396 
AMERICAN AGRICULTURIST. 
TROUTING. 
BY REV. HENERY WARD BEECHER. 
Where shall we go 1 Here is the More 
brook, the upper part running through bushy 
and wet meadows, but the lower part flow¬ 
ing transparently over the gravel, through 
the pasture grounds near the edge of the vil¬ 
lage. W r ith great ingenuity, it curves and 
winds and ties itself into bow-knots. It sets 
out with an intention of flowing toward the 
south. But it lingers on its errand to coqette 
with each point of the compass, and changes 
its mind, at length, just in time to rush 
eastward into the Housatonic. It is a charm¬ 
ing brook to catch trout in, when you can 
catch them ; but they are mostly caught. 
Nevertheless, there are here in Salisbury, as 
in every village, those mysterious men who 
are in league with fish, and can catch them 
by scores when no one else can get a nibble. 
It is peculiarly satisfactory to one’s feelings 
to have waded, watched, and fished with 
worm, grasshopper, and fly, for half a day, 
for one poor feeble little trout, and four dace, 
and at evening to fall in with a merry negro, 
who informs you, with a concealed mirth in 
his eye, and a most patronising kindness, 
that he has been to the same brook, and has 
caught three dozen trout, several of them 
weighing half a pound. We will not try that 
stream to-day. 
Well, there is the Candy brook. We will 
look at that. A man might walk through the 
meadows and not suspect its existence, un¬ 
less through the grass he first stepped into 
it!—The grass meets over the top of it, and 
quite hides it through the first meadow ; 
and below, through that iron-tinctured marsh 
land, it expands only a little, growing open- 
hearted by degrees across a narrow field; 
and then it runs for the thickets—and he that 
takes fish among those alders will certainly 
earn them. Yet, for its length, it is not a 
bad brook. The trout are not numerous, 
nor large, nor especially fine ; but every one 
you catch renews your surprise that you 
should catch any in such a ribbon of a brook. 
It is the upper part of the brook that is 
most remarkable, where it flows through 
mowing meadows, a mere slit, scarcely a 
foot wide, and so shut in by grass, that at 
two steps’ distance you can not tell where it 
flows, though your ear hears the low sweet 
gurgle of its waters down some pet waterfall. 
Who ever dreamed of fishing in the grass ? 
Yet, as you cautiously spy out an opening 
between the red-top and foxtail, to let your 
hook through, you seem to yourself very 
much like a man fishing in an orchard. One 
would almost as soon think of casting his 
line into a hay-mow, or of trying for a fish 
behind winrows or haycocks in a meadow ! 
Yet, if the wind is only still, so that the line 
shall hang plumb down, we can, by some 
dexterity, drop the bait between grass, leaves, 
and spikes of aquatic flowers. No sooner 
does it touch the invisible water than the 
line cuts open the grass and rushes through 
weeds, borne off by your speckled victim. 
Still farther north is another stream, 
something larger, and much better or worse 
according to your luck. It is easy of access, 
and quite unpretending. There is a bit of a 
pond, some twenty feet in diameter, from 
which it flows ; and in that there are five or 
six half-pound trout who seem to have re¬ 
tired from active life and given themselves to 
meditation in this liquid convent. They 
were very tempting, but quite untemptable. 
Standing afar off, we selected an irresisti¬ 
ble fly, and with long line we sent it pat into 
the very place. It fell like a snow flake. 
No trout should have hesitated a moment. 
The morsel was delicious. The nimblest of 
them should have flashed through the water, 
broke the surface, and with a graceful but 
decisive curve plunged downward, carrying 
the insect with him. Then we should, in 
our turn, very cheerfully, lend him a hand, 
relieve him of his prey, and, admiring his 
beauty, but pitying his untimely fate, bury 
him in the basket. But he wished no trans¬ 
lation. We cast our fly again and again; 
we drew it hither and thither; we made it 
skip and wriggle ; we let it fall plash like a 
blundering bug or fluttering moth ; and our 
placid spectators calmly beheld our feats, as 
if all this skill was a mere exercise for their 
amusement, and their whole duty consisted 
in looking on and preserving order. 
Next, we tried ground bait, and sent our 
vermicular hook down to their very sides. 
With judicious gravity they parted, and slow¬ 
ly sailed toward the root of an old tree on the 
side of the pool. Again, changing place, we 
will make an ambassador of a grasshopper. 
