pleasure-seekers to a neighboring stream, where he instructed them to
fish for trout.. He told them they must revel in the delights of the
scene, and should tremble with the wild rapture of drawing from the
rushing waters the bounding trout.

Mr. P. tried very hard to do this. He put his prettiest fly and his
sharpest hook on his longest line, and, for hours, gently whipped the
ripples. At last a speckled representative of the American National
Game-fish took compassion on the patient fisherman and entered into a
contest of skill with him. (A friendly match, and no bets on either
side.) The game lasted some time. The fish made some splendid
"fly-catches;" and Mr. P., slipping on a wet stone at the edge of the
brook, got in once on his base. On this occasion, the line and a
black-berry bush arranged a decided "foul" between them. At last, just
at the most interesting point of the game, the sudden sting of a
steel-bee caused Mr. P. to give a quick bawl, when the fish took a
home-run and came back no more. Time of game, 3h., 50m.

Mr. P. 0 0 0 1 0 0 0 0 0--1.
Trout 6 9 8 7 9 9 9 9 9--75.

That afternoon Mr. MURRAY took the party to Crystal Brook, Shanty Brook,
Mainspring Brook, Tenement Brook, and more little mountain gutters of
the kind than you could count on your fingers and toes. As an
aristocratic residence, this region is certainly superior to New York,
for the Murray Hills are as plenty as blackberries. The next day they
all went up Mount Marcy. When the ascent was completed, everybody lay
down and went to sleep. They were too tired to bother themselves about
the view. At length, after a good nap, Mr. MURRAY got up and wakened the
party, and they all came down.