3o6 



The American Angler. 



comes from fair Cuba, and brings the 

 odor of her forests drowned in the sea 

 spray of the Gulf. Judge, in your 

 country, the snow drifts are now piling 

 in the comers of the snake-rail fences. 

 There! one dropped off the hook, but 

 he will not escape. See how he floats 

 on the top. These deep water fish, 

 after having been pulled to the surface 

 cannot dive again, but drift helplessly 

 on the top. That's the dinner bell. 



While we are eating, they will weigh 

 anchor and begin the return voyage. 

 Cats' paws from the east are streaking 

 the rollers with a deeper blue. The 

 schooner to the leeward is overhauling 

 us under the constantly increasing 

 breeze. The little whitecaps now lift 

 their heads and the gulls are scudding 

 shoreward. "With a wet sheet, and 

 flowing sea, and a wind that follows 

 fast," our voyage is concluded. 



