till years afterwards that I mustered courage to take it off, and that
was in a lake three thousand miles from Stockbridge Bowl, with the
towers of the castle of Chillon reflected in its calm surface.

We also made limited use of a leaky old punt, which one day capsized
and emptied its whole crew into the water, luckily close to shore. We
fished for gold carp for hours together, and during our two summers we
caught a couple of them; there were thousands of them swimming about;
but a bent pin with the bait washed off is not a good lure. In winter,
the lake had five feet of ice on it, which lasted far into the spring,
and once or twice we got aboard this great raft and tracked across it,
with as much awe and enthusiasm as ever Kane had felt in his arctic
explorations. In all, we became intimate friends with the lake idea,
new to us then, but never to grow stale; and our good fortune favored
us during after-life with many lovely lakes and ponds, including such
gems as Rydal, Walden, and Geneva.

Water, in another enchanting guise, dashed and gurgled for us in the
brook that penetrated like a happy dream the slumber of the forest
that bordered on the lake. The wooded declivity through which it went
was just enough to keep it ever vocal and animated. Gazing down upon
it, it was clear brown, with glancing gleams of interior green, and
sparkles diamond white; tiny fishes switched themselves against the
current with quivering tails; the shaggy margins were flecked with
sunshine, and beautiful with columbines, violets, arbutus, and
houstonias. Fragments of rock and large pebbles interrupted its flow
and deepened its mellow song; above it brooded the twilight of the
tall pines and walnuts, responding to its merriment with solemn
murmurings. What playfellow is more inexhaustible than such a brook,
so full of life, of motion, of sound and color, of variety and