Shewasnownotmerelyanangler，buta\"record\"anglerofthemostvirulenttype.Wherevertheywent，shewanted，andshegot，thepickofthewater.Sheseemedtobeequallyathomeonallkindsofstreams，largeandsmall.Shewouldpursuethelittlemountain—
brooktroutintheearlyspring，andtheLabradorsalmoninJuly，andthehugespeckledtroutofthenorthernlakesinSeptember，withthesameavidityandresolution.Allthatshecaredforwastogetthebestandthemostofthefishingateachplacewheresheangled.
Thisshealwaysdid.
AndBeekman，——well，forhimtherewerenomorelongseparationsfromthepartnerofhislifewhilehewentofftofishsomefavouritestream.Therewerenomorehome—comingsafteragoodday’ssporttofindhercladincoolanddaintyraimentontheverandah，readytowelcomehimwithfriendlybadinage.TherewasnotevenanycastingoftheflyaroundHardscrabblePointwhileshesatinthecanoereadinganovel，lookingupwithmildandpleasantinterestwhenhecaughtalargerfishthanusual，asanolderandwiserpersonlooksatachildplayingsomeinnocentgame.Thosedaysofadividedinterestbetweenmanandwifeweregone.Shewasnowfullyconverted，andmore.BeekmanandCorneliawereone;andshewastheone.
ThelasttimeIsawtheDePeystershewasfollowingheralongtheBeaverkill，carryingalanding—netandabasket，butnorod.Shepausedforamomenttoexchangegreetings，andthenstrodeondownthestream.Helingeredforafewminuteslongertolightapipe.
\"Well，oldman，\"Isaid，\"youcertainlyhavesucceededinmakingananglerofMrs.DePeyster.\"
\"Yes，indeed，\"heanswered，——\"haven’tI？\"Thenhecontinued，afterafewthoughtfulpuffsofsmoke，\"Doyouknow，I’mnotquitesosureasIusedtobethatfishingisthebestofallsports.I
sometimesthinkofgivingitupandgoinginforcroquet.\"
FISHINGINBOOKS
\"SIMPSON.——HaveyoueverseenanyAmericanbooksonangling，Fisher？\"
\"FISHER.——No，Idonotthinkthereareanypublished.BrotherJonathanisnotyetsufficientlycivilizedtoproduceanythingoriginalonthegentleart.Thereisgoodtrout—fishinginAmerica，andthestreams，whichareallfree，aremuchlessfishedthaninourIsland，’fromthesmallnumberofgentlemen，’asanAmericanwritersays，’whoareatleisuretogivetheirtimetoit.’\"
——WILLIAMANDREWCHATTO：TheAngler’sSouvenir（London，1835）.
Thatwisemanandaccomplishedscholar，SirHenryWotton，thefriendofIzaakWaltonandambassadorofKingJamesItotherepublicofVenice，wasaccustomedtosaythat\"hewouldratherlivefiveMaymonthsthanfortyDecembers.\"Thereasonforthispreferencewasnosecrettothosewhoknewhim.IthadnothingtodowithBritishorVenetianpolitics.ItwassimplybecauseDecember，withallitsdomesticjoys，ispracticallyadeadmonthintheangler’scalendar.
Hisoccupationisgone.Thebettersortoffishareoutofseason.
Thetroutareleanandhaggard：itisnotricktocatchthemandnotreattoeatthem.Thesalmon，allexceptthesillykelts，haverunouttosea，andtheplaceoftheirhabitationnomanknohisgoings，thatonlythreeotherwriters，sofarasIknow，haveeverspokenillofhim.
weth.Thereisnothingfortheanglertodobutwaitforthereturnofspring，andmeanwhileencourageandsustainhispatiencewithsuchsmallconsolationsinkindasafriendlyProvidencemayputwithinhisreach.
Somesolacemaybefound，onadayofcrisp，wintryweather，inthechildishdiversionofcatchingpickerelthroughtheice.Thismethodoftakingfishispractisedonalargescaleandwithelaboratemachinerybymenwhosupplythemarket.Ispeaknotoftheircommercialenterpriseanditsgrossequipage，butofice—
fishinginitsmoresportiveanddesultoryform，asitispursuedbycountryboysandtheincorrigiblevillageidler.
Youchooseforthispastimeapondwheretheiceisnottoothick，lestthelabourofcuttingthroughshouldbediscouraging;nortoothin，lestthechanceofbreakinginshouldbeembarrassing.Youthenchopout，withalmostanykindofahatchetorpick，anumberofholesintheice，makingeachonesixoreightinchesindiameter，andplacingthemaboutfiveorsixfeetapart.Ifyouhappentoknowthecourseofacurrentflowingthroughthepond，orthelocationofashoalfrequentedbyminnows，youwilldowelltokeepnearit.Overeachholeyousetasmallcontrivancecalleda\"tilt—up.\"Itconsistsoftwosticksfastenedinthemiddle，atrightanglestoeachother.Thestrongerofthetwoislaidacrosstheopeningintheice.Theotheristhusbalancedabovetheaperture，withabaitedhookandlineattachedtooneend，whiletheotherendisadornedwithalittleflag.Forchoice，Iwouldhavetheflagsred.Theylookgayer，andIimaginetheyaremorelucky.
Whenyouhavethusbaitedandsetyourtilt—ups，——twentyorthirtyofthem，——youmayputonyourskatesandamuseyourselfbyglidingtoandfroonthesmoothsurfaceoftheice，cuttingfiguresofeightandgrapevinesanddiamondtwists，whileyouwaitforthepickereltobegintheirpartoftheperformance.Theywillletyouknowwhentheyareready.
Afish，swimmingaroundinthedimdepthsundertheice，seesoneofyourbaits，fanciesit，andtakesitin.Themomenthetriestorunawaywithithetiltsthelittleredflagintotheairandwavesitbackwardandforward.\"Bequick！\"hesignalsallunconsciously;
\"hereIam;comeandpullmeup！\"
Whentwoorthreeflagsareflutteringatthesamemoment，farapartonthepond，youmustskatewithspeedandhaulinyourlinespromptly.
Howharditis，sometimes，todecidewhichoneyouwilltakefirst！
Thatflaginthemiddleofthepondhasbeenwavingforatleastaminute;buttheother，inthecornerofthebay，istiltingupanddownmoreviolently：itmustbealargerfish.GreatDagon！There’sanotherredsignalflying，awayoverbythepoint！Youhesitate，youmakeafewstrokesinonedirection，thenyouwhirlaroundanddarttheotherway.Meantimeoneofthetilt—ups，constructedwithtooshortacross—stick，hasbeenpulledtooneside，anddisappearsinthehole.Onepickerelinthepondcarriesaflag.Anothertilt—upceasestomoveandfallsflatupontheice.Thebaithasbeenstolen.Youdashdesperatelytowardthethirdflagandpullintheonlyfishthatisleft，——probablythesmallestofthemall！
Asurplusofopportunitiesdoesnotinsurethebestluck.
Aroomwithsevendoors——likethefamousapartmentinWashington’sheadquartersatNewburgh——isaninvitationtobewilderment.Iwouldratherseeonefairopeninginlifethanbeconfusedbythreedazzlingchances.
Therewasagoodstoryaboutfishingthroughtheicewhichformedpartofthestock—in—conversationofthatingeniouswoodsman，MartinMoody，Esquire，ofBigTupperLake.\"’Twasablamecoldday，\"hesaid，\"andthelinesfrizupstiffer’nafence—wire，jus’asfastasIpulled’emin，andmyfingersgotsodum’frostedIcouldn’tbaitthehooks.Butthefishwasthickerandhungrier’nfliesinJune.SoIjus’tookapieceofbaitandhelditoveroneo’theholes.Everytimeafishjumpeduptogitit，I’dkickhimoutontheice.Itellye，sir，Ikickedoutmore’nfourhundredpoundsofpick’relthatmorning.Yaas，’twasabiglot，I’low，butthen’twasacoldday！Ijus’stacked’emupsolid，likecordwood.\"
Letusnowleavethisfrigidsubject！Icedfishingisbutachillingandunsatisfactoryimitationofrealsport.Theanglerwillsoonturnfromitwithsatiety，andseekabetterconsolationforthewinterofhisdiscontentintheentertainmentoffishinginbooks.
Anglingistheonlysportthatboaststhehonourofhavinggivenaclassictoliterature.
