were enabled to do these things without much difficulty, as the water was in some measure arrested in its course above the fall, being slightly bayed back by the barrier of rocks. Being on terra firma, my hero looked ruefully at the torrents; one alone appeared something like being practicable; and it was one that, in the mean state of the river, was nothing but a dry channel. Whether our small craft could shoot down it without foundering or not was by no means evident to the eye, though a practised one, of the explorer. He was, however, somewhat encouraged by two fishermen who were mending their nets. They thought, they said, that we "might possibly descend in safety, if we managed our boats well." Charlie looked, and sighed, and looked again: the thing was evidently not in harmony with his ideas; for he could not swim himself, and he doubted whether his boat would either, when it arrived at the bottom of the fall. However, I decided that I would try the thing alone; and if it should prove a failure, the example was not, of course, to be followed, So I brought my little boat some way above the cataract, with her head up the stream, and by rowing against it let her fall by degrees stern foremost, by which means I had a clear view before me, and could therefore steer to a nicety. She went down most agreeably, though in nearly a vertical position, but pitched upon a rock below the fall: but before any harm happened, I swung her off by inclining my body to and fro. My fisherman followed successfully; and having passed the wide-spreading Linn, the channel of the Tay became more contracted, and we resumed our former pace, shooting down the rapids like an arrow, and by occasional swift snatches of the oars avoiding the breakers around us. So we passed among the hanging woods and impending rocks of this romantic river, till we arrived at Stanley, where groups of people were assembled on the hill-top, who shouted to us with all their might, and made signs and gestures, the meaning of which I could not comprehend, but they seemed to be warning us of some impending danger: I could not catch the import of their words, as the sound was but faintly heard amidst the din of the waves. So I did not perplex myself with attending to them, but thought it wisest to trust to my own discretion, which fortunately carried the boats safely to their place of destination. I learned afterwards, that seeing our boats were mere insignificant cockle-shells borne down by the flood with great impetuosity, they were fearful that we should be carried down the mill-dam, and come in contact with the machinery. But a better fate awaited us than such a Quixotic one; and after a little rough work, in which we shipped a reasonable quantity of water, we at length approached the bleaching grounds of Perth, where the river swept swift and ample in an even channel under a wooded bank studded with villas; we then darted through the middle arch of the beautiful bridge in the town, and hauled up our boats on a wharf below it.

This adventure, however, is only an incident in a discursive book, and gives us nothing of salmon-fishing; which sport, be it borne in mind, is not restricted to the dexterous use of rod and line, as might be inferred from what we have said. On the contrary, there are many modes of fishing the salmon, and not a few mysteries connected with each, as the reader would very soon grant you, were he to peruse Mr. Scrope's handsome volume anent such diversions and diversities

as the arts of spearing and leistering the fish, also of trolling, sunning and burning the river. Nay, he disdains not to speak of baiting, netting, and a number of such slaughtering modes as would shock the dilletantism of your poetic fly-fishers; for the truth is that the salmon-fisheries of the Tweed are rented at thousands a year; so that if you spare the fish when he is in your waters, you only do so that he may fall into the hands of a less scrupulous neighbour, or wholesale harrier at the mouth of the river.

The theme of Mr. Scrope's work, most persons will be ready to exclaim, although guiltless of ever having been witness of a particle of the sport, or of having peeped into Old Isaac, has poetry in its very name. When the weather is genial, the scenery beautiful, and the party select, must not salmon-fishing in Scotia's romantic streams be a fine pastime? And yet how wearisome on occasions, and how exacting of patience! Here, and at once, however, it will be as well to allow Mr. Scrope an opportunity of throwing in a word, when perhaps he may be able to put to flight certain misconceptions on the subject. Listen to what he says relative to the qualifications of a salmon-fisher :

If I am ever so indiscreet as to utter a word about fishing, I am always asked, "if it does not require a great deal of patience." Now, these sort of interrogators are in Cimmerian darkness as to to the real thing. But I tell them, that to be a first-rate salmon-fisher requires such active properties as they never dreamed of in their philosophy. It demands (salmon fishing at least) strength of arm and endurance of fatigue, and a capability of walking in the sharp streams for eight or ten hours together, with perfect satisfaction to one's self; and that early in the spring season, when the clean salmon first come forward. In after life, people are considerably addicted to boats, and to go about attended like admirals; that is what we must all come to. But your real professor, who has youth on his side, should neither have boats nor boots, but be sufficient in himself. No delay, no hauling the boat up the stream, but in and out like an otter; even like we ourselves in the time of our prime, Fahrenheit being below zero.

