TROUT IN A THUNDER-STORM. 



ONE day in the summer of 1880, 

 Charley and I, with our guide, 

 Dick Crego, left our camp on Fourth 

 Lake, for a day's trout-fishing in the 

 south branch of Moose River. It was 

 one of those days in July when the 

 dweller in the city would ponder over the 

 question in his philosophical mind as 

 to whether life was worth living or not 

 and decide in the negative, but in the 

 woods the fragrant breaths from hem- 

 locks and cool air waves from the moss- 

 covered and ferny ground gave one an 

 exhilaration and exuberant delight in mere 

 existence. 



The day was not a perfect one for 

 trout-fishing, but for us lovers of na- 

 ture the summer stillness of the deep 

 forest possessed such an enchantment 

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