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.

They came by the way of the “grand slide,” but Mr. P. didn’t like it.  His tailor, however, will no doubt think very highly of it.

When all was quiet, that evening, on Dangle-worm Creek, near which they were encamped, Mr. P. found the Reverend MURRAY sitting in the smoke of his private smudge, enjoying his fragrant pipe.  Seating himself by the veteran pioneer, Mr. P. addressed him thus: 

“Tell me, Mr. MURRAY, in confidence, your opinion of the Adirondacks.”

“Sir,” said Mr. MURRAY, “I have no objection to give a person of your respectability and knowledge of the world my opinion of this region, but I do not wish it made public.”

“Of course, sir!” said Mr. P.  “A man of your station and antecedents would not wish his private opinions to be made too public.  You may rely upon my discretion.”

“Well, then,” said the reverend mountaineer, “I think the Adirondacks an unmitigated humbug, and I wish I had never let the world know that there was such a place.”

“Why then do you come here every season, sir?”

“After all I have written and said about it,” said Mr. MURRAY, “I have to come to keep up appearances.  Don’t you see?  But I hate these mountains from the bottom of my heart.  For every word I have written in praise of the region I have a black-fly-bite on my legs.  For every word I have said in favor of it I have a scratch or a bruise in some other part of my corpus.  I wish that there was no such a season as summer-time, or else no such a place as the Adirondacks.”