20 
besought my companion that we should remain in our pre- 
sent situation until the mists were dissipated. But my 
entreaties were made in vain, and he seemed resolved to 
persevere, and reach our correct path before night, or 
perish in the attempt. Fatal resolution! He had ad- 
vanced but a few feet, when, mistaking the density of 
the curling mist for the solid rock, he stepped aside, and 
was plunged into the frightful abyss! The only words 
that struck my ears were, ‘help!—help!—oh!—oh!’ and 
the thunder of the waters hushed his voice for ever. 
Who can describe the anguish of my feelings at that fear- 
ful moment? I could not see, much less could I render 
him any assistance. Horror-stricken and agonized, I 
threw myself, in the listlessness of sorrow, down upon 
the rock, and could only give vent to my feelings by 
groans and convulsive sighs. The bitterness of wo had 
dried my tears, and I could find no relief whithersoever I 
turned my aching head. Thus I passed a night the most 
eventful and wretched of my life. Towards day I fell 
asleep through exhaustion, but was aroused about ten 
o’clock by the shrill blast of a bugle, and springing on my 
feet, I saw, a short distance from me, a grcup of men 
with some mules. These proved to be some friends, 
who had become alarmed for our safety on discovering 
the storm on the mountain; and learning that our guide 
had returned without us, set out themselves to find and 
bring us home. I told them my melancholy tale.” 
Years have since gone apace—and thou, my friend, 
art passed to oblivion with the rest of departed humanity — 
but the fearfulness of that night often rests upon me when 
my weary limbs are stretched upon the couch. I some- 
times hear thy cry of ‘help!’ and the roaring waters sing- 
ing thy requiem—and, in the eagerness to save thee from 
that dreaded abyss, I make an effort to grasp thee in thy 
fall, when the energies of my spirit awaken me from the 
delirium of a dream. M. D. 
Boston, Sept. 1833. 
GAME LAWS OF MARYLAND. 
An Act for the preservation of Wild Fowl in the waters 
of Swan Creek, Spisutie Narrows, Rumney Creek, 
Bush River, and Gunpowder River, in Harford 
County. Cap. 161. 
‘‘Secrion 1. Be it enacted by the General Assembly 
of Maryland, That from and after the first day of Septem- 
ber next, it shall not be lawful for any person to shoot at 
THE CABINET OF NATURAL HISTORY, 
Wild Fowl in the waters of Swan Creek, Spisutie Nar- 
rows, Rumney Creek, Bush River, and Gunpowder Ri- 
ver, with a gun of any description, in the night time, ex- 
cept from the land. 
‘¢ Section 2. And be it enacted, That it shall not be 
lawful for any person either in the day or at night, to shoot 
at Wild Fowl in any of the waters of the rivers, creeks, 
and narrows, aforesaid, with any gun, from a skiff, float, 
or other boat, which may not be conveniently fired at 
arm’s length, without a rest. And any person violating 
the provisions of this act, shall be taken before some jus- 
tice of the peace of said county, whose duty it shall be to 
require of such offender to surrender such gun, to him the 
said justice, to be sold; the proceeds of which sale said jus- 
tice shall pay over the one-half to the informer; the other 
half to the commissioners of said county; and, in case of 
neglect or refusal of such offender to surrender such gun, 
it shall be the duty of the said justice to sentence him to 
imprisonment in the county jail for thirty days, unless he 
sooner delivers up said gun, according to the provisions of 
this act.”” 
For the Cabinet of Natural History. 
‘“‘THE HONEST ANGLER.” 
Mr. Editor:—There is something so peaceful and quiet 
in the occupation of the Angler, that the very name ap- 
pears to invite contemplation. It has always been re- 
marked, and I believe with truth, that the character of 
your genuine Angler is generally kind and benevolent, 
partaking, in some measure, of the nature of his harmless 
sports. 
‘‘Honest Zzaak Walton,” the father of all Anglers, 
says, that the talent is more of a natural than an acquired 
one—that ‘it is like poetry; men are born so’?—and 
surely ‘* Honest Izaak’? knew best. 
On the banks of the Wabash, (only a few hundred 
miles west of us,) an accident lately happened to one of 
the ‘‘ gifted few,” which is likely to bring some scandal 
on the fraternity, and expose the brethren to the sneers 
of the uninitiated. 
A fine old gentlemen, and most indefatigable Angler, 
who made a fishing excursion to the river almost everyday, 
whether the fish bit or not, went out one warm afternoon 
to fish for cat, baited with a large live frog, the hook fast- 
ened to one of its legs. 
One of those queer, quizzing, and ruthless fellows, who 
