8o FLY-FISHING IN MAINE LAKES. 



It makes me just a little provoked sometimes, 

 when Mr. S. smiles so blandly at me \ and as vaca- 

 tion time comes around, and I begin to lag a little, 

 and the work of the year shows itself in the face 

 and frame, somehow my friend's smiles grow more 

 bland. Far be it from me to suspect that there is 

 a trifle of business in that look : not for the world ! 



But as I disrobe myself to-night, and feel the 

 renewed strength and the elasticity of youth, and 

 the mirror reflects the bronzed countenance, the 

 arms browned and strengthened (having just re- 

 turned from a glorious camping vacation, not only 

 the arms but the accompaniments), I feel that I 

 have got a little start on my friend, and I chuckle 

 inwardly to think that the next time his smile will 

 be less "childlike and bland," and that he will be 

 obliged to lengthen my lease a little. 



I felt that way, so far as renewed strength is con- 

 cerned, as I jumped out of bed the morning after 

 our arrival at Andover. 



We had been watching a little cricket, running in 

 and out among those fresh green spruce and pine 

 boughs with which Mrs. Merrill, like many other 

 farmers' wives, had adorned her fireplace. 



He had been chirping merrily for quite a while, 

 and of course we were reminded of the genial 

 author who has almost immortalized him. 



