AMONG THE TROUr 



OF THE KENNEBEC 



SPRING has opened her sleepy eye to the 

 delight of all who love this beautiful 

 world. If " in the spring a young man's 

 fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love," 

 the heart of an older man opens and, perhaps, more 

 wisely, to another of nature's impetuous invitations. 

 He hears and heeds a voice that stirs a fever in his 

 veins, — a voice from out the forests and the streams, 

 a resistless voice that he is all too glad to obey. 



Do you know the blackened timber — do you know 



the racing stream, 

 With the raw, right-angled log jam at the end ; 

 And the bar of sun-warmed shingle where 

 A man may bask and dream 



To the click of shod canoe poles round the bend ? 

 It is there that we are going with our rods and reels and 



traces, 

 To a silent, smoky Indian that we know, 

 To a couch of new-pulled hemlock, with the star-light on 



our faces. 

 For the Red Gods call us out, and we must go ! 

 And we go — go — go away from here ! 



VOL. I. — 1 8 273 



