CHAPTER XVI.

A PLEASANT MORNING-THE JUDGE'S FIRST SALMON.

'Neath cloistered boughs each floral bell that swingeth,
And tolls its perfume on the passing air,
Makes Sabbath in the field, and ever ringeth

A call to prayer.

-[Horace Smith.

Give me mine angle. We'll to the river; there,
My music playing afar off, I will betray

Tawny finn'd fishes; my bended hook shall pierce
Their slimy jaws; and as I draw them up,
I'll think them every one an Antony,
And say, "Ah, ha! you're caught."

-[Shakspeare.

UR first morning in camp was cloudless and serene. The "callar mountain air" was pure and bracing. The gentle western breeze came down from the hills freighted with the perfume of a million flowers and the melody of a thousand songsters, calling up the beautiful apostrophe of the psalmist: "Praise waiteth for Thee, O God, in Zion; I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills from whence cometh my help; my help cometh from the Lord, which made heaven and earth." The leaves, besprinkled with "the

dew of the morning," sparkled like diamonds in the sunlight, while the river murmured out its perpetual anthem as it moved along its cleft pathway to the sea. Here and there, on the high-up summits of the hills which encircled the beautiful valley in which we had pitched our tents, the morning mist, transparent as a bridal veil, hung in midair like a benediction, while every forest tree and flowering shrub swayed to and fro like a waving censer before the grand altar of nature.

And in due time, as if to fill up the measure of our devout gratitude to a kind Providence for having permitted us to "cast our lines in such pleasant places," there came up from the camp-fire the odor of broiled salmon, mingled with the aroma of slowly distilling Mocha, whetting the already keen appetite for the morning meal in rapid preparation. And when served, "there was silence for the space of half an hour," when the Judge held up his crutch in speechless thanksgiving for such a luscious repast amid such gorgeous surroundings.

The first business in order was the allotment of pools. There are three within easy distance of the camp. Each usually affords ample sport, but one of them is more coveted than the others because it uniformly abounds in larger fish. As the Judge had never taken a salmon, this pool was awarded him by unanimous assent—a striking illustration of

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the self-sacrificing courtesy which distinguishes all true disciples of the gentle art. For, be it understood, it is no mean proof of magnanimity to voluntarily surrender to another the best place to fish. It requires more grace than to give up a sure thing" in Wall street. This latter sacrifice goes no deeper than the pocket; the former touches the core of your highest enjoyment. Whoever makes this sacrifice has the spirit of the good Samaritan. All anglers may not be thus magnanimous, and those who are do not always find their magnanimity appreciated. But such is the experience of all doers of good deeds. Charitable men, and men of kindly sympathies, are as often accused of ostentation as commended for benevolence. No matter if they do try to "do good by stealth and blush to find it fame," there are critics who will pronounce their modesty hypocrisy, and their blushes the flush of anger that their charities are not proclaimed from the house-top. Not so the Judge. He appreciated the well-meant compliment, and gave due expression to the feeling of gratitude which this " offering of friendship" excited in his "manly bosom."

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The issue of this little bit of courtesy was much more satisfactory than a similar instance of piscatorial self-sacrifice which I remember. It occurred in the "North Woods," on one of the inlets which

connect the Fulton chain of lakes. I was having excellent sport; almost every cast met with a response, and my creel was becoming unpleasantly weighty with its precious burden. Just as I had reached the margin of a favorite pool from which I had never failed to beguile a half dozen large fish, I observed in the near distance a clever fellow who was passionately fond of the sport, but who, having no skill, had no "luck." "I don't understand it," was his stereotyped bewailment. And just here was his trouble; he did not "understand it." He persisted in whipping the stream with a line of four-fold the proper dimensions, and made his casts with a rod equally out of proportion. I, however, liked his pluck and patience, and seeing my opportunity to do him a favor, I invited him to take my place at the pool into which I was about to cast. Although this happened twenty years ago I have not to this day been quite able to decide whether (remembering the sequel) I did a generous or a foolish thing in thus surrendering my prerogative to one who, however grateful, proved himself illy qualified to make the best possible use of his opportunity. His huge sinker fell into the water with a splash, carrying with it a number-nine hook covered with a full half ounce of wriggling worms, when it was at once seized by a three-pound trout, which in an

other instant was dangling from the limb of a neighboring tree into which he had been elevated by the excited angler. And there he hung for twenty minutes from an inextricably tangled line, which was only recovered, with what depended from it, after such turbulence as to render any further angling in that pool impracticable for the day. But in spite of his awkwardness he saved his trout, was made happy by his success, and overwhelmed me with thanks for my courtesy.

The Judge may not have been more grateful, but he entered upon his work with more grace and skill. His first casts were made with becoming caution, as if feeling his way for the open joints in the harness of a crafty witness. He was too wise an angler to drop his fly into the centre of the pool abruptly. Like a wary General, he worked his way to the heart of the citadel by "gradual approaches." A novice would have charged him with undue timidity, just as impatient lookers on sometimes accused him of irrelevancy when cautiously drawing the net of his irresistible logic around his bewildered victim in the witness box during that famous Brooklyn combat of intellectual giants. He knew what he was about then; he knows what he is about now. He was too wise a lawyer to thwart himself by inordinate haste; and he is too skillful an angler to hazard success by undue precipitancy. Foot by foot his casts were