at the mouth; and, sometimes on my feet, but as often head over heels in the spray, I scrambled across, and landed, dripping like a river god, minus my hat, which was hurrying along to the large rapid in the Ganges. On feeling the fish again (for, during the flounder, I was obliged to give him his own way), I found, to my great delight, that he had steered into the calm bay to the right, instead of pushing for the rapid, and I landed him in twenty minutes. He weighed twenty-five pounds.

I will not occupy your pages with a description of the death of the other two, left at the mouth of the little brook, both of which I killed, and prevented crossing the current of the Soany. They weighed eighteen pounds each. It was now near sunset, but I took a farewell throw at the spot where I killed the twenty-eight-pounder; and, before a minute had elapsed, I had a larger fish, by some pounds, on the hook than I had hit during the day. I was a long time in landing him; and you may imagine my vexation, when, after getting him fairly on shore, I lost him, through the stupidity of my servant. I had walked back from the bank as I steered the fish to land, and had got his head and shoulder, and half his body, on the dry sand, his huge gills working like a blacksmith's bellows, and my bearer straddling across him, and endeavouring to shove him further up the bank, when the hook slipped out of the marseer's mouth, and, at the same moment, he gave a dying flounder, which regularly frightened the stupid bearer. Before I could reach the spot, the fish had kicked himself back into the Ganges, and was slowly wriggling himself into deep I felt strongly tempted to pitch the gaping rascal of a bearer in after him, as I once witnessed, when a servant was deservedly kicked, heels over head, into a deep hole in the river, by Peter Hawker, at Stroud (a relative, I believe, of the renowned Colonel), for laying hold of his master's line, when an obstreperous trout was being guided towards a landing-net. Peter's wrath, too intense for utterance, was scarcely appeased by the porpoise plunge of his man Friday;" but the sport was up, for that day, in a hole full of large and greedy trout; whilst in my case, on the Soany, the setting sun rendered a speedy retreat "the better part of valour," certain eloquent sounds having caught the ready ear, and reminded me of the jungle's proximity!

Trout are not very numerous in the streams of the Dhun: I speak comparatively; for I understand that the fly-fishers at Niemuch boast of killing their five or six dozens in a morning. The greatest number I ever killed in the Dhun, was in July, 1833, when a brother angler accompanied me to the banks of a beautiful stream, which runs into the Soany, about ten miles from Derah. We started by moonlight, and reached our ground by the first dawn of morning. We fished till nine o'clock, when we drove back to Derah, experiencing no ill effects from the trip. In fact, the chief danger consists, as far as my experience goes, in passing the night in places pregnant with miasma. We had excellent sport, killing between us twenty-eight trout, and upwards of forty marseer. My companion had a very narrow escape from a tiger, during the course of the morning. He had thrown his fly under the bank of a sudden angle of the river, where the jungle was so heavy and luxuriant, that the weeds hung in festoons over the stream, which was so narrow, at this spot, that those from the

opposite bank nearly joined midway. I was just about to propose that we should push on, and get clear of this suspicious-looking corner, when, within three paces of his head, and immediately above him, a tiger uttered a roar, which made us jump again. We had no guns with us, and made ourselves "scarce" as rapidly as possible, up the centre of the stream; for the jungle was so dense, that there was no retreat on land, and the tiger had only to have hopped down amongst us to have had it all his own way. Fortunately, however, he was, apparently, as much alarmed as we were, for he retrograded at the same moment, now and then uttering something between a roar and a bark, as he retreated into the forest.

Bearing in mind Dr. Johnson's definition of an angler, I never visited the scenes which I have described without a longing desire to have placed him, in all his living austerity of demeanour and pride of learning, on the banks of this mountain river. The scenery is wild and magnificent in the extreme. Here, a majestic sal tree, towering above the luxuriant jungle, flings its arms across the tumultuous and foaming stream, its huge trunk deeply indented by the embraces of a giant parasite, nearly as large as the tree itself, which, like a monstrous boa, it folds in its tortuous grasp. On one side, the range of hills sweep down to within a mile of the river; and to the left, and in front, rise the sublime mountains of the Himalaya. In the blue and cloudless heaven above, a fish-eagle has poised himself, with quivering wing, and suddenly drops, with the velocity of a cannon-shot, into the midst of a roaring rapid, screaming in triumph as he rises from the spring with a two-pound marseer in his talons.

