Howfoolishlywetrainourselvesfortheworkoflife！Wegiveourmostarduousandeagereffortstothecultivationofthosefacultieswhichwillserveusinthecompetitionsoftheforumandthemarket—
place.Butifwewerewise，weshouldcareinfinitelymorefortheunfoldingofthoseinward，secret，spiritualpowersbywhichalonewecanbecometheownersofanythingthatisworthhaving.SurelyGodisthegreatproprietor.YetallHisworksHehasgivenaway.
Heholdsnotitle—deeds.TheonethingthatisHis，istheperfectunderstanding，theperfectjoy，theperfectlove，ofallthingsthatHehasmade.ToashareinthishighownershipHewelcomesallwhoarepoorinspirit.Thisistheearthwhichthemeekinherit.Thisisthepatrimonyofthesaintsinlight.
\"Come，laddie，\"Isaidtomycomrade，\"letusgohome.YouandI
areveryrich.Weownthemountains.Butwecanneversellthem，andwedon’twantto.\"
ALAZY，IDLEBROOK
\"Perpetualdevotiontowhatamancallshisbusinessisonlytobesustainedbyperpetualneglectofmanyotherthings.Anditisnotbyanymeanscertainthataman’sbusinessisthemostimportantthinghehastodo.\"——ROBERTLOUISSTEVENSON：AnApologyforIdlers.
I
ACASUALINTRODUCTION
OntheSouthShoreofLongIsland，allthingsinclinetoanaturalsomnolence.Therearenoambitiousmountains，nobraggartcliffs，nohastytorrents，nohustlingwaterfallsinthatland，\"Inwhichitseemethalwaysafternoon.\"
Thesaltmeadowssleepinthesummersun;thefarmsandmarket—
gardensyieldaplacidharvesttoaraceofsingularlyunhurriedtillersofthesoil;thelowhillsrisewithgentleslopes，notcaringtogettoohighintheworld，onlyfarenoughtocatchapleasantglimpseoftheseaandabreathoffreshair;theverytreesgrowleisurely，asiftheyfeltthattheyhad\"allthetimethereis.\"Andfromthisdreamyland，closeasitliestotheunrestingocean，thetumultofthebreakersandthefoamofever—
turningtidesareshutoffbythelanguidlagoonsoftheGreatSouthBayandalongrangeofdunes，crestedwithwire—grass，bay—bushes，andwild—roses.
Insuchacountryyoucouldnotexpectalittlebrooktobenoisy，fussy，energetic.Ifitwerenotlazy，itwouldbeoutofkeeping.
Buttheactualandundisguisedidlenessofthisparticularbrookwasanotheraffair，andoneinwhichitwasdistinguishedamongitsfellows.ForalmostalltheotherlittleriversoftheSouthShore，lazyastheymaybebynature，yetmanagetodosomekindofworkbeforetheyfinishthejourneyfromtheircrystal—clearspringsintothebrackishwatersofthebay.Theyturnthewheelsofsleepygristmills，whilethemillersitswithhishandsinhispocketsunderneaththewillow—trees.Theyfillreservoirsoutofwhichgreatsteam—enginespumpthewatertoquenchthethirstofBrooklyn.
Eventhesmallerstreamstarrylongenoughintheirseawardsaunteringtoirrigateafewcranberry—bogsandsoprovidethatsavourysaucewhichmakestheLongIslandturkeyafittersubjectforThanksgiving.
ButthisbrookofwhichIspeakdidnoneoftheseusefulthings.Itwasabsolutelyoutofbusiness.
Therewasnotamill，norareservoir，noracranberry—bog，onallitscourseofashortmile.Theonlyprofitableaffairiteverundertookwastofillasmallice—pondnearitsentranceintotheGreatSouthBay.Youcouldhardlycallthisaveryenergeticenterprise.Itamountedtolittlemorethanagood—naturedconsenttoallowitselftobeusedbythewinterforthemakingofice，ifthewinterhappenedtobecoldenough.Eventhispassiveindustrycametonothing;forthewater，beingseparatedfromthebayonlybyashorttidewayunderawoodenbridgeonthesouthcountryroad，wastoobrackishtofreezeeasily;andtheice，beingpervadedwithweeds，wasnotmuchrelishedbythepublic.Sothewoodenice—
house，innocentofpaint，andtonedbytheweathertoasoft，sad—
colouredgray，stoodlikeanimprovisedruinamongthepine—treesbesidethepond.
Itwasthroughthisunharvestedice—pond，thisfallowfieldofwater，thatmyladyGraygownandIenteredonacquaintancewithourlazy，idlebrook.Wehadahouse，thatsummer，afewmilesdownthebay.Butitwasaverysmallhouse，andtheroomthatwelikebestwasoutofdoors.Sowespentmuchtimeinasailboat，——byname\"ThePatience，\"——makingvoyagesofexplorationintowaterycornersandbyways.Sailingpastthewoodenbridgeoneday，whenastrongeastwindhadmadeaverylowtide，weobservedthewaterflowingoutbeneaththeroadwithaneddyingcurrent.Wewereinterestedtodiscoverwheresuchastreamcamefrom.Butthesailboatcouldnotgounderthebridge，norevenmakealandingontheshorewithoutriskofgettingaground.Thenextdaywecamebackinarowboattofollowtheclueofcuriosity.Thetidewashighnow，andwepassedwiththereversedcurrentunderthebridge，almostbumpingourheadsagainstthetimbers.Emerginguponthepond，werowedacrossitsshallow，weed—encumberedwaters，andwereintroducedwithoutceremonytooneofthemostagreeablebrooksthatwehadevermet.
Itwasquitebroadwhereitcameintothepond，——ahundredfeetfromsidetoside，——borderedwithflagsandrushesandfeatherymeadowgrasses.Therealchannelmeanderedinsweepingcurvesfrombanktobank，andthewater，exceptintheswiftercurrent，wasfilledwithanamazingquantityofsomeaquaticmoss.Thewoodscamestragglingdownoneithershore.Therewerefallentreesinthestreamhereandthere.Ononeofthepointsanoldswamp—maple，withitsdecrepitbranchesanditsleavesalreadytouchedwiththehecticcoloursofdecay，hungfaroutoverthewaterwhichwasunderminingit，lookingandleaningdownward，likeanagedmanwhobends，half—
sadlyandhalf—willingly，towardsthegrave.
Butforthemostpartthebrooklaywideopentothesky，andthetide，risingandsinkingsomewhatirregularlyinthepondbelow，madecuriousalternationsinitsdepthandintheswiftnessofitscurrent.Forabouthalfamilewenavigatedthislazylittleriver，andthenwefoundthatrowingwouldcarryusnofarther，forwecametoaplacewherethestreamissuedwithalivelierfloodfromanarchwayinathicket.
Thiswoodlandportalwasnotmorethanfourfeetwide，andthebranchesofthesmalltreeswerecloselyinterwovenoverhead.Weshippedtheoarsandtookoneofthemforapaddle.Stoopingdown，wepushedtheboatthroughthearchwayandfoundourselvesintheFairyDell.Itwasalong，narrowbower，perhapsfourhundredfeetfromendtoend，withthebrookdancingthroughitinajoyous，musicalflowoverabedofcleanyellowsandandwhitepebbles.
Thereweredeepplacesinthecurveswhereyoucouldhardlytouchbottomwithanoar，andshallowplacesinthestraightrunswheretheboatwouldbarelyfloat.Notarayofunbrokensunlightleakedthroughthegreenroofofthiswindingcorridor;andallalongthesidesthereweredelicatemossesandtallfernsandwildwoodflowersthatlovetheshade.
Attheupperendofthebowerourprogressintheboatwasbarredbyalowbridge，onaforgottenroadthatwoundthroughthepine—woods.
HereIleftmyladyGraygown，seatedontheshadycornerofthebridgewithabook，swingingherfeetoverthestream，whileIsetouttoexploreitsfurthercourse.Abovethewood—roadtherewerenomorefairydells，noreasy—goingestuaries.ThewatercamedownthroughthemostcomplicatedpieceofunderbrushthatIhaveeverencountered.Aldersandswampmaplesandpussy—willowsandgraybirchesgrewtogetherinawildconfusion.Blackberrybushesandfox—grapesandcat—brierstrailedandtwistedthemselvesanger.
