814 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[Jan. 17, 1889. 



A BREATH FROM THE MAINE WOODS. 



ONE June evening a white gull flew across Moosehead 

 Lake from the direction of the outlet, crossed the 

 Spencer Narrows and held its course up the bay till it 

 disappeared in the fast gathering twilight toward the 

 twin peaks of the Spencer Mountains. If, as it winged 

 its silent way. it looked down through the trees, on a 

 wooded point near the Narrows, it saw three young men 

 sitting in the door of a camp, who were enjoying a 

 siesta after a day devoted to the angler's art. 



The stalwart, broad-shouldered one was our guide Bill; 

 the tall and slender one was Harry; the third was the 

 Scribe. We were at the lake again after a year's absence, 

 and as we sat there in the twilight, with no other human 

 being within a dozen miles of us, we could hardly realize 

 that a twelvemonth of busy mercantile life bad been 

 added to the "flood of years" since we last looked on the 

 landmarks, which seemed like so many old friends. The 

 sun had gone down directly behind the great rock 

 facade of distant Kineo, which towered majestically 

 above an intervening headland, and over the brow of a 

 great cliff hung a mass of billowy clouds, which repro- 

 duced the brilliant colors of the solar spectrum. A gale 

 had been blowing all the afternoon, and out on the broad 

 bosom of the lake the white caps were tossing their 

 snowy plumes, while the surf beat heavily on the shore, 

 its hoarse sibilaut voice mingling with the softer tones of 

 the swaying foliage. Across the water familiar moun- 

 tain outlines showed darkly against the amber sky — Old 

 Squaw, the Miseree Mountains, and Bald Mountain. 

 From the other side of the point, the further shores were 

 already shrouded in darkness, and the two mountains 

 literally united the earth and sky, for their summits were 

 lost in the clouds which hung over them. 



The twilight deepened, the shadows in the forest be- 

 came blacker, and the dark mantle of the night settled 

 down over mountain, lake and forest. 



One by one the stars appeared, and over Kineo, where 

 the sunlight had died so grandly, hung the slender silver 

 crescent of the new moon. 



We had come to Moosehead intending to spend a few 

 days at the outlet, and go nowhere else. Our plans for a 

 journey down the West Branch to Chesuncook and 

 Ktaadn had been frustrated, and as a compromise, a few 

 days at the outlet were decided on. 



The thought of letting the summer pass without at least 

 a short outing in the woods was not to be entertained; so 

 one June afternoon found us once more standing on the 

 dam, intent on alluring the speckled trout from their 

 native element. It seemed like old times, and the rush- 

 ing water as it foamed over the dam brought with it a 

 flood of memories of other days, and for the moment the 

 trout were almost forgotten, as I gave my thoughts free 

 rein and my eyes drank in the charming scene about me. 

 It was good to be once more breathing God's pure air, 

 untainted by the city's smoke and dust, and to be look- 

 ing again down the noble stream, starting here on its 

 long journey to the sea. But the struggles of a trout 

 which Harry had just taken from his hook gave tangible 

 proof that we were there again, and soon my leader, with 

 its seductive flies, was falling softly toward the swiftly 

 moving water. 



We had been told that not many fish had been taken 

 at the outlet this season, but still we hoped that they 

 might begin to rise now, and with the proverbial patience 

 of an angler, we fished till supper time, and then con- 

 tinued it till dark. We caught a few fish, but not enough 

 to make the sport exciting, and they were not large 

 enough to inspire much enthusiasm. Our luck was not 

 nearly as good as it had been at the same time the pre- 

 vious year, but the season was later in every way; the ice 

 did not go out till later in the spring, and the fish came 

 later. 



Ten days after we were at the dam some friends fished 

 there, and with good success, the trout being plenty and 

 rising well. As we reeled in our lines that night, prepar- 

 atory to returning to the house, we felt rather glum at 

 the prospect of remaining several days, and there would 

 be no boat till the third day, so we felt that we were 

 anchored there for that time at least, but we philosophic- 

 ally decided to make the best of it and trust for better 

 success on the morrow. As we walked back I said to 

 Harry, "Instead of coming here we ought to have had 

 Bill meet us with the canoe and gone into camp some- 

 where, and then we wouldn't have been tied down to 

 one place." "I know it," he replied, "but it's too late 

 now, and perhaps we coaldn't have had Bill anyway." 



