LITERARY WORK AND TRAVEL. 



47 



the author of "High Latitudes," at Fred Cumberland's banquet at the Rossin 

 House in Toronto. Then Dr. James H. Richardson, who was present, prepared for 

 myself and wife a special trip to the Upper Ottawa country for a few days' fishing 

 in the mountain lakes about Des Joachim, and I have his letter before me. dated 

 Toronto, July 12, 1875. You see, readers, that my portfolio and pigeon holes are 

 crammed with uncalendared tales to print. With changing seasons I was wont to 

 change my trips from state to state and latitude to longitude. All this time my 

 staff was serving as recording angels William C. Harris, Barnett Philips, Wm. M. 

 Tileston, G. M. Taylor and Horace Smith, besides Reynolds and Grinnell. 

 Poor Tileston was killed by a wall falling on him and young Webb, while the 

 Westminster dog show was going on. It was a sad accident. My office desk kept 

 me fully eight months. Four months chiefly engaged me annually at the Smith. 



MR. FAYETTE S. GILES, 

 Secretary Blooming Grove Park Association. 



MR. H. H. THOMPSON, 

 Angler and Angling Writer. 



I went to Menchan, Rigolet and Ponchartrain with C. G. Ballejo, the best of 

 southern bass anglers. At Port Aransas, Texas, which swarms with ponies, 

 ducks and tarpon, my business man, Wm. C. Harris, used to take Perie with him 

 to paint fish he caught for his forthcoming illuminated "fish book." He died some 

 four years ago at 74. The sporting ground was quiet when I dragged a trailing 

 spoon or squid ; but nowadays, when the government has taken hold on the 

 premises for special uses, the boats which start for the fishing ground string out 

 in a dozen trailers, as they have done for half a century at Alexandria Bay, where 

 I caught my heavy muscalonge among the St. Lawrence Islands while housed at 

 Grossman House. There are even better fish around the North Carolina sounds 

 and inlets much better house boats congregate. While our friend, Washington 

 A. Coster, hunts for deer and prods hibernated alligators out of their mud holes in 

 quest of salmon, I resort to the cold streams of my long life friends, W. H. Wood- 

 ward, of Birmingham, Ala. ; Ivers W. Adams, of Boston, and the late lamented 

 General Surgeon Baxter, of the U. S. Army, whose mansion on the Restigouche 