IzaakWalton’ssuccesswithTHECOMPLEATANGLERwasafineillustrationoffisherman’sluck.Hesetout，withsomeaidfromanadeptinfly—fishingandcookery，namedThomasBarker，toproducealittle\"discourseoffishandfishing\"whichshouldserveasausefulmanualforquietpersonsinclinedtofollowthecontemplativeman’srecreation.Hecamehomewithabookwhichhasmadehisnamebelovedbytengenerationsofgentlereaders，andgivenhimasecureplaceinthePantheonofletters，——notahaughtyeminence，butamodestniche，allhisown，andeveradornedwithgratefulofferingsoffreshflowers.
Thiswasgreatluck.Butitwaswell—deserved，andthereforeithasnotbeengrudgedorenvied.
Waltonwasamansopeacefulandcontented，sofriendlyinhisdisposition，andsoinnocentinallOnewasthatsour—complexionedCromwelliantrooper，RichardFranck，whowrotein1658anenviousbookentitledNORTHERNMEMOIRS，CALCULATEDFORTHEMERIDIANOFSCOTLAND，ETC.，TOWHICHISADDEDTHE
CONTEMPLATIVEANDPRACTICALANGLER.InthisbookthefuriousFranckfirstpaysWaltontheflatteryofimitation，andthenfurtheradornshimwithabuse，callingTHECOMPLEATANGLER\"anindigestedoctavo，stuffedwithmoralsfromDubraviusandothers，\"andmorethanhintingthatthefatherofanglersknewlittleornothingof\"hisuncultivatedart.\"WaltonwasaChurchmanandaLoyalist，yousee，whileFranckwasaCommonwealthmanandanIndependent.
TheseconddetractorofWaltonwasLordByron，whowrote\"Thequaint，old，cruelcoxcombinhisgulletShouldhaveahook，andasmalltrouttopullit.\"
ButByroniscertainlyapoorauthorityonthequalityofmercy.
Hiscontemptneednotcauseanhonestmanoverwhelmingdistress.I
shouldcallitacomplimentarydislike.
ThethirdauthorwhoexpressedunpleasantsentimentsinregardtoWaltonwasLeighHunt.Here，again，Ifancythatpartizanprejudicehadsomethingtodowiththedislike.Huntwasaradicalinpoliticsandreligion.Moreovertherewasafelinestraininhischaracter，whichmadeitnecessaryforhimtoscratchsomebodynowandthen，asarelieftohisfeelings.
Waltonwasagreatquoter.Hisbookisnot\"stuffed，\"asFranckjealouslyalleged，butitiscertainlywellsaucedwithpiquantreferencestootherwriters，asearlyastheauthoroftheBookofJob，andaslateasJohnDennys，whobetrayedtotheworldTHE
SECRETSOFANGLINGin1613.Waltonfurtherseasonedhisbookwithfragmentsofinformationaboutfishandfishing，moreorlessapocryphal，gatheredfromAelian，Pliny，Plutarch，SirFrancisBacon，Dubravius，Gesner，Rondeletius，thelearnedAldrovandus，thevenerableBede，thedivineDuBartas，andmanyothers.Heborrowedfreelyfortheadornmentofhisdiscourse，anddidnotscorntomakeuseofwhatmayhecalledLIVEQUOTATIONS，——thatistosay，theunpublishedremarksofhisnearcontemporaries，caughtinfriendlyconversation，orhandeddownbyoraltradition.
Butthesevariousseasoningsdidnotdisguise，theyonlyenhanced，thedelicateflavourofthedishwhichheserveduptohisreaders.
Thiswasallofhisowntaking，andofasweetnessquiteincomparable.
Ilikeawriterwhoisoriginalenoughtowaterhisgardenwithquotations，withoutfearofbeingdrownedout.SuchmenareCharlesLambandJamesRussellLowellandJohnBurroughs.
Walton’sbookisasfreshasahandfulofwildvioletsandsweetlavender.Itbreathestheodoursofthegreenfieldsandthewoods.
Ittastesofsimple，homely，appetizingthingslikethe\"syllabubofnewverjuiceinanew—madehaycock\"whichthemilkwomanpromisedtogivePiscatorthenexttimehecamethatway.ItsmusicplaysthetuneofACONTENTEDHEARToverandoveragainwithoutdulness，andcharmsusintoharmonywith\"AnoiselikethesoundofahiddenbrookIntheleafymonthofJune，ThattothesleepingwoodsallnightSingethaquiettune.\"
Waltonhasbeenquotedevenmorethananyofthewriterswhomhequotes.Itwouldbedifficult，evenifitwerenotungrateful，towriteaboutanglingwithoutreferringtohim.Someprettysaying，somewisereflectionfromhispages，suggestsitselfatalmosteveryturnofthesubject.
Andyethisbook，thoughitbethebest，isnottheonlyreadableonethathisfavouriterecreationhasbegotten.Theliteratureofanglingisextensive，asanyonemayseewhowilllookatthelistofthecollectionpresentedbyMr.JohnBartletttoHarvardUniversity，orstudythecatalogueofthepiscatoriallibraryofMr.
DeanSage，ofAlbany，whohimselfhascontributedanadmirablebookonTHERISTIGOUCHE.
Noristhisliteraturealtogethercomposedofdryandtechnicaltreatises，interestingonlytotheconfirmedanglimaniac，ortotheyoungnoviceardentinpursuitofpracticalinformation.Thereisagooddealofjuicyreadinginit.
Booksaboutanglingshouldbedivided（accordingtoDeQuincey’smethod）intotwoclasses，——theliteratureofknowledge，andtheliteratureofpower.
Thefirstclasscontainsthehandbooksonrodsandtackle，thedirectionshowtoanglefordifferentkindsoffish，andtheguidestovariousfishing—resorts.Theweaknessofthesebooksisthattheysoonfalloutofdate，asthemanufactureoftackleisimproved，theartofanglingrefined，andthefishinonce—famouswatersareeducatedorexterminated.
Alas，howtransientisthefashionofthisworld，eveninangling！
Theoldmanualswiththeirpreciseinstructionfortrimmingandpaintingtrout—rodseighteenfeetlong，andtheirpainfuldescriptionof\"oyntments\"madeofnettle—juice，fish—hawkoil，camphor，cat’sfat，orassafoedita，（supposedtoallurethefish，）
arealtogetherbehindtheage.ManyofthefliesdescribedbyCharlesCottonandThomasBarkerseemtohavegoneoutofstyleamongthetrout.Perhapsfamiliarityhasbredcontempt.Generationaftergenerationoffishhaveseenthesesameoldfeatheredconfectionsfloatingonthewater，andlearnedbysharpexperiencethattheydonottastegood.Theblasetroutdemandsomethingnew，somethingmodern.Itisforthisreason，Isuppose，thatanaltogetheroriginalfly，unheardof，startling，willoftendogreatexecutioninanover—fishedpool.
Certainitisthattheartofangling，insettledregions，isgrowingmoredaintyanddifficult.Youmustcastalonger，lighterline;youmustusefinerleaders;youmusthaveyourfliesdressedonsmallerhooks.
Andanotherthingiscertain：inmanyplaces（describedintheancientvolumes）wherefishwereonceabundant，theyarenowliketheshipwreckedsailorsinVergilhisAeneid，——
\"rarinantesingurgitevasto.\"
Thefloodsthemselvesarealsodisappearing.Mr.EdmundClarenceStedmanwastellingme，theotherday，ofthetrout—brookthatusedtorunthroughtheConnecticutvillagewhenhenourishedapoet’syouth.Hewentbacktovisitthestreamafewyearssince，anditwasgone，literallyvanishedfromthefaceofearth，stolentomakeawatersupplyforthetown，andusedforsuchbasepurposesasthewashingofclothesandthesprinklingofstreets.
Irememberanexpeditionwithmyfather，sometwentyyearsago，toNovaScotia，whitherwesetouttorealizethehopeskindledbyanANGLER’SGUIDEwrittenintheearlysixties.ItwaslikelookingfortallclocksinthefarmhousesaroundBoston.Theharvesthadbeenwellgleanedbeforeourarrival，andintheveryplacewhereourvisionaryauthorlocatedhismostfamouscatchwefoundasummerhotelandasawmill.
