ou may
judge for yourself. I was born an Episcopalian, if one can say so,
but was converted to Presbyterianism at twenty. I stuck to this
denomination about five years, when I thought I would try the
Baptists, having got to be fond of the water, by this time. At
thirty-two I fished a while with the Methodists; since which
conversion, I have chosen to worship God pretty much by myself, out
here on the lake."

"Do you consider it any harm, to hook a fish of a Sunday?"

"No more than it is to eat a fish of a Sunday. I go altogether by
faith, in my religion, general, for they talked so much to me of the
uselessness of works, that I've got to be very unparticular as to
what I do. Your people who have been converted four or five times,
are like so many pickerel, which strike at every hook."

"This is very much my case. Now, on the river--of course you know
where the river is?"

"Certain," said the commodore; "it is at the foot of the lake."

"My dear commodore, when we say 'the river,' we always mean the
Connecticut; and I am surprised a man of your sagacity should require
to be told this. There are people on the river who contend that a
ship should heave-to of a Sunday. They did talk of getting up an
Anti-Sunday-Sailing-Society, but the ship-masters were too many for
them, since they threatened to start a society to put down the
growing of inyens, (the captain would sometimes use this
pronunciation) except of week-days. Well, I started in life, on the
platform tack, in the way of religion, and I believe I shall stand on
the same course till orders come to 'cast anchor,' as you call it.
With you, I hold out for faith, as the one thing needful. Pray, my
good friend, what are your real sentiments concerning 'Old Hickory.'

"Tough, sir;--Tough as a day in February on this lake. All fins, and
gills, and bones."

"That is the justest character I have yet heard of the old gentleman;
and then it says so much in a few words; no category about it. I hope
the punch is to your liking?"

On this hint the old fisherman raised the bowl a second time to his
lips, and renewed the agreeable duty of letting its contents flow
down his throat, in a pleasant stream. This time, he took aim at a
gull that was sailing over his head, only relinquishing the draught
as the bird settled into the water. The 'general' was more
particular; for selecting a stationary object, in the top of an oak,
that grew on the mountain near him, he studied it