Laying down our rod, we prepare to catch 
the grasshopper. That is in itself no slight 
feat. At the first step you take, at least 
forty bolt out and tumble headlong into the 
grass ; some cling to the stems, some are 
creeping under the leaves, and not one 
seems to be within reach. You step 
again; another flight takes place, and you 
eye them with fierce penetration, as if there¬ 
by you could catch some one of them with 
your eye. You cannot, though. You brush 
the grass with your foot again. Another 
hundred snap out, and tumble about in every 
direction. There are large ones and small 
ones, and middling sized ones; there are 
gray and hard old fellows ; yellow and red 
ones ; green and striped ones. At length it 
is wonderful to see how populous the grass 
is. If you did not want them, they would 
jump into your very hand. But they know 
by your looks that you are out a fishing. You 
see a very nice young fellow climbing up a 
steeple stem, to get a good look-out and see 
where you are. You take good aim and 
grab at him. The stem you catch, but he 
has jumped a safe rod. YYmder is another 
creeping among some delicate ferns. With 
broad palm you clutch him and all the negh- 
boring herbage too.—Stealthily opening your 
little finger, you see his leg ; the next finger 
reveals more of him ; and opening the next 
you are just beginning to take him out with 
the other hand, when, out he bounds and 
leaves you to renew your entomological pur¬ 
suits ! Twice you snatch handfuls of grass 
and cautiously open your palm to find that 
you have only grass. It is quite vexatious. 
There are thousands of them here and there, 
climbing and wriggling on that blade, leaping 
off from that stalk, twisting and kicking on 
that vertical spider’s web, jumping and bounc¬ 
ing about under your very nose, hitting you 
in your face, creeping on your shoes, or 
turning summersets and tracing every figure 
of parabola or ellipse in the air, and yet not 
one do you get. And there is such a hearti¬ 
ness and merriment in their sallies ! They 
are pert and gay, and do not take your intru¬ 
sion in the least dudgeon. If any tender¬ 
hearted person ever wondered how a humane 
man could bring himself to such a cruelty as 
the impaling of an insect, let him hunt for a 
grasshopper in a hot day among tall grass ; 
and when at length he secures one, the affix¬ 
ing him upon the hook will be done without 
a single scruple, withjudicial solemnity, and 
as a mere matter of penal justice. 
Now then the trout are yonder. We swing 
our line to the air, and give it a gentle cast 
toward the desired spot, and a puff of south 
wind dexterously lodges it in the branch of 
the tree. You plainly see it strike, and whirl 
over and over, so that no gentle pull will 
loosen it. You draw it north and south, east 
and west ; you give it a jerk up and a pull 
down ; you try a series of nimble twitches; 
in vain you coax it in this way and solicit it 
in that. Then you stop and look a moment, J 
first at the trout and then at your line. Was 
there ever anything so vexatious 1 Would it 
be wrong to get angry! In fact you feel very 
much like it. The very things you wanted 
to catch, the grasshopper and the trout, you 
could not; but a tree, that you did not in the 
least want, you have caught fast at the first 
throw. You fear that the trout will be 
scared. You cautiously draw nigh and peep 
down. Yes, they are, looking at you and 
laughing as sure as evertroutlaughed! They 
understand the whole thing. With a very 
decisive jerk you snap your line, regain the 
remnant, and sit down to repair it, to put on 
another hook, you rise up to catch another 
grasshopper, and move on down the stream 
to catch a trout! 
THE VICTORY. 
Edward Norton is an obedient boy, is 
kind to his play-fellows, and usually gentle 
in his manners, he has one great fault which 
makes his mother very sorry. He has a 
quick temper. When angry he does not 
know what he is doing. His mother knows 
that if he grows up with this bad temper, he 
may do some wicked act, and then say, like 
the professor of a college who killed a man 
in his anger, that if his mother had con¬ 
quered his temper when he was a boy, he 
should not have been a murderer. 
Edward likes to read stories about the 
great conquerors of the world. His mother 
thought that he would know the meaning of 
king Solomon’s words, “ He that ruleth his 
spirit, is better than he that taketh a city.” 
So she had him repeat the verse to her every 
morning for a week. Thus, you see, he 
could not forget it. 
On Saturday as he played with some little 
boys, a difficulty arose among them, and one 
of them began to laugh at him. Edward 
grew very red in the face, his eyes gleamed 
with anger, and he was about to strike the 
boy, when he suddenly stopped. The boys did 
not know what it meant. Why do you think 
he stopped! He thought of king Solomon’s 
words. He had to try hard to keep down his 
arm and not speak the angry wrnrds he felt. 
God helped him then, in the victory over 
his temper; for God will help us, if we truly 
seek his aid. Edward could not play any 
longer, but went back to the house, and 
ran to his mother, saying, 
“ l, did it, mother, I did it,” and burst into 
tears. 
She was very happy when he told her all 
about it. Edward has been tempted since, 
but tries not to get angry; and in time, by 
the blessing of God, I think he will be always 
able to rule his spirit. If you have such a 
temper, and wish to rule it, you may not 
perhaps do as well as Edward the first time, 
but “ try, try again,” and if you sincerely 
seek help from the Savior, he will assist 
you in doing right. It will be easy for you 
to yield your heart and life to Christ; or, if 
you have done so already, will prevent the 
reproach of an ill-temper being cast upon 
you as a follower of Jesus.— Hesper, in 
Child's Paper. 
Markets. 
REMARKS. 
New-York, Wednesday, August 29. 
There has been a little depression in the 
price of Flour—quite as much as could be 
expected with the small arrivals from the 
west. It may be to some a matter of sur¬ 
prise to learn that with all the abundant sup¬ 
plies at the west, there is now scarcely as 
much flour received from that quarter as there 
was previous to harvest. The principal re- 
