garden, but we could find room for one on the flat by the house, and as soon as we have planned and laid it out, we shall forthwith commence its cultivation; and, we flatter ourselves, that in the course of a couple of years, the grounds and gardens at Bryntirion, (for so we have christened it) will be worthy of a visit from the curious in matters horticultural and botanical; at all events, they shall ever be accessible to their inspection; and, if we are at home, we shall be very happy to crack a bottle of our own grape or gooseberry wine, with a "brother of the angle," as he passes by on his way to the Plenty.

Trudging nimbly along Bell's Terrace, we gain the summit of the hill, and commence our descent to the flat by the Falls. A level road now takes us beneath Mr. Thomas Atkinson's pretty estate of Maitlandville, and close to the river on the right. Here, during the months of January, February, and March, there is usually very good mullet fishing, the fish having now deserted the creeks and rivulets, and repaired to the rapid, but shallow scours and streams of the larger rivers; but as we are bent on a pilgrimage to the Plenty, we shall not stop even to wet our flies at the Falls, but away, at once, up into the hills.

'Away! our journey lies through dell and dingle,
Where the blithe lamb trips by its timid mother:
Where the tall gum tree, with its scattered boughs,
Chequers the sun-beam in the green sward valley.
Up and away! for lovely paths are these
To tread, when the glad sun is on his throne;
Less pleasant, and less safe, when Cynthia's lamp
With doubtful glimmer, lights the dreary forest."

We are now fairly in the uplands, and up to our ancles in sand. It is yet earliest morning, and "the bush" is absolutely alive with the chirping of crickets and grasshoppers, the whirring of beetles, the chattering of parrots and magpies, and, high above all, the extraordinary scream of that extraordinary bird, the laughing jackass. Ever and anon, too, as you look down on the path, a lizard will dart away into the long grass, or perchance, a snake will rush into the brush-wood, giving, as it goes, one rapid piercing glance of its small bright eye, and leaving you standing with poised rod and "hair on end," looking "unutterable things. Oh! how we love the bush, and all its wild and wonderful beauties! Aye! even the venomous and terror-striking snake is an object of admiration, as it glides, with rustling scales, beneath the crumbling log; and the very beetle, as it whizzes like a burnished star before you, adds a joyous interest to the scene. It is true, we have not here as in India and Africa, the mighty roar of the lion and tiger, that shakes the very woods, and infuses terror into the bosoms of all minor animals; but we have the shrill scream of the eagle-hawk-to all intents and purposes an eagle itself and, occasionally, a glimpse of its majestic figure, wheeling

in wide circles over the brow of some lofty mountain. And as to other birds, we have a vast variety-not very highly distinguished, it may be, for the melody of their notes, but replete with gay and beautiful plumage, and full of wild and graceful motion. We have said nothing of the botany of the bush, because, were we once to enter upon that fascinating topic, we should not know when or how to leave off. This must serve for several separate and future articles, which we shall, according to our invariable custom, render as amusing and as edifying as possible. For the present, then, we shall leave the stately and the weather-beaten eucalyptus, the green and graceful mimosa, and the whole tribe of acacias, &c. &c. &c. and descend a rough ravine in the road, called "the Dry Creek." This is a wild and rugged spot. The road here makes a slight curve over the hill, and descends abruptly into a flat by the river side, bounded on one side by a wooded dingle, and on the other by a rough hill, covered with brush-wood, interspersed with a few larger trees, and here and there a brown bare rock. At the bottom is a rude log-bridge, and just beyond are two rude huts, in perfect keeping with the scene, and harmonizing greatly with its ruggedness. We are now rapidly approaching the Plenty, and shall just reach Redlands in time for breakfast. There it is! that low brick house, in that beautiful broad flat on the left. The chimney smokes hugely, giving visible token of the good fare preparing for breakfast, and we are quite sure that Major Oakes will give us the reception he always gives his friends-warm, hearty, and sincere. We turn out of the main road therefore, and shortly find ourselves in the breakfast parlour at Redlands. What a grand meal is breakfast! we mean the real substantial copious, and most delightful "Dejuné a la fourchette." Ham, eggs, beefsteaks, cold meat, fish of course, (and it is best broiled) with a splendid steamer, hot as heat itself, and as savoury as excellent cookery can make it-add to these, coffee and tea, with some of the genuine Redlands butter and cream, and you have a repast fit for old Jupiter and all his immortal comrades. We forget exactly who it is that remarks, there is nothing like the foundation of a good breakfast, when a body has an important days work to do; but we know from most expert experience, that the observation is full of truth and philosophy. It is truly astonishing, what an alteration a good breakfast effects on the mind and manners of an individual. The best tempered mortal breathing, even our kind hearted and amiable friend himself, will find his temper ruffled, and his suavity soured, after a walk of six miles before breakfast;-no sooner, however, is he favored with a seat at Major Oakes's wellspread board, and the first gentle fumée of the savoury steamer spreads itself over the pituitary membrane of his organ of scent, than his proverbial amenity returns-his good-natured phisiognomy beams with its wonted benevolent lustre, and joke and jest, wit and repartee, season a repast, fit, as we said before, for the immortal Gods.

