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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　baseness：　I　put　a　〃sinker〃　on　my　line。　It　is　the　practice　of　the　country　folk；　whose　only　object　is　to　get　fish；　to　use　a　good　deal　of　bait；　sink　the　hook　to　the　bottom　of　the　pools；　and　wait　the　slow　appetite　of　the　summer　trout。　　I　tried　this　also。　　I　might　as　well　have　fished　in　a　pork　barrel。　　It　is　true　that　in　one　deep；　black；　round　pool　I　lured　a　small　trout　from　the　bottom；　and　deposited　him　in　the　creel；　but　it　was　an　accident。　　Though　I　sat　there　in　the　awful　silence　（the　roar　of　water　and　thunder　only　emphasized　the　stillness）　full　half　an　hour；　I　was　not　encouraged　by　another　nibble。　　Hope；　however；　did　not　die：　I　always　expected　to　find　the　trout　in　the　next　flume；　and　so　I　toiled　slowly　on；　unconscious　of　the　passing　time。　　At　each　turn　of　the　stream　I　expected　to　see　the　end；　and　at　each　turn　I　saw　a　long；　narrow　stretch　of　rocks　and　foaming　water。　　Climbing　out　of　the　ravine　was；　in　most　places；　simply　impossible；　and　I　began　to　look　with　interest　for　a　slide；　where　bushes　rooted　in　the　scant　earth　would　enable　me　to　scale　the　precipice。　　I　did　not　doubt　that　I　was　nearly　through　the　gorge。　　I　could　at　length　see　the　huge　form　of　the　Giant　of　the　Valley；　scarred　with　avalanches；　at　the　end　of　the　vista；　and　it　seemed　not　far　off。　　But　it　kept　its　distance；　as　only　a　mountain　can；　while　I　stumbled　and　slid　down　the　rocky　way。　　The　rain　had　now　set　in　with　persistence；　and　suddenly　I　became　aware　that　it　was　growing　dark；　and　I　said　to　myself；　〃If　you　don't　wish　to　spend　the　night　in　this　horrible　chasm；　you'd　better　escape　speedily。〃　Fortunately　I　reached　a　place　where　the　face　of　the　precipice　was　bushgrown；　and　with　considerable　labor　scrambled　up　it。

Having　no　doubt　that　I　was　within　half　a　mile；　perhaps　within　a　few　rods；　of　the　house　above　the　entrance　of　the　gorge；　and　that；　in　any　event；　I　should　fall　into　the　cart…path　in　a　few　minutes；　I　struck　boldly　into　the　forest；　congratulating　myself　on　having　escaped　out　of　the　river。　　So　sure　was　I　of　my　whereabouts　that　I　did　not　note　the　bend　of　the　river；　nor　look　at　my　compass。　　The　one　trout　in　my　basket　was　no　burden；　and　I　stepped　lightly　out。

The　forest　was　of　hard…wood；　and　open；　except　for　a　thick　undergrowth　of　moose…bush。　　It　was　raining；in　fact；　it　had　been　raining；　more　or　less；　for　a　month；and　the　woods　were　soaked。　　This　moose…bush　is　most　annoying　stuff　to　travel　through　in　a　rain；　for　the　broad　leaves　slap　one　in　the　face；　and　sop　him　with　wet。　　The　way　grew　every　moment　more　dingy。　　The　heavy　clouds　above　the　thick　foliage　brought　night　on　prematurely。　　It　was　decidedly　premature　to　a　near…sighted　man；　whose　glasses　the　rain　rendered　useless：　such　a　person　ought　to　be　at　home　early。　　On　leaving　the　river　bank　I　had　borne　to　the　left；　so　as　to　be　sure　to　strike　either　the　clearing　or　the　road；　and　not　wander　off　into　the　measureless　forest。　　I　confidently　pursued　this　course；　and　went　gayly　on　by　the　left　flank。　　That　I　did　not　come　to　any　opening　or　path　only　showed　that　I　had　slightly　mistaken　the　distance：　I　was　going　in　the　right　direction。

