AMERICAN AUTUMN. 355 
like, and I could only account for it in two ways, viz., either 
the shade afforded by these immense logs formed the at- 
traction, or the constant immersion of the timber in the 
water caused the insect denizens of the bark to be drowned 
out of their retreats, and, dropping off in the water, furnish- 
ed these fish with a favorite food. 
Summer drifted past, and with it disappeared the inces- 
sant persecuting flies. Autumn, with all that brilliant col- 
oring so remarkable in America, made its appearance, and 
the oppressive heat gave way to the most desirable temper- 
ature. An English autumn to me is always sad; an Amer- 
ican autumn is quite the reverse: the hues and colors of the 
‘former are sombre; in those of the latter brilliancy unsur- 
passable predominates. An American autumn, once seen, 
makes as lasting an impression on the memory of mature 
age as the gorgeous fairy scene of the pantomime when 
first beheld upon that of youth. For some time none of the 
bright-hued fish had been taken, and I much feared that my 
acquaintance with them for that year had terminated; but 
not so—a few sharp nights of frost took place, and, going 
one morning to obtain sufficient fish for breakfast, in the 
run that formed the exit of the river from the lake, I with 
pleasure, in succession, captured several of the beauties. 
From that day forward they became more numerous, and 
the last morning’s fishing which I here enjoyed, with the 
snow flying so thick that I could scarcely see my flies, I 
killed not only the greatest number, but the heaviest of the 
brilliant representatives I had captured during the season. 
With regret I turned my back upon the three lonely, love- 
ly lakes, with the following unpronounceable Indian names: 
Molleychunkeymunk, Mooseluckmaguntic, and Moligewalk, 
to seek the boundless prairies of the Far West, and to sub- 
stitute for constant companion my double-barrel, in place 
of my well-tried tapering fly-rod. 