We went back across the dam, discussing the rather 

 dubious prospect, and decided to go to bed early and turn 

 out at daybreak to try our luck again. We had nearly 

 reached the house when we saw a man sitting on the 

 grass, who quickly arose to his feet at our approach and 

 came toward us. As his six feet of stalwart manhood 

 assumed the perpendicular, I recognized the very man of 

 whom I had spoken, my old guide, Bill. I was doubly 

 glad to see him— for his own sake, and because now we 

 could probably get away. He said he had come down 

 through the woods from Kineo, to clear the telegraph 

 wire from the obstructions which had fallen on it during 

 the winter, and he had had a hard day fighting his way 

 through the brush and wading through mud and water, 

 which he had found waist deep in some places. His 

 canoe he had left at the mouth of Moose Eiver, opposite 

 Kineo, and he was going up in the morning on a small 

 to wboat. This was welcome news to us, and to say I was 

 glad to see him but feebly expresses it. We were all 

 tired and went to bed at an early hour, to dream of the 

 big trout we were to catch in the new location we were 

 going to, but which we had not as yet decided on. 



±he next day opened propitiously, and after an eariy 

 breakfast, though not so early but that we again tried the 

 dam and caught one fish apiece, we went aboard the 

 l U? iV £ . ?Tu S a f taunch little craft, very powerfully 

 built, but with no deck. Her owner was aboard with I 

 couple of laches, whom he invited for the sail. Harrv 

 sat with tnem m the stern sheets, and Bill and I went 

 forward, where we could talk and plan undisturbed. 

 „ J \i7 aS a l^?? 1 morni ng: the sky was blue and 

 cloudless and the lake unruffled be the slightest ripple 

 except where now and again a fish would leap. We sped 

 t£SX & ^ e P Ieasant > sil «*t shores and islands, and, 

 3 ?P U1 ? ey ?' aS Wlthout inc ident, I enjoyed the 

 smoooth, restful motion, and found pleasure in gazin- 



away over the water at the blue mountains, and the green 

 slopes of the nearer hills. 



Once the majestic bulk of Ktaadn burst upon our view, 

 dim, vague and shadowy: but the intervening hills soon 

 closed in upon it, as if the ancient abode of the Indian 

 deities was not to be seen by mortal eyes, except as a 

 fleeting vision. It seemed symbolical of all that is mys- 

 terious and romantic in the history of the wilderness, 

 and then came to mind many of the legends which clus- 

 ter around it in the folk-lore cf the Algonquin races. 



We passed the steamer Moosehead towing a raft of logs 

 to the outlet, and as Bill said that Cy, our other guide of 

 the previous year, was on her, I hoped to get a glimpse 

 of him, and was disappointed that he wasn't visible. 



We decided to go to Spencer Bay, as Bill said a per 

 manent camp had been built there last fall. Our outing 

 must necessarily be a short one, and I wanted to go where 

 we could enjoy the pure, unadulterated essence of open- 

 air life. I felt as every one does at times whose life is 

 spent among the busy, hurrying scenes of a great city, 

 that I wanted to get away from it all; to get away from 

 myself even, as far as that self is a component part of 

 metropolitan affairs, and find rest and quiet such as only 

 nature can give. So Spencer Bay. the must solitary part 

 of Moosehead Lake, was decided on. When we arrived 

 at Kineo we all went ashore, except Bill, who went over 

 to Moose Eiver after his canoe. While he was gone we 

 bought our supplies, and tried to engage a steamer to 

 take us to the camp, but there was only one at the wharf, 

 and she was having some repairs done to the engine, so 

 that she could not go before night. This was bad, as we 

 did not want to loose half a day, but when the tug came 

 back, the captain, a jolly Scotchman, said kindly, that if 

 the owner was willing he would take us down, and to our 

 satisfaction that gentleman said he should not need the 

 boat for the afternoon. 



After Bill brought his blankets and camp utensils we 

 loaded them and our own dunnage, and tnen started for 

 our destination, with a rowboat which we had hired tow- 

 ing astern. 



Since morning a stiff breeze had sprung up and out in 

 the lake a heavy sea was running, though the day was 

 clear and bright. The captain of the boat we had* tried 

 to hire said he should not care to go to the bay in such a 

 gale, but our own captain laughed and said he would 

 take us down all right. Our crew consisted of one man, 

 a Frenchman, who could speak no English; but having 

 some little knowledge of French myself, I found that he 

 had formerly been an engineer in the French navy, and, 

 though he spoke no English, he knew five languages. 

 Once out of the cove at Kineo, our brave little vessel 

 pointed her bow to the southeast and away we went. 

 What a sail that was! The wind was blowing half a gale 

 and dead against us; the waves were running high and 

 the air was full of spray, blown from the crests of the 

 whitecaps. 



