The silvery stream seems to grow wider, dashing its mossy rocks with foam, and swaying from side to side with its swift, impetuous flow as it descends. Past leaning willows it goes; past graceful elms and fragrant groups of gleaming birch; whether fast or slow, morning or night, it fills all the woodland with its liquid music. One turns again and again to admire the white birch arranged in groups, each lovelier than the one just beheld. It takes an artist's soul to really enjoy these wonderful and harmonious scenes. We carried notebooks and a camera, but used them slightly. Shall we ever forget the azure sky, the gleaming yellow and white of the birch, the green meadows, the silvery flashing of the happy streams, or the bright green and blue of far lakes? No, they shall remain as long as memories of beautiful things last. What fine traveling companions these lovely New England brooks make! What grace and freedom is theirs ! What songs of joy they sing, telling of the grandeur of the hills through which they flow! Gladly we followed their winding way, "asking for no better friend or finer music." No wonder they are so cool and refreshing, for in what crystal pure springs do they find their source? Like well born children with a beautiful environment, they bathe all the wood land flowers and trees with their beneficent water until they leave a trail of richest verdure from the mountain to the sea, where they mingle in the great expanse of waters not to perish, but to be resurrected, into glorious summer clouds, to carry life and health to the thirsty plants of earth. The very sight of their rushing crystal waters beside the widening road on a hot day gives one a new lease on life. Truly did Wordsworth say, "earth has not anything to show more fair." All afternoon we wandered "by shallow rivers to whose falls melodious birds sang madrigals." We, like the river, were journeying "at our own sweet will."