SAM, THE GUIDE. 307 



lake and brook-trout in abundance, furnished a meal 

 that would tempt an anchorite. 



After dinner there was a heavy shower of rain, which, 

 leaving a blue sky as it passed off, promised a cool and 

 pleasant " to-morrow." But the wind, after veering and 

 shifting for some time, finally settled down stubbornly 

 in the north-east, and blew cold and cheerless. With a 

 heavy sigh I remarked, " I am afraid we are in for it ;" 

 and sitting down, took up " Sparrowgrass " and tried to 

 read. As evening drew on, it became so cold that a fire 

 was built in the stove, around which we gathered. 

 Everything is democratic in the woods, and several 

 guides, engaged to go out with different parties the 

 coming week, dropped in to have a chat with the gentle- 

 men. One of these, whom they called " Sam," was an 

 original. He was a capital guide, willing, cheerful, a 

 good cook, and strong as an ox. Standing full six feet 

 in his stockings, he thought no more of putting his boat 

 on his head, paddles, oars, and all, and carrying it for 

 three miles over streams, and logs, and hills, and 

 through swamps, than I would an empty basket. Sam 

 has only one fault— his tongue never stops. He says a 

 j-reat many queer, laughable things, and a great deal 

 ,hat is " stale, flat, and unprofitable." Still he is an 