The sky was blue and the atmosphere very clear. The 

 boat breasted the sea nobly, and under the guidance of 

 the skillful hand on the wheel slid over the waves as if 

 she knew what we expected of her, though Ave were wet 

 through with spray. The engineer put her through for 

 all she was worth, and stood all the way with his eyes on 

 the waves and his hand on the throttle, so that when we 

 went over a wave he would shut off steam till the pro- 

 peller was in the water again. Then she would bound 

 on with renewed energy, as if she had been gathering 

 strength for a spring, it was glorious and exhilarating 

 in the extreme, and as I stood there with my hand on 

 the weather rail, the wind and spray dashing hi my face, 

 while I looked across the heaving bosom of the lake 

 spangled with whitecaps, at the mountains and forest 

 surrounding all, 1 felt as if new life was being infused 

 into my veins. I drew in great breaths of the pure air, 

 and watched the tossing water and passing shores, till it 

 seemed as if the wild spirit of the mountain wind had 

 imbued us with its own erratic freedom. I realized only 

 the sense of motion, and felt like calling "Faster! faster!" 

 to the stolid man who stood there by the engine. 



The buildings at the base of Kineo became smaller and 

 smaller, and the mountain itself appeared to be gradually 

 sinking into the lake, as we left them behind us, and so 

 we steamed on for a dozen miles, till we shot through 

 the Narrows into the smooth water under the lee of the 

 point, on which our camp was situated. We put oui' 

 things into the boat, bade our Scotch friend and his 

 French companion, "Good-bye" and "Au revoir," and 

 went ashore. 



We watched the craft which had rendered us such 

 good service, till we could no longer see her, and then 

 carried our belongings to the camp, the link which joined 

 us to civilization was broken, and we turned joyfully to- 

 ward the primitive life of the woods. The camp was a 

 frame structure, with a kitchen and living room, and a 

 loft above in which to sleep. 



A path led to the lake on one side, and to Spencer Bay 

 on the other. Several wild cherry trees were in blossom, 

 and the flowers of the trillium gleamed everywhere 

 under foot. Silvery birches, mysterious pines, and 

 gloomy hemlocks cast their protecting shade over our 

 sylvan dwelling, and extended their branches as if in 

 welcome. We were in the wild woods. Looking in 

 one direction, our gaze was lost in the dim vistas of the 

 forest; in the other we saw the long blue reaches of the 

 lake gleaming through the trees, as the blue sky gleamed 

 through the foliage overhead. 



Leaving Bill to put things to right, and build a tire, we 

 took our tackle and went out to catch some trout for sup- 

 per. . Harry had hardly put his line overboard before he 

 exclaimed, "I've got one," but alas for his hopes, instead 

 of the speckled trout he expected to see, a plebian sucker 

 was the prize. I slid the net under. The expression on 

 his face as he took the captive from the hook, and tossed 

 it overboard, was one of disgust, but when he pulled in 

 the second sucker, and then a chub, he joined in the 

 laughter I indulged in at his expense, and we moved to 

 another locality. I was using flies, but could not get a 

 rise, and while we were out we did not see a fish break 

 water. However, by using bait we caught enough for 

 supper and breakfast, and returned to camp. 



After our meal I strolled down to the shore alone, to 

 watch the sunset, as I like to do sometimes when in the 

 wood?, for there are times when one likes to have nothing, 

 not even a companion, to distract his attention from the 

 enjoyment of the scene before him; when conversation 

 seems to disturb the calm repose and sweet serenity of 

 nature. 



How still the woods were at the close of day! The 



wind had gone down with the sun, as if it and the water 

 would go to rest, as all animate things seemed to have 

 done. The water in the lake was high, and penetrated 

 beyond the eyes of the timber. I walked along a fallen 

 log till I got beyond the outer fringe, and then stood 

 there till nightfall. The water lapped restlessly among 

 the submerged trunks, and a large log which had drifted 

 in, creaked as it rubbed and ground against the standing 

 trees. Otherwise the silence was undisturbed. A white 

 speck which I could see at the head of the bay, some rive 

 miles away, I knew was the steamer Governor Cobura, 

 the largest boat on the lake, which had gone up to tow a 

 raft of logs to the outlet in the morning. The Spencer 

 Mountains were of a deep purple color, and in the gray 

 twilight appeared larger than ever. As I watched them, 

 masses of clouds began to drift across them, moving 

 slowly toward the east. At times the two peaks would 

 tower above the vapor which hid their bases, and again 

 would be obscured in turn, as it moved and shifted in the 

 air currents. 



