h an old stream, or a new
one?

The younger members are all for the "fresh woods and pastures new."
They speak of the delight of turning off from the high-road into some
faintly-marked trail; following it blindly through the forest, not
knowing how far you have to go; hearing the voice of waters sounding
through the woodland; leaving the path impatiently and striking straight
across the underbrush; scrambling down a steep bank, pushing through
a thicket of alders, and coming out suddenly, face to face with a
beautiful, strange brook. It reminds you, of course, of some old friend.
It is a little like the Beaverkill, or the Ausable, or the Gale
River. And yet it is different. Every stream has its own character and
disposition. Your new acquaintance invites you to a day of discoveries.
If the water is high, you will follow it down, and have easy fishing.
If the water is low, you will go upstream, and fish "fine and far-off."
Every turn in the avenue which the little river has made for you opens
up a new view,--a rocky gorge where the deep pools are divided by
white-footed falls; a lofty forest where the shadows are deep and the
trees arch overhead; a flat, sunny stretch where the stream is spread
out, and pebbly islands divide the channels, and the big fish are
lurking at the sides in the sheltered corners under the bushes. From
scene to scene you follow on, delighted and expectant, until the night
suddenly drops its veil, and then you will be lucky if you can find your
way home in the dark!

Yes, it is all very good, this exploration of new streams. But, for my
part, I like still better to go back to a familiar little river, and
fish or dream along the banks where I have dreamed and fished before. I
know every bend and curve: the sharp turn where the water runs under the
roots of the old hemlock-tree; the snaky glen, where the alders stretch
their arms far out across the stream; the meadow reach, where the trout
are fat and silvery, and will only rise about sunrise or sundown, unless
the day is cloudy; the Naiad's Elbow, where the brook rounds itself,
smooth and dimpled, to embrace a cluster of pink laurel-bushes. All
these I know; yes, and almost every current and eddy and backwater I
know long before I come to it. I remember where I caught the big trout
the first year I came to the stream; and where I lost a bigger one. I
remember the pool where there were plenty of good fish last year, and
wonder whether they are the