FOREST AND STREAM 
206 
ing, observing wit, but he must bring a large 
measure of hope and patience, and a love and 
propensity to the art itself; but by having once 
got and practiced it, t’en doubt not but angling 
will prove to be so pleasant that it will prove to 
be like virtue, a reward to itself.” 
After making my escape from the railroad, vve 
got our stuff on the rural stage, and soon were 
on our journey for a canoe trip down the Alla- 
gash. At the landing on the river I met Silas, 
my guide, a young, healthy, good-looking woods¬ 
man, and has it ever occurred to you that the 
mind and disposition are generally reflected in the 
face? Silas had worked in lumber camps and 
■on the “drive” and was a good canoe man and 
■excellent companion and guide, and took to guid¬ 
ing as gracefully as a duck takes to water. The 
Maine wilderness guide is a great deal more than 
a woods pilot. Paddling a canoe and taking the 
lead through the forest waterways is only a part 
“Over there where ye see that pale green grass 
there is a good spring and all up on that hill 
there it is covered with raspberry bushes. There 
are lots of bears there in the fall, but now well—” 
It was nearly noon when we came to a place 
wherq, a brook emptied its cold waters into the 
stream. There we drew the bow of the canoe 
up on the landing and stepped out on the gravel. 
Upon the bank of the stream there was a small 
spring of deliciously cold water. There on a 
rock was a drinking cup made from a cocoanut 
shell, and beside it, a tin drinking cup with the 
rust of many years on it that reminded me of the 
lines written by William Bauchop Wilson that I 
cut from the New York Herald: 
By William Bauchop Wilson. 
“There’s a spring of sparkling water flowing out 
beneath the hill, 
Where the trees are tall and shady and the robins 
sport at will, 
While the guide was making a fire to “bile” 
the kettle and prepare the lunch, I put my fly rod 
together to try for a few trout or land-locked 
salmon that were reported to be in the stream. 
No sooner had my flies touched water than there 
was a vigorous strike from a small trout at the 
lower end of the small pool. He was a little 
fellow and leaped clear over the biggest fly. 
Presently about the center of the pool I cast my 
flies across the middle of the current, and a 
pretty land-locked salmon of a pound and a 
quarter was hooked, played and landed. He was 
of that class of fighters that never surrender. In 
a few minutes I had five speckled trout, enough 
for our lunch, and quite enough to make a good, 
hearty supper. During the afternoon we came in 
view of two deer feeding knee deep in water, and 
just as the shadows commenced to fall we got 
close up to a cow moose munching on the lily 
roots with her head down over her ears. When 
Where the Spice of Life Grows. 
of his duties. He pitches the tents, makes the 
camp, and, most important of all, he prepares the 
good things to eat that satisfy the appetites that 
are made keen by the invigorating Maine air. 
It consumed but a few moments to load our 
canoe with the bundles, all stowed so that the 
trail little craft was evenly balanced as we pushed 
off from the landing, eager to taste the joys of a 
new stream. The clear, cold water rippled mer¬ 
rily over the rocks where the water was shallow, 
and, in the stretches of still water, its mirror-like 
surface reflected the trees and bushes on he 
shore. Swiftly and easily the canoe glided along 
the river like magic, doubling and winding 
through a maze of wild forest life. I call it wild 
because it was not planted by hand, but by na¬ 
ture, and as we went along our pleasant journey 
my guide entertained me with memories of for¬ 
mer trips he had made. 
“Ye see that grassy pint jest ahead of us? 
Two weeks ago I was cornin’ down the river 
with a sportsman there was four deer stannir.’ 
in that tall grass, two deer and two fawns.” 
“Last fall there was two fellers cornin’ down 
in a canoe. Jest beyond that bunch o’ alders 
there is a pitch of swift water and at the foot 
of that there was a big bull moose came out and 
started to cross the river. The rifle was in the 
bottom of the canoe and so they didn’t get him.” 
As the breezes, soft and pleasant, in the sum¬ 
mer’s sultry heat, 
Play about in cooling eddies where the light and 
shadows meet. 
On a stone within the shadow sits a can of 
ancient tin, 
With a band of rust about it and a coat of rust 
within; 
But there’s nothing God has given to appease the 
thirst of man 
Like a cooling draught of water from that Old 
Tin Can. 
“You may sip the rarest vintage from the sunny 
soil of Spain, 
Quaff the purest ardent spirits malted from the 
golden grain, 
Or consume a foaming tankard of the brewer’s 
purest mead; 
Drink the brandies of the orchard ’til your blooci 
is warm indeed; 
You may praise with fitting ardor either French 
or native wine, 
And all the ancient product of the Moselle or the 
Rhine; 
But there’s nothing more refreshing ever made 
since time began 
Than a cooling draught of water from that Old 
Tin Can.” 
In the Anglers’ Paradise. 
she raised her head the dripping water prevented 
her from hearing us as we silently glided along 
the dead water. 
Deer are quite plentiful, particularly on the 
Musquocook Lakes. One day we saw twenty-one 
on the five Musquocook lakes. We had seen in 
one day’s traveling four cow moose. 
Early one evening, while waiting for the sup¬ 
per to be cooked, I was sitting on a moss-covered 
fallen timber. Overhead a brown thrasher was 
singing a bright and cheerful carol. He seemed 
to say “cherreewit-cherreewit-go-ahead-give-it-to- 
him-quick.” As the sun went down, the wind 
perfectly still, the lake had a perfect mirror-like 
surface for miles. Imagine a picture of a scene 
in so great a scale as to reflect the trees on the 
margin of the lake and out to the mountain top, 
the clouds in the clear blue sky all in perfect har¬ 
mony. It is certainly a suggestion of how inti¬ 
mate heaven and earth are with each other. 
We had great sport fishing for the first few 
days and then for a day or two there was a lull. 
We tried to discover the reason and discussed 
the question around the camp-fire. But nature 
plays chess with her admirers, and if you wish 
to gain and keep in favor with her you must play 
a fair game and match her piece. 
We made little trips back to the ponds and 
small lakes to make photographs of these beauty 