’Tisstrangeandsad，howmanyregionstherearewhere\"thefishingwaswonderfulfortyyearsago\"！
Thesecondclassofanglingbooks——theliteratureofpower——includesall（eventhosewrittenwithsomepurposeofinstruction）inwhichthegentlefascinationsofthesport，theattractionsoflivingout—
of—doors，thebeautiesofstreamandwoodland，therecollectionsofhappyadventure，andthecheerfulthoughtsthatmakethebestofaday’sluck，comeclearlybeforetheauthor’smindandfindsomefitexpressioninhiswords.Ofsuchbooks，thankHeaven，thereisaplentytobringaMaytidecharmandcheerintothefisherman’sdullDecember.Iwillname，bywayofrandomtributefromagratefulbutunmethodicalmemory，afewoftheseconsolatoryvolumes.
FirstofallcomesafamilyofbooksthatwereborninScotlandandsmelloftheheather.
WhateveraScotchman’sconsciencepermitshimtodo，islikelytobedonewithvigourandafierymind.Intradeandintheology，infishingandinfighting，heisallthereandthoroughlykindled.
Thereisanold—fashionedbookcalledTHEMOORANDTHELOCH，byJohnColquhoun，whichisfullofcontagiousenthusiasm.ThomasTodStoddartwasamostimpassionedangler，（thoughover—giventostronglanguage，）andinhisANGLINGREMINISCENCEShehastouchedthesubjectwithahappyhand，——happiestwhenhebreaksintopoetryandtossesoutasongforthefisherman.ProfessorJohnWilsonoftheUniversityofEdinburghheldthechairofMoralPhilosophyinthatinstitution，buthistruefamerestsonhiswell—earnedtitlesofA.
M.andF.R.S.，——MasterofAngling，andFishermanRoyalofScotland.HisRECREATIONSOFCHRISTOPHERNORTH，albeittheirhumourissometimestooboisterouslyhammeredin，aregenialandgenerousessays，overflowingwithpassagesofgood—fellowshipandpedestrianfancy.Iwouldrecommendanypersoninadryandmelancholystateofmindtoreadhispaperon\"Streams，\"inthefirstvolumeofESSAYSCRITICALANDIMAGINATIVE.Butitmustbesaid，bywayofwarningtothosewithwhomdrynessisamatterofprinciple，thatallScotchfishing—booksarelikelytobesprinkledwithHighlandDew.
AmongEnglishanglers，SirHumphryDavyisoneofwhomChristopherNorthspeaksratherslightingly.NeverthelesshisSALMONIAiswellworthreading，notonlybecauseitwaswrittenbyalearnedman，butbecauseitexhalesthespiritofcheerfulpietyandvitalwisdom.
CharlesKingsleywasanothergreatmanwhowrotewellaboutangling.
HisCHALK—STREAMSTUDIESareclearandsparkling.Theycleansethemindandrefreshtheheartandputusmoreinlovewithliving.OfquiteadifferentstylearetheMAXIMSANDHINTSFORANANGLER，AND
MISERIESOFFISHING，whichwerewrittenbyRichardPenn，agrandsonofthefounderofPennsylvania.Thisisacuriousandrarelittlevolume，professingtobeacompilationfromthe\"CommonPlaceBookoftheHoughtonFishingClub，\"anddealingwiththesubjectfromaPickwickianpointofview.IsupposethatWilliamPennwouldhavethoughthisgrandsonafrivolouswriter.
ButhecouldnothaveentertainedsuchanopinionoftheHonourableRobertBoyle，ofwhoseOCCASIONALREFLECTIONSnolessthantwelvediscoursestreat\"ofAnglingImprovedtoSpiritualUses.\"Thetitlesofsomeofthesediscoursesarequaintenoughtoquote.
\"Uponthebeingcalledupontoriseearlyonaveryfairmorning.\"
\"Uponthemounting，singing，andlightingoflarks.\"\"Uponfishingwithacounterfeitfly.\"\"Uponadangerarisingfromanunseasonablecontestwiththesteersman.\"\"Uponone’sdrinkingwateroutofthebrimofhishat.\"Withsuchgoodtextsitiseasytoendure，andeasierstilltospare，thesermons.
Englishmencarrytheirloveoftravelintotheiranglimania，andmanyoftheirbooksdescribefishingadventuresinforeignparts.
RAMBLESWITHAFISHING—ROD，byE.S.Roscoe，tellsofhappydaysintheSalzkammergutandtheBavarianHighlandsandNormandy.FISH—
TAILSANDAFEWOTHERS，byBradnockHall，containssomedelightfulchaptersonNorway.THERODININDIA，byH.S.Thomas，narrateswonderfuladventureswiththeMahseerandtheRohuandotherpaganfish.
But，afterall，IliketheEnglishanglerbestwhenhetravelsathome，andwritesofdry—flyfishingintheItchenortheTest，orofwet—flyfishinginNorthumberlandorSutherlandshire.Thereisafascinatingbookletthatappearedquietly，someyearsago，calledAN
AMATEURANGLER’SDAYSINDOVEDALE.Itrunsaseasilyandmerrilyandkindlyasalittleriver，fullofpeaceandpureenjoyment.
Otherbooksofthesamequalityhavesincebeenwrittenbythesamepen，——DAYSINCLOVER，FRESHWOODS，BYMEADOWANDSTREAM.Itisnosecret，Ibelieve，thattheauthorisMr.EdwardMarston，theseniormemberofaLondonpublishing—house.Buthestillclingstohisretiringpen—nameof\"TheAmateurAngler，\"andrepresentshimself，byagracefulfiction，asallunskilledintheart.AninstanceofsimilarmodestyisfoundinMr.AndrewLang，whoentitlesthefirstchapterofhisdelightfulANGLINGSKETCHES（withoutwhichnofisherman’slibraryiscomplete），\"ConfessionsofaDuffer.\"Thisanengaginglibertywhichnooneelsewoulddaretotake.
ThebestEnglishfish—storypureandsimple，thatIknow，is\"Crocker’sHole，\"byH.D.Black—more，thecreatorofLORNADOONE.
LetusturnnowtoAmericanbooksaboutangling.OfthesethemercifuldispensationsofProvidencehavebroughtforthnosmallstoresinceMr.WilliamAndrewChattomadetheill—naturedremarkwhichispilloriedattheheadofthischapter.Bytheway，itseemsthatMr.Chattohadneverheardof\"TheSchuylkillFishingCompany，\"whichwasfoundedonthatromanticstreamnearPhiladelphiain1732，norseentheAUTHENTICHISTORICALMEMOIRofthatcelebratedandamusingsociety.
IamsorryforthemanwhocannotfindpleasureinreadingtheappendixofTHEAMERICANANGLER’SBOOK，byThaddeusNorris;orthediscursivepagesofFrankForester’sFISHANDFISHING;ortheintroductionandnotesofthatunexcellededitionofWaltonwhichwasmadebytheReverendDoctorGeorgeW.Bethune;orSUPERIOR
FISHINGandGAMEFISHOFTHENORTH，byMr.RobertB.Roosevelt;orHenshall’sBOOKOFTHEBLACKBASS;ortheadmirabledisgressionsofMr.HenryP.Wells，inhisFLY—RODSANDFLY—TACKLE，andTHEAMERICAN
SALMONANGLER.Dr.WilliamC.Primehasneverputhisprofoundknowledgeoftheartofanglingintoamanualoftechnicalinstruction;buthehaswrittenofthedelightsofthesportinOWL
CREEKLETTERS，andinIGOA—FISHING，andinsomeofthechaptersofALONGNEWENGLANDROADSandAMONGNEWENGLANDHILLS，withapersuasiveskillthathascreatedmanynewanglers，andmademanyoldonesgrateful.Itisafittingcoincidenceofhereditythathisniece，Mrs.AnnieTrumbullSlosson，istheauthorofthemosttenderandpatheticofallanglingstories，FISHIN’JIMMY.
Butitisnotonlyinbookswrittenaltogetherfromhispeculiarpointofviewandtohumourhisharmlessinsanity，thattheanglermayfindpleasantreadingabouthisfavouritepastime.Thereareexcellentbitsoffishingscatteredallthroughthefieldofgoodliterature.Itseemsasifalmostallthemenwhocouldwritewellhadafriendlyfeelingforthecontemplativesport.