Whataprettybattleitis，andinagoodcause，too！Wastenopityonthatbigblackruffian.Heisavillainandathief，anegg—
stealer，anogre，adevourerofunfledgedinnocents.Thekingbirdsarenotafraidofhim，knowingthatheisacowardatheart.Theyflyuponhim，nowfrombelow，nowfromabove.Theybuffethimfromonesideandfromtheother.Theycircleroundhimlikeapairofswiftgunboatsroundanantiquatedman—of—war.Theyevenperchuponhisbackanddashtheirbeaksintohisneckandpluckfeathersfromhispiraticalplumage.Atlasthislumberingflighthascarriedhimfarenoughaway，andthebravelittledefendersflybacktothenest，poisingaboveitonquiveringwingsforamoment，thendippingdownswiftlyinpursuitofsomepassinginsect.Thewarisover.
Couragehashaditsturn.Nowtendernesscomesintoplay.inanincredibletangle.Therewasonlyonewaytoadvance，andthatwastowadeinthemiddleofthebrook，stoopinglow，liftingupthependulousalder—branches，threadingatortuouscourse，nowunderandnowovertheinnumerableobstacles，asadarning—needleispushedinandoutthroughtheyarnofawoollenstocking.
Itwasdarkandlonelyinthatdifficultpassage.Thebrookdividedintomanychannels，turningthiswayandthatway，asifitwerelostinthewoods.TherewerehugeclumpsofOSMUNDAREGALIS
spreadingtheirfrondsintropicalprofusion.Moulderinglogswerecoveredwithmoss.Thewatergurgledslowlyintodeepcornersunderthebanks.Catbirdsandbluejaysflutteredscreamingfromthethickets.Cotton—tailedrabbitsdartedaway，showingthewhiteflagoffear.OnceIthoughtIsawthefuscousgleamofaredfoxstealingsilentlythroughthebrush.Itwouldhavebeennosurprisetohearthebarkofaraccoon，orseetheeyesofawildcatgleamingthroughtheleaves.
FormorethananhourIwaspushingmywaythroughthisminiaturewildernessofhalfamile;andthenIemergedsuddenly，tofindmyselffacetofacewith——arailroadembankmentandtheafternoonexpress，withitsparlour—cars，thunderingdowntoSouthampton！
Itwasastrangeandstartlingcontrast.Theexplorer’sjoy，thesenseofadventure，thefeelingofwildnessandfreedom，witheredandcrumpledsomewhatpreposterouslyatthesightoftheparlour—
cars.Myscratchedhandsandwetbootsandtorncoatseemedunkemptanddisreputable.Perhapssomeofthewell—dressedpeoplelookingoutatthewindowsofthetrainwerethefriendswithwhomweweretodineonSaturday.BATECHE！Whatwouldtheysaytosuchacostumeasmine？WhatdidIcarewhattheysaid！
But，allthesame，itwasashock，adisenchantment，tofindthatcivilization，withallitsabsurditiesandconventionalities，wassothreateninglyclosetomynew—foundwilderness.MyfirstenthusiasmwasnotalittlechilledasIwalkedback，alonganopenwoodlandpath，tothebridgewhereGraygownwasplacidlyreading.Reading，I
say，thoughherbookwasclosed，andherbrowneyeswerewanderingoverthegreenleavesofthethicket，andthewhitecloudsdrifting，driftinglazilyacrossthebluedeepofthesky.
II
ABETTERACQUAINTANCE
Onthevoyagehome，shegentlytalkedmeoutofmydisappointment，andintoawiserframeofmind.
Itwasasurprise，ofcourse，sheadmitted，tofindthatourwildernesswassolittle，andtodiscoverthetrailofaparlour—carontheedgeofParadise.Butwhynotturnthesurprisearound，andmakeitpleasantinsteadofdisagreeable？Whynotlookatthecontrastfromthesidethatwelikedbest？
Itwasnotnecessarythateverybodyshouldtakethesameviewoflifethatpleasedus.Theworldwouldnotgetonverywellwithoutpeoplewhopreferredparlour—carstocanoes，andpatent—leathershoestoIndia—rubberboots，andten—coursedinnerstopicnicsinthewoods.Thesegoodpeoplewereunconsciouslytoilingatthehardandnecessaryworkoflifeinorderthatwe，ofthechosenandfortunatefew，shouldbeatlibertytoenjoythebestthingsintheworld.
Whyshouldweneglectouropportunities，whichwerealsoourrealduties？Thenervousdiseaseofcivilizationmightprevailallaroundus，butthatoughtnottodestroyourgratefulenjoymentofthelucidintervalsthatweregrantedtousbyamercifulProvidence.
Whyshouldwenottakethislittleuntamedbrook，runningitshumblecoursethroughthebordersofcivilizedlifeandmidwaybetweentwoflourishingsummerresorts，——abrookwithoutasinglehouseoracultivatedfieldonitsbanks，asfreeandbeautifulandsecludedasifitflowedthroughmilesoftracklessforest，——whynottakethisbrookasasignthattheorderingoftheuniversehada\"goodintention\"evenforinveterateidlers，andthatthegreatArrangeroftheworldfeltsomekindnessforsuchgipsy—heartsasours？Whatlaw，humanordivine，wastheretopreventusfrommakingthisstreamoursymbolofdeliverancefromtheconventionalandcommonplace，ourguidetolibertyandaquietmind？
SoreasonedGraygownwithher\"mostsilverflowOfsubtle—pacedcounselindistress.\"
And，accordingtoherword，sodidwe.Thatlazy，idlebrookbecametousoneofthebestoffriends;thepathfinderofhappinessonmanyabrightsummerday;and，throughlongvacations，thefaithfulencouragerofindolence.
Indolenceinthepropersenseoftheword，youunderstand.Themeaningwhichiscommonlygiventoit，asArchbishopTrenchpointedoutinhissuggestivebookaboutWORDSANDTHEIRUSES，isaltogetherfalse.Tospeakofindolenceasifitwereaviceisjustagreatbigverbalslander.
Indolenceisavirtue.ItcomesfromtwoLatinwords，whichmeanfreedomfromanxietyorgrief.Andthatisawholesomestateofmind.Therearetimesandseasonswhenitisevenapiousandblessedstateofmind.Nottobeinahurry;nottobeambitiousorjealousorresentful;nottofeelenviousofanybody;nottofretaboutto—daynorworryaboutto—morrow，——thatisthewayweoughtalltofeelatsometimeinourlives;andthatisthekindofindolenceinwhichourbrookfaithfullyencouragedus.
‘Tisanageinwhichsuchencouragementisgreatlyneeded.Wehavefallensomuchintothehabitofbeingalwaysbusythatweknownothownorwhentobreakitoffwithfirmness.Ourbusinesstagsafterusintothemidstofourpleasures，andweareillateasebeyondreachofthetelegraphandthedailynewspaper.Weagitateourselvesamazinglyaboutamultitudeofaffairs，——thepoliticsofEurope，thestateoftheweatherallaroundtheglobe，themarriagesandfestivitiesofveryrichpeople，andthelatestnoveltiesincrime，noneofwhichareofvitalinteresttous.ThemoreearnestsoulsamongusarecultivatingavicioustendencytoSummerSchools，andSeasideInstitutesofPhilosophy，andMountaintopSeminariesofModernLanguages.
Wetoilassiduouslytocramsomethingmoreintothosescrap—bagsofknowledgewhichwefondlycallourminds.Seldomdoweresttranquillongenoughtofindoutwhetherthereisanythinginthemalreadythatisofrealvalue，——anynativefeeling，anyoriginalthought，whichwouldliketocomeoutandsunitselfforawhileinquiet.