I　was　so　certain　of　this　that　I　quickened　my　pace　and　got　up　with　alacrity　every　time　I　tumbled　down　amid　the　slippery　leaves　and　catching　roots；　and　hurried　on。　　And　I　kept　to　the　left。　　It　even　occurred　to　me　that　I　was　turning　to　the　left　so　much　that　I　might　come　back　to　the　river　again。　　It　grew　more　dusky；　and　rained　more　violently；　but　there　was　nothing　alarming　in　the　situation；　since　I　knew　exactly　where　I　was。　　It　was　a　little　mortifying　that　I　had　miscalculated　the　distance：　yet；　so　far　was　I　from　feeling　any　uneasiness　about　this　that　I　quickened　my　pace　again；　and；　before　I　knew　it；　was　in　a　full　run；　that　is；　as　full　a　run　as　a　person　can　indulge　in　in　the　dusk；　with　so　many　trees　in　the　way。　　No　nervousness；　but　simply　a　reasonable　desire　to　get　there。　　I　desired　to　look　upon　myself　as　the　person　〃not　lost；　but　gone　before。〃　As　time　passed；　and　darkness　fell；　and　no　clearing　or　road　appeared；　I　ran　a　little　faster。　　It　didn't　seem　possible　that　the　people　had　moved；　or　the　road　been　changed；　and　yet　I　was　sure　of　my　direction。　I　went　on　with　an　energy　increased　by　the　ridiculousness　of　the　situation；　the　danger　that　an　experienced　woodsman　was　in　of　getting　home　late　for　supper；　the　lateness　of　the　meal　being　nothing　to　the　gibes　of　the　unlost。　　How　long　I　kept　this　course；　and　how　far　I　went　on；　I　do　not　know；　but　suddenly　I　stumbled　against　an　ill…placed　tree；　and　sat　down　on　the　soaked　ground；　a　trifle　out　of　breath。　　It　then　occurred　to　me　that　I　had　better　verify　my　course　by　the　compass。　　There　was　scarcely　light　enough　to　distinguish　the　black　end　of　the　needle。　　To　my　amazement；　the　compass；　which　was　made　near　Greenwich；　was　wrong。　　Allowing　for　the　natural　variation　of　the　needle；　it　was　absurdly　wrong。　　It　made　out　that　I　was　going　south　when　I　was　going　north。　　It　intimated　that；　instead　of　turning　to　the　left；　I　had　been　making　a　circuit　to　the　right。　　According　to　the　compass；　the　Lord　only　knew　where　I　was。

The　inclination　of　persons　in　the　woods　to　travel　in　a　circle　is　unexplained。　　I　suppose　it　arises　from　the　sympathy　of　the　legs　with　the　brain。　　Most　people　reason　in　a　circle：　their　minds　go　round　and　round；　always　in　the　same　track。　　For　the　last　half　hour　I　had　been　saying　over　a　sentence　that　started　itself：　〃I　wonder　where　that　road　is！〃　　I　had　said　it　over　till　it　had　lost　all　meaning。　　I　kept　going　round　on　it；　and　yet　I　could　not　believe　that　my　body　had　been　traveling　in　a　circle。　　Not　being　able　to　recognize　any　tracks；　I　have　no　evidence　that　I　had　so　traveled；　except　the　general　testimony　of　lost　men。

