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makes his way across the stream to where you stand, and some twisted roots at your feet. Reel up your line with all speed, and checkmate him by a counter-move down the stream. He is furious, of course, at being foiled, and tries hard to win; but, if you are sure of the strength of your collar, bring him steadily away down to shallower water below. He is now out in the swift mid-current, and your winch discourses right good music. If you cannot check him, and he will go over that little fall into the pool below, let him go. You will alarm all the fish there, but that matters nothing now at the close of your work; and you will have an easier landing place, a smooth bit of gravel, ending in a shallow of a couple of inches. But there you must finish the battle. Directly down the stream his instinct tells him he cannot further go, as between him and the next run is a bank of chalky sand with hardly water enough to float a gudgeon. His only chance of escape is up stream now, through the fall into the deep water; and this you must prevent. He fights hard, but the struggle is over at last, and you have him safe in the net. Let him lie there on the grass, until dead.*

empty as a drum, and has in him but one
solitary caddis. The third trout must have
feasted for days like an alderman. He is
positively full of young fish,* and among
them unmistakeably one or two that are not
minnows, but clearly of his own "flesh and
blood," born

"To sail and glitter through the silvery flood;'
but snatched away into untimely death, per-
chance by their own progenitor. For,
however charming or well-authenticated may
be the stories of affection displayed by the
whale for her young ones, no such parental
affection is to be found here. The trout
will feast on spawn before it is a week old,
and young troutlings by the dozen not two
inches long. Here, in this shallow, on a
of a big fish dash suddenly across the pool,
summer evening, you may see the back-fin
and his terrified kindred flying before him
like Hop'o'-my-thumb and his brothers be-
fore the giant. Once out in the stream they
escape his ravenous jaws, by hiding among
the stones, the colour of which is their own;
a chance of escape not open to the hapless
minnow, whose coat of silver and dark grey
exposes him to immediate detection, wher-
ever he
may be.

The last gleam of a fiery sunset is now falling here and there brightly on the windAnd now, our pleasant day by the Clear ing river; and the alder bushes on the op- Water is ended. Fish are feeding gaily in posite slope, as we walk across the dewy all directions,† and will feed on for another meadow down to the hatch, are all aflame. hour or more yet, at the surface. But, with High above us is sailing a long broken string such a basket-full, there is no need for more; of rooks, heavily winging their way home though the generous squire is never so well to a far-off belt of lofty elms; the swallows pleased as when his friends go home reare still busy over the stream; and the lonely joicing under a heavy creel. And we hope cry of the corn-crake dies away on the hill- that our readers will count the day not illside, where a party of swarthy reapers are spent. Your true fly-fisher does more than binding their last sheaves. Come down to learn to kill trout, or even to watch the the edge of this pebbly beach, and while shining waters. By the side of a pleasyour rod is being packed up, we will have a ant river," says cheerful Mr. Cotton, look at the contents of the basket. Seven art otherwise pursuing thy recreation. For goodly fish, weighing not far short of eleven the gliding of waters, the song of birds, the pounds, and all, but that half-starved curi-lowing of cattle, and the view of delightful osity from the mill-tail, in prime condition. A brace of the best of the fish we will open rural life, shall dispose thee to quiet reflecprospects, and the various occupations of and clean in the shallow, as they are to tion. While the beauties of Nature, the travel to London by the early train to-mor

"thou

↑ Some idea of the number of fish in this beauti

row morning. The first shall be the two-power, wisdom, and goodness of the Alpounder out of this very pool. He is as red * Cotton, in his "Angler," tells us of a trout, out and bright as a salmon; and had clearly been gormandizing the whole day up to the date of his swallowing that deadly Caperer. He is full of stony, gritty caddis-worms, and in his gullet is a good-sized lump of what looks like half-digested water-flies and midges. The long scarecrow of a fish is almost as

The habit of striking fish on the back of the head after being captured is a bad one. It kills them, no doubt, by injuring the spine, but when dressed, they look black and bruised all round the neck and throat.

of which he "took near one hundred minnows."
ful stream may be formed from the following facts.
The May-fly season lasts for about fourteen days,
and is at its height from about May 28th to June 7th.
During that time, in 1866, the following was the re-
sult:-

No. of fish taken, 72. No. of rods, 3.

