1 6 FLY-FISHING IN MAINE LAKES. 



we, however, accepted the first invitation, and were 

 soon enjoying a splendid breakfast with mine host 

 Wheeler at the Falmouth. 



The train on the Grand Trunk on which we 

 were to leave for Bryant's Pond Station not leaving 

 until two o'clock, we had abundant opportunity to 

 enjoy a drive about the beautiful city of Portland ; 

 the Promenade (so called) around Munjoy Hill 

 giving us a fine view of Casco Bay with its numer- 

 ous islands, and that around BramhaU's Hill, at the 

 western extremity of the city, a view of the sur- 

 rounding country with the tall peaks of the White 

 Hills in the far distance for a background. 



Two o'clock, and away we go. " All aboard," has 

 been shouted by our veteran conductor (Gould) ; 

 and a dejected old gentleman views with despair 

 his trunk which he has neglected to check on 

 the platform, as we pass out of the depot. Just 

 a glimpse of the mammoth pier which was built 

 for the "Great Eastern," when she should make 

 the "natural seaport" her first port of entry, but 

 which time never came; a glance at the new 

 marine hospital at Westbrook, with White Head 

 towering up in the distance, and we are rattling off 

 into a charming country, dotted here and there 

 with such farm-houses as only one can see in New 

 England, from the window of a railroad-car. 



