526 A M K !l 1 C A N ANGLER'S BOOK. 



back into the water ; and after we all got sick of it, we agreed to take 

 down our poles and not put them up again in that part of the country. 

 About eighty pounds of the largest we concluded to take home with us ; 

 so our guide made a species of box out of elm-bark, in which we salted 

 down our fish, to pack on our backs. 



I have thus given an outline of one day's occurrences, and the others 

 were like unto it. We. had just as much Trout-fiehing as we wanted. We 

 eat so many that we almost killed ourselves ; and finally came to the con- 

 clusion that Trout were not what they were cracked up to be, after all. 



Joe. Well, what do you think of it ? 



Nbs. Why, I think of the author, that from his frequent 

 allusions to pork, he was from Cincinnati. His description of 

 bridges reminds me of a ride from Hankins's Station to Ches- 

 ter Darby's with Baron G., twelve years ago, when we were 

 caught in a thunderstorm, and did not get to Chester's until 

 midnight ; we crossed a few horse-traps of the kind he 

 describes in the dark. The spiders, bugs, and death-watch 

 refresh my recollections of old friend Snell, on the Loyal- 

 sock. 



Joe. He is right aboiit the pipes and the skillet, but may 

 possibly be wrong as to the guide's ability to produce a 

 chronometer with his axe. As to drawing off wading-boots, 

 I have had some experience in the matter myself, and can 

 testify as to the course the water takes when a man lies on 

 his back and elevates his heels. His instructions, though, in 

 casting and killing a Trout, are inimitable ; all who would 

 be scientific anglers ought to read them. Here are more 

 stray leaves from the Knickerbocker — poetry, too: "The 

 Skeleton Monk," six pages ; and " The Girl with the Calico 

 Dress." 



Walt. Keep them to read in the saw-mill some rainy day. 



[Exit Walter, with sketch-hook.] 



Joe. But hold on; here is "Hans Breitmann's Barty :" 



