BOSWELL'S BOTTLED BEER. 31 



opened and applied to the parched fauces of the angler, who 

 has been for the same length of time pursuing his vocation 

 under the beams of a broiling Canadian sun. 



During the same summer in which I recovered Mr. 

 Boss's fly in so unusual a manner, intending to visit the 

 Jacques Cartier, I wrote to a valued and excellent friend 

 of mine, who had promised to accompany me, to have a 

 calesh ready on a certain morning, to look after the com- 

 missariat department, and above all not to neglect to lay in 

 a plentiful store of Boswell's bottled beer. On my arrival 

 at the wharf of Quebec there I found my friend, as 

 punctual as the sim, and with him two caleshes, one well 

 packed with hampers, deal boxes, and butcher's baskets, 

 into which we transferred our portmanteaus, fishing rods, 

 &c., in the other we seated ourselves, the more comfortably 

 for being unencumbered with luggage. Not doubting for 

 a moment the kind attention of my good friend to my 

 request for plenty of beer, we jolted cheerfully along on 

 oiu road, recounting to each other the news and gossip of 

 the cities in which we respectively dwelt, anticipating a 

 mutton chop at Trepannier's, and a successful evening's 

 fishing. To inquire or to doubt about the presence of the 

 beer never entered into my imagination. At length 

 we arrived at our destination, unpacked our baggage 

 waggon, took possession of our neat and clean bedrooms, 

 and having given Madame Trepannier directions about 

 luncheon, I suggested to my fellow traveller the pro- 