Then for a moment the whole bulk of the mountains 

 would stand out, or a smaller cloud would dritt across 

 like a shadow. I likened them to two great giants, 

 standing mute and immovable, as the legions of the clouds 

 passed them in review. As I looked across the dark 

 water of the bay at those two mountains looming up be- 

 yond, an idea formed in my mind, that in this same way 

 we look across and into the future, at the heights of 

 ambition which we aspire to climb. When I first thought 

 of this comparison there were no clouds on the moun- 

 tains, and I thought how clear the way seems sometimes, 

 and nothing seems to block the road to the goal we are 

 striving to win. and everything is bright and propitious 



But the clouds were closing in again, and the mountains 

 were growing dimmer in the fading light, as the clouds 

 of adversity came between us and our desires. But 

 through rifts the summits could still be seen, and I knew, 

 though I could not see them, that the slopes which led to 

 them were still there. Some of the clouds were beauti- 

 ful, as they caught and reflected the last rays of the sun- 

 light, but I knew that those same clouds were only vapor, 

 and I thought how often the roseate clouds of hope 

 changed to the cold gray mist of disappointment before 

 we reach the consummation of our plans. The further 

 shore was now entirely lost to view, obscured by the 

 dense masses of clouds which covered everything, and I 

 walked back to camp, the last thought of my re very 

 being, that the sunlight would surely come again on 

 the morrow and dissipate the vapory curtain, reveal- 

 ing again the green slopes and sparkling water, and I 

 was thankful that in life as in nature, after darkness and 

 storm are always light and calm, and every cloud, look 

 black as it may, has the sun shining on the further side. 



W. A. B. 



[TO BE CONTINUED.] 



WASHINGTON NOTES. 



WASHINGTON, Jan. 16.— The winter climate of 

 Washington, always agreeable, is exceptionally 

 charming this year. Cyclones avoid us, and the temper- 

 ature is beneficent with warmth and sunshine. Yester- 

 day I took a walk out to the new Rock Creek Park (to 

 include 2,000 acres of broken woodland) and counted no 

 less than fifty equestrians, male and female. It is the 

 fashionable suburban drive now, for vehicles as well, out 

 to the Casino, past Dr. Hammond's new Sanitarium, to 

 the bridle paths which wind through the dells of what 

 can be made the finest park in America, and about the 

 purlieus of Mt. Pleasant^ which is fast filling up with 

 fine residences. 



It will be remembered that Senator Hoar, of Massa- 

 chusetts, in congratulating the American Historical 

 Society the other day upon its selection of Washington 

 as its place of meeting, referred to the fact, now becom- 

 ing generally recognized, that Washington is fast acquir- 

 ing the advantages, facilities and conditions which will 

 make it inevitably, and almost immediately, the center 

 of the Republic's activities in science, literature, art and 

 education. We have here already the Smithsonian In- 

 stitution and the National Museum as a nucleus, with all 

 their various ramifications in the interest of scientific 

 investigation ; the Agricultural Department with its sub- 

 siduary branches in botany and economic ornithology: 

 the embryo Zoological Garden, which is to contain 128 

 acres; the collection of historical paintings and statuary 

 at the Capitol, with scores of monuments scattered about 

 the city; and soon we shall have the permanent exposi- 

 tion, the great Catholic University, to excel those of the 

 Old World, the contemplated park of 2,000 acres, the 

 Potomac Flats improvement park of another thousand 

 acres, the Military and Naval Museum, and the new 

 Congressional Library of 2,500,000 volumes as an inex- 

 haustible reservoir of thought. Then there is a multi- 

 plicity of historical, geographical, literary and scientific 

 societies and clubs already gathered like moths around 

 the ever increasing light, and these in turn attract the 

 students of the country and the wealthy aesthetics who 

 make their residence here; so that it is easy to see that 

 Senator Hoar's predictions are likely to be verified within 

 the time of the present generation. 



At the regular annual meeting of the Regents of the 

 Smithsonian Institution on Jan. 9, Chief Justice Fuller, 

 of the U. S. Supreme Court, w r as unanimously elected 

 chancellor to fill the vacancy caused by the death of 

 Chief Justice Waite. Memorial resolutions on the death 

 of regent Dr. Wm, Gray were passed. Dr. Welling re- 

 ported that the Smithsonian receipts for the year were 

 $44,386, and the disbursements $39,546. The total amount 

 of funds administered during the year, in addition to 

 the Smithsonian's income, was a trifle over $250,000, con- 

 sisting chiefly of appropriations by Congress for buildin? , 

 repairing, exchanges, ethnology, national museum, etc. 

 The regents favored the proposed Zoological Park (123 

 acres) and passed a resolution requestingthat separate and 

 ample provision be made in the new Library of Congress 

 for the deposit of the more than a quarter of a million 

 of titles now in the Smithsonian, which are constantly 

 and rapidly increasing in number. Arrangements were 

 also made to accommodate in the Smithsonian buildiner 

 the books, collections, etc., belonging to the American 

 Historical Association recently incorporated by Congress. 

 The first regular meeting oi' the second session of the 