Formypart，IamsurethatIstandmoreinneedofadeepersenseofcontentmentwithlifethanofaknowledgeoftheBulgariantongue，andthatalltheparadoxesofHegelwouldnotdomesomuchgoodasonehourofvitalsympathywiththecarelessplayofchildren.TheMarquisduPatydel’HuitremayespousethedaughterandheiressoftheHonourableJamesBulgerwithallimaginablepomp，ifhewill.CANEM’INTRIGUEPOINTDUTOUT.Iwouldratherstretchmyselfoutonthegrassandwatchyonderpairofkingbirdscarryinglusciousfliestotheiryoungonesinthenest，orchasingawaythemaraudingcrowwithshrillcriesofTheyoungbirds，allignorantofthepassingdanger，butalwaysconsciousofaninsatiablehunger，areutteringloudremonstrancesandplaintivedemandsforfood.Domesticlifebeginsagain，andtheythatsownot，neithergatherintobarns，arefed.
Doyousupposethatthiswondrousstageofearthwasset，andallthemyriadactorsonittaughttoplaytheirparts，withoutaspectatorinview？Doyouthinkthatthereisanythingbetterforyouandmetodo，nowandthen，thantositdownquietlyinahumbleseat，andwatchafewscenesinthedrama？Hasitnotsomethingtosaytous，anddowenotunderstanditbestwhenwehaveapeacefulheartandfreefromdolor？ThatiswhatIN—DOLENCEmeans，andtherearenobetterteachersofitthenthelight—heartedbirdsanduntoilingflowers，commendedbythewisestofallmasterstoourconsideration;norcanwefindamorepleasantpedagoguetoleadustotheirschoolthanasmall，merrybrook.
Andthiswaswhatourchosenstreamdidforus.Itwasalwaysluringusawayfromanartificiallifeintorestfulcompanionshipwithnature.
Suppose，forexample，wefoundourselvesgrowingabitdissatisfiedwiththedomesticarrangementsofourlittlecottage，andcovetingthesplendoursofagranderestablishment.Anafternoononthebrookwasagoodcureforthatfolly.Orsupposeadaycamewhentherewasanimminentprospectofmanyformalcalls.Wehadanimportantengagementupthebrook;andwhilewekeptitwecouldthinkwithsatisfactionofthejoyofourcallerswhentheydiscoveredthattheycoulddischargetheirwholedutywithapieceofpasteboard.Thiswasanaltruisticpleasure.Orsupposethatafewfriendswerecomingtosupper，andtherewerenoflowersforthesupper—table.Wecouldeasilyhaveboughttheminthevillage.Butitwasfarmoretoourlikingtotakethechildrenupthebrook，andcomebackwithgreatbunchesofwildwhitehoneysuckleandblueflag，orposiesofarrowheadsandcardinal—flowers.OrsupposethatIwasveryunwiselyandreluctantlylabouringatsomeseriouspieceofliterarywork，promisedforthenextnumberofTHESCRIBBLER’S
REVIEW;andsupposethatinthemidstofthislabourthesadnewscametomethatthefishermanhadforgottentoleaveanyfishatourcottagethatmorning.ShouldmyinnocentbabesandmydevotedwifebelefttoperishofstarvationwhileIcontinuedmypoeticalcomparisonofthetwoWilliams，ShakspeareandWatson？Inhumanselfishness！Ofcourseitwasmyplaindutytosacrificemyinclinations，andgetmyfly—rod，androwawayacrossthebay，withadeceptiveappearanceofcheerfulness，tocatchabasketoftroutin——
III
THESECRETSOFINTIMACY
THERE！Icamewithineightlettersoftellingthenameofthebrook，athingthatIamfirmlyresolvednottodo.Ifitwereanordinaryfishlesslittleriver，orevenastreamwithnothingbetterthangrass—pikeandsunfishinit，youshouldhavethenameandwelcome.Butwhenabrookcontainsspeckledtrout，andwhentheirpresenceisknowntoaveryfewpersonswhoguardthesecretasthedragonguardedthegoldenapplesoftheHesperides，andwhenthesizeofthetroutislargebeyondthedreamsofhope，——well，whendidyouknowatrueanglerwhowouldwillinglygiveawaythenameofsuchabrookasthat？YoumayfindanencouragerofindolenceinalmostanystreamoftheSouthSide，andIwishyoujoyofyourbrook.Butifyouwanttocatchtroutinmineyoumustdiscoveritforyourself，orperhapsgowithmesomeday，andsolemnlyswearsecrecy.
Thatwasthewayinwhichthefreedomofthestreamwasconferreduponme.Therewasasmallboyinthevillage，thesonofrichbutrespectableparents，andaninveterateall—roundsportsman，agedfourteenyears，withwhomIhadformedacloseintimacy.Iwastellinghimaboutthepleasureofexploringtheidlebrook，andexpressingtheopinionthatinbygonedays，（inthatmythical\"fortyyearsago\"whenallfishingwasgood），theremusthavebeentroutinit.Acertainlookcameovertheboy’sface.Hegazedatmesolemnly，asifheweresearchingtheinmostdepthsofmycharacterbeforehespoke.
\"Say，doyouwanttoknowsomething？\"
Iassuredhimthatanincreaseofknowledgewasthechiefaimofmylife.
\"Doyoupromiseyouwon’ttell？\"
Iexpressedmyreadinesstobeboundtosilencebythemostawfulpledgethatthelawwouldsanction.
\"Wishyoumaydie？\"
InotonlywishedthatImightdie，butwasperfectlycertainthatI
woulddie.
\"Well，what’sthematterwithcatchingtroutinthatbrooknow？DoyouwanttogowithmenextSaturday？Isawfourorfivebullyoneslastweek，andgotthree.\"
Ontheappointeddaywemadethevoyage，landedattheupperbridge，walkedaroundbythewoodpathtotherailroadembankment，andbegantowormourwaydownthroughthetangledwilderness.Fly—fishing，ofcourse，wasoutofthequestion.Theonlypossiblemethodofanglingwastolettheline，baitedwithajuicy\"gardenhackle，\"
driftdownthecurrentasfaraspossiblebeforeyou，underthealder—branchesandthecat—briers，intotheholesandcornersofthestream.Then，iftherecameagentletugontherod，youmuststrike，toonesideortheother，asthebranchesmightallow，andtrustwhollytoluckforachancetoplaythefish.Manyatroutwelostthatday，——thelargestones，ofcourse，——andmanyahookwasembeddedinasunkenlog，orhopelesslyentwinedamongtheboughsoverhead.Butwhenwecameoutatthebridge，verywetanddisheveled，wehadsevenprettyfish，theheaviestabouthalfapound.TheFairyDellyieldedabraceofsmallerones，andaltogetherwewerereasonablyhappyaswetookuptheoarsandpushedoutupontheopenstream.
Butiftherewerefishabove，whyshouldtherenotbefishbelow？
Itwasaboutsunset，theangler’sgoldenhour.Wewerealreadycommittedtothecrimeofbeinglateforsupper.Itwouldaddlittletoourguiltandmuchtoourpleasuretodriftslowlydownthemiddleofthebrookandcasttheartfulflyinthedeepercornersoneithershore.SoItookoffthevulgarbait—hookandputonadelicateleaderwithaQueenoftheWaterforatail—flyandaYellowSallyforadropper，——innocentlittleconfectionsoffeathersandtinsel，dressedonthetiniesthooks，andcalculatedtotempttheappetiteorthecuriosityofthemostcapricioustrout.
Foralongtimethewhippingofthewaterproducednoresult，anditseemedasifthedaintystyleofanglingweredestinedtoprovelessprofitablethanplainfishingwithaworm.Butpresentlywecametoanelbowofthebrook，justabovetheestuary，wheretherewasquiteastretchofclearwateralongthelowerside，withtwohalf—sunkenlogsstickingoutfromthebank，againstwhichthecurrenthaddriftedabroadraftofweeds.Imadealongcast，andsentthetail—flyclosetotheedgeoftheweeds.Therewasaswellingrippleonthesurfaceofthewater，andanoblefishdartedfromunderthelogs，dashedatthefly，missedit，andwhirledbacktohisshelter.
