20 FLY-FISHING IN MAINE LAKES. 



point many times : I acknowledge four, but "six " 

 excuse me. 



"Beg your pardon, madam," said a lady to Mrs. 

 S., as she was leaving the parlor for her outside 

 seat. "Do you not remain with us?" My wife 

 remarked that our journey lay farther on, behind 

 the hills. 



" Oh, I am so sorry ! this is such a lovely spot, 

 so romantic ! such a superabundance of beauty, it 

 would seem as if nature had thrown every thing 

 into wild confusion." Fortunately, before we had 

 quite digested this burst of eloquence, the cry of 

 " Stage ready " prevented our being obliged to ex- 

 tend the conversation ; but as we whirled away from 

 the door I launched at her from my lofty pinnacle 

 a few harmless, disconnected adjectives, just to 

 show her we knew how it was done. 



A short ride brings us to the banks of the 

 Androscoggin, dividing the village of Rumford, 

 and which we cross on what is known as a rope- 

 ferry, a rope stretched across the river, on which 

 runs a pulley attached to another rope made fast to 

 the boat : the force of the current, with a little guid- 

 ance from the " bold ferry-man," is all that is re- 

 quired to land us on the opposite shore, up which 

 our horses canter, and we are bowling along at a 

 lively pace toward Andover. 



