CHAPTER XIII. 



TAYLOR'S LAKE. A LEGEND OF LIMBURGER CHEESE. 



Somebody remarked to me last week that it was a 

 pity the carp had never been introduced into the lakes 

 of Northern Wisconsin, as they would have effectually 

 kept "the weeds under. There is no doubt the carp 

 would soon destroy the immense weed beds, but this, 

 instead of being a blessing, would be an unmitigated 

 misfortune to the angler. It is the presence of the 

 weeds which give the fishes cover, allowing the smaller 

 ones chances to keep out of the way of their ravenous 

 and larger relations, and mature. In fact, it is scarcely 

 possible to fish out a weedy lake of any respectable 

 size. Half the large fishes an angler hooks are rarely 

 landed, the weeds and light tackle proving too many 

 chances in their favor. Again, at certain times of the 

 year, the fishes feed partially on the decayed vegeta- 

 tion, and at such times are not nearly so eager for the 

 angler's bait. 



Speaking of carp reminds me of Hamburger cheese. 

 Once I asked a Dutchman the question: "Who discov- 

 ered Limburger cheese?" He told me it was A relic of 

 barbarism incidental to that period when mankind 

 were so intensely phlegmatic and apathetically dis- 

 positioned that it necessitated a joint appeal, to both 

 their noses and palates, ere their gastromonic faculties 

 could positively recognize a good thing when it was 

 placed before them. I have since ascertained that 

 Limburger cheese was first produced in the following 

 manner: 



Away back in those extremely primeval times before 

 the Dutch nation first commenced to keep history, 

 there lived in an old antiquated castle on the banks 

 of the Rhine one Klotz Himmell by name; an individual 



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