The Universalist. [volume] (Chicago [Ill.]) 1884-1897, 1888-07-28

post office within ten miles, nor a tele-
graph within thirty, and the territory
is not even enclosed within town linn
its. The pond is named for one of
those adventurous spirits that consti-
tute the pickets of civilization, of whom
Cooper's Leatherstocking is the ideal.
The rifle, the trap, the fishing-rod are
their accoutrements, and their closeness
to the heart of nature seems solto de-
velop their better qualities that they
are seldom ignoble. Such was "Tim"
the,hunter, whose meis immortalized
by connection with this lovely lake.
1 love man whose deeds are earnest,
Whose heart is faithful. whose words are
true; ms
And little it matters whers God has placed
Or what is the work that Is his to do,
Whether he sits in halls of marble
To make the laws for mighty land,
Or hears in the forest the wild birds warble
And grasps an ak in his brawny hand.
Just such man was Tim the hunter,
guide with record without stain,
Who knew like book each brook and river,
And loved every tree in the woodsof Maine
For forty years thro' the painless forest
He followed the moose and the caribou,
And mount and valley heard his rifle,
And piercing the darkness his wild holloa.
What monument for such a man!
His poets eye selected the site for its
exquisite beauty, and now it is forever
linked with his name.
If there is finer ride than that from
Kingfeld here, even in picturesque
New England, I have not seen it. For
miles on the edge of the boulder strewn
Carrabasset, wild and grand, with Mt.
Abram in full sight. then over a high
elevation, with Bigelow, immense and
sublime, at first in front, then on the
right, and at last behind, across Sad
dleback river, along tllenorth branch of
the Dead river, to Smiths farm, the
last sign of civilization. The view
from this place 500 feet above the
river, and 1000 feet above Kingfeld,
with the vast bulk Of Bigelow dominat-
ing the wide landscaIe, and filling the
soul with emotions of grandeur-is
one that the traveller must go far in
any land to see surpassed.
The walk from Smiths to the pond
1 took alone. Unbroken woods clothed
nearly every rood Of II The partridge
with her little brood ID clucking and
fiuttering before ~ tlle great pileated
woodpecker hanonil de hollow trees;
the snow-bird, that visits us in winter,
sat on her nest in the ground at the
edge Of the track; visions Of deer, bear
and caribou, that are easily found and
shot hereabouts, translated many of the
wild sounds continually heard into their
vernacular, though met none of these;
and the whole experience was one not
possible in New England out of Maine.
Tired, and "all accoutred as 1 was,"
without waiting for the exacting cere-
mony of supper, floated on the lake
Immediately on arrival, and cast my fly,
a Montreal, until my creel held sixteen
of the finest trout ever saw, not large,
averaging full half pound, but of per-
feet color outside and inside, and as
eager for the fly as the needle for the
earth's magnetic center. Next morn
ing twen ty-eight more were secured,
and each morning and evening as many
as were required for the table were Sc
cured, and no more, for hold "fshing"
for the purpose of slaughter, or to see
how many can be caught, to be sort
of murder. But angling, with the fly,
without the barbarity of impaling
the writhing 0rm,-angliDg, which
good Isaak Walton calls the contempla-
tive mans recreation, 1 hold to be the
ne Plus ultra of the enjoyment attain
able by the animal man. And no other
place is equal to Maine lake. 1t is
pleasant-as / found last week in King
field, VIII en-, after trudge of ten miles,
1 returned with seventy-six trophies
to angle for brook trout.
"In the green valley where the silver brook,
From its fulllaver, pours the white cascade.
A nd, bubbling low amid the tangled woods,
Slips down thro' moss-grown stones with
endless laughter"
But on lake the fish not only grows
larger-for it is the genuine brook trout
still-salfmo fontinois all is clear
for the fly to float, and for the fish to
run, and the surroundings all sing to
eye and ear and heart as nowhere else
And one in love with nature, in pos
session of some skill born of practice,
who seeks the pastime not for the sake
of the fish but for the fishing and its
accomplishments, whose senses drink in
the aroma, and sunshine, and all the
influences of the place, such one finds
balm and refreshment and recuperation
and inspiration, as he sits in his canoe,
casts his fly on the blue lake, and list
ems to the looms weird laugh, the king
fishers rattle, and sees the sailing
osprey, all engaged in the same avoca-
tion as himself, and with whom he has
81 4 l.