plied the stout man, advancing farther into
the cabin. "I have been driven from my own country by adversity, and
whenever I see an Englishman I cannot resist forming his acquaintance,
that I might speak to some one who has come from the land where I was
born. Have you seen my card? My name is A--l--r C."

"Won't you sit down?" said P----, offering him a chair.

"I thank you," answered Mr. C----, and sate down. "I suppose you are
come to fish."

"We are," P---- replied, "and should like to learn something about the
art, and the places where it may be applied."

"You can't fish so far to the south as Copenhagen," said Mr. C. "There
are no fish here. I suppose you know that?"

"Yes, we know that," interposed R----, "we are from Christiansand, and
there we heard of fish, but caught none."

"That's very likely; the rivers are yet too cold, and will continue so
for a month or more. I am an old fisherman," exclaimed Mr. C----
challengingly. "I have caught my sixty in a week;" and he slapped his
thigh.

P---- rubbed his hands with satisfaction, and R---- rose from the sofa
on which he was reclining, and looked at Mr. C---- with curiosity.

"Well, now," proceeded Mr. A--l--r C----, "I would suggest, that, you
three gentlemen, being in search of pleasure or sport, should remain a
few days where you are. After having worn out the enjoyments, and there
are many, of Copenhagen, coast it up to Gottenborg, Falkenborg, and so
on till you reach Christiania; and at Falkenborg, or Kongsbacka, you may
get a few fish. Have you brought any tackle, or flies?"

"Lots of both," said P----, rising at the same moment, and taking from
the bookcase behind him his whole fishing apparatus. The fly-book was
soon opened, and Mr. C---- scrutinized tackle and flies with the
attention of an angler.

"This is too yellow," he said of one fly, removing it from the book, and
placing it on the table for observation. "Here--here's too much red and
blue," of another; "there are no flies of that colour in Sweden, or
Norway; and all this green on the belly is rubbish,--no fish will take
_that_. What's this? Ha! The dragon-fly,--'t won't do." After rummaging
for a little while, he said, "By the Lord Harry! come out!" seizing by
the wings a fourth fly about the size of a humming bird. "This'll do for
the coast of Greenland where whales are caught. Shall I tell you what?"
asked Mr. C----, putting an end to his criticism, and looking round at
us all. "Make