olved　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　absolutely　nothing　for　me。　　It　was；　in　fact；　humiliating　to　reflect　that　it　would　now　be　profitable　to　exchange　all　my　possessions　for　the　woods　instinct　of　the　most　unlettered　guide。　　I　began　to　doubt　the　value　of　the　〃culture〃　that　blunts　the　natural　instincts。
  It　began　to　be　a　question　whether　I　could　hold　out　to　walk　all　night；　for　I　must　travel；　or　perish。　　And　now　I　imagined　that　a　spectre　was　walking　by　my　side。　　This　was　Famine。　　To　be　sure；　I　had　only　recently　eaten　a　hearty　luncheon：　but　the　pangs　of　hunger　got　hold　on　me　when　I　thought　that　I　should　have　no　supper；　no　breakfast；　and；　as　the　procession　of　unattainable　meals　stretched　before　me；　I　grew　hungrier　and　hungrier。　　I　could　feel　that　I　was　becoming　gaunt；　and　wasting　away：　already　I　seemed　to　be　emaciated。　　It　is　astonishing　how　speedily　a　jocund；　well…conditioned　human　being　can　be　transformed　into　a　spectacle　of　poverty　and　want；　Lose　a　man　in　the　Woods；　drench　him；　tear　his　pantaloons；　get　his　imagination　running　on　his　lost　supper　and　the　cheerful　fireside　that　is　expecting　him；　and　he　will　become　haggard　in　an　hour。　　I　am　not　dwelling　upon　these　things　to　excite　the　reader's　sympathy；　but　only　to　advise　him；　if　he　contemplates　an　adventure　of　this　kind；　to　provide　himself　with　matches；　kindling　wood；　something　more　to　eat　than　one　raw　trout；　and　not　to　select　a　rainy　night　for　it。
  Nature　is　so　pitiless；　so　unresponsive；　to　a　person　in　trouble！　　I　had　read　of　the　soothing　companionship　of　the　forest；　the　pleasure　of　the　pathless　woods。　　But　I　thought；　as　I　stumbled　along　in　the　dismal　actuality；　that；　if　I　ever　got　out　of　it；　I　would　write　a　letter　to　the　newspapers；　exposing　the　whole　thing。　　There　is　an　impassive；　stolid　brutality　about　the　woods　that　has　never　been　enough　insisted　on。　　I　tried　to　keep　my　mind　fixed　upon　the　fact　of　man's　superiority　to　Nature；　his　ability　to　dominate　and　outwit　her。　　My　situation　was　an　amusing　satire　on　this　theory。　　I　fancied　that　I　could　feel　a　sneer　in　the　woods　at　my　detected　conceit。　　There　was　something　personal　in　it。　　The　downpour　of　the　rain　and　the　slipperiness　of　the　ground　were　elements　of　discomfort；　but　there　was；　besides　these；　a　kind　of　terror　in　the　very　character　of　the　forest　itself。　　I　think　this　arose　not　more　from　its　immensity　than　from　the　kind　of　stolidity　to　which　I　have　alluded。　　It　seemed　to　me　that　it　would　be　a　sort　of　relief　to　kick　the　trees。　　I　don't　wonder　that　the　bears　fall　to；　occasionally；　and　scratch　the　bark　off　the　great　pines　and　maples；　tearing　it　angrily　away。　　One　must　have　some　vent　to　his　feelings。　　It　is　a　common　experience　of　people　lost　in　the　woods　to　lose　their　heads；　and　even　the　woodsmen　themselves　are　not　free　from　this　panic　when　some　accident　has　thrown　them　out　of　their　reckoning。　Fright　unsettles　the　judgment：　the　oppressive　silence　of　the　woods　is　a　vacuum　in　which　the　mind　goes　astray。　　It's　a　hollow　sham；　this　pantheism；　I　said；　being　〃one　with　Nature〃　is　all　humbug：　I　should　like　to　see　somebody。　　Man；　to　be　sure；　is　of　very　little　account；　and　soon　gets　beyond　his　depth；　but　the　society　of　the　least　human　being　is　better　than　this　gigantic　indifference。　　The　〃rapture　on　the　lonely　shore〃　is　agreeable　only　when　you　know　you　can　at　any　moment　go　home。
