of the character of the pools was unchanged: never were there such
places for trout; but the trout were out of their places. Perhaps they
didn't care for the fly: some trout seem to be so unsophisticated as
to prefer the worm. I replaced the fly with a baited hook: the worm
squirmed; the waters rushed and roared; a cloud sailed across the
blue: no trout rose to the lonesome opportunity. There is a certain
companionship in the presence of trout, especially when you can feel
them flopping in your fish basket; but it became evident that there were
no trout in this wilderness, and a sense of isolation for the first time
came over me. There was no living thing near. The river had by this time
entered a deeper gorge; walls of rocks rose perpendicularly on either
side,--picturesque rocks, painted many colors by the oxide of iron. It
was not possible to climb out of the gorge; it was impossible to find a
way by the side of the river; and getting down the bed, over the falls,
and through the flumes, was not easy, and consumed time.

Was that thunder? Very likely. But thunder showers are always brewing
in these mountain fortresses, and it did not occur to me that there was
anything personal in it. Very soon, however, the hole in the sky closed
in, and the rain dashed down. It seemed a providential time to eat my
luncheon; and I took shelter under a scraggy pine that had rooted itself
in the edge of the rocky slope. The shower soon passed, and I continued
my journey, creeping over the slippery rocks, and continuing to show
my confidence in the unresponsive trout. The way grew wilder and more
grewsome. The thunder began again, rolling along over the tops of the
mountains, and reverberating in sharp concussions in the gorge: the
lightning also darted down into the darkening passage, and then the
rain. Every enlightened being, even if he is in a fisherman's dress of
shirt and pantaloons, hates to get wet; and I ignominiously crept under
the edge of a sloping bowlder. It was all very well at first, until
streams of water began to crawl along the face of the rock, and
trickle down the back of my neck. This was refined misery, unheroic and
humiliating, as suffering always is when unaccompanied by resignation.

A longer time than I knew was consumed in this and repeated efforts
to wait for the slackening and renewing storm to pass away. In the
intervals of calm I still fished, and even descended to what a sportsman
considers incredible