Plutarch，inTHELIVESOFTHENOBLEGRECIANSANDROMANS，tellsacapitalfish—storyofthemannerinwhichtheEgyptianCleopatrafooledthatfar—famedRomanwight，MarcAntony，whentheywereanglingtogetherontheNile.AsIrecallit，fromaperusalinearlyboyhood，Antonywashavingverybadluckindeed;infacthehadtakennothing，andwassadlyputoutaboutit.Cleopatra，thinkingtogetariseoutofhim，secretlytoldoneofherattendantstodiveovertheoppositesideofthebargeandfastenasaltfishtotheRomangeneral’shook.Theattendantwasmuchpleasedwiththiscommission，and，havingexecutedit，proceededtoaddafinestrokeofhisown;forwhenhehadmadethefishfastonthehook，hegaveagreatpulltothelineandheldontightly.
Antonywasmuchexcitedandbegantohaulviolentlyathistackle.
\"ByJupiter！\"heexclaimed，\"itwaslongincoming，butIhaveacolossalbitenow.\"
\"Haveacare，\"saidCleopatra，laughingbehindhersunshade，\"orhewilldragyouintothewater.Youmustgivehimlinewhenhepullshard.\"
\"NotadenariuswillIgive！\"rudelyrespondedAntony.\"ImeantohavethishalibutorHades！\"
Atthismomentthemanundertheboat，beingoutofbreath，letthelinego，andAntony，fallingbackward，drewupthesaltedherring.
\"Takethatfishoffthehook，Palinurus，\"heproudlysaid.\"ItisnotaslargeasIthought，butitlooksliketheoldestonethathasbeencaughtto—day.\"
Such，ineffect，isthetalenarratedbytheveraciousPlutarch.
Andifanycarefulcriticwishestoverifymyquotationfrommemory，hemaycompareitwiththeproperpageofLanghorne’stranslation;I
thinkitisinthesecondvolume，neartheend.
SirWalterScott，whooncedescribedhimselfas\"Nofisher，Butawell—wisherTothegame，\"
hasanamusingpassageofanglinginthethirdchapterofREDGAUNTLET.DarsieLatimerisrelatinghisadventuresinDumfriesshire.\"Bytheway，\"sayshe，\"oldCotton’sinstructions，bywhichIhopedtoqualifymyselfforthegentlesocietyofanglers，arenotworthafarthingforthismeridian.Ilearnedthisbymereaccident，afterIhadwaitedfourmortalhours.Ishallneverforgetanimpudenturchin，acowherd，abouttwelveyearsold，withouteitherbrogueorbonnet，barelegged，withaveryindifferentpairofbreeches，——howthevillaingrinnedinscornatmylanding—
net，myplummet，andthegorgeousjuryofflieswhichIhadassembledtodestroyallthefishintheriver.Iwasinducedatlasttolendtherodtothesneeringscoundrel，toseewhathewouldmakeofit;andhenotonlyhalf—filledmybasketinanhour，butliterallytaughtmetokilltwotroutswithmyownhand.\"
Thusancientandwell—authenticatedisthesuperstitionoftheanglingpowersofthebarefootedcountry—boy，——infiction.
SirEdwardBulwerLytton，inthatvaluablebutover—capitalizedbook，MYNOVEL，makesuseofFishingforAllegoricalPurposes.TheepisodeofJohnBurleyandtheOne—eyedPerchnotonlypointsaMoralbutadornstheTale.
IntheworksofR.D.Blackmore，anglingplaysalessinstructivebutapleasanterpart.Itiscloselyinterwovenwithlove.Thereisamagicaldescriptionoftrout—fishingonameadow—brookinALICE
LORRAINE.AndwhothathasreadLORNADOONE，（pityforthemanorwomanthatknowsnotthedelightofthatbook！）caneverforgethowyoungJohnRidddaredhiswayuptheglidderywater—slide，afterloaches，andfoundLornainafairgreenmeadowadornedwithflowers，atthetopofthebrook？
ImadealittlejourneyintotheDooneCountryonce，justtoseethatbrookandtofishinit.Thestreamlookedsmaller，andthewater—slidelessterrible，thantheyseemedinthebook.Butitwasamightyprettyplaceafterall;andIsupposethatevenJohnRidd，whenhecamebacktoitinafteryears，founditshrunkenalittle.
Allthestreamswerelargerinourboyhoodthantheyarenow，except，perhaps，thatwhichflowsfromthesweetestspringofall，thefountainoflove，whichJohnRidddiscoveredbesidetheBagworthyRiver，——andI，onthewillow—shadedbanksofthePatapsco，wheretheBaltimoregirlsfishforgudgeons，——andyou？Come，gentlereader，istherenostreamwhosenameismusicaltoyou，becauseofahiddenspringoflovethatyouoncefoundonitsshore？Thewatersofthatfountainneverfail，andinthemalonewetastetheundiminishedfulnessofimmortalyouth.
ThestoriesofWilliamBlackareenlivenedwithfish，andheknew，betterthanmostmen，howtheyshouldbetaken.Wheneverhewantedtogettwoyoungpeopleengagedtoeachother，allotherdevicesfailing，hesentthemouttoangletogether.Ifithadnotbeenforfishing，everythinginAPRINCESSOFTHULEandWHITEHEATHERwouldhavegonewrong.
Butevenmenwhohavebeendisappointedinlovemayangleforsolaceordiversion.Ihaveknownsomeoldbachelorswhofishedexcellentlywell;andothersIhaveknownwhocouldfind，andgive，muchpleasureinadayonthestream，thoughtheyhadnoskillinthesport.OfthisclasswasWashingtonIrving，withanextractfromwhoseSKETCHBOOKIwillbringthisramblingdissertationtoanend.
\"Ourfirstessay，\"sayshe，wasalongamountainbrookamongthehighlandsoftheHudson;amostunfortunateplacefortheexecutionofthosepiscatorytacticswhichhadbeeninventedalongthevelvetmarginsofquietEnglishrivulets.Itwasoneofthosewildstreamsthatlavish，amongourromanticsolitudes，unheededbeautiesenoughtofillthesketch—bookofahunterofthepicturesque.Sometimesitwouldleapdownrockyshelves，makingsmallcascades，overwhichthetreesthrewtheirbroadbalancingsprays，andlongnamelessweedshunginfringesfromtheimpendingbanks，drippingwithdiamonddrops.Sometimesitwouldbrawlandfretalongaravineinthemattedshadeofaforest，fillingitwithmurmurs;and，afterthistermagantcareer，wouldstealforthintoopenday，withthemostplacid，demurefaceimaginable;asIhaveseensomepestilentshrewofahousewife，afterfillingherhomewithuproarandill—
humour，comedimplingoutofdoors，swimmingandcourtesying，andsmilinguponalltheworld.
\"Howsmoothlywouldthisvagrantbrookglide，atsuchtimes，throughsomebosomofgreenmeadow—landamongthemountains，wherethequietwasonlyinterruptedbytheoccasionaltinklingofabellfromthelazycattleamongtheclover，orthesoundofawoodcutter’saxefromtheneighbouringforest！
\"Formypart，Iwasalwaysabungleratallkindsofsportthatrequiredeitherpatienceoradroitness，andhadnotangledabovehalfanhourbeforeIhadcompletely’satisfiedthesentiment，’andconvincedmyselfofthetruthofIzaakWalton’sopinion，thatanglingissomethinglikepoetry，——amanmustbeborntoit.I
hookedmyselfinsteadofthefish;tangledmylineineverytree;
lostmybait;brokemyrod;untilIgaveuptheattemptindespair，andpassedthedayunderthetrees，readingoldIzaak，satisfiedthatitwashisfascinatingveinofhonestsimplicityandruralfeelingthathadbewitchedme，andnotthepassionforangling.\"
ANORWEGIANHONEYMOON
\"Thebestrose—bush，afterall，isnotthatwhichhasthefewestthorns，butthatwhichbearsthefinestroses.\"——SOLOMONSINGLEWITZ：
TheLifeofAdam.
I
Itwasnotallunadulteratedsweetness，ofcourse.Therewereenoughdifficultiesinthewaytomakeitseemdesirable;andafewstingsofannoyance，nowandthen，lentpiquancytotheadventure.
Butagoodmemory，indealingwiththepast，hastheartofstrainingoutallthebeeswaxofdiscomfort，andstoringuplittlejarsofpurehydromel.AswelookbackatoursixweeksinNorway，weagreethatnoperiodofourpartnershipinexperimentalhoneymooninghasyieldedmorehoneytothesameamountofcomb.