Is there anything childish in the sport I have attempted to describe? A quiet citizen, in a punt, "bobbing" for eels, must have been the original of Dr. Johnson's picture. But an angler, with a twenty-two feet rod in his hand, throwing a fly against a north wind blowing strong in his teeth, and undergoing, during the day, the toil and exertion requisite to land a few twenty-eight pound fish, will find, the next morning, that he has had no child's play, and that every bone and muscle in his body aches, as if he had been hurled down one of the rapids. As well might you compare Dame Margery's cart cob, jogging along with butter and eggs to market, with

"The steed which obeys not a rider but me,

Who points like the quills of the eagle his ears,

And whose bound in the desert's as light as a deer's;"

or to the war-horse, with fiery eye, arched neck, and distended nostril, through which he smells the battle from afar, charging in the van of chivalry, beneath his mail-clad rider.

The science of fly-fishing is completely set at defiance, and rendered comparatively futile, in many parts of the Ganges; for instance, at the junction of the Soany. Fancy a noble river, like the Ganges, fed by the everlasting snows of the Himalaya, and the countless streams which add their silvery tribute from every glen and ravine along its course; picture this impetuous torrent, after being fretted with foam amongst the rocky chasms of its native mountains, leaping joyously into liberty and light, and roaring triumphantly as it bursts from its long confinement, and flings its glittering spray through the romantic gorge of Tapabund, hurrying along tumultuously to the

open sea! Fancy a twenty-eight pound marseer at the end of your line, where the Soany (itself, also, a river) mingles its waters with the heaving billows of the Ganges! The fish makes directly across to the rapid, where the best boat that ever stemmed a tide would be shattered into a thousand splinters: there is a sweeping bay to the right, which totally prevents your moving from the spot. The marseer is a gallant fish, and an active one, in prime condition. Rebellious at the trick you have played him, and determined to go headlong down yon foaming rapid, he springs away, making the water fly from your reel like smoke; and now he has caught the additional impetus of the roaring stream, as it hurries to the fall. Place your finger on the line; what! it cuts you, does it? I defy you to feel your fish, as a skilful rider does his horse. The fish will go, and you must let him ; he has only been two minutes hooked, your line is all out (160 yards), and you are up to your chin in the water. And now, "hold hard!"science is vain. All you can do is, to give him the butt, trusting alone to the strength of your treble gut-bottom, and the elasticity of your rod and line.

If any sportsman should affect to drop the corners of his mouth at the sport I have described--but faintly, I should delight to see him with "a go-a-head varmint" on the hook, at the above sport; and if he were able to manage him in the known rules of angling science, all I can say is, that I would "hide my diminished head."

12th April.

MARSEER.

EMBELLISHMENTS OF THE NUMBER.

We do not allude to our illustrations for the purpose of blowing a flourish of trumpets for the artists, but merely to intimate the design we have in view for future numbers, by reference to the present.. The plan of Newmarket Heath, which is now given, will be followed by a series of similar sketches of all the principal race-courses in England. These maps will not, however, appear in a regular order; the intention being to vary the succession by such characteristic subjects of interest as may be found locally connected with them. That the embellishments of this work should combine the practical with the ornamental, is the object of the proprietors; they trust the course adopted in the present instance will be regarded as an effective way of carrying that scheme into effect.

SPORTING SKETCHES FROM NEW BRUNSWICK.

BY M. H. PERLEY, ESQ.

No. 3.-OTTOWIN AND LOLA.

"AND what is the name of this crooked stream, Sabattis?" said I. "Wee-sock-paget," replied Sabattis.

