290 A YEAR OF LIBERTY ; OR, 



Less than two miles above the bridge was a deep pool of consi- 

 derable extent, having on its western bank a long low rock, and 

 here our sport commenced. The place seemed full of fish ; pleasant 

 rivalry had wound us up ; everything went like clockwork, and when 

 the soldier came hurriedly over the fence it was to find us still in 

 possession, and on the point of landing our sixth salmon. Notwith- 

 standing the splendour of this closing scene, the Major was still 

 confident of having won the honours of the day. 



" I'll bet you a ten-gallon cask of potheen, Eory and I will make 

 the best show. Come, Willie, turn out your creel. What! only 

 six fish and a beggarly half score of trout ? Eory, show the gentle- 

 men what we can do." 



With a malicious grin that imp slowly drew out one salmon after 

 another, arranging them in order on the turf. Then appeared the 

 trout I What a show they made ! Ten of the former, eighteen of the 

 latter. " Ah ! you may look," to my follower, who was suspi- 

 ciously examining their mouths ; " every soul of them caught fair. 

 There, pack up the game ; the ground is soft ; twilight is falling, 

 and we must be on the road before dark." 



With a sigh I gave up the rod, and felt as if parting from a friend. 

 For nine months we had been inseparable. In heat and cold, in 

 storm and sunshine, it had been the humble minister of unal- 

 loyed happiness, such as I shall probably never more enjoy. In its 

 silence I had not been solitary ; it had neither deceived nor betrayed 

 me ; and of whom else could I say as much ? That night we drank 

 a solemn bumper to the memory of the departed season, and made 

 vain promises for the time to come. No one believed them. Yet 

 they served to cheat us of an hour of sorrow. Another week brought 

 our visit to an end, and made the "Year of Liberty " a thing of the 

 past. Forty-eight hours after I was once more at work amongst the 

 poor, the sick, and the wretched, whose jubilee may commence in a 

 future world, but whose lot can never be bright in the present. 



Noverriber 10, 1866. Since the last sentence was written scarce a 

 year has passed, yet in that brief space important events have 

 occurred in our little household. Poor Mary, having sworn "to 



