TROUTING. 63 



LETTER VIII. 



TROUTING— A DUCK PROTECTING HER YOUNG BY STRA- 

 TAGEM — SABBATH IN THE FOREST. 



The morning broke clear and beautiful over our 

 encampment, and two boats of us started for Cold 

 River to take some trout for breakfast. The Indian 

 and myself went ahead, hoping to surprise some deer 

 feeding in the marshes, but were disappointed. Reach- 

 ing the foot of the lake, we shot noiselessly down the 

 Rackett River, till we came to a huge rock that rose 

 out of the bed of the stream, when we turned off and 

 began to ascend Cold River. This latter stream, for 

 some distance, sends a noiseless current over a smooth 

 and pebbly bed, while the water is almost as clear as 

 the air above you. Everything on the bottom is as 

 visible as if it were on the shores ; and when the sun 

 is up, it is impossible to take a trout, though the stream 

 is full of them. When we reached it, the surface was 

 covered with foam bubbles, made by the constant 

 springing of the trout after flies. They had absolute- 

 ly churned it up, and for a while our hooks brought 

 them to the surface fast; but we were too late. The 

 sun, rising over the forest, shed such a flood of light 

 on the water, and indeed throuffli it, to the very bot- 

 6 