Total weight of fish, 147 lbs. 4 oz. Average weight,

2 lbs.

Two largest fish, 4 lbs. 12 oz., 3 lbs. 8 oz. Greatest number in one day, fourteen fish, weighing 25 lbs.

After the May-fly season the river is not much fished.

mighty, in caring for all His creatures; the order and course of His providence; the rewards of a good life, and the certainty of thine end, be thy subjects of meditation." "Atte the least," says Dame Juliana Berners, (some two centuries before honest Walton's time), "the angler hath his holsom walke, and is mery at his ease; he hath a swete ayre of the swete savoure of the meede flowers that makyth him hungry; he hereth the melodious armory of fowles, swannes, duckes, and cotes. And if he take fyshe, surely thenne no man is merrier in his spryte than he.”*

Say Good-night, therefore, cheerily to the *Treatise on Fyshing, by Dame Juliana Berners. Printed by Caxton, 1486.

passing reapers, and take one more glance at the " pleasant river." The ruddy glow of sunset has faded out of the sky, and a soft mist is creeping over the meadows, as we make our way stoutly up the valley. After ten hours thus healthily spent in the fresh air, the prospect of supper at the vil lage inn is not an unpleasant one. And, if "optimum condimentum fames" be true, we shall not need a three mile walk to give a relish to our repast. Hark! as we gain the brow of the hill, the lonely village spire says nine o' the clock, and as the sounds die away, far-off may be heard the faint music of rushing waters as they hurry on to join the silver Test, on its way down to the dis

tant sea.

SAMUEL LOVER, the Irish poet, novelist, and artist, died at Dublin on Wednesday last, at the advanced age of seventy-one years. His father was a stock-broker in Dublin, and educated his son for commercial pursuits; but Lover soon quitted business and devoted himself to literature and painting. A series of "Legends and Stories of Ireland," published in the city of his birth, attracted considerable notice, but he was soon called to London in the hope of obtaining employment as a miniature painter-one of his miniatures exhibited in the Royal Academy having been received with great favor. His expectations do not appear to have been realized, and he again turned to letters, writing some very attractive songs, "The Angel's Whisper," "Rory O'More," the "Four-Leaved Shamrock," among them. He next published a novel, naming it after his successful song, "Rory O'More," and that the theme might be thoroughly exhausted he dramatized the story and it was produced on the stage under the same title. Treasure Trove" and "Handy Andy" are two of his later and best known novels. In the year 1844 the versatile author tried a new method of pleasing the public, appearing in an entertainment consisting of recitations from his own works and the singing of his own songs. These entertainments were repeated in this country a few years later, and on his return to Ireland he delivered a few lectures, and retired to private life. In 1856 he received a pension of one hundred pounds a year from the British government. Mr. Lover's works, both in prose and verse, are written in a graceful and pleasing style, and are not wanting in the pathos and genial humor characteristic of the author's race. Daily Advertiser, 10 July.

THE Mont Cénis Railway is slowly conquering the prejudices of those old-fashioned travellers who prefer the level line, and who would

rather travel by diligence than face the imaginary perils of Mr. Fell's zig-zag over the mountain. Add to these prejudices the alarms raised by interested prophets on each side of the mountain, who predict some dreadful accident as inevitable, and it is as much as can be hoped at present if the number of passengers can just be said to increase. People who allow themselves amenable to reason know that the mountain railway is not only as safe as the level line, but very much safer. The Savoy Journal, speaking of the rapid descent of a train over an incline whose gradient is 1 in 12, says that, "thanks to the supplementary brakes, which supply an ad libitum pressure on the central rail, the pace may be slackened, and the train stopped almost instantaneously, even when going at full speed on the steepest inclines;" and it adds that "a horse is less docile to guidance than this mountain locomotive.' That the line is a success is shown by the fact that people in Italy are already beginning to talk about forming new lines of the same description. One, amongst many others, seems likely, before long, to connect Italy with the centre of Switzerland.

