NEW BRUNSWICK. 147 



and the Nepissiguit. The Upsalquitch is generally fished by 

 Restigouche anglers, and properly belongs to the Bay Chaleur 

 division. A stage-road runs from Chatham on the Mirami- 

 chi to Bathurst, at the mouth of the Nepissiguit. The dis- 

 tance is forty-five miles; nearly all through a wilderness 

 almost uninhabited, and crossed by many an excellent trout- 

 stream. But the chief of all the streams, and perhaps abso- 

 lutely the best in the world for trout, if such a comparison 

 can be fairly made, is the Tabusintac. Here trout can be 

 caught by the barrel-full, of which I guarantee none will 

 weigh less than ten ounces, and the largest as^nuch as five 

 or six pounds. 



After a ride of twenty-two miles from Chatham to the Ta- 

 busintac, we cheerfully leave the coach on the hill at Har- 

 ris's, and bestow ourselves in the comfortable apartments of 

 his snug little hostelry. There is ample opportunity before 

 sunset to prepare for the sport to-morrow, and time for 

 a leisure stroll along the river, and about the premises ; and 

 when that luxurious pipe which follows a Christian supper 

 has been twice replenished and emptied, we are ready to re- 

 tire for an early start in the morning. When daylight 

 dawns, there succeeds an experience not read of in books. 

 While we are hastily munching our last mouthful of break- 

 fast, Harris politely informs us that the "horse-boat" is 

 ready. Horse-boat ! what horse-boat ? I thought we were 

 going in a birch-canoe ! What have horses to do with trout- 

 fishing ? N^importe, we shall see. Arrived at the river, we 

 find an immense pirogue, "dug-out," or wooden canoe, 

 alongside the bank, in the stern of which we are told to sit. 

 Having adjusted ourselves to the satisfaction of everybody, 

 a pair of heavy horses is attached to the vehicle, the word is 

 given, and off we go down the river at a tearing pace, slash- 

 ing the water in every direction, and ploughing up a swell 

 that swashes against the banks, runs spitefully up on shore, 

 and then trickles down in rivulets of mud. Life on the 



