BROOK TROUT 



tumbling down the lofty water-shed in a series of 

 rapids, fall into the lakes or ocean. These are the 

 sources of the Hudson, the Oswagatchie, Black River, 

 Raquette, Saint Regis, Ausable, and Saranac. It is only 

 where a valuable iron deposit makes it pay to surmount 

 the natural obstacles that some solitary tramway pene- 

 trates into the heart of the mountains. The few fertile 

 districts and tillable spots are likely to remain unoccu- 

 pied forever for lack of highways to a market, unless, 

 perchance, the growth of succeeding centuries drives 

 an overflowing population to the very crags of this 

 American Switzerland. 



It has been proposed to make a national park of this 

 grand domain, and dedicate it forever to sports of for- 

 est, lake, and field. Why not ? Here is a territory 

 of 3,500,000 acres, or 5,000 square miles — larger than 

 the State of Connecticut. Let the disciples of the rod 

 and gun go up and possess the land. Let the girls 

 romp. Let the pianos thrum. Let the wild-wood ring 

 with the merry laughter of healthy women — real flesh- 

 and-blood women who will make wives too good for 

 the sour ascetics who would fain frown them out. 

 Precious indeed in these cloudy times of irksome servi- 

 tude are the holiday hours we snatch, sparkling with 

 dew and sunshine, from the beatitude of the better 

 day. And what more genial warmth can the sports- 

 man find than the female welcome that greets him 

 from the long piazza when he returns from his exile in 



the woods I 



72 



