320 I GO A- FISHING. 



One evening \ve could not find our boat, and walked a 

 mile around the bay through swamps and brush, and 

 finding a small boat in the Clear Stream, appropriated it 

 and had our usual success. We were late in arriving, 

 but the trout rose later than usual, and we killed thirty- 

 four, which weighed something more than seventy pounds. 

 It was profoundly dark and cloudy when we left the boat 

 where we had found it, and sought our way homeward. 

 But we lost ourselves in the swamp, and plunged into 

 holes, and became involved in the snake-like windings of 

 a deep, narrow strip of water, and it was nearly ten 

 o'clock when we relieved the anxieties of our friends at 

 the dam. This was our last night, and the next morn- 

 ing we started for civilization via Bethel in Maine. The 

 drive down the Bear River Notch is hardly inferior in 

 scenery to that through Dixville Notch. All along the 

 road-side we found streams with abundance of small 

 trout, and mountain and valley views which are nowhere 

 to be surpassed. 



In after times I have found no change in the fishing at 

 these places, and on the Magalloway, a few miles above 

 Errol Dam, the highest desires of the angler, who seeks 

 waters that have been seldom whipped, may be fully 

 gratified. 



