the valley I crossed a little canal. It was made on a very good
system, and I recommend it to the riparian owners of the Upper Wye,
which needs it. They take the water from the Moselle (which is here
broad and torrential and falls in steps, running over a stony bed with
little swirls and rapids), and they lead it along at an even gradient,
averaging, as it were, the uneven descent of the river. In this way
they have a continuous stream running through fields that would
otherwise be bare and dry, but that are thus nourished into excellent
pastures.

Above these fields the forest went up steeply. I had not pushed two
hundred yards into its gloom and confusion when I discovered that I
had lost my way. It was necessary to take the only guide I had and to
go straight upwards wherever the line of greatest inclination seemed
to lie, for that at least would take me to a summit and probably to a
view of the valley; whereas if I tried to make for the shoulder of the
hill (which had been my first intention) I might have wandered about
till nightfall.

It was an old man in a valley called the Curicante in Colorado that
taught me this, if one lost one's way going _upwards_ to make at once
along the steepest line, but if one lost it going _downwards_, to
listen for water and reach it and follow it. I wish I had space to
tell all about this old man, who gave me hospitality out there. He was
from New England and was lonely, and had brought out at great expense
a musical box to cheer him. Of this he was very proud, and though it
only played four silly hymn tunes, yet, as he and I listened to it,
heavy tears came into his eyes and light tears into mine, because
these tunes reminded him of his home. But I have no time to do more
than mention him, and must return to my forest.