1 8 FLY-FISHING IN MAINE LAKES. 



a-fishin', and she goin' too," so impressed the 

 old gentleman that he lapsed into profound medi- 

 tation, and we heard nothing more from him till 

 we stepped from the car at Bryant's Pond, when I 

 overheard him say to an old lady opposite, 



" Jess think of it ! he said they'd come all the 

 way from Boston to go a-fishin'." 



The stage-coach that old-fashioned, charming 

 vehicle of locomotion which we had been advised 

 would be in waiting to take us to Andover 

 greeted our vision as we alighted from the train ; 

 and, scrambling for outside seats, we little heeded 

 the remark of our driver, that " she wouldn't bal- 

 ance unless some of us got inside." 



Get inside? not much. We had anticipated 

 this glorious ride too much for that : so we stowed 

 our luggage on the lower deck, with one or two 

 way-passengers, and kept our lofty seats, hugging 

 to them, and to each other, as we sped away right 

 merrily down hill and up hill, stopping now and 

 then to deliver a lean mail-bag to some female 

 government attachee, who would cast shy glances 

 at the members of the party on the outside, who 

 " cum all the way," &c., and then trip gayly back to 

 the post-office, to sort the mail, and guess at the 

 contents of the letters. 



We soon found our driver to be a lively and 