The　compass　annoyed　me。　　I've　known　experienced　guides　utterly　discredit　it。　　It　couldn't　be　that　I　was　to　turn　about；　and　go　the　way　I　had　come。　　Nevertheless；　I　said　to　myself；　〃You'd　better　keep　a　cool　head；　my　boy；　or　you　are　in　for　a　night　of　it。　　Better　listen　to　science　than　to　spunk。〃　　And　I　resolved　to　heed　the　impartial　needle。　I　was　a　little　weary　of　the　rough　tramping：　but　it　was　necessary　to　be　moving；　for；　with　wet　clothes　and　the　night　air；　I　was　decidedly　chilly。　　I　turned　towards　the　north；　and　slipped　and　stumbled　along。　A　more　uninviting　forest　to　pass　the　night　in　I　never　saw。　　Every…　thing　was　soaked。　　If　I　became　exhausted；　it　would　be　necessary　to　build　a　fire；　and；　as　I　walked　on；　I　couldn't　find　a　dry　bit　of　wood。　Even　if　a　little　punk　were　discovered　in　a　rotten　log　I　had　no　hatchet　to　cut　fuel。　　I　thought　it　all　over　calmly。　　I　had　the　usual　three　matches　in　my　pocket。　　I　knew　exactly　what　would　happen　if　I　tried　to　build　a　fire。　　The　first　match　would　prove　to　be　wet。　　The　second　match；　when　struck；　would　shine　and　smell；　and　fizz　a　little；　and　then　go　out。　　There　would　be　only　one　match　left。　　Death　would　ensue　if　it　failed。　　I　should　get　close　to　the　log；　crawl　under　my　hat；　strike　the　match；　see　it　catch；　flicker；　almost　go　out　（the　reader　painfully　excited　by　this　time）；　blaze　up；　nearly　expire；　and　finally　fire　the　punk；thank　God！　　And　I　said　to　myself；　〃The　public　don't　want　any　more　of　this　thing：　it　is　played　out。　　Either　have　a　box　of　matches；　or　let　the　first　one　catch　fire。〃

In　this　gloomy　mood　I　plunged　along。　　The　prospect　was　cheerless；　for；　apart　from　the　comfort　that　a　fire　would　give；　it　is　necessary；　at　night；　to　keep　off　the　wild　beasts。　　I　fancied　I　could　hear　the　tread　of　the　stealthy　brutes　following　their　prey。　　But　there　was　one　source　of　profound　satisfaction；the　catamount　had　been　killed。　　Mr。　Colvin；　the　triangulating　surveyor　of　the　Adirondacks；　killed　him　in　his　last　official　report　to　the　State。　　Whether　he　despatched　him　with　a　theodolite　or　a　barometer　does　not　matter：　he　is　officially　dead；　and　none　of　the　travelers　can　kill　him　any　more。　　Yet　he　has　served　them　a　good　turn。

I　knew　that　catamount　well。　　One　night　when　we　lay　in　the　bogs　of　the　South　Beaver　Meadow；　under　a　canopy　of　mosquitoes；　the　serene　midnight　was　parted　by　a　wild　and　humanlike　cry　from　a　neighboring　mountain。　　〃That's　a　cat；〃　said　the　guide。　　I　felt　in　a　moment　that　it　was　the　voice　of　〃modern　cultchah。〃　　〃　Modern　culture；〃　says　Mr。　Joseph　Cook　in　a　most　impressive　period；〃　modern　culture　is　a　child　crying　in　the　wilderness；　and　with　no　voice　but　a　cry。〃　　That　describes　the　catamount　exactly。　　The　next　day；　when　we　ascended　the　mountain；　we　came　upon　the　traces　of　this　brute；a　spot　where　he　had　stood　and　cried　in　the　night；　and　I　confess　that　my　hair　rose　with　the　consciousness　of　his　recent　presence；　as　it　is　said　to　do　when　a　spirit　passes　by。

Whatever　consolation　the　absence　of　catamount　in　a　dark；　drenched；　and　howling　wilderness　can　impart；　that　I　experienced；　but　I　thought　what　a　satire　upon　my　present　condition　was　modern　culture；　with　its　plain　thinking　and　high　living！　　It　was　impossible　to　get　much　satisfaction　out　of　the　real　and　the　ideal；the　me　and　the　not…me。　At　this　time　what　impressed　me　most　was　the　absurdity　of　my　position　looked　at　in　the　light　of　modern　civilization　and　all　my　advantages　and　acquirements。　　It　seemed　pitiful　that　society　could　do　absolute