TORMENTED BY BLACK FLIES. 351 
preparation of oil of tar. After half an hour’s scrambling 
through brush and climbing over rocks, I at length reach- 
ed such a lovely pool. The first cast showed it to be alive 
with fish, and they in the proper way of thinking. Soon 
the gravel margin had over a dozen beauties glittering in 
all their glorious coloring; but the sun was near the hori- 
zon, and my attendant warned me that time was up. On 
joining my friends, long and vociferous were their peals of 
laughter whenever they looked at me. What the deuce 
was up? On arrival at the shanty all was explained. The 
black flies had attacked me when so immersed in my sport, 
that they had been unnoticed’ or brushed off, making my 
countenance the most extraordinary-looking mess of blood 
and bruised flies imaginable; but if I did not then feel the 
pain, you may bet I did that night when warm in bed. 
Knowing that such torments exist, why did the writer 
go there? is naturally asked, and as simply answered, for 
before he started he was assured that not even a mosquito 
was to be found in Maine. Afterward it was discovered 
that the visit of his informant had been paid to this wité- 
ma thule late in autumn. A dozen times conclusions were 
come to of sloping (not for Texas) in the morning; but 
the attractions were so great that even the entire summer, 
even on to the end of October, was got through, the last 
two or three months so delightfully that the self-sacrifice 
endured in June and July was more than compensated for ; 
and never can be forgotten the beautiful weather, glorious 
sport, and free, independent life enjoyed. The State of 
Maine being of considerably larger proportions than En- 
gland and Scotland together, it is desirable that the partic- 
ular locality should be mentioned. Seventy miles from the 
thriving sea-port of Portland, along the Grand Trunk line 
of railroad, will be found on the map the picturesque, clean, 
flourishing village of Bethel; twenty-seven miles north from 