\"Gee！\"saidtheboy，\"thatwasawhacker！Hemadeawakelikeasteamboat.\"
Itwasamomentforseriousthought.Whatwasbesttobedonewiththatfish？Leavehimtosettledownforthenightandcomebackafterhimanotherday？Ortryanothercastforhimatonce？AfishonSaturdayeveningisworthtwoonMondaymorning.IchangedtheQueenoftheWaterforaRoyalCoachmantiedonanumberfourteenhook，——whitewings，peacockbodywithabeltofcrimsonsilk，——andsentitoutagain，afootfartherupthestreamandashadeclosertotheweeds.Asitsettledonthewater，therewasaflashofgoldfromtheshadowbeneaththelogs，andaquickturnofthewristmadethetinyhookfastinthefish.Hefoughtwildlytogetbacktotheshelterofhislogs，butthefourouncerodhadspringenoughinittoholdhimfirmlyawayfromthatdangerousretreat.Thenhesplurgedupanddowntheopenwater，andmadefiercedashesamongthegrassyshallows，andseemedabouttoescapeadozentimes.Butatlasthisforcewasplayedout;hecameslowlytowardstheboat，turningonhisside，andInettedhiminmyhat.
\"Bullyforus;\"saidtheboy，\"wegothim！Whatadandy！\"
ItwasindeedoneofthehandsomestfishthatIhaveevertakenontheSouthSide，——justshortoftwopoundsandaquarter，——smallhead，broadtail，andwell—roundedsidescolouredwithorangeandblueandgoldandred.Apairofthesamekind，oneweighingtwopoundsandtheotherapoundandthreequarters，weretakenbycarefulfishingdownthelowerendofthepool，andthenwerowedhomethroughthedusk，pleasantlyconvincedthatthereisnovirtuemorecertainlyrewardedthanthepatienceofanglers，andentirelywillingtoputupwithacoldsupperandamildreproofforthesakeofsport.
Ofcoursewecouldnotresistthetemptationtoshowthosefishtotheneighbours.But，equallyofcourse，weevadedtherequesttogivepreciseinformationastothepreciseplacewheretheywerecaught.Indeed，Ifearthattheremusthavebeensomethingconfusedinourdescriptionofwherewehadbeenonthatafternoon.Ourcarefullyselectedlanguagemayhavebeenopentomisunderstanding.
Atallevents，thenextday，whichwastheSabbath，therewasarowofeagerbutunprincipledanglerssittingonabridgeOVERANOTHER
STREAM，andfishingfortroutwithwormsandlargeexpectations，butwithoutvisibleresults.
TheboyandIagreedthatifthisdidnotteachagoodmorallessonitwasnotourfault.
Iobtainedtheboy’sconsenttoadmitthepartnerofmylife’sjoysandtwoofourchildrentothesecretofthebrook，andthereafter，whenwevisitedit，wetookthefly—rodwithus.Ifbychanceanotherboatpassedusintheestuary，wewereneverfishing，butonlygatheringflowers，orgoingforapicnic，ortakingphotographs.Butwhentheuninitiatedoneshadpassedby，wewouldgetouttherodagain，andtryafewmorecasts.
OnedayinparticularIremember，whenGraygownandlittleTeddyweremycompanions.Wereallyhadnohopesofangling，forthehourwasmid—noon，andthedaywaswarmandstill.Butsuddenlythetrout，byoneofthoseunaccountablefreakswhichmaketheirdispositionsointerestingandattractive，begantoriseallaboutusinabendofthestream.
\"Look！\"saidTeddy;\"whereveryouseeoneofthosebigsmilesonthewater，Ibelievethere’safish！\"
Fortunatelytherodwasathand.GraygownandTeddymanagedtheboatandthelanding—netwithconsummateskill.Welandednolessthanadozenbeautifulfishatthatmostunlikelyhourandthensolemnlyshookhandsallaround.
Thereisapeculiarpleasureindoingathinglikethis，catchingtroutinaplacewherenobodythinksoflookingforthem，andatanhourwheneverybodybelievestheycannotbecaught.Itismorefuntotakeonegoodfishoutofanold，fished—outstream，nearathandtothevillage，thantofillabasketfromsomefar—famedandwell—
stockedwater.Itistheunexpectedtouchthatticklesoursenseofpleasure.Whilelifelasts，wearealwayshopingforitandexpectingit.Thereisnocountrysocivilized，noexistencesohumdrum，thatthereisnotroomenoughinitsomewhereforalazy，idlebrook，anencouragerofindolence，withhopeofhappysurprises.
THEOPENFIRE
\"Itisavulgarnotionthatafireisonlyforheat.Achiefvalueofitis，however，tolookat.Anditisnevertwicethesame.\"——
CHARLESDUDLEYWARNER：BacklogStudies.
I
LIGHTINGUP
Manistheanimalthathasmadefriendswiththefire.
Alltheothercreatures，intheirnaturalstate，areafraidofit.
Theylookuponitwithwonderanddismay.Itfascinatesthem，sometimes，withitsglitteringeyesinthenight.Thesquirrelsandtheharescomepatteringsoftlytowardsitthroughtheunderbrusharoundthenewcamp.Thefascinateddeerstaresintotheblazeofthejack—lightwhilethehunter’scanoecreepsthroughthelily—
pads.Butthecharmthatmastersthemisoneofdread，notoflove.
Itisthewitchcraftoftheserpent’slambentlook.Whentheyknowwhatitmeans，whentheheatofthefiretouchesthem，orevenwhenitssmellcomesclearlytotheirmostdelicatesense，theyrecognizeitastheirenemy，theWildHuntsmanwhoseredhoundscanfollow，followfordayswithoutwearying，growingstrongerandmorefuriouswitheveryturnofthechase.Letbutatrailofsmokedriftdownthewindacrosstheforest，andallthegameformilesandmileswillcatchthesignalforfearandflight.
Manyoftheanimalshavelearnedhowtomakehousesforthemselves.
TheCABANEofthebeaverisawonderofneatnessandcomfort，muchpreferabletothewigwamofhisIndianhunter.Themuskratknowshowthickandhightobuildthedomeofhiswatersidecottage，inordertoprotecthimselfagainstthefrostofthecomingwinterandthefloodsofthefollowingspring.Thewoodchuck’shousehastwoorthreedoors;andthesquirrel’sdwellingisprovidedwithagoodbedandaconvenientstorehousefornutsandacorns.Thesportiveottershaveatobogganslideinfrontoftheirresidence;andthemooseinwintermakea\"yard，\"wheretheycantakeexercisecomfortablyandfindshelterforsleep.Butthereisonethinglackinginallthesevariousdwellings，——afireplace.
Manistheonlycreaturethatdarestolightafireandtolivewithit.Thereason？Becausehealonehaslearnedhowtoputitout.
Itistruethattwoofhishumblerfriendshavebeenconvertedtofire—worship.Thedogandthecat，beinghalf—humanized，havebeguntolovethefire.Isupposethatacatseldomcomessoneartofeelingatruesenseofaffectionaswhenshehasfinishedhersaucerofbreadandmilk，andstretchedherselfluxuriouslyunderneaththekitchenstove，whileherfaithfulmistresswashesupthedishes.Asforadog，Iamsurethathisadmiringloveforhismasterisnevergreaterthanwhentheycomeintogetherfromthehunt，wetandtired，andthemangathersapileofwoodinfrontofthetent，touchesitwithatinymagicwand，andsuddenlytheclear，consolingflamespringsup，sayingcheerfully，\"Hereweare，athomeintheforest;comeintothewarmth;rest，andeat，andsleep.\"
Whentheweary，shiveringdogseesthismiracle，heknowsthathismasterisagreatmanandalordofthings.
Afterall，thatistheonlyrealopenfire.Woodisthefuelforit.Out—of—doorsistheplaceforit.Afurnaceisanundergroundprisonforatoilingslave.Astoveisacageforatamebird.
Evenabroadhearthstoneandapairofglitteringandirons——thebestornamentofaroom——mustbeacceptedasanimitationoftherealthing.Theveritableopenfireisbuiltintheopen，withthewholeearthforafireplaceandtheskyforachimney.
Tostartafireintheopenisbynomeansaseasyasitlooks.Itisoneofthosesimpletricksthateveryonethinkshecanperformuntilhetriesit.
Todoitwithouttrying，——accidentallyandunwillingly，——that，ofcourse，isathingforwhichanyfoolisfit.Youknockouttheashesfromyourpipeonafallenlog;youtosstheendofamatchintoapatchofgrass，greenontop，butdryaspunkunderneath;youscatterthedeadbrandsofanoldfireamongthemoss，——aconflagrationisunderwaybeforeyouknowit.