We pause not to remark upon what immediately follows these hints, how he and his party pitched their tent under Craigover rocks, and slept in it, that they might go forth at five o'clock each morning to their aqueous pastime, but return to the qualifications.

I say then, and will maintain it, that a salmon fisher should be strong in the arms, or he will never be able to keep on thrashing for ten or twelve hours together with a rod eighteen or twenty feet long, with ever and anon a lusty salmon at the end of his line, pulling like a wild horse with the Jasso about him. Now he is obliged to keep his arms alcft, that the line may clear the rocks; now he must rush into the river, then back out with nimble pastern, always keeping a proper strain of line; and he must preserve his self-possession "even in the very tempest and whirlwind of the sport," when

the salmon rushes like a rocket. This is not moody work: it keeps a man alive and stirring. Patience indeed!

It is indispensable to have a quick eye and a ready hand: your fly, or its exact position, should never be lost sight of; and you should imagine every moment of the livelong day, that an extraordinary large salmon is coming at it. No man can do anything properly, unless he is sanguine and his whole heart and soul is in the business. "Remember, my good people all, I do not wish to press this laborious sport unfairly upon you: excuse me, but it may be you are not exactly fit for it,' non cuivis homini,'" &c. You may saunter about with a gauze net and two sticks if you prefer it, and catch butterflies every man to his vocation: but "what is a gentleman without his recreations?"

There is a speculation in angling that gives great zest to the sport. You may catch a moderate-sized fish, or a distinguished one, or, mayhap, a monster of such stupendous dimensions as will render your name immortal; and he may be painted, and adorn some fishing-tackle shop in London, like Col Thornton's pike, which threw Newmarket on his back as he was landing him,- —a lad, says the Colonel, so called from the place of his nativity. Of course you expect the latter phænomenon every cast. You see him in your mind's eye eternally following your fly, and you are ready to strike from second to second. It is true he does not actually come, as experience teaches. But what of that? he may come in an hour, in a minute, in a moment; the thing is possible, and that is enough for an angler.

We fancy that by this time the entire stranger to the practice and realities of the sport, will be satisfied that it is no child's play, and that it requires spirit and activity; that, instead of being at best a fine sport, it is one of the most stirring, noble, and often magnificent that can be conceived. Besides, salmon-fishing is a pastime to which many a poor man, many an artizan of pluck and ingenuity has betaken himself, to the no small enrichment of Mr. Scrope's book in the way of illustration and anecdote. Take the story of Duncan Grant.

All I can do is to recommend caution and patience; and the better to encourage you in the exercise of these virtues, I will recount what happened to Duncan Grant in days of yore.

First, you must understand that what is called "preserving the river" was formerly unknown, and every one who chose to take a cast did so without let or hindrance.

In pusuance of this custom, in the month of July some thirty years ago, one Duncan Grant, a shoemaker by profession, who was more addicted to fishing than to his craft, went up the way from the village of Aberlour, in the North, to take a cast in some of the pools above Elchies Water. He had no great choice of tackle, as may be conceived; nothing, in fact, but what was useful, and scant supply of that.

Duncan tried one or two pools without success, till he arrived at a very deep and rapid stream, facetiously termed "the Mountebank :" here he paused, as if meditating whether he should throw his line or not. "She is very big," said he to himself, "but I'll try her: if I grip him he'll be worth

the hauling." He then fished it, a step and a throw; about half-way down ; when a heavy splash proclaimed that he had raised him, though he missed the fly. Going back a few paces, he came over him again, and hooked him. The first tug verified to Duncan his prognostication, that if he was there "he would be worth the hauling;" but his tackle had thirty plies of hair next the fly, and he held fast, nothing daunted. Give and take went on with dubious advantage, the fish occasionally sulking. The thing at length became serious; and, after a succession of the same tactics, Duncan found himself at the Boat of Aberlour, seven hours after he had hooked his fish, the said fish fast under a stone, and himself completely tired. He had some thoughts of breaking his tackle and giving the thing up; but he finally hit upon an expedient to rest himself and at the same time to guard against the surprise and consequence of a sudden movement of the fish.

He laid himself down comfortably on the banks, the butt-end of his rod in front; and most ingeniously drew out part of his line, which he held in his teeth. "If he rugs when I'm sleeping," said he "I think I'll find him noo :" and no doubt it is possible that he would. Accordingly, after a comfortable nap of three or four hours, Duncan was awoke by a most unceremonious tug at his jaws. In a moment he was on his feet, his rod well up, and the fish swattering down the stream. He followed as best he could, and was beginning to think of the rock at Craiggellachie, when he found, to his great relief, that he could "get a pull on him. He had now comparatively easy work; and, exactly twelve hours after hooking him, he cleicked him at the head of Lord Fife's water: he weighed fifty-four pounds Dutch, and had the tidelice upon him.