Severalconsiderationsledustotheresolveoftakingourhoneymoonexperimentallyratherthanchronologically.Westartedfromtheself—evidentpropositionthatitoughttobethehappiesttimeinmarriedlife.
\"Itisperfectlyridiculous，\"saidmyladyGraygown，\"tosupposethatathinglikethatcanbefixedbythecalendar.Itmaypossiblyfallinthefirstmonthafterthewedding，butitisnotlikely.Justthinkhowslightlytwopeopleknoweachotherwhentheygetmarried.Theyareinlove，ofcourse，butthatisnotatallthesameasbeingwellacquainted.Sometimesthemorelove，thelessacquaintance！Andsometimesthemoreacquaintance，thelesslove！Besides，atfirsttherearealwaysthenotesofthanksforthewedding—presentstobewritten，andthelettersofcongratulationtobeanswered，anditisawfullyhardtomakeeachonesoundalittledifferentfromtheothersandperfectlynatural.
Then，youknow，everybodyseemstosuspectyouofthefollyofbeingnewlymarried.Yourunacrossyourfriendseverywhere，andtheygrinwhentheyseeyou.Youcan’thelpfeelingasifalotofpeoplewerewatchingyouthroughopera—glasses，ortakingsnap—shotsatyouwithakodak.Itisabsurdtoimaginethatthefirstmonthmustbetherealhoneymoon.Andjustsupposeitwere，——whatbadluckthatwouldbe！Whatwouldtherebetolookforwardto？\"
EverywordthatfellfromherlipsseemedtomelikethewisdomofDiotima.
\"Youareright，\"Icried;\"Portiacouldnotholdacandletoyouforclearargument.Besides，supposetwopeopleareimprudentenoughtogetmarriedinthefirstweekofDecember，aswedid！——whatbecomesofthechronologicalhoneymoonthen？ThereisnofishinginDecember，andalltheriversofParadise，atleastinourlatitude，arefrozenup.No，mylady，wewilldiscoverourmonthofhoneybytheempiricalmethod.Eachyearwewillsetouttogethertoseekitinasolitudefortwo;andwewillcomparenotesonmoons，andstrikethefinalbalancewhenwearesurethatourhappiestexperimenthasbeencompleted.\"
Wearenotsureofthat，evenyet.Wearestillengaged，asacommitteeoftwo，inourphilosophicalinvestigation，andwedeclinetomakeanythingbutareportofprogress.WeknowmorenowthanwedidwhenwefirstwenthoneymooninginthecityofWashington.Foronething，wearecertainthatnoteventhefar—famedrosemary—
fieldsofNarbonne，orthefragranthillsidesoftheCorbieres，yieldasweeterharvesttothebusy—nessofthebeesthantheNorwegianmeadowsandmountain—slopesyieldedtoouridlenessinthesummerof1888.
II
TherurallandscapeofNorway，onthelongeasterlyslopethatleadsuptothewatershedamongthemountainsofthewesterncoast，isnotunlikethatofVermontorNewHampshire.TherailwayfromChristianiatotheRandsfjordcarriedusthroughahillycountryofscatteredfarmsandvillages.Woodplayedaprominentpartinthescenery.Thereweredarkstretchesofforestonthehilltopsandinthevalleys;riversfilledwithfloatinglogs;sawmillsbesidethewaterfalls;woodenfarmhousespaintedwhite;andrail—fencesaroundthefields.Thepeopleseemedsturdy，prosperous，independent.
Theyhadthefamiliarhabitofcomingdowntothestationtoseethetrainarriveanddepart.WemighthavefanciedourselvesonajourneythroughtheConnecticutvalley，ifithadnotbeenforthesoftsing—songoftheNorwegianspeechandtheuniformpolitenessoftherailwayofficials.
WhataroomthatwasintheinnatRandsfjordwherewespentourfirstnightout！Vast，bare，primitive，witheightwindowstoadmitthepersistentnocturnaltwilight;asea—likefloorofblue—paintedboards，unbrokenbyasingleislandofcarpet;andacastellatedstoveinonecorner：anapartmentforgiants，withtwolittlebedsfordwarfsonoppositeshoresoftheocean.Therewasnotelephone;
sowearrangedasystemofcommunicationwithafishing—line，tomakesurethatthesleepypartnershouldbeawakeintimefortheearlyboatinthemorning.
Thejourneyupthelaketooksevenhours，andremindedusofavoyageonLakeGeorge;placid，picturesque，andpervadedbysummerboarders.Somewhereonthewaywehadlunch，andwerewellfortifiedtotaketheroadwhenthesteamboatlandedusatOdnaes，attheheadofthelake，abouttwoo’clockintheafternoon.
ThereareseveralmethodsinwhichyoumaydrivethroughNorway.
Thegovernmentmaintainsposting—stationsatthefarmsalongthemaintravelledhighways，whereyoucanhirehorsesandcarriagesofvariouskinds.TherearealsoEnglishtouristagencieswhichmakeabusinessofprovidingtravellerswithcompletetransportation.Youmaytryeitherofthesemethodsalone，oryoumaymakeajudiciousmixture.
Thus，byanapplicationofthetheoryofpermutationsandcombinations，youhaveyourchoiceamongfourwaysofaccomplishingadriving—tour.First，youmayengageacarriageandpair，withadriver，fromoneofthetouristagencies，androllthroughyourjourneyinsedentarycase，providedyourhorsesdonotgolameorgiveout.Second，youmayrelyaltogetherupontheposting—stationstosendyouonyourjourney;andthisisaverypleasant，livelyway，providedthereisnotacrowdoftravellersontheroadbeforeyou，whotakeupallthecomfortableconveyancesandleaveyounothingbutajoltingcartoraramshackleKARIOLofthetimeofSt.
Olaf.Third，youmayrentaneasy—ridingvehicle（bychoiceawell—
hunggig）fortheentiretrip，andchangeponiesatthestationsasyoudrivealong;thisisthesafestway.Thefourthmethodistohireyourhorsefleshatthebeginningforthewholejourney，andpickupyourvehiclesfromplacetoplace.Thismethodistheoreticallypossible，butIdonotknowanyonewhohastriedit.
OurgigwaswaitingforusatOdnaes.Therewasabrisklittlemouse—colouredponyintheshafts;andittookbutamomenttostrapourleatherportmanteauontheboardattheback，perchthepostboyontopofit，andsetoutforourfirstexperienceofaNorwegiandriving—tour.
Theroadatfirstwaslevelandeasy;andwebowledalongsmoothlythroughthevalleyoftheEtnaelv，amongdroopingbirch—treesandgreenfieldswherethelarksweresinging.AtTomlevolden，tenmilesfartheron，wereachedthefirststation，acomfortableoldfarmhouse，withagreatarrayofwoodenoutbuildings.HerewehadachancetotryourluckwiththeNorwegianlanguageindemanding\"enhest，saastraxtsommuligt.\"Thiswaswhattheguide—booktoldustosaywhenwewantedahorse.
Thereisgreatfuninmakingarandomcastonthesurfaceofastrangelanguage.Youcannottellwhatwillcomeup.Itislikeanexperimentinwitchcraft.Weshouldnothavebeenatallsurprised，Imustconfess，ifourpreliminaryincantationhadbroughtforthacoworabasketofeggs.
Butthegoodpeopleseemedtodivineourintentions;andwhilewewerewaitingforoneofthestable—boystocatchandharnessthenewhorse，ayellow—hairedmaideninquired，inveryfairEnglish，ifwewouldnotbepleasedtohaveacupofteaandsomebutter—bread;
whichwedidwithgreatcomfort.
TheSKYDSGUT，orso—calledpostboy，forthenextstageofthejourney，wasafull—grownmanofconsiderableweight.Asheclimbedtohisperchonourportmanteau，myladyGraygowncongratulatedmeontheprudencewhichhadprovidedthatonesideofthatreceptacleshouldbeofaninflexiblestiffness，quiteincapableofbeingcrushed;otherwise，askedshe，whatwouldhavebecomeofherSundayfrockunderthepressureofthissternnecessityofapostboy？
ButIthinkweshouldnothavecaredverymuchifallourluggagehadbeensmashedonthisjourney，fortheroadnowbegantoascend，andtheviewsovertheEtnadal，withitswindingriver，wereofabreadthandsweetnessmostconsoling.Upandupwewent，curvinginandoutthroughtheforest，crossingwildravinesandshadowydells，lookingbackateveryturnonthewidelandscapebathedingoldenlight.AtthestationofSveen，wherewechangedhorseandpostboyagain，itwasalreadyevening.Thesunwasdown，butthemysticalradianceofthenortherntwilightilluminedthesky.Thedarkfir—
woodsspreadaroundus，andtheirodourousbreathwasdiffusedthroughthecool，stillair.Wewerecrossingthelevelsummitoftheplateau，twenty—threehundredfeetabovethesea.Twotinywoodlandlakesgleamedoutamongthetrees.Thentheroadbegantoslopegentlytowardsthewest，andemergedsuddenlyontheedgeoftheforest，lookingoutoverthelong，lovelyvaleofValders，withsnow—touchedmountainsonthehorizon，andtheriverBaegnashimmeringalongitsbed，athousandfeetbelowus.