Afireinthewoodsisonething;acomfortandajoy.Fireinthewoodsisanotherthing;aterror，anuncontrollablefury，aburningshame.
Butthelightingupofaproperfire，kindly，approachable，serviceable，docile，isaworkofintelligence.If，perhaps，youhavetodoitintherain，withasinglematch，itrequiresnolittleartandskill.
Thereisplentyofwoodeverywhere，butnotabittoburn.Thefallentreesarewaterlogged.Thedeadleavesareasdampasgrief.
Thecharredsticksthatyoufindinanoldfireplaceareabsolutelyincombustible.Donottrustthehandfulofwitheredtwigsandbranchesthatyougatherfromthespruce—trees.Theyseemdry，buttheyarelittlebetterforyourpurposethansomuchasbestos.Youmakeapileoftheminsomeapparentlysuitablehollow，andlayafewlargersticksontop.Thenyouhastilyscratchyoursolitarymatchontheseatofyourtrousersandthrustitintothepileoftwigs.Whathappens？Thewindwhirlsaroundinyourstupidlittlehollow，andtheblueflameofthesulphurspirtsandsputtersforaninstant，andthengoesout.Orperhapsthereisamomentofstillness;thematchflaresupbravely;thenearesttwigscatchfire，cracklingandsparkling;youhurriedlylayonmoresticks;butthefiredeliberatelydodgesthem，creepstothecornerofthepilewherethetwigsarefewestanddampest，snapsfeeblyafewtimes，andexpiresinsmoke.Nowwhereareyou？Howfarisittothenearestmatch？
Ifyouarewise，youwillalwaysmakeyourfirebeforeyoulightit.
Timeisneversavedbydoingathingbadly.
II
THECAMP—FIRE
Inthemakingoffiresthereisasmuchdifferenceasinthebuildingofhouses.Everythingdependsuponthepurposethatyouhaveinview.Thereisthecamp—fire，andthecooking—fire，andthesmudge—fire，andthelittlefriendship—fire，——nottospeakofotherminorvarieties.Eachofthesehasitsownproperstyleofarchitecture，andtomixthemisfalseartandpooreconomy.
Theobjectofthecamp—fireistogiveheat，andincidentallylight，toyourtentorshanty.Youcanhardlybuildthiskindofafireunlessyouhaveagoodaxeandknowhowtochop.Forthefirstthingthatyouneedisasolidbacklog，thethickerthebetter，toholdtheheatandreflectitintothetent.Thislogmustnotbetoodry，oritwillburnoutquickly.Neithermustitbetoodamp，elseitwillsmoulderanddiscouragethefire.Thebestwoodforitisthebodyofayellowbirch，and，nexttothat，agreenbalsam.
Itshouldbefiveorsixfeetlong，andatleasttwoandahalffeetindiameter.Ifyoucannotfindatreethickenough，cuttwoorthreelengthsofasmallerone;laythethickestlogonthegroundfirst，abouttenortwelvefeetinfrontofthetent;drivetwostrongstakesbehindit，slantingalittlebackward;andlaytheotherlogsontopofthefirst，restingagainstthestakes.
Nowyouarereadyforthehand—chunks，orandirons.Theseareshortersticksofwood，eightorteninchesthick，laidatrightanglestothebacklog，fourorfivefeetapart.Acrosstheseyouaretobuildupthefirewoodproper.
Useadryspruce—tree，notonethathasfallen，butonethatisdeadandstillstanding，ifyouwantalively，snappingfire.Useahardmapleorahickoryifyouwantafirethatwillburnsteadilyandmakefewsparks.Butifyoulikeafiretoblazeupatfirstwithasplendidflame，andthenburnonwithanenduringheatfarintothenight，ayoungwhitebirchwiththebarkonisthetreetochoose.
Sixoreightroundsticksofthislaidacrossthehand—chunks，withperhapsafewquarteringsofalargertree，willmakeagloriousfire.
Butbeforeyouputtheseon，youmustbereadytolightup.Afewsplintersofdryspruceorpineorbalsam，stoodendwiseagainstthebacklog，or，betterstill，piledupinapyramidbetweenthehand—
chunks;afewstripsofbirch—bark;andonegoodmatch，——theseareallthatyouwant.Butbesurethatyourmatchisagoodone.Itisbettertoseetothisbeforeyougointothebrush.Yourcomfort，evenyourlife，maydependonit.
\"AVECCESALLUMETTES—LA，\"saidmyguideatLACST.JEANoneday，ashevainlytriedtolighthispipewithaboxofparlourmatchesfromthehotel，——AVECCESGNOGNOTTESD’ALLUMETTESONPOURRAMOURIRAU
BOIS！\"
Inthewoods，theold—fashionedbrimstonematchofourgrandfathers——
thematchwithabrownheadandastoutstickandadreadfulsmell——
isthebest.Butifyouhaveonlyone，donottrusteventhattolightyourfiredirectly.Useitfirsttotouchoffarollofbirch—barkwhichyouholdinyourhand.Then，whenthebarkiswellalight，crinklingandcurling，pushitundertheheapofkindlings，givetheflametimetotakeagoodhold，andlayyourwoodoverit，astickatatime，untilthewholepileisblazing.Nowyourfireisstarted.Yourfriendlylittlered—hairedgnomeisreadytoserveyouthroughthenight.
Hewilldryyourclothesifyouarewet.Hewillcheeryouupifyouaredespondent.Hewilldiffuseanairofsociabilitythroughthecamp，anddrawthementogetherinahalfcircleforstorytellingandjokesandsinging.Hewillholdaflambeauforyouwhileyouspreadyourblanketsontheboughsanddressforbed.Hewillkeepyouwarmwhileyousleep，——atleasttillaboutthreeo’clockinthemorning，whenyoudreamthatyouareoutsleighinginyourpajamas，andwakeupwithashiver.
\"HOLA，FERDINAND，FRANCOIS！\"youcalloutfromyourbed，pullingtheblanketsoveryourears;\"RAMANCHEZLEFEU，S’ILVOUSPLAIT.C’EST
UNFREITEDECHIEN.\"
III
THECOOKING—FIRE
OfcoursesuchafireasIhavebeendescribingcanbeusedforcooking，whenithasburneddownalittle，andthereisabedofhotembersinfrontofthebacklog.Butacorrectkitchenfireshouldbeconstructedafteranotherfashion.Whatyouwantnowisnotblaze，butheat，andthatnotdiffused，butconcentrated.Youmustbeabletogetclosetoyourfirewithoutburningyourbootsorscorchingyourface.
Ifyouhavetimeandthematerial，makeafireplaceofbigstones.
Butnotofgranite，forthatwillsplitwiththeheat，andperhapsflyinyourface.
Ifyouareinahurryandtherearenosuitablestonesathand，laytwogoodlogsnearlyparallelwitheachother，afootorsoapart，andbuildyourfirebetweenthem.Foracooking—fire，usesplitwoodinshortsticks.Letthefirstsupplyburntoglowingcoalsbeforeyoubegin.Afrying—panthatislukewarmoneminuteandred—
hotthenextistheabominationofdesolation.Ifyouwantblacktoast，haveitmadebeforeafresh，sputtering，blazingheapofwood.
Infires，asinmen，anexcessofenergyisalackofusefulness.
Thebestworkisdonewithoutmanysparks.Justenoughistherightkindofafireandafeast.
Toknowhowtocookisnotaveryelegantaccomplishment.Yettherearetimesandseasonswhenitseemstocomeinbetterthanfamiliaritywiththedeadlanguages，ormuchskilluponthelute.
Youcannotalwaysrelyonyourguidesforatastefulpreparationoffood.Manyofthemareignorantofthedifferencebetweenfryingandbroiling，andtheirnotionofboilingapotatoorafishistoreduceittoapulp.Nowandthenyoufindamanwhohasanaturalinclinationtotheculinaryart，andwhodoesverywellwithinfamiliarlimits.
OldEdouard，theMontaignaisIndianwhocookedformyfriendsH.E.
G.andC.S.D.lastsummerontheSTE.MARGUERITEENBAS，wassuchaman.ButEdouardcouldnotread，andtheonlywayhecouldtellthenatureofthecannedprovisionswasbythepicturesonthecans.
