OLD FRIENDS. 1 85 



I could see now and then the dip and lift of a lily pad, 

 gleaming like a ruby. The Baron had been all day sketch- 

 ing, but had come in at dusk, hung his sketches here and 

 there on trees, and, as we both had good appetites, we 

 dined sumptuously. Then we talked by the camp-fire for 

 a while, and then he threw himself down on the balsam 

 boughs under the bark shelter, and slept in peace. 



While memory is aroused so frequently by similarities 

 of time and place, it is sometimes excited by the very re- 

 verse state of facts, the total dissimilarity. I thought of 

 camp-fires like this by which I had slept in other days, 

 but these thoughts were brief, rapid, evanescent as the 

 tall flames of the fire, leaping into light and vanishing to 

 be followed by others in quick succession. And then, as 

 I lay down with my head resting on a birch log waiting 

 to be burned, the wind all gone, save only as I heard the 

 sound far off on Cannon Mountain, the great fire sinking 

 slowly till the heap of glowing logs gave out few flames, 

 and the red light shone on the trunks of great trees about 

 me, I found myself surrounded by a group of swarthy- 

 faced men, with dark and flashing eyes, on whose every 

 countenance I saw the light of faithful affection. 



I am not quite clear that there was any very remarkable 

 coincidence in the fact that these old Arab friends sur- 

 rounded me that night, and that on my return to the Pro- 

 file House next day I met with late intelligence from them. 

 Besides the general truth that the angler has opportunity 

 to think, and naturally, when alone in the forest, calls his 

 friends around him, it is more than possible that a re- 

 mark made by a passing acquaintance on the evening 

 previous had led to this assemblage. For a gentleman 

 recently returned from Europe and the East had said to 

 me, "I met your friend Steenburger at Alexandria. He 



