BROOK TROUT 



the killeck and paddled homeward around the wooded 

 point. The moon rose, and the scene on the lake now 

 became magically beautiful. The mocking laugh of 

 the loon was the only cause of complaint in that even- 

 ing of splendor. Did you ever hear that laugh?" 

 Again Mr. Prime well says: "One who has informer 

 years lived in the woods forms a stronger attachment 

 for that life than a man ever forms for any other. The 

 affection which we have for the companions of our 

 solitude is very strong. Hence, when I find myself in 

 the woods the old sights and sounds come back with 

 such force that I cannot tear myself away." 



I have given Mr. Prime's charming picture of the 

 Saint Regis waters forty and twenty-five years ago so 

 that I might the better, in my feebler way, sketch them 

 to-day, and by this contrast emphasize the difference 

 between our Northern lakes and mountains of the 

 middle and the end of the century. For the change 

 that has transformed the Saint Regis country from a 

 wilderness and the delight of sportsmen to a fashion- 

 able summer resort, has also taken place throughout 

 the North Woods, except in a few portions, and will 

 not be long in taking place there. I reached Paul 

 Smith's on a recent September evening by a walk of 

 four and a half miles through a settled country and 

 over a macadamized road from a brick station on the 

 main line of the Adirondack division of the New York 

 Central, which runs from Utica to Montreal. Dark- 

 ness had fallen before I entered a strip of woods through 

 96 