66

There are several favorite and frequented spots in the Plenty, where mullet mostly abound; and, without a chart of its course, we cannot well describe in writing the exact geographical situation of the spots in question. But we can give the reader a few general hints, by the adoption of which, we scruple not to aver, he will derive great and peculiar advantage. First then, let him look to his bait. A small reddish worm, denominated the brandling, is about the best he can use. This is found in dunghills, or in rich made earth, and if it is used, without being scoured, it will, generally, be found very "taking." But we prefer the "fly" to any bait, natural or artificial. Perhaps, certain sturdy predilections, associated with some of the best, most delightful, and most deeprooted recollections of our youth, lead us to this choice. We are, ourselves, more than half inclined to think that this is the case; and, at all events, the artificial fly is a very dangerous and successful snare for the mullet. We have generally used a red hackle, and the fern-fly, and these, from "early morn to evening's shade," are decidedly"killing;" when, however, the sun is progressing towards his "ocean bed," and his beams are withdrawn from the dancing waters, a small white-winged moth-like fly, is the most captivating. In England we use such a fly, with fatal success, at the edge of night; but here, heaven help us, we have no edge to night at all; but plunge at once in medias res. With the flies we have mentioned, then, tolerable execution, by skilful management, may be reckoned upon in the Plenty and if the angler will pay attention to the following remarks, he must be a desperate and most daring bungler if he does not fill his fishing basket.

:

When you come to a smart stream or scour, we think the worm will be your best weapon; but mind how you use it. We can assure you, from our own trifling experience, that a very great deal depends upon the mode of using the worm. In the first place, mind, particularly, how you place it on the hook. If you let a single spot of the polished snare appear, the cunning fish will pass it by, if not positively unnoticed, at all events, only so noticed, as to convince you that he has detected your design. Cover then the hook, barb, point, shaft and all; and take heed, not to leave too large a portion of your worm, dangling and writhing beyond the point; if you do, the first hungry and ferocious fish will seize upon the superfluous portion, gobble it quickly up, and leave your hook, gliding denuded through the water a very laughing-stock to the whole piscatory assemblage. Very often, however, when the fish are not hungry, they will not take a worm at all; we have positively seen them wriggle slowly and coquettishly towards the bait, take it quietly in their mouths, give it one soft experimental suck, and then turn away with the most grave contempt imaginable. This is one of the most provoking things that can happen to an angler, and is to be avoided only by substituting the fly for the worm. You may cheat them in this way, for as they usually dart at the fly, to make sure of him upon the earliest instant of his

F

arrival, they have not time to make any unpleasant discoveries. In the still pools, or under banks, where the water is deep, the fly is decidedly the best. Recollect, we are speaking of creek fishing, and, more especially of the Plenty; for, as "different minds incline to different objects," so do the fish of different waters incline to different habits. Experience therefore, based upon sound and attentive observation, is the only sure guide to the angler in these

matters.

As to the best times for fishing, we assume, that early morning is the best, then mid-day, and then evening, leaving the afternoon, or from two till about five, last on the list. But so much depends upon the weather, that these periods are subject to considerable variation. Warm weather is decidedly favorable to the ensnaring of mullet, and sun shine, especially in a strong stream or ripple, is by no means unfavorable. The best season is spring, that is from Michaelmas to Christmas, for the creeks; and the summer for the large rivers; but we have known the mullet to remain in the Plenty till February.

Carefully observant of the directions, we have here promulgated, we proceed to our favorite scours and holes in the Plenty, beginning just below Major Oakes's garden, and so fishing down the stream, regardless of snakes, lizards, centipedes, and all creeping things, filling our baskets with some of the finest silver-bellied and hogbacked mullets, which are contained in this picturesque rivulet. By noon we have crawled as far as Glen Leith, where we make a capital lunch on broiled fish, new potatoes, and bottled porter, and then proceed, "tarrying no further question"-to the river side, to renew our murderous sport, which we pursue with unrelenting vigor, till our baskets will positively contain no more. We then wend our way towards Charlie's Hope, where the Colonial representative of Dandie Dinmont, George Thompson, Esq., J.P. gives us a hearty welcome to dinner, which is urgently re-echoed by his hospitable help-mate; and after a quiet chat about "Auld Lang Syne"-seasoned by a tumbler or two of very excellent whisky toddy-we set out in the cool evening to walk home by moonlight -after a delightful "day's fishing in the Plenty."

PISCATOR.

*By whose sagacious invention these fish received the title of mullet, we know not; they are to all intents and purposes, a species of smelt, and, when first caught, they have the same cucumber-like odour.

A SONG.

Tune "And are ye sure the news is true?"

Fam'd Sampson, 'midst the mighty led;
But mightier, far, was she,

Who cut the ringlets from his head,
When resting on her knee:

O! nought on earth is half so strong
As thy sex, fair Dalilah ;

But when thy influence is wrong,
How baneful's the beguiler!

And Solomon was very wise,

The babe-decree approved it;

But much more so are woman's eyes,

With their keenly probing wit:

There's nought on earth, so wise, so strong

As thy sweet sex, Dalilah ;

The charms of love, to thee belong,

Thou swayest as a smiler.

SIR WALTER SCOTT.

Z.

This distinguished writer and accomplished scholar, died at his seat of Abbotsford, on the 21st of September last, aged 61 years. Thirty-one of these years, says the Editor of the Atlas, were devoted to the most triumphant but wearing and literary labor-and at last his physical strength was exhausted by mental exertion. The last days of life were darkness-and, visited as he had been, death was hailed as the only source of relief. In this place, our duty is merely to note the fact of his translation from that sphere wherein his talents were honored to that wherein his virtues will be rewarded.

We are extremely happy to learn, that, notwithstanding Sir Walter's unfortunate involvement in the affairs of the late Mr. Coristable (his original publisher,) his family will still enjoy the affluence, to which it was raised by his talents. The mode in which Sir Walter composed his works, and the time, which must have been necessarily devoted to such a task, have often excited the curiosity of the public; and Allan Cunningham, in a brief memoir of his deceased friend, thus solves the mystery :

"Of the habits of Sir Walter Scott as an author, I know little, save what he happened to tell me, or what I casually gathered from men intimate with him. He told me that he was an early riser; I have since learned that his usual hour of beginning to write was seven