The Frontiersmen. Gustave Aimard

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       Though rebels you declare us,

       We're strangers to dismay;

       Therefore you cannot scare us

       In North America.'

      "It's a great poem, Captain; it was written by a schoolmaster in Connecticut."

      "It is patriotic in tone," replied Ralph; "it has that merit, at least. Are you much acquainted with the old poets of the country?"

      "A little, Captain; I've read them all. Besides Mrs. Bradstreet, there's Roger Wolcott, Nathaniel Ward, Mather Byles, Joseph Green, Peter Foulger, old Michael Wigglesworth, and hosts of others. A splendid galaxy, Captain! There's 'The Day of Doom; or, a Poetical Description of the Great and Last Judgment,' by Wigglesworth. It is rather strong on the old New England religion, but as a piece of poetical work, it's really great. Was anything ever more terrible than the description of the final judgment? After the sentence is pronounced, before the condemned,

      "'They wring their hands, their caitiff hands,

       And gnash their teeth in terror;

       They cry, they war, for anguish sore,

       And gnaw their tongues for horror;

       But get away, without delay,

       Christ pities not your cry:

       Depart to hell—there ye may yell,

       And war eternally.'

      "We can admire poetry, sometimes, when we don't precisely approve of the sentiments. Did you ever see a more terrific piece of writing than that, Captain?"

      "It is full of horrors, I must confess," said Ralph, who was beginning to get weary at the extent of Ichabod's poetical recollections; "but we are near the cottage, and we must now make our preparations for the fishing expedition. Are you anything of a fisherman, Ichabod?"

      "I can't say that I am, Captain. With all respect for the taste of other people, it always looked to me like rather poor sport. A man may do that, as he does anything else, for a livelihood; but, for sport, give me a rifle, a sharp eye, and a practised hand. Howsomever, I am with you."

      The afternoon seemed to prepare itself expressly for the accommodation of the fishing party. Light clouds covered the sky and a gentle south wind just stirred the face of the water. Sambo had been to the river and caught for bait a quantity of small white fish; and, equipped with hooks and line, Barton, with Ralph and Ichabod, proceeded to the pond, where they entered a boat that had been made by hollowing out two halves of a large log, some three feet in diameter and attaching them together. Barton paddled towards the north-west side, and advanced some fifteen or twenty rods from the shore.

      "In this portion of the pond," said he, "the pickerel are most abundant. Perch are found in large quantities near the south-east shore."

      They then fastened the bait, which had been kept alive, to the hooks, and threw them overboard. Ichabod was a stranger to this manner of fishing, and he watched the proceedings with an evident degree of interest. Ralph had been accustomed to it in his boyhood and therefore needed no instructions.

      Seeing that Ichabod did not understand the course of operations, Barton said to him, "It is necessary, usually, for the purpose of securing the fish, whenever it strikes the bait, to allow it to run with the line for a short distance, when it stops and endeavors to swallow its prey. If it succeeds in doing so, or if it finds itself hooked, it then runs. Then is the time to pull; pull СКАЧАТЬ