82 WINTER TALKS ON SUMMER PASTIMES. 



plenty and anglers, few, wiicn you could float from Mar- 

 tin's to Raquette Falls, and from Blue Mountain Lake to 

 the Old Forge, in midsummer, as undisturbed by human 

 companionship as if you were a-straddle of the highest peak 

 of the Rocky Mountains, when there wasn't so much as a 

 log shanty on the whole line of the Fulton range or (with 

 one exception) from Bartlett's away down to Downie's Land- 

 ing. Most of the good fellows whom I was wont to meet 

 in those far-back summer rambles have made their last 

 "cast," and are now, I trust, enjoying infinitely higher fe- 

 licity on the banks of that * 'pure river of water, clear as 

 crystal," so graphically portrayed by the lonely seer upon 

 the Isle of Patmos Some of them alas! how few still 

 remain to illustrate the beneficent influence of the gentle art 

 upon the mind and heart and physique of its happy brother- 

 hood. Here is a note just receiyed from one of them. Al- 

 though to him the grasshopper may have become a burden, 

 the golden bowl is not yet broken, nor has his good right 

 arm yet lost its cunning. His heart still pulsates with good 

 will to all men. especially to those who "deal justly, walk 

 humbly," and love to go a-iishing. He has the gentle spirit 

 of the dear old masters, and whether, hereafter, his annual 

 visits shall be many or few to the pleasant places where 

 he has for thirty years found retirement, recreation, re- 

 pose, and a higher conception of the munificence and loving 

 kindness of the Heavenly Father, the recollection of his 

 friendly courtesies and quiet ways will ever be a pleasant 

 memory to those who have often met him in the woods and 

 enjoyed his kindly hospitality: 



"KEESEVILLE, Essex Co., N. Y., November 27, 1882. 

 "My dear ZX: 



"I desire to express to you the satisfaction and pleasure already 

 received from reading the two articles from your pen published in 

 FOREST AND STREAM. I trust they will be continued through all the 

 bleak months of our weary winter. May I ask you, before you 'reel 

 up,' to give us a k Talk' on the dear old North Woods of the Saranac 

 region and thereabouts? I very often recall the many times we have 

 met there, and they are hallowed in memory. Last spring's trip 

 made my thirtieth annual pilgrimage to those blessed haunts, but 

 not with my usual enthusiasm. I miss old friends like yourself. As 



