An Old Negative. 



October Afternoon on Lime Creek. 



Among the choicest 

 treasures of my den is a 

 travel-worn camera. Once 

 it was newer and more 

 beautiful than now, but to 

 me it was not nearly so 

 beautiful in its bright fac- 

 tory polish as it is in its 

 rusty coat of black. Every 

 scratch, stain and mar re- 

 cord a story in a mute 

 language known only to 

 myself. They point silently to a row of boxes on my closet 

 shelves ; stowed away carefully in those boxes are hundreds 

 of negatives made with this old trail-scarred veteran, each 

 of, which tells a story of happy bygone days. Sometimes, 

 when worn and weary with the cares of business, I steal 

 away by myself, take down these boxes and look over my 

 treasures. Holding them up to the light one by one, I look 

 through them into the hazy past, which they so faithfully 

 bring back to life. Then, when they have woven their potent 

 spell around me, they talk to me of days spent near to Na- 

 ture's heart. Perhaps one of these rambles may be worth 

 repeating, that you may know something of what these old 

 plates tell me. Here is one that says : "Do you remember 

 that bright October afternoon on Lime Creek? You rec- 

 ollect you started off with rod and camera, under the pre- 

 tense of going a-fishing, but when you reached the creek bank 

 you discovered that you only had part of your fishing tackle 

 with you. Though but a short quarter of a mile from home, 

 you did not return for it, but wandered on and on enchanted 

 by the lovely autumn scenery. How beautifully the afternoon 

 sun tinted the hillsides along the east shore of the little silvery 



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