Whataheart—enlargingoutlook！Whatakeenjoyofmotion，asthewheelsrolleddownthelongincline，andthesure—footedponyswungbetweentheshaftsandrattledhishoofsmerrilyonthehardroad！
Whatlong，deepbreathsofsilentpleasureinthecrispnightair！
Whatwondrousminglingoflightsintheafterglowofsunset，andtheprimrosebloomofthefirststars，andfaintforegleamingsoftherisingmooncreepingoverthehillbehindus！Whatperfectionofcompanionshipwithoutwords，aswerodetogetherthroughastrangeland，alongtheedgeofthedark！
Whenwefinishedthethirty—fifthmile，anddrewupinthecourtyardofthestationatFrydenlund，Graygownsprangout，withalittlesighofregret.
\"Isitlastnight，\"shecried，\"orto—morrowmorning？Ihaven’ttheleastideawhattimeitis;itseemsasifwehadbeentravellingineternity.\"
\"Itisjustteno’clock，\"Ianswered，\"andthelandlordsaystherewillbeahotsupperoftroutreadyforusinfiveminutes.\"
Itwouldbevaintoattempttogiveadailyrecordofthewholejourneyinwhichwemadethisfairbeginning.Itwasamostidleandunsystematicpilgrimage.Wewanderedupanddown，andturnedasidewhenfancybeckoned.Sometimeswehurriedonasfastasthehorseswouldcarryus，drivingsixtyorseventymilesaday;
sometimesweloiteredanddawdled，asifwedidnotcarewhetherwegotanywhereornot.Ifaplacepleasedus，westayedandtriedthefishing.Ifweweretiredofdriving，wetooktothewater，andtravelledbysteameralongafjord，orhiredarowboattocrossfrompointtopoint.Onedaywewouldbeinagoodlittlehotel，withpolyglotguests，andserving—maidsinstageyNorsecostumes，——likethefamousinnatStalheim，whichcommandstheamazingpanoramaoftheNaerodal.AnotherdaywewouldlodgeinaplainfarmhouselikethestationatNedreVasenden，whereeggsandfishwerethestaplesofdiet，andthefarmer’sdaughterworethepicturesquepeasants’
dress，withitstallcap，withoutanydramaticairs.Lakesandrivers，precipicesandgorges，waterfallsandglaciersandsnowymountainswereourdailyrepast.Wedroveoverfivehundredmilesinvariouskindsofopenwagons，KARIOLSforone，andSTOLKJAERRES
fortwo，afterwehadleftourcomfortablegigbehindus.Wesawtheancientdragon—gabledchurchofBurgund;andthedelightful，showerytownofBergen;andthegloomycliffsoftheGeiranger—Fjordlacedwithfilmycataracts;andthebewitchedcragsoftheRomsdal;
andthewide，desolatelandscapeofJerkin;andahundredotherunforgottenscenes.Somehoworotherwewent，（aroundandabout，andupanddown，nowonwheels，andnowonfoot，andnowinaboat，）
allthewayfromChristianiatoThrondhjem.MyladyGraygowncouldgiveyoutheexactitinerary，forshehasbeenwellbroughtup，andalwayskeepsadiary.AllIknowis，thatwesetoutfromonecityandarrivedattheother，andwegatheredbythewayacollectionofinstantaneousphotographs.Iamgoingtoturnthemovernow，andpickoutafewoftheclearestpictures.
III
HereisthebridgeovertheNaeselvatFagernaes.Justbelowitisagoodpoolfortrout，buttheriverisbroadanddeepandswift.
Itisdifficultwadingtogetoutwithinreachofthefish.Ihavetakenhalfadozensmallonesandcometotheendofmycast.Thereisabigonelyingoutinthemiddleoftheriver，Iamsure.Butthewateralreadyrisestomyhips;anotherstepwillbringitoverthetopofmywaders，andsendmedownstreamfeetuppermost.
\"Takecare！\"criesGraygownfromthegrassybank，whereshesitsplacidlycrochetingsomemysteriousfabricofwhiteyarn.
Shedoesnotseethelargerocklyingatthebottomoftheriverjustbeyondme.IfIcansteponthat，andstandtherewithoutbeingsweptaway，Icanreachthemid—currentwithmyflies.Itisalongstrideandaslipperyfoothold，butbygoodluck\"thelaststepwhichcosts\"isaccomplished.Thetinyblackandorangehacklegoescurlingoutoverthestream，lightssoftly，andswingsaroundwiththecurrent，foldingandexpandingitsfeathersasifitwerealive.Thebigtrouttakesitpromptlytheinstantitpassesoverhim;andIplayhimandnethimwithoutmovingfrommyperilousperch.
Graygownwaveshercrochet—worklikeaflag，\"Bravo！\"shecries.
\"That’sabeauty，nearlytwopounds！Butdobecarefulaboutcomingback;youarenotgoodenoughtotakeanyrisksyet.\"
ThestationatSkogstadisasolitaryfarmhouselyingfaruponthebarehillside，withitsbarnsandout—buildingsgroupedaroundacentralcourtyard，likearudefortress.Therivertravelsalongthevalleybelow，nowwrestlingitswaythroughanarrowpassageamongtherocks，nowspreadingoutatleisureinagreenmeadow.Aswecrossthebridge，thecrystalwaterischangedtoopalbythesunsetglow，andagentlebreezerufflesthelongpools，andthetroutarerisingfreely.Itistheperfecthourforfishing.WouldGraygowndaretodriveonalonetothegateofthefortress，andblowuponthelonghornwhichdoubtlesshangsbesideit，anddemandadmittanceandalodging，\"inthenameofthegreatJehovahandtheContinentalCongress，\"——whileIangledowntheriveramileorso？
Certainlyshewould.WhatdooristhereinEuropeatwhichtheAmericangirlisafraidtoknock？\"Butwaitamoment.HowdoyouaskforfriedchickenandpancakesinNorwegian？KYLLINGOG
PANDEKAGE？Howfierceitsounds！Allrightnow.Runalongandfish.\"
Theriverwelcomesmelikeanoldfriend.Thetunethatitsingsisthesamethattheflowingwaterrepeatsallaroundtheworld.Nototherwisedothelivelyrapidscarrythefamiliarair，andthelargerfallsdroneoutaburlybass，alongthewestbranchofthePenobscot，ordownthevalleyoftheBouquet.Butheretherearenoforeststoconcealthecourseofthestream.Itliesasfreetotheviewasachild’sthought.AsIfollowonfrompooltopool，pickingoutagoodtrouthereandthere，nowfromarockycorneredgedwithfoam，nowfromaswiftgravellyrun，nowfromasnughiding—placethatthecurrenthashollowedoutbeneaththebank，allthewayIcanseethefortressfarabovemeonthehillside.
IamassurethatithasalreadysurrenderedtoGraygownasifI
coulddiscernherwhitebannerofcrochet—workfloatingfromthebattlements.
Justbeforedark，Iclimbthehillwithaheavybasketoffish.Thecastlegateisopen.Thescentofchickenandpancakessalutesthewearypilgrim.Inacosylittleparlour，adornedwithfluffymatsandpicturesframedinpine—cones，litbyahanginglampwithglasspendants，sitsthemistressoftheoccasion，calmlytriumphantandplyinghercrochet—needle.
Thereissomethingmysteriousaboutawoman’sfancy—work.Itseemstohaveallthesoothingcharmofthetobacco—plant，withoutitsinconveniences.Justtoseehertranquillity，whilesherelaxeshermindandbusiesherfingerswithabitoftattingorembroideryorcrochet，givesmeasenseofbeingdomesticated，a\"homey\"feeling，anywhereinthewideworld.
