LAKE UMBAGOG. 355 



but the sun was near the horizon, and my attendant 

 warned me that time was up. On joining my friends, 

 long and vociferous were their peals of laughter 

 whenever they looked at me. What the deuce was 

 up ? On arrival at the shanty all was explained. The 

 black flies had attacked me when so immersed in my 

 sport, that they had been unnoticed, or brushed off, 

 making my countenance the most extraordinary -looking 

 mess of blood and bruised flies imaginable; but if I 

 did not then feel the pain, you may bet I did that 

 night when warm in bed. 



Knowing that such torments exist, why did the 

 writer go there ? is naturally asked, and as simply 

 answered, for before he started he was assured that 

 not even a mosquito was to be found in Maine. After- 

 wards it was discovered that the visit of his informant 

 had been paid to this Ultima Thule late in autumn. 

 A dozen times conclusions were come to of sloping 

 (not for Texas) in the morning ; but the attractions 

 were so great that even the entire summer, even on to 

 the end of October, was got through, the last two or 

 three months so delightfully, that the self-sacrifice 

 endured in June and July was more than compensated 

 for ; and never can be forgotten the beautiful weather, 

 glorious sport, and free independent life enjoyed. The 

 State of Maine being of considerably larger propor- 

 tions than England and Scotland together, it is desir- 

 able that the particular locality should be mentioned. 

 Seventy miles from the thriving sea-port of Portland, 

 along the Grand Trunk line of railroad, will be found 

 on the map the picturesque, clean, flourishing village 

 of Bethel; twenty-seven miles north from it, Lake 

 Umbagog. Here you have the last settlement, and by 



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