A SUMMER VOYAGE 



is a good conductor of the subtle fluid. The quality 

 or qualification I refer to belongs to most persons 

 who spend their lives in the open air, to soldiers, 

 hunters, fishers, laborers, and to artists and poets 

 of the right sort. How full of it, to choose an illus- 

 trious example, was such a man as Walter Scott! 



But no such person came in answer to my prayer, 

 so I set out alone. 



It was fit that I put my boat into the water at 

 Arkville, but it may seem a little incongruous that 

 I should launch her into Dry Brook; yet Dry Brook 

 is here a fine large trout stream, and I soon found 

 its waters were wet enough for all practical pur- 

 poses. The Delaware is only one mile distant, and 

 I chose this as the easiest road from the station 

 to it. A young farmer helped me carry the boat 

 to the water, but did not stay to see me off ; only 

 some calves feeding alongshore witnessed my em- 

 barkation. It would have been a godsend to boys, 

 but there were no boys about. I stuck on a rift 

 before I had gone ten yards, and saw with misgiving 

 the paint transferred from the bottom of my little 

 scow to the tops of the stones thus early in the 

 journey. But I was soon making fair headway, 

 and taking trout for my dinner as I floated along. 

 My first mishap was when I broke the second joint 

 of my rod on a bass, and the first serious impedi- 

 ment to my progress was when I encountered the 

 trunk of a prostrate elm bridging the stream within 

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