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JUST PUBLISHED AT THIS OFFICE :

LINDA TRESSEL, by the Author of Nina Balatka. Price 38 cts.
ALL FOR GREED, by the BARONESS BLAZE DE BURY. Price 38 cts.

LATELY PUBLISHED:

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From The Edinburgh Review.

mer evenings the green surface surrounding the amethyst islands, where white foam spouts out of the caves and crevices. On land, there are still the craggy hills, and

Salem Witchcraft; with an Account of Salem Village, and a History of Opinions on Witchcraft and kindred subjects. By CHARLES W. UPHAM. 2 vols. Boston the jutting promontories of granite, where (U.S.): 1867.

the barberry grows as the bramble does with us, and room is found for the farmstead between the crags, and for the appletrees and little slopes of grass, and patches of tillage, where all else looks barren. The boats are out, or ranged on shore, according to the weather, just as they were from the beginning, only in larger numbers; and far away on either hand the coasts and islands, the rocks and hills and rural dwellings, are as of old, save for the shrinking of the forest, and the growth of the cities and villages, whose spires and schoolhouses are visible here or there.

THE name of the village of Salem is as familiar to Americans as that of any provincial town in England or France is to Englishmen and Frenchmen; yet, when uttered in the hearing of Europeans, it carries us back two or three centuries, and suggests an image, however faint and transient, of the life of the Pilgrim Fathers, who gave that sacred name to the place of their chosen habitation. If we were on the spot to-day, we should see a modern American seaport, with an interest of its own, but by no means a romantic one. At present Salem is suffering its share of the ad- Yet there are changes, marked and memversity which has fallen upon the shipping orable, both in Salem and its neighbourtrade, while it is still mourning the loss of hood, since the date of thirty-seven years some of its noblest citizens in the late civil ago. There was then an exclusiveness war. No community in the Republic paid about the place as evident to strangers, and its tribute of patriotic sacrifice more gen- as dear to natives, as the rivalship between erously; and there were doubtless occasions Philadelphia and Baltimore, while far more when its citizens remembered the early days interesting and honourable in its character. of glory, when their fathers helped to chase In Salem society there was a singular comthe retreating British, on the first shedding bination of the precision and scrupulousof blood in the War of Independence. But ness of Puritan manners and habits of now they have enough to think of under the thought with the pride of a cultivated and pressure of the hour. Their trade is par- travelled community, boasting acquaintance alysed under the operation of the tariff; with people of all known faiths, and familtheir shipping is rotting in port, except so iarity with all known ways of living and much of it as is sold to foreigners; there is thinking, while adhering to the customs, much poverty in low places, and dread of and even the prejudices, of their fathers. further commercial adversity among the While relating theological conversations chief citizens; but there is the same vigo- held with liberal Buddhists or lax Mohamrous pursuit of intellectual interests and medans, your host would whip his horse, to pleasures, throughout the society of the get home at full speed by sunset on a Satplace, that there always is wherever any urday, that the groom's Sabbath might not number of New Englanders have made be encroached on for five minutes. The their homes beside the church, the library, houses were hung with odd Chinese copies and the school. Whatever other changes of English engravings, and furnished with may occur from one age or period to anoth- a variety of pretty and useful articles from er, the features of natural scenery are, for China, never seen elsewhere, because none the most part, unalterable. Massachusetts but American traders had then achieved any Bay is as it was when the Pilgrims cast their commerce with that country but in tea, first look over it. Its blue waters- -as blue nankeen, and silk. The Salem Museum as the seas of Greece-rippling up upon was the glory of the town, and even of the the sheeted snow of the sands in winter, or State. Each speculative merchant who went beating against rocks glittering in ice; in forth, with or without a cargo (and the autumn the pearly waves flowing in under trade in ice was then only beginning) in his the thickets of gaudy foliage; and on sum-own ship, with his wife and her babes, was

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