IfyouevergotoNorway，youmustbesuretoseetheLoenvand.YoucansetoutfromthecomfortablehotelatFaleide，gouptheIndvikFjordinarowboat，crossoveratwo—milehillonfootorbycarriage，spendahappydayonthelake，andreturntoyourinnintimeforalatesupper.ThelakeisperhapsthemostbeautifulinNorway.Longandnarrow，itlieslikeapricelessemeraldofpalestgreen，hiddenandguardedbyjealousmountains.Itisfedbyhugeglaciers，whichhangovertheshouldersofthehillslikeraggedcloaksofice.
Aswerowalongtheshore，trollinginvainforthetroutthatliveintheice—coldwater，fragmentsofthetatteredcloth—of—silverfaraboveus，ontheoppositeside，areloosenedbythetouchofthesummersun，andfallfromtheprecipice.Theydriftdownward，atfirst，asnoiselesslyasthistledowns;thentheystriketherocksandcomecrashingtowardsthelakewiththehollowroarofanavalanche.
Attheheadofthelakewefindourselvesinanenormousamphitheatreofmountains.Glaciersarepeeringdownuponus.
Snow—fieldsglareatuswithglisteningeyes.Blackcragsseemtobendaboveuswithaneternalfrown.Streamersoffoamfloatfromtheforeheadofthehillsandthelipsofthedarkravines.Butthereisalittleriverofcold，purewaterflowingfromoneoftheriversofice，andapleasantshelterofyoungtreesandbushesgrowingamongthedebrisofshatteredrocks;andtherewebuildourcamp—fireandeatourlunch.
Hungerisamostimpudentappetite.Itmakesamanforgetalltheproprieties.Whatplaceistheresolofty，soawful，thathewillnotdaretositdowninitandpartakeoffood？EvenonthesideofMountSinai，theeldersofIsraelspreadtheirout—of—doortable，\"anddideatanddrink.\"
IseetheTarnoftheElkatthismoment，justasitlookedintheclearsunlightofthatAugustafternoon，tenyearsago.Fardowninahollowofthedesolatehillsitnestles，fourthousandfeetabovethesea.Themoorlandtrailhangshighaboveit，and，thoughitisamileaway，everycurveofthetreelessshore，everyshoalandreefinthelightgreenwaterisclearlyvisible.Withapowerfulfield—
glassonecanalmostseethelargetroutforwhichthepondisfamous.
Theshelter—hutonthebankisbuiltofroughgraystones，andtheroofisleakytothelightaswellastotheweather.Buttherearetwobedsinit，oneformyguideandoneforme;andapracticablefireplace，whichissoonfilledwithablazeofcomfort.Thereisalsoarandomlibraryofnovels，whichformerfishermenhavethoughtfullyleftbehindthem.Ilikestrongreadinginthewilderness.Givemeastorywithplentyofdangerandwholesomefightinginit，——\"TheThreeMusketeers，\"or\"TreasureIsland，\"or\"TheAfghan’sKnife.\"Intricatestudiesofsocialdilemmasandtalesofmildphilanderingseembloodlessandinsipid.
ThetroutintheTarnoftheElkarelarge，undoubtedly，buttheyarealsofewinnumberandshyindisposition.Eithersomeofthepeasantshavebeenfishingoverthemwiththedeadly\"otter，\"orelsetheybelongtothatvarietyofthetroutfamilyknownasTRUTTA
DAMNOSA，——thespecieswhichyoucanseebutcannottake.Wewatchedtheseaggravatingfishplayingonthesurfaceatsunset;wesawthemdartbeneathourboatintheearlymorning;butnotuntiladrivingsnowstormsetin，aboutnoonofthesecondday，didwesucceedinpersuadinganyofthemtotakethefly.Thentheyrose，foracoupleofhours，withamiableperversity.Icaughtfive，weighingbetweentwoandfourpoundseach，andstoppedbecausemyhandsweresonumbthatIcouldcastnolonger.
Nowforalongtrampoverthehillsandhome.Yes，home;foryonderinthewhitehouseatDrivstuen，withfuchsiasandgeraniumsbloominginthewindows，andapretty，friendlyNorsegirltokeephercompany，myladyiswaitingforme.See，shecomesrunningouttothedoor，inthegatheringdusk，witharedflowerinherhair，andhailsmewiththefisherman’sgreeting.WHATLUCK？
Well，THISluck，atallevents！Icanshowyouafewgoodfish，andsitdownwithyoutoasupperofreindeer—venisonandaquieteveningofmusicandtalk.
ShallIforgetthee，hospitableStuefloten，dearesttoourmemoryofalltherusticstationsinNorway？TherearenostarsbesidethynameinthepagesofBaedeker.Butinthebookofourheartsawholeconstellationisthine.
Thelong，low，whitefarmhousestandsonagreenhillattheheadoftheRomsdal.Aflourishingcropofgrassandflowersgrowsonthestable—roof，andthereisalittlebelfrywithabigbelltocallthelabourershomefromthefields.Inthecorneroftheliving—
roomoftheoldhousethereisabroadfireplacebuiltacrosstheangle.Curiouscupboardsaretuckedawayeverywhere.Thelongtableinthedining—roomgroansthriceadaywithgenerousfare.
ThereareasmanykindsofhotbreadasinaVirginiacountry—house;
thecreamisthickenoughtomakeaspoonstandupinamazement;
once，atdinner，wesatembarrassedbeforesixdifferentvarietiesofpudding.
Intheevening，whenthesaffronlightisbeginningtofade，wegooutandwalkintheroadbeforethehouse，lookingdownthelongmysticalvaleoftheRauma，oruptothepurplewesternhillsfromwhichtheclearstreamsoftheUlvaaflowtomeetus.
AboveStueflotentheRaumalingersandmeandersthroughasmootherandmoreopenvalley，withbroadbedsofgravelandflowerymeadows.
Herethetroutandgraylinggrowfatandlusty，andhereweangleforthem，dayafterday，inwatersocrystallinethatwhenonestepsintothestreamonehardlyknowswhethertoexpectadepthofsixinchesorsixfeet.
TinyEnglishfliesandleadersofgossamerarethetackleforsuchwaterinmidsummer.Withthisdelicateoutfit，andwithalighthandandalongline，onemayeasilyoutfishthenativeangler，andfillatwelve—poundbasketeveryfairday.IrememberanoldNorwegian，aninveteratefisherman，whosefootmarkswesawaheadofusonthestreamallthroughanafternoon.FootmarksIcallthem;
andsotheywere，literally，fortherewereonlytheprintsofasinglefoottobeseenonthebanksofsand，andbetweenthem，aseriesofsmall，round，deepholes.
\"Whatkindofabirdmadethosemarks，Frederik？\"Iaskedmyfaithfulguide.
\"ThatisoldPedersen，\"hesaid，\"withhiswoodenleg.Hemakesadotaftereverystep.Weshallcatchhiminalittlewhile.\"
Sureenough，aboutsixo’clockwesawhimstandingonagrassypoint，hurlinghisline，withafatwormontheendofit，faracrossthestream，andlettingitdriftdownwiththecurrent.Butthewaterwastoofineforthatstyleoffishing，andthepooroldfellowhadbutahalfdozenlittlefish.Mycreelwasalreadyoverflowing，soIemptiedoutallofthegraylingintohisbag，andwentonuptherivertocompletemytaleoftroutbeforedark.
Andwhenthefishingisover，thereisGraygownwiththewagon，waitingattheappointedplaceunderthetrees，besidetheroad.
Thesturdywhiteponytrotsgaylyhomeward.Thepaleyellowstarsblossomoutabovethehillsagain，astheydidonthatfirstnightwhenweweredrivingdownintotheValders.Frederikleansoverthebackoftheseat，tellingusmarvelloustales，inhisbrokenEnglish，ofthefishinginacertainlakeamongthemountains，andofthereindeer—shootingonthefjeldbeyondit.
\"Itissadthatyougoto—morrow，\"sayshe\"butyoucomebackanotheryear，Ithink，tofishinthatlake，andtoshootthosereindeer.\"
Yes，Frederik，wearecomingbacktoNorwaysomeday，perhaps，——whocantell？Itisoneofthehundredplacesthatwearevaguelyplanningtorevisit.For，thoughwedidnotseethemidnightsunthere，wesawthehoneymoonmostdistinctly.Anditwasbrightenoughtotakepicturesbyitslight.
