There is a trout steam in the center of my possession, with expansions here and there, which serve as bathing places for myself, and out of which pure and cool drink is supplied to the few domestic animals about me. This stream makes its way through the bottom of a hollow, and is so overhung by the lofty branches of trees which grow upon its borders that the sunlight only enters in patches, and is so reflected by the restless surface of the water as to mark its devious way with the appearance of a line of flashing mirrors. The surrounding dense body of foliage, from at least a hundred varieties of trees and shrubs, is tinted with a variegation of color seldom seen outside the tropics. This charming spot has its voices, as restless as the lights and shadows which play about within. Each miniature waterfall has its liquid note; while during certain hours there comes from every quarter of the foliage above a confused melody of birds, who, I have reason to believe, assemble there for entertainment and gossip. Outside of this watered region, my homestead is interspersed with openings, where the rich loam only awaits the labor of cultivation to produce a wealth of grain or fruit. Every tree and shrub within my possession of half a mile square, by long familiarity, seems to have become a part of myself. We are living and ageing together. I have watched in them the development of infancy, the slow and gradual approach to youth, and the turning point from maturity to old age. Among these old monarchs of the woods is here and there one tipped with the signs of superannuated decay. About their feet lay many of their withered, sapless limbs. They have lost their symmetry, and stand in scraggy outline. I see from year to year their gradual giving up of life, while beside them a new generation arises. There is a fellow feeling between us. My hair grows thin and white and my step is no longer firm and elastic. Like them my share of life is growing to a close, and yet I am an infant in years compared to many of them. I bow to them with a sentiment of reverence. They are my old men. The younger ones are my children--mine! What a grand thing it is to have these in my possession,--to hold in my own right such a choice piece of this blossoming earth, where all the mysterious forces are at work day and night for me alone!