Ifthepicturewasstrangetohim，therewasnoguessingwhathewoulddowiththecontentsofthecan.Hewascapableofroastingstrawberries，andservinggreenpeascoldfordessert.Onedayacanofmullagatawnysoupandacanofapricotswerehandedouttohimsimultaneouslyandwithoutexplanations.Edouardsolvedtheproblembyopeningbothcansandcookingthemtogether.Wehadanewsoupthatday，MULLAGATAWNYAUXAPRICOTS.Itwasnotasbadasitsounds.Ittastedsomewhatlikechutney.
Therealreasonwhyfoodthatiscookedoveranopenfiretastessogoodtousisbecausewearereallyhungrywhenwegetit.Themanwhoputsupprovisionsforcamphasagreatadvantageoverthedealerswhomustsatisfythepamperedappetiteofpeopleinhouses.
InevercangetanybaconinNewYorklikethatwhichIbuyatalittleshopinQuebectotakeintothewoods.IfIeversetupinthegrocerybusiness，Ishalltrytogetagoodtradeamonganglers.
Itwillbeeasytopleasemycustomers.
Thereputationthattroutenjoyasafood—fishispartlyduetothefactthattheyareusuallycookedoveranopenfire.Inthecitytheynevertasteasgood.Itisnotmerelyadifferenceinfreshness.Itisachangeinthesauce.Ifthetruthmustbetold，evenbyanangler，thereareatleastfivesalt—waterfishwhicharebetterthantrout，——toeat.Thereisnonebettertocatch.
IV
THESMUDGE—FIRE
Butenoughofthecooking—fire.Letusturnnowtothesubjectofthesmudge，knowninLowerCanadaasLABOUCANE.Thesmudgeowesitsexistencetothepungentmosquito，thesanguinaryblack—fly，andthepepperymidge，——LEMARINGOUIN，LAMOUSTIQUE，ETLEBRULOT.TowhatitowesitsEnglishnameIdonotknow;butitsFrenchnamemeanssimplyathick，nauseating，intolerablesmoke.
Thesmudgeiscalledintobeingfortheexpresspurposeofcreatingasmokeofthiskind，whichisasdisagreeabletothemosquito，theblack—fly，andthemidgeasitistothemanwhomtheyaredevouring.Butthemansurvivesthesmoke，whiletheinsectssuccumbtoit，beingdestroyedordrivenaway.Thereforethesmudge，darkandbitterinitself，frequentlybecomes，likeadversity，sweetinitsuses.Itmustberegardedasaformoffirewithwhichmanhasmadefriendsunderthepressureofacruelnecessity.
Itwouldseemasifitoughttobethesimplestaffairintheworldtolightupasmudge.Andsoitis——ifyouarenottrying.
Anattempttoproducealmostanyotherkindofafirewillbringforthsmokeabundantly.Butwhenyoudeliberatelyundertaketocreateasmudge，flamesbreakfromthewettesttimber，andgreenmossblazeswithafuriousheat.Youhastilygatherhandfulsofseeminglyincombustiblematerialandthrowitonthefire，buttheconflagrationincreases.Grassandgreenleaveshesitateforaninstantandthenflashupliketinder.Themoreyouputon，themoreyoursmudgerebelsagainstitspropertaskofsmudging.Itmakesapleasantwarmth，toencouragetheblack—flies;andbrightlighttoattractandcheerthemosquitoes.Youreffortisabrilliantfailure.
Theproperwaytomakeasmudgeisthis.Beginwithaverylittle，lowlyfire.Letitbebright，butnotambitious.Don’ttrytomakeasmokeyet.
Thengatheragoodsupplyofstuffwhichseemslikelytosuppressfirewithoutsmotheringit.Mossofacertainkindwilldo，butnotthesoft，featherymossthatgrowssodeepamongthespruce—trees.
Half—decayedwoodisgood;spongy，moist，unpleasantstuff，avegetablewetblanket.Thebarkofdeadevergreentrees，hemlock，spruce，orbalsam，isbetterstill.Gatheraplentifulstoreofit.
Butdon’ttrytomakeasmokeyet.
Letyourfireburnawhilelonger;cheeritupalittle.Getsomeclear，resolute，unquenchablecoalsaglowintheheartofit.Don’ttrytomakeasmokeyet.
Nowpileonyoursmoulderingfuel.Fanitwithyourhat.Kneeldownandblowit，andintenminutesyouwillhaveasmokethatwillmakeyouwishyouhadneverbeenborn.
Thatistheproperwaytomakeasmudge.Buttheeasiestwayistoaskyourguidetomakeitforyou.
Ifhemakesitinanoldironpot，somuchthebetter，forthenyoucanmoveitaroundtothewindwardwhenthebreezeveers，andcarryitintoyourtentwithoutriskofsettingeverythingonfire，andeventakeitwithyouinthecanoewhileyouarefishing.
Someofthepleasantestpicturesintheangler’sgalleryofremembranceareframedinthesmokethatrisesfromasmudge.
Withmyeyesshut，Icancallupavisionofeightbirch—barkcanoesfloatingsidebysideonMooseheadLake，onafairJunemorning，fifteenyearsago.TheyareanchoredoffGreenIsland，ridingeasilyonthelong，gentlewaves.Inthesternofeachcanoethereisaguidewithalong—handlednet;inthebow，ananglerwithalightfly—rod;inthemiddle，asmudge—kettle，smokingsteadily.Intheairtothewindwardofthelittlefleethoversaswarmoffliesdriftingdownontheshorebreeze，withbloodypurposeintheirbreasts，butbaffledbytheprotectingsmoke.Inthewatertotheleewardplaysaschoolofspeckledtrout，feedingontheminnowsthathangaroundthesunkenledgesofrock.Asalargerwavethanusualpassesovertheledges，itliftsthefishup，andyoucanseethebigfellows，three，andfour，andevenfivepoundsapiece，poisingthemselvesintheclearbrownwater.Alongcastwillsendtheflyoveroneofthem.Letitsinkafoot.Drawitupwithaflutteringmotion.Nowthefishseesit，andturnstocatchit.
Thereisayellowgleaminthedepth，asuddenswirlonthesurface;
youstrikesharply，andthetroutismatchinghisstrengthagainstthespringofyourfourouncesofsplitbamboo.
Youcanguessathissize，ashebreakswater，bythebreadthofhistail：apoundofweighttoaninchoftail，——thatisthetraditionalmeasure，anditusuallycomesprettyclosetothemark，atleastinthecaseoflargefish.Butitisneversafetorecordtheweightuntilthetroutisinthecanoe.AstheCanadianhunterssay，\"Sellnottheskinofthebearwhilehecarriesit.\"
NowthebreezethatblowsoverGreenIslanddropsaway，andthesmokeoftheeightsmudge—kettlesfallslikeathickcurtain.Thecanoes，thedarkshoresofNorcrossPoint，thetwinpeaksofSpencerMountain，thedimbluesummitofKatahdin，thedazzlingsapphiresky，theflocksoffleece—whitecloudsshepherdedonhighbythewesternwind，allhavevanished.WithclosedeyesIseeanothervision，stillframedinsmoke，——avisionofyesterday.
ItisawildriverflowingintotheGulfofSt.Lawrence，ontheCOTENORD，fardowntowardsLabrador.Thereisalong，narrow，swiftpoolbetweentwoparallelridgesofrock.Overtheridgeontherightpoursacataractofpaleyellowfoam.Atthebottomofthepool，thewaterslidesdownintoafuriousrapid，anddashesstraightthroughanimpassablegorgehalfamiletothesea.Thepoolisfullofsalmon，leapingmerrilyintheirdelightatcomingintotheirnativestream.Theairisfullofblack—flies，rejoicinginthewarmthoftheJulysun.Onaslipperypointofrock，belowthefall，aretwoanglers，temptingthefishandenduringtheflies.
BehindthemisanoldHABITANTraisingamightycolumnofsmoke.
