104 SIGNS AND SEASONS 



in the shade. The woods and the solitudes had 

 touched him with their own softening and refining 

 influence; had, indeed, shed upon his soil of life a 

 rich, deep leaf mould that was delightful, and that 

 nursed, half concealed, the tenderest and wildest 

 growths. There was grit enough back of and be- 

 neath it all, but he presented none of the rough and 

 repelling traits of character of the conventional 

 backwoodsman. In the spring he was a driver of 

 logs on the Kennebec, usually having charge of a 

 large gang of men; in the winter he was a solitary 

 trapper and hunter in the forests. 



Our first glimpse of Maine waters was Pleasant 

 Pond, which we found by following a white, rapid, 

 musical stream from the Kennebec three miles back 

 into the mountains. Maine waters are for the most 

 part dark-complexioned, Indian-colored streams, but 

 Pleasant Pond is a pale-face among them both in 

 name and nature. It is the only strictly silver 

 lake I ever saw. Its waters seem almost artificially 

 white and brilliant, though of remarkable transpar- 

 ency. I think I detected minute shining motes 

 held in suspension in it. As for the trout, they are 

 veritable bars of silver until you have cut their 

 flesh, when they are the reddest of gold. They 

 have no crimson or other spots, and the straight 

 lateral line is but a faint pencil-mark. They ap- 

 peared to be a species of lake trout peculiar to these 

 waters, uniformly from ten to twelve inches in 

 length. And these beautiful fish, at the time of 

 our visit (last of August) at least, were to be taken 