WHOOWNSTHEMOUNTAINS？
\"Myheartisfixedfirmandstableinthebeliefthatultimatelythesunshineandthesummer，theflowersandtheazuresky，shallbecome，asitwere，interwovenintoman’sexistence.Heshalltakefromalltheirbeautyandenjoytheirglory.\"——RICHARDJEFFERIES：
TheLifeoftheFields.
Itwasthelittleladthataskedthequestion;andtheansweralso，asyouwillsee，wasmainlyhis.
WehadbeenkeepingSundayafternoontogetherinourfavouritefashion，followingoutthatpleasanttextwhichtellsusto\"beholdthefowlsoftheair.\"ThereisnoinjunctionofHolyWritlessburdensomeinacceptance，ormoreprofitableinobedience，thanthiseasyout—of—doorscommandment.Forseveralhourswewalkedinthewayofthisprecept，throughtheuntangledwoodsthatliebehindtheForestHillsLodge，whereapairofpigeon—hawkshadtheirnest;andaroundthebramblyshoresofthesmallpond，whereMarylandyellow—
throatsandsong—sparrowsweresettled;andundertheloftyhemlocksofthefragmentofforestacrosstheroad，whererarewarblersflittedsilentlyamongthetree—tops.Thelightbeneaththeevergreenswasgrowingdimaswecameoutfromtheirshadowintothewidespreadglowofthesunset，ontheedgeofagrassyhill，overlookingthelongvalleyoftheGaleRiver，anduplookingtotheFranconiaMountains.
Itwasthebenedictionhour.Theplacidairofthedayshedanewtranquillityovertheconsolinglandscape.Theheartoftheearthseemedtotasteareposemoreperfectthanthatofcommondays.A
hermit—thrush，farupthevale，sanghisvesperhymn;whiletheswallows，seekingtheireveningmeal，circledabovetheriver—fieldswithoutaneffort，twitteringsoftly，nowandthen，asiftheymustgivethanks.Slightandindefinabletouchesinthescene，perhapsthemereabsenceofthetinyhumanfigurespassingalongtheroadorlabouringinthedistantmeadows，perhapsthebluecurlsofsmokerisinglazilyfromthefarmhousechimneys，orthefamilygroupssittingunderthemaple—treesbeforethedoor，diffusedasabbathatmosphereovertheworld.
Thensaidthelad，lyingonthegrassbesideme，\"Father，whoownsthemountains？\"
Ihappenedtohaveheard，thedaybefore，oftwoorthreelumbercompaniesthathadboughtsomeofthewoodlandslopes;soItoldhimtheirnames，addingthattherewereprobablyagoodmanydifferentowners，whoseclaimstakenalltogetherwouldcoverthewholeFranconiarangeofhills.
\"Well，\"answeredthelad，afteramomentofsilence，\"Idon’tseewhatdifferencethatmakes.Everybodycanlookatthem.\"
Theylaystretchedoutbeforeusinthelevelsunlight，thesharppeaksoutlinedagainstthesky，thevastridgesofforestsinkingsmoothlytowardsthevalleys.thedeephollowsgatheringpurpleshadowsintheirbosoms，andthelittlefoothillsstandingoutinroundedpromontoriesofbrightergreenfromthedarkermassbehindthem.
Fartotheeast，thelongcombofTwinMountainextendeditselfbackintotheuntroddenwilderness.MountGarfieldliftedaclear—cutpyramidthroughthetranslucentair.ThehugebulkofLafayetteascendedmajesticallyinfrontofus，crownedwitharosydiademofrocks.EagleCliffandBaldMountainstretchedtheirlineofscallopedpeaksacrosstheentrancetotheNotch.Beyondthatshadowyvale，theswellingsummitsofCannonMountainrolledawaytomeetthetumblingwavesofKinsman，dominatedbyoneloftiercrestedbillowthatseemedalmostreadytocurlandbreakoutofgreensilenceintosnowyfoam.FardownthesleepingLandaffvalleytheundulatingdomeofMoosilauketrembledinthedistantblue.
Theywereallours，fromcrestedclifftowoodedbase.Thesolemngrovesoffirsandspruces，theplumedsierrasofloftypines，thestatelypillaredforestsofbirchandbeech，thewildravines，thetremulousthicketsofsilverypoplar，thebarepeakswiththeirwideoutlooks，andthecoolvalesresoundingwiththeceaselesssongoflittlerivers，——weknewandlovedthemall;theyministeredpeaceandjoytous;theywereallours，thoughweheldnotitledeedsandourownershiphadneverbeenrecorded.
Whatisproperty，afterall？Thelawsaystherearetwokinds，realandpersonal.Butitseemstomethattheonlyrealpropertyisthatwhichistrulypersonal，thatwhichwetakeintoourinnerlifeandmakeourownforever，byunderstandingandadmirationandsympathyandlove.Thisistheonlykindofpossessionthatisworthanything.
AgalleryofgreatpaintingsadornsthehouseoftheHonourableMidasBond，andeveryyearaddsanewtreasuretohiscollection.
Heknowshowmuchtheycosthim，andhekeepstherunofthequotationsattheauctionsales，congratulatinghimselfasthepriceoftheworksofhiswell—chosenartistsrisesinthescale，andthevalueofhisarttreasuresisenhanced.Butwhyshouldhecallthemhis？Heisonlytheircustodian.Hekeepsthemwellvarnished，andframedingilt.Butheneverpassesthroughthosegildedframesintotheworldofbeautythatliesbehindthepaintedcanvas.Heknowsnothingofthoselovelyplacesfromwhichtheartist’ssoulandhandhavedrawntheirinspiration.Theyareclosedandbarredtohim.Hehasboughtthepictures，buthecannotbuythekey.Thepoorartstudentwhowandersthroughhisgallery，lingeringwithaweandlovebeforethemasterpieces，ownsthemfarmoretrulythanMidasdoes.
PomposusSilvermanpurchasedarichlibraryafewyearsago.Thebookswererareandcostly.ThatwasthereasonwhyPomposusboughtthem.Hewasproudtofeelthathewasthepossessorofliterarytreasureswhichwerenottobefoundinthehousesofhiswealthiestacquaintances.ButthethreadbareBucherfreund，whowasengagedataslendersalarytocataloguethelibraryandtakecareofit，becametherealproprietor.Pomposuspaidforthebooks，butBucherfreundenjoyedthem.
Idonotmeantosaythatthepossessionofmuchmoneyisalwaysabarriertorealwealthofmindandheart.NorwouldImaintainthatallthepoorofthisworldarerichinfaithandheirsofthekingdom.Butsomeofthemare.Andifsomeoftherichofthisworld（throughthegraceofHimwithwhomallthingsarepossible）
arealsomodestintheirtastes，andgentleintheirhearts，andopenintheirminds，andreadytobepleasedwithunboughtpleasures，theysimplyshareinthebestthingswhichareprovidedforall.
Ispeaknotnowofthestrifethatmenwageoverthedefinitionandthelawsofproperty.Doubtlessthereismuchherethatneedstobesetright.Therearemenandwomenintheworldwhoareshutoutfromtherighttoearnaliving，sopoorthattheymustperishforwantofdailybread，sofullofmiserythatthereisnoroomforthetiniestseedofjoyintheirlives.Thisisthelingeringshameofcivilization.Someday，perhaps，weshallfindthewaytobanishit.Someday，everymanshallhavehistitletoashareintheworld’sgreatworkandtheworld’slargejoy.
Butmeantimeitiscertainthat，wherethereareahundredpoorbodieswhosufferfromphysicalprivation，thereareathousandpoorsoulswhosufferfromspiritualpoverty.Torelivethisgreatersufferingthereneedsnochangeoflaws，onlyachangeofheart.
WhatdoesitprofitamantobethelandedproprietorofcountlessacresunlesshecanreaptheharvestofdelightthatbloomsfromeveryroodofGod’searthfortheseeingeyeandthelovingspirit？
Andwhocanreapthatharvestsocloselythatthereshallnotbeabundantgleaningleftforallmankind？Themostthatawideestatecanyieldtoitslegalownerisaliving.Buttherealownercangatherfromafieldofgoldenrod，shiningintheAugustsunlight，anunearnedincrementofdelight.
Wemeasuresuccessbyaccumulation.Themeasureisfalse.Thetruemeasureisappreciation.Hewholovesmosthasmost.