ThroughthecloudypillarwhichkeepsbacktheEgyptianhost，youseethewavingofalongrod.Asilver—grayflywithabarbedtaildartsoutacrossthepool，swingsaroundwiththecurrent，wellunderwater，andslowlyworkspastthebigrockinthecentre，justattheheadoftherapid.Almostpastit，butnotquite：forsuddenlytheflydisappears;thelinebeginstorunout;thereelsingssharpandshrill;asalmonishooked.
Buthowwellishehooked？Thatisthequestion.Thisisnoeasypooltoplayafishin.Thereisnochancetojumpintoacanoeanddropbelowhim，andgetthecurrenttohelpyouindrowninghim.
Youcannotfollowhimalongtheshore.Youcannotevenleadhimintoquietwater，wherethegaffercancreepneartohimunseenanddraghiminwithaquickstroke.Youmustfightyourfishtoafinish，andalltheadvantagesareonhisside.Thecurrentisterriblystrong.Ifhemakesuphismindtogodownstreamtothesea，theonlythingyoucandoistoholdhimbymainforce;andthenitistentoonethatthehooktearsoutortheleaderbreaks.
Itisnotinhumannatureforonemantowatchanotherhandlingafishinsuchaplacewithoutgivingadvice.\"Keepthetipofyourrodup.Don’tletyourreeloverrun.Stirhimupalittle，he‘ssulking.Don’tlethim‘jig，’oryou‘lllosehim.You‘replayinghimtoohard.There，he‘sgoingtojumpagain.Dropyourtip.
Stophim，quick！he‘sgoingdowntherapid！\"
Ofcoursethemanwhoisplayingthesalmondoesnotlikethis.Ifheisquick—tempered，soonerorlaterhetellshiscounsellortoshutup.Butifheisagentle，early—Christiankindofaman，wiseasaserpentandharmlessasadove，hefollowstheadvicethatisgiventohim，promptlyandexactly.Then，whenitisallended，andhehasseenthebigfish，withthelineoverhisshoulder，poisedforaninstantonthecrestofthefirstbillowoftherapid，andhasfelttheleaderstretchandgiveandSNAP！——thenhecanhavethesatisfaction，whilehereelsinhisslackline，ofsayingtohisfriend，\"Well，oldman，Idideverythingjustasyoutoldme.ButI
thinkifIhadpushedthatfishalittleharderatthebeginning，AS
IWANTEDTO，Imighthavesavedhim.\"
Butreally，ofcourse，thechanceswereallagainstit.Insuchapool，mostofthelargerfishgetaway.Theirweightgivesthematremendouspull.Thefishthatarestoppedfromgoingintotherapid，anddraggedbackfromthecurlingwave，areusuallythesmallerones.Heretheyare，——twelvepounds，eightpounds，sixpounds，fivepoundsandahalf，FOURPOUNDS！Isnotthisthesmallestsalmonthatyoueversaw？Notagrilse，youunderstand，butarealsalmon，ofbrightestsilver，hall—markedwithSt.
Andrew’scross.
Nowletussitdownforamomentandwatchthefishtryingtoleapupthefalls.Thereisaclearjumpofabouttenfeet，andabovethatanapparentlyimpossibleclimboftenfeetmoreupaladderoftwistingfoam.Asalmondartsfromtheboilingwateratthebottomofthefalllikeanarrowfromabow.Herisesinabeautifulcurve，finslaidclosetohisbodyandtailquivering;buthehasmiscalculatedhisdistance.Heisonthedownwardcurvewhenthewaterstrikeshimandtumbleshimback.Aboldlittlefish，notmorethaneighteenincheslong，makesajumpatthesideofthefall，wherethewateristhin，andisrolledoverandoverinthespray.Alargersalmonrisesclosebesideuswithatremendousrush，bumpshisnoseagainstajuttingrock，andflopsbackintothepool.Nowcomesafishwhohasmadehiscalculationsexactly.Heleavesthepoolabouteightfeetfromthefootofthefall，risesswiftly，spreadshisfins，andcurveshistailasifhewereflying，strikesthewaterwhereitisthickestjustbelowthebrink，holdsondesperately，anddriveshimself，withonelastwriggle，throughthebendingstream，overtheedge，andupthefirststepofthefoamingstairway.Hehasobeyedthestrongestinstinctofhisnature，andgoneuptomakeloveinthehighestfreshwaterthathecanreach.
Thesmokeofthesmudge—fireissharpandtearful，butamancanlearntoendureagooddealofitwhenhecanlookthroughitsringsatsuchscenesasthese.
V
THELITTLEFRIENDSHIP—FIRE
Therearetimesandseasonswhentheanglerhasnoneedofanyofthethreefiresofwhichwehavebeentalking.Hesleepsinahouse.Hisbreakfastanddinnerarecookedforhiminakitchen.
Heisinnogreatdangerfromblack—fliesormosquitoes.Allheneedsnow，ashesetsouttospendadayontheNeversink，ortheWillowemoc，ortheShepaug，ortheSwiftwater，isagoodlunchinhispocket，andalittlefriendship—firetoburnpleasantlybesidehimwhileheeatshisfrugalfareandprolongshisnoondayrest.
Thisformoffiredoeslessworkthananyotherintheworld.Yetitisfarfrombeinguseless;andI，forone，shouldbesorrytolivewithoutit.Itsonlyuseistomakeavisiblecentreofinterestwheretherearetwoorthreeanglerseatingtheirlunchtogether，ortosupplyakindofcompanionshiptoalonefisherman.
Itiskindledandburnsfornootherpurposethantogiveyouthesenseofbeingathomeandatease.Whythefireshoulddothis，I
cannottell，butitdoes.
Youmaybuildyourfriendship—fireinalmostanywaythatpleasesyou;butthisisthewayinwhichyoushallbuilditbest.Youhavenoaxe，ofcourse，soyoumustlookaboutforthedrieststicksthatyoucanfind.Donotseekthemclosebesidethestream，fortheretheyarelikelytobewater—soaked;butgobackintothewoodsabitandgatheragoodarmfuloffuel.Thenbreakit，ifyoucan，intolengthsofabouttwofeet，andconstructyourfireinthefollowingfashion.
Laytwosticksparallel，andputbetweenthemapileofdriedgrass，deadleaves，smalltwigs，andthepaperinwhichyourlunchwaswrapped.Thenlaytwootherstickscrosswiseontopofyourfirstpair.Strikeyourmatchandtouchyourkindlings.Asthefirecatches，layonotherpairsofsticks，eachpaircrosswisetothepairthatisbelowit，untilyouhaveapyramidofflame.Thisis\"aMicmacfire\"suchastheIndiansmakeinthewoods.
Nowyoucanpulloffyourwading—bootsandwarmyourfeetattheblaze.Youcantoastyourbreadifyoulike.Youcanevenmakeshifttobroiloneofyourtrout，fastenedontheendofabirchtwigifyouhaveafancythatway.Whenyourhungerissatisfied，youshakeoutthecrumbsforthebirdsandthesquirrels，pickupastickwithacoalattheendtolightyourpipe，putsomemorewoodonyourfire，andsettledownforanhour’sreadingifyouhaveabookinyourpocket，orforagoodtalkifyouhaveacomradewithyou.
Thestreamoftimeflowsswiftandsmooth，bysuchafireasthis.
Themomentsslippastunheeded;thesunsinksdownhiswesternarch;
theshadowsbegintofallacrossthebrook;itistimetomoveonfortheafternoonfishing.Thefirehasalmostburnedout.Butdonottrustittoomuch.Throwsomesandoverit，orbringahatfulofwaterfromthebrooktopouronit，untilyouaresurethatthelastglowingemberisextinguished，andnothingbuttheblackcoalsandthecharredendsofthesticksareleft.