"Ah! I understand; the winding river,' and very well named it is." It was noon; the day was excessively sultry, and I lay languid and half-dozing in the bottom of the canoe. We had been some hours ascending a very considerable stream, flowing through a wild and picturesque country, covered with noble trees; among which the tall and graceful elm, and stately sugar-maple, were most conspicuous. At the moment of my inquiry, Sabattis was endeavouring to force the canoe up a long and foaming rapid, with the light pole used for that purpose. Our companions waited in the pool below, watching our attempt: the pole was used with great vigour and quickness, by the practised arm of the sinewy Indian; but the canoe being at the very top, just at that point where the smooth water from above, rushing down in one glassy sheet, first broke, and then whirled and tossed into froth and spray, as it rushed and roared against the numerous rocks which checked its wild career, notwithstanding the most strenuous efforts of Sabattis, it was doubtful if we should get over. While thus hanging in the current, one of those large and gaudy dragon-flies, of which the salmon are so fond, settled on the prow of the canoe, and balanced itself in its precarious position, by keeping its four beautiful and gauze-like wings extended and fluttering. Anxious to secure it, for closer examination, I reached forward hastily to seize the prize, and the change in my position bringing the canoe more by the head, caused it to take a sudden sheer, which threw, or, rather, jerked me overboard, and I was swept down the stream with amazing quickness. On rising in the pool, I was greeted by a hearty laugh from my companions, who were resting on their paddles, and saw there was little danger, as Sabattis, having shot his canoe down the rapid at a fearful rate, was standing ready, with spear uplifted, to seize me if necessary. Being little encumbered with clothing, there was no difficulty in swimming to the shore; and, clambering up among the tall feathery brakes, and rich masses of vegetation, which flourished in luxuriant profusion on the bank, I found a soft and fragrant couch, on which to draw breath, after the fierce struggle in the torrent.

My gun had, unfortunately, gone overboard with me; and our Indians immediately set about recovering it. After several unsuccessful attempts, a salmon-spear was hooked in the trigger-guard, and it was lifted. On its being raised, one of my friends poured the water from the barrels, and instantly discharged them. Hitherto the Indians had spoken with the utmost contempt of the percussion guns, and could not, by any means, be induced to fire one of them. They were now struck with great surprise at seeing the caps explode, and the gun go off, after being under water. They exchanged very significant glances, but not a word was

spoken. Ever afterwards they handled our fire-arms with much more care; and I have since observed, that the Milicetes are abandoning the ancient "flint and steel," and now generally use the "copper cap.'

The heat of the day, and the necessity for unloading the canoes before ascending the rapid, were sufficient reasons for inducing us to lounge some hours beside "the winding river," employed in cleaning guns, mending fishing-rods, tying flies, and repairing sundry rents in our scanty wardrobes. As the sun declined, the tall trees began to throw their shade over the troubled waters; and our tackle being in good order, we soon found we were on better fishing-ground than we had seen for some days. There were three of us, fly-fishers good and true, engaged in the rapid for four hours steadily; at the end of which time, we counted upwards of 300 trout on the bank, six dozen of which exceeded two pounds weight each. We finished, not from lack of sport, but from sheer weariness, and the uncertainty in what way we should dispose of these beautiful fish. The Indians perceiving us so intently bent on sport, concluded there would be no further movement for that day, and had built a "waterproof" camp; their keenness of perception, or, rather, native instinct, informing them that the night would be wet. The bank, on which our camp was placed, rose abruptly about eight feet from the surface of the water, and then formed a level plat, which was overshadowed by some splendid beeches. Here we were regaling ourselves at supper, just after sunset, seated around the trunk of a huge tree, which far overtopped its fellows. Sabattis was seated on the edge of the bank, apparently watching the stream with the most intense attention. Suddenly he seized the spear which lay by his side, and sliding into the river, crying, "Bahm! bahm!" (Salmon! salmon!) dashed into the middle of the current. In an instant we were after him, each man spear in hand, and some awkward tumbles and flounderings occurred, from excessive haste and over anxiety. The quick and practised eye of Sabattis had detected a shoal of salmon, making a dash at the rapid, many of them with their back fins out of water. Before we were well aware what had brought us into the river, we found ourselves amid a great number of fish, three of which, good-sized salmon, glittered on the spears as they were borne triumphantly to the bank. Those who had not had the good fortune to secure a fish in the mêlée, continued striking their spears at every bubble and ripple which bore the least resemblance to the track of one, until fully convinced there was no longer a chance. Some few of this large run of fish had gone over the rapid, but the greater portion had returned down the stream, frightened at the noise and uproar, arising from the shouts of success of some, the laughter of others at the accidents which occurred, and, above all, the shrill "whoop" of the Indians, as they struck at the darting salmon. This was one of those sudden adventures which frequently occur in the forest and on our unfrequented rivers. The chances were greatly against our securing a single fish; but there were so many of them moving up in close column, and Sabattis had so nicely timed the moment for a dash into the shoal, that the result was better than we could possibly have anticipated.

When seated in our snug camp, Sabattis told us that he had been watching the fish for some time before he gave the signal. He had first noticed their coming, at a bend in the river, nearly a quarter of a