It is about as large
as a crow, and nearly as black.
We stayed a week at Moxie, or until we became surfeited with its trout,
and had killed the last Merganser duck that lingered about our end of
the lake. The trout that had accumulated on our hands we had kept
alive in a large champagne basket submerged in the lake, and the
morning we broke camp the basket was towed to the shore and opened;
and after we had feasted our eyes upon the superb spectacle, every
trout, twelve or fifteen in number, some of them two-pounders, was
allowed to swim back into the lake. They went leisurely, in couples
and in trios, and were soon kicking up their heels in their old haunts.
I expect that the divinity who presides over Moxie will see to it that
every one of those trout, doubled in weight, comes to our basket in the
future.
WINTER NEIGHBORS.
The country is more of a wilderness, more of a wild solitude, in the
winter than in the summer. The wild comes out. The urban, the
cultivated, is hidden or negatived. You shall hardly know a good field
from a poor, a meadow from a pasture, a park from a forest.
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