HO FLY-FISHING IN MAINE LAKES. 



My answer was anticipated by our watchful 

 waiter; and I fancied I noticed the faintest sus- 

 picion of a smile lurking about the corners of his 

 ruby lips, as he removed our chairs. I would not 

 say positively ; but I think, as we left the supper- 

 room, I saw that smile expand into a grin, as with 

 one hand in his pocket, and the fingers of the 

 other wandering abstractedly through his curly 

 wool, he surveyed the vast array of empty dishes 

 spread before him. 



Had his thought found utterance, we should 

 probably have heard a remark something like this : 

 " It's nuthin' to me, but it does beat de debble ; 

 dar's suthin' 'bout dese ar mountins, dat gibs um 

 all a big appetite, dat's shore." 



To the piazza again, to our favorite corner ; and 

 as the blue vapors from my fragrant bowl float 

 upward in miniature resemblance to those which 

 are settling down upon yonder vales, as twilight 

 fades and night comes on apace, we fall into rev- 

 ery : silence becomes the rule, speech the excep- 

 tion. 



But I do remember one slight diversion. We 

 were both gazing intently at a few fleecy flecks of 

 clouds that were chasing each other in seeming 

 playfulness across the pathway of the moon, then 

 at its silvery roundness; when, turning her face 