Eventhelittlefriendship—firemustkeepthelawofthebush.Alllightsoutwhentheirpurposeisfulfilled！
VI
ALTARSOFREMEMBRANCE
Itisaquestionthatwehaveoftendebated，intheinformalmeetingsofourPetrineClub：Whichispleasanter，——tofishanoldstream，oranewone？
Theyoungermembersareallforthe\"freshwoodsandpasturesnew.\"
Theyspeakofthedelightofturningofffromthehigh—roadintosomefaintly—markedtrail;followingitblindlythroughtheforest，notknowinghowfaryouhavetogo;hearingthevoiceofwaterssoundingthroughthewoodland;leavingthepathimpatientlyandstrikingstraightacrosstheunderbrush;scramblingdownasteepbank，pushingthroughathicketofalders，andcomingoutsuddenly，facetofacewithabeautiful，strangebrook.Itremindsyou，ofcourse，ofsomeoldfriend.ItisalittleliketheBeaverkill，ortheAusable，ortheGaleRiver.Andyetitisdifferent.Everystreamhasitsowncharacteranddisposition.Yournewacquaintanceinvitesyoutoadayofdiscoveries.Ifthewaterishigh，youwillfollowitdown，andhaveeasyfishing.Ifthewaterislow，youwillgoupstream，andfish\"fineandfar—off.\"Everyturnintheavenuewhichthelittleriverhasmadeforyouopensupanewview，——
arockygorgewherethedeeppoolsaredividedbywhite—footedfalls;aloftyforestwheretheshadowsaredeepandthetreesarchoverhead;aflat，sunnystretchwherethestreamisspreadout，andpebblyislandsdividethechannels，andthebigfisharelurkingatthesidesintheshelteredcornersunderthebushes.Fromscenetosceneyoufollowon，delightedandexpectant，untilthenightsuddenlydropsitsveil，andthenyouwillbeluckyifyoucanfindyourwayhomeinthedark！
Yes，itisallverygood，thisexplorationofnewstreams.But，formypart，Ilikestillbettertogobacktoafamiliarlittleriver，andfishordreamalongthebankswhereIhavedreamedandfishedbefore.Iknoweverybendandcurve：thesharpturnwherethewaterrunsundertherootsoftheoldhemlock—tree;thesnakyglen，wherethealdersstretchtheirarmsfaroutacrossthestream;themeadowreach，wherethetroutarefatandsilvery，andwillonlyriseaboutsunriseorsundown，unlessthedayiscloudy;theNaiad’sElbow，wherethebrookroundsitself，smoothanddimpled，toembraceaclusterofpinklaurel—bushes.AlltheseIknow;yes，andalmosteverycurrentandeddyandbackwaterIknowlongbeforeIcometoit.IrememberwhereIcaughtthebigtroutthefirstyearIcametothestream;andwhereIlostabiggerone.Irememberthepoolwheretherewereplentyofgoodfishlastyear，andwonderwhethertheyaretherenow.
BetterthingsthantheseIremember：thecompanionswithwhomIhavefollowedthestreamindayslongpast;therendezvouswithacomradeattheplacewheretherusticbridgecrossesthebrook;thehoursofsweetconversebesidethefriendship—fire;themeetingattwilightwithmyladyGraygownandthechildren，whohavecomedownbythewood—roadtowalkhomewithme.
Surelyitispleasanttofollowanoldstream.Flowersgrowalongitsbankswhicharenottobefoundanywhereelseinthewideworld.
\"Thereisrosemary，that‘sforremembrance;andthereispansies，that‘sforthoughts！\"
OneMayevening，acoupleofyearssince，IwasanglingintheSwiftwater，andcameuponJosephJefferson，stretchedoutonalargerockinmidstream，andcastingtheflydownalongpool.Hehadpassedthethreescoreyearsandten，buthewasaseagerandashappyasaboyinhisfishing.
\"Youhere！\"Icried.\"Whatgoodfortunebroughtyouintothesewaters？\"
\"Ah，\"heanswered，\"Ifishedthisbrookforty—fiveyearsago.ItwasintheParadiseValleythatIfirstthoughtofRipVanWinkle.
Iwantedtocomebackagainforthesakeofoldtimes.\"
Butwhathasallthistodowithanopenfire？Iwilltellyou.Itisattheplacesalongthestream，wherethelittleflamesofloveandfriendshiphavebeenkindledinbygonedays，thatthepastreturnsmostvividly.Thesearethealtarsofremembrance.
Itisstrangehowlongasmallfirewillleaveitsmark.Thecharredsticks，theblackcoals，donotdecayeasily.Iftheyliewellupthehank，outofreachofthespringfloods，theywillstaythereforyears.Ifyouhavechancedtobuildaroughfireplaceofstonesfromthebrook，itseemsalmostasifitwouldlastforever.
Thereisamossyknollbeneathagreatbutternut—treeontheSwiftwaterwheresuchafireplacewasbuiltfouryearsago;andwheneverIcometothatplacenowIlaytherodaside，andsitdownforalittlewhilebythefast—flowingwater，andremember.
ThisiswhatIsee：Amanwadingupthestream，withacreeloverhisshoulder，andperhapsadozentroutinit;twolittleladsingraycorduroysrunningdownthepaththroughthewoodstomeethim，onecarryingafrying—panandakettle，theotherwithabasketoflunchonhisarm.ThenIseethebrightflamesleapingupinthefireplace，andhearthetroutsizzlinginthepan，andsmelltheappetizingodour.NowIseetheladscomingbackacrossthefoot—
bridgethatspansthestream，withabottleofmilkfromthenearestfarmhouse.Theyarelaughingandteeteringastheybalancealongthesingleplank.Nowthetableisspreadonthemoss.Howgoodthelunchtastes！Neverweretheresuchpink—fleshedtrout，suchcrispandsavouryslicesofbroiledbacon.Douglas，（thebeloveddollthattheyoungerladshamefacedlybringsoutfromthepocketofhisjacket，）mustcertainlyhavesomeofit.Andafterthelunchisfinished，andthebird’sportionhasbeenscatteredonthemoss，wecreepcarefullyonourhandsandkneestotheedgeofthebrook，andlookoverthebankatthebigtroutthatispoisinghimselfintheamberwater.Wehavetriedadozentimestocatchhim，butneversucceeded.Thenexttime，perhaps——
Well，thefireplaceisstillstanding.Thebutternut—treespreadsitsbroadbranchesabovethestream.Thevioletsandthebishop’s—
capsandthewildanemonesaresprinkledoverthebanks.Theyellow—throatandthewater—thrushandthevireosstillsingthesametunesinthethicket.Andtheelderofthetwoladsoftencomesbackwithmetothatpleasantplaceandsharesmyfisherman’sluckbesidetheSwiftwater.
Buttheyoungerlad？
Ah，mylittleBarney，youhavegonetofollowanewstream，——clearascrystal，——flowingthroughfieldsofwonderfulflowersthatneverfade.ItisastrangerivertoTeddyandme;strangeandveryfaraway.Somedayweshallseeitwithyou;andyouwillteachusthenamesofthoseblossomsthatdonotwither.Buttillthen，littleBarney，theotherladandIwillfollowtheoldstreamthatflowsbythewoodlandfireplace，——youraltar.
Ruegrowshere.Yes，thereisplentyofrue.Butthereisalsorosemary，that‘sforremembrance！AndclosebesideitIseealittleheart’s—ease.
ASLUMBERSONG
FORTHEFISHERMAN’SCHILD
Furlyoursail，mylittleboatie;
Here‘sthehaven，stillanddeep，Wherethedreamingtides，in—streaming，Upthechannelcreep.
See，thesunsetbreezeisdying;
Hark，theplover，landwardflying，Softlydownthetwilightcrying;
Cometoanchor，littleboatie，IntheportofSleep.
Faraway，mylittleboatie，Roaringwavesarewhitewithfoam;
Shipsarestriving，onwarddriving，Dayandnighttheyroam.
Father‘satthedeep—seatrawling，Inthedarkness，rowing，hauling，Whilethehungrywindsarecalling，——
Godprotecthim，littleboatie，Bringhimsafelyhome！
Notforyou，mylittleboatie，Isthewideandwearysea;
You‘retooslender，andtootender，Youmustrestwithme.
AlldaylongyouhavebeenstrayingUpanddowntheshoreandplaying;
Cometoport，makenodelaying！
Dayisover，littleboatie，Nightfallssuddenly.
Furlyoursail，mylittleboatie;
Foldyourwings，mytireddove.
Dewsaresprinkling，starsaretwinklingDrowsilyabove.
Ceasefromsailing，ceasefromrowing;
Rockuponthedream—tide，knowingSafelyo’eryourrestareglowing，Allthenight，mylittleboatie，Harbour—lightsoflove.