We introduce only one characteristic and descriptive anecdote It presents familiar names, and one to be time-honoured.

more.

Two or three more fish were taken amongst the stones at the tail of the cast, and the sport in the carry-wheel being now ended, the fish were stowed in the hold of the boat, the crew jumped ashore, and a right hearty appeal was made to the whiskey bottle. It was first tendered to the veteran Tom Purdie, to whom it was always observed to have a natural gravitation, but to the astonishment of all, he barely put his lips to the quaigh, and passed it to his nephew. "Why, uncle mon, what the deil's come ower ye? I never kent ye refuse a drappie afore, no not sin I war a callant; I canna thole to see ye gang that gate.' Why, I'll tell ye what it is, Charlie. I got a repreef from Sir Walter for being fou the ither nicht." "Eh, uncle, how was that?" "Why," says Sir Walter, "Tom," says he, "I sent for ye on Monday, and ye were not at hame at eight o'clock; I doubt ye were fou, Tom;" joust tell ye the hale truth," says I, "I gaed round by the men at wark at Rymer's Glen, and came in by Tarfield; then I went to Darnick, and had a glass o' whiskey wi' Sandy Trummel at Susy's, and I war joust coming awa when Rob steppit in, and cried for half a muchkin. I was na for takkin mair, but the glasses were filled, and I did not like to be beat wi' them, so I tuk mine." "And is that all you had, Tom?" said Sir Walter. "Aye, indeed was it," said I; "but Heaven have a care o' me, I never was the war of it, till 1 was ganging up by Jemmy Mercer's by Coat's Green; and when I cam up by Kerr side I wanted to see Maister Laidlaw, but I thoucht I

durst na gang in ; and how I got hame I dinna ken, for I never minded it na mair; but our war wife in a terrible bad key the morning, because I wair sair wanted last nicht." "Well," said the maister, "ye mun never do the like again, Tom." We then ganged to the woods, and thinned the trees; and I laboured with the axe at thae that Sir Walter marked. "Now Tom," says he," you will go home with me, for you have been working very hard, and a glass of whiskey will do you good;" and he cawed to Nicholson to bring Tom a glass o' Glenlivet. I tuk it doon; and mon, if yee'd found it, it beat a' the whiskey I ever tasted in my life. "Well Tom," said Sir Walter, "how do ye feel after it? Do ye think another glass will do ye ony harm?" I said naething, but I thoucht I wad like anither, and Nicholson poured out ain, and I tuk it. Then the maister said, "Tom, do ye feel ony thing the war o' it?" "Nau, nau," said I, "but it's terrible powerfu', and three times as strang as ony whiskey I ever drank in my life." Then Tom," says Sir Walter, never tell me that three glasses o' Susy's whiskey will fill ye fou, when ye have drank twa of mine, which you say is three times as strong, and you feel all the better for it." Hey mon, I never was so taen by the face in a' my life! I didna ken where to luk. The deil faw me if ever he cotch me so again.

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We have only now to observe, that Mr. Scrope's manner of composition in the present publication is in his best and liveliest style; pleasing and also true, as some short experience qualifies us to attest, to the nature, the demands, and the details of his subject. It is impossible to be a sportsman and an adept in salmon-fishing and not an enthusiast. Hence a touch of exaggeration is likely enough to be lent to the pictures and the passages of persons who take it upon themselves to amuse or instruct by means of their own reminiscences. One must make allowance, too, for slight facetious efforts that may after all have affectation in them. But so long as there is mind and matter in the discourse, and a strong current of heartiness, perhaps this sort of extravagances may be regarded in the light of embellishments that are perfectly understood and may effectively be employed.

ART. XIII.-Canada, Nova Scotia, New Brunswick, and other British Provinces of North America, with a Plan of National Colonization. By JAMES S. BUCKINGHAM. Fisher.

THIS maketh, if our memory serveth faithfully, the ninth volume which America has stood for, amongst Mr. Buckingham's numerous writings and multifarious enterprises. How many shelves his pen might have stocked, had his travels begun in the United States and intended to round the globe, it is needless to conjecture. It may be enough on this point to say, that his original purpose was to prosecute his journey through Mexico; to stretch its course even to China, via the Sandwich Islands; and to return to England through