SPECKLED TROUT 



nymphs had brought it all the way from its source 

 in crystal goblets, and as cool as if it had been 

 hatched beneath a glacier. When the heated and 

 soiled and jaded refugee from the city first sees one, 

 he feels as if he would like to turn it into his bosom 

 and let it flow through him a few hours, it suggests 

 such healing freshness and newness. How his roily 

 thoughts would run clear; how the sediment would 

 go downstream ! Could he ever have an impure or 

 an unwholesome wish afterward? The next best 

 thing he can do is to tramp along its banks and 

 surrender himself to its influence. If he reads it 

 intently enough, he will, in a measure, be taking it 

 into his mind and heart, and experiencing its salu- 

 tary ministrations. 



Trout streams coursed through every valley my 

 boyhood knew. I crossed them, and was often lured 

 and detained by them, on my way to and from 

 school. We bathed in them during the long sum- 

 mer noons, and felt for the trout under their banks. 

 A holiday was a holiday indeed that brought per- 

 mission to go fishing over on Rose's Brook, or up 

 Hardscrabble, or in Meeker's Hollow; all-day trips, 

 from morning till night, through meadows and pas- 

 tures and beechen woods, wherever the shy, limpid 

 stream led. What an appetite it developed ! a hun- 

 ger that was fierce and aboriginal, and that the wild 

 strawberries we plucked as we crossed the hill teased 

 rather than allayed. When but a few hours could 

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