Scotch, or "Mixed"--with their splendid loads of fish.

"White fish go: pickerel come"--but always there is fish through summer
days and winter's ice.

There is a lovely village Green, around which the modest homes cluster
sociably. Poor, plain places they may be, but never dirty nor untidy. And
the children and dogs! Such lovely babies; such human animals. They play
and work together quite naturally and are the truest friends.

A little church, with a queer pointed spire and a beautiful altar,
stands with open doors like a kindly welcome to all. Back of this, and
apologetically placed behind its stockade fence, is the jail.

To have a jail and never need it! What more can be said of a community?
But you are told--if you insist upon it--that the building is preserved
as a warning, and if any one should by chance be forced to occupy it, "he
will have the best the place affords"--for justice is seasoned with mercy
in the In-Place.

If you would know the aristocracy of the hamlet you must leave the
friendly Green and the pleasant water of the Channel, climb the red
rocks, tread the grassy road between the hemlocks and the pines, and find
the farms. For, be it understood, by one's ability to wrench a living
from the soil instead of the water is he known and estimated. To fish is
to gamble; to plant and reap is conservative business.

Dreamer's Rock and One Tree Island, Far Hill Place and Lonely Farm,
safely sheltered they lie, and from them, in obedience to the "Lure of
the States," comes now and again an adventurous soul to make his way, if