  I　had　now　given　up　all　expectation　of　finding　the　road；　and　was　steering　my　way　as　well　as　I　could　northward　towards　the　valley。　　In　my　haste　I　made　slow　progress。　　Probably　the　distance　I　traveled　was　short；　and　the　time　consumed　not　long；　but　I　seemed　to　be　adding　mile　to　mile；　and　hour　to　hour。　　I　had　time　to　review　the　incidents　of　the　Russo…Turkish　war；　and　to　forecast　the　entire　Eastern　question；　I　outlined　the　characters　of　all　my　companions　left　in　camp；　and　sketched　in　a　sort　of　comedy　the　sympathetic　and　disparaging　observations　they　would　make　on　my　adventure；　I　repeated　something　like　a　thousand　times；　without　contradiction；　〃What　a　fool　you　were　to　leave　the　river！〃　　I　stopped　twenty　times；　thinking　I　heard　its　loud　roar；　always　deceived　by　the　wind　in　the　tree…tops；　I　began　to　entertain　serious　doubts　about　the　compass；when　suddenly　I　became　aware　that　I　was　no　longer　on　level　ground：　I　was　descending　a　slope；　I　was　actually　in　a　ravine。　　In　a　moment　more　I　was　in　a　brook　newly　formed　by　the　rain。　　〃Thank　Heaven！〃　I　cried：　〃this　I　shall　follow；　whatever　conscience　or　the　compass　says。〃　　In　this　region；　all　streams　go；　sooner　or　later；　into　the　valley。　　This　ravine；　this　stream；　no　doubt；　led　to　the　river。　　I　splashed　and　tumbled　along　down　it　in　mud　and　water。　　Down　hill　we　went　together；　the　fall　showing　that　I　must　have　wandered　to　high　ground。　　When　I　guessed　that　I　must　be　close　to　the　river；　I　suddenly　stepped　into　mud　up　to　my　ankles。　　It　was　the　road；running；　of　course；　the　wrong　way；　but　still　the　blessed　road。　　It　was　a　mere　canal　of　liquid　mud；　but　man　had　made　it；　and　it　would　take　me　home。　　I　was　at　least　three　miles　from　the　point　I　supposed　I　was　near　at　sunset；　and　I　had　before　me　a　toilsome　walk　of　six　or　seven　miles；　most　of　the　way　in　a　ditch；　but　it　is　truth　to　say　that　I　enjoyed　every　step　of　it。　　I　was　safe；　I　knew　where　I　was；　and　I　could　have　walked　till　morning。　　The　mind　had　again　got　the　upper　hand　of　the　body；　and　began　to　plume　itself　on　its　superiority：　it　was　even　disposed　to　doubt　whether　it　had　been　〃lost〃　at　all。
  III
  A　FIGHT　WITH　A　TROUT
  Trout　fishing　in　the　Adirondacks　would　be　a　more　attractive　pastime　than　it　is　but　for　the　popular　notion　of　its　danger。　　The　trout　is　a　retiring　and　harmless　animal；　except　when　he　is　aroused　and　forced　into　a　combat；　and　then　his　agility；　fierceness；　and　vindictiveness　become　apparent。　　No　one　who　has　studied　the　excellent　pictures　representing　men　in　an　open　boat；　exposed　to　the　assaults　of　long；　enraged　trout　flying　at　them　through　the　open　air　with　open　mouth；　ever　ventures　with　his　rod　upon　the　lonely　lakes　of　the　forest　without　a　certain　terror；　or　ever　reads　of　the　exploits　of　daring　fishermen　without　a　feeling　of　admiration　for　their　heroism。　　Most　of　their　adventures　are　thrilling；　and　all　of　them　are；　in