtedly meant the missing of some grand natural scenery, but he declared with amazing indifference that he would not have missed this opportunity for many mountain scenes, however fair. The same mysterious power that threw over the hills that filmy veil of delicate blue had turned to gold the standing wheat, which so lately undulated in the rippling wind with its sea-like tints of shimmering, shining green. Bidding our friends adieu, we thought what a grand harvest of by- gone memories the day had brought.