Thursday, July 20th.--A drive yesterday afternoon to a pond in the
vicinity of Augusta, about nine miles off, to fish for white perch.
Remarkables: the steering of the boat through the crooked, labyrinthine
brook, into the open pond,--the man who acted as pilot,--his talking with
B------ about politics, the bank, the iron money of "a king who came to
reign, in Greece, over a city called Sparta,"--his advice to B------ to
come amongst the laborers on the mill-dam, because it stimulated them "to
see a man grinning amongst them." The man took hearty tugs at a bottle
of good Scotch whiskey, and became pretty merry. The fish caught were
the yellow perch, which are not esteemed for eating; the white perch, a
beautiful, silvery, round-backed fish, which bites eagerly, runs about
with the line while being pulled up, makes good sport for the angler, and
an admirable dish; a great chub; and three horned pouts, which swallow
the hook into their lowest entrails. Several dozen fish were taken in an
hour or two, and then we returned to the shop where we had left our horse
and wagon, the pilot very eccentric behind us.
Pages:
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83