112 THE ST. REGIS AND SARANA1 s. 



come to realize that you may forthwith, if you will, have a 

 chat with your wife and babies at home. 



Something else comes to you, knowledge of good and 

 evil as to your attire. After weeks of life out of the reach 

 of daily mails and the instantaneous telegram, you have 

 beeorne as unconscious of your outer covering as a tortoise 

 is of his shell. It tits and protects you. and what more is to 

 be desired? The first live minutes over, at Paul Smith's, 

 and in the privacy of your room, you dive into your knap 

 <ack for the tig leaves. Alas, you have become eonscioii-: 

 your freedom is ^one; you have in effect come back to 

 town; and Tom. Dick and Harry salute you on the -tree! 

 and you know that they know whether \<>u are "dressed" 

 or not. For the hour, the genuine, careless joy of the 

 woodsman in \ ou is dead. 



W hen evening comes at Paul Smith's, the loim parlor is 

 brilliantly lighted. At the piano is seated a lady in elegant 

 summer costume, and at her masterful touch the rich tones 

 rise and swell and sink and die away in music. By her 

 side, turning the sheets, as she plays, stand men of fault- 

 less attire and foreign speech. Ladies and gentlemen walk 

 up and down the room, and pretty children, fastidiously 

 dressed, romp and frolic with the irrepressible freedom of 

 childhood. 



There are social games, sober family gatherings and tiir 

 tations in the nooks and corners, and in the otlice letter- 

 writing and newspaper reading. The tishermen and hunt- 

 ers who came in. from every direction, before tea. in their 

 fancy hunting costumes reappear in Scotch and broadcloth 



