The Press.
London, England, 1856-08-16 00:00:00

THE PRESS.

Much of the best fishing has been monopo-
lised by English anglers, but to the north in-
numerable fjords and rivers exist, where the
sportsman is perfectly free to follow his plea-
sure. Mr. Metcalfe spent one season at
the Malanger Falls, some miles north of
Tromsoe :

When I first new this valley, we pitched oar tents for a
time in the forest on the edge of the Malanger Fall. And
never, perhaps, were fishermen located in a grander spot.
In front of us rose the lis-Lind, with its glacier; and at
our feet, circled in by sombre pine-woods, lay the vast pool
which the ever•flowing waters had in the course of ages
scooped out for themselves. What a luxury it was, when
we rose from our birch•leaf beds of a morning, to plunge
into the cool depths of an inlet, on one side of this amphi-
theatre ; and then, in the evening, after our supper of
broiled salmon, as we smoked our pipes over the embers,
how we used to linger before turning in, to feast our eyes
once more on the sight, or chat over the triumphs and re•
verses of the day. If the weather was bright, we reposed
by day and fished by night.

Here is one of the adventures which anglers
love to relate :

Next day, at the very first cast, a magnificent fellow rushed
at the fiy, coming clean out of water in his eagerness to be
possessed of it. The moment he felt the prick of the hook,
he wu up stream and alongside the boat with the speed of
a bullet. Of course the line became slack.

"Oh! my unlucky stars, I've lost him," I ejaculated, wind •
ing up the line disconsolately. " But no! He must be
on—pull gently ahead, Peer."
I was right—well hooked, not a doubt of it. Finding
himself in restraint, the fish tried all sorts of expedients to
get free. Up he flow in the air, and down I sunk the
point of my rod, or be must have snapped the gear.
Then down he dived into the deepest part of the pool, and
had I not held him firmly, he would have sawed the line
off against the sharp rocks. Nothing would induce him to
come into my little bay before mentioned. At last, he
started away for the top of the rapids, and after sticking
there, immovable as a stone, for some minutes, suddenly
darted down stream, Peer rowing after him furiously. All
at once the fish anchored under a large stone, in the centre
of the torrent.

" Now to land," I cried, winding up line with all my
might, as we passed below the stone. A small back-stream
was close at hand, and jumping ashore, I pulled him into
this, before he knew where he was. He at once became
bothered, and I saw it was all over with him. A glorious
prize he was, thirty-two pounds English.
"En bras Fangat !—a famous catch ! Krogtisk !—hook-
fish !" cried Peer.

He was, in fact, a male fish, as was evident from the
hook at the end of his lower lip. I never in all my fishing
experience saw so short and broad a fish for the weight.
On another occasion I had hold of a fish nearly as
large; but he broke the treble gut in a second.
The sides of the pool were fringed with mighty heaps
of drift-wood. Nobody ever need this driftwood, though
there was enough to have supplied all Oxford with faggots
for several winters. The bark was peeled off, and the
wood was blanched and smoothed by, the friction of the
waters, as if by the action of sand-paper. Glorious bon.
fires we used to make of it in front of our tent. The fire-
place was composed of large square stones, and built with
nice skill.

We have a little anticipated the course of
the author's travel. From Christiansund he
steamed to Trondjem, the ancient capital of
Norway, and thence northward by the coast to
the Malanger Gulf, as above described. Here
he seems to have experienced some of his
best sport :

On the night of the 17th July I caught a twenty-two
pounder, another of twenty-one, and n third of fifteen.
Landing, I then scrambled over the drift-wood, and tried
the artificial minnow close to the fall. I speedily caught
a two and a half pound trout. Before long another sharp
tug came at my line. At first, in the boiling waters it was
difficult to know what denomination of fish had taken my
bait. But, after a severe struggle, a char. six pounds
weight by my steelyard, la) upon the rocks; his sides
glistening resplendently with rich orange tints, reminding
me of his Welsh appellation, equivalent to red-belly. In
the course of the night I took a trout of exactly the same
weight, at the same spot.

One day, on the Baran, must always be marked with a
white stone in my piscatorial annals. I had caught twe or
three tolerable salmon, when, on crossing the centre of the
pool, I hooked a fish which made off on the instant with
such precipitancy that it required the utmost exertion of
the rower to keep up with him. He went half a mile down
stream without stopping for a moment. Pretty well for a
beginning, thought I ; this must be a real monster of the
deep. The moment I attempted to guide him, he started
away again with prodigious strength. Holding him was
no child's play. I was bathed in perspiration from top to
toe. Half a dozen times did I jump ashore where the
trees growing on the bank permitted it, in hopes of per-
suading him to follow me; and as often did I jump into
the boat again, and follow him down stream with might
and main, without catching the slightest glimpse of his
personal appearance. We had gone this way for upwards
of a mile to the place where the two rivers join. Tho
illustrious stranger was apparently as vigorous as ever.
When, in one of his desperate hinges, he rushed into some
quiet water near the junction. I believe he intended, by
way of change, to run up the other river. But Joh was out
of the boat, and in the water, gaffing him, before he found
out his mistake. As he had kept out of sight all through
the chase, we could only judge of his size by his:strength,

783

which was enormous. He was a sea•tront, with the louse
upon him, just under twenty pounds ! The largest I had
ever seen or heard of; the sport such as I can hardly hope
to have again.
Then be takes the reader further northward
still, to Hammerfest, and round North Cape.
His steamer sketches agreeably enliven his
volumes :
The most amusing character on board remains to be
noticed. He was a portly man, under fifty years of age.
His face, which was decorated with large grey mustachios,
had been eminently handsome, but had, apparently, be-
come bloated by intemperance. Around his waist was a
belt, on which hung a case containing a couteau•de-chaise,
ornamented with rich silver mountings. Presently, his
servant brought him a costly fur cloak and a meerschaum
pipe, and retired with a profound obeisance. This must,
thought I, be a Magnifico of the first water.

" Who is that ? "-I inquired of one of the passengers.
" That is the celebrated Danish Count R. Did you
never hear of him before ? He comes regularly to Norway
every year for the purpose of shooting bears."
Before long, the Count having discovered that I was an
Englishman, came up with the air of a nabob, whiffing
away at his superb pipe, which he took care to hold with
the right hand, which blazed with rings.
" Sare," began he, throwing back his cloak, so as to
exhibit the "lustre rare" of his chains and other decora-
tions to the fullest effect. " I understand you are an
Englishman."
I assented.

" And you?"
"lam a Dane. But I talk English, you see. I have
been in England. I have read Bulvare. I have read
" Ernest Maltravers." I have shot a bear. I am not a
liar."

I was somewhat overpowered by this address; but bowed
a polite acquiescence.

A " humorous Englishman " was on board—
we are inclined to suspect Mr. Metcalfe himself
was the man—who sported with the Count as
dexterously as ever angler played with a
salmon :

The humorous Englishman had joined us while the
Count was rattling on in this braggadocio vein. There
was a twinkle in his eye which indicated mischief, I
thought. The Count had by this time mounted his hobby
again. His bear-hunting exploits were the theme of his
eloquence. He had heard there were many bears north-
ward, so he was going thither to show the poor Norwegians
how to hunt those animals.

" La chasm, la chasae, sere, it is a noble employment.
It is superior to every thing else. What does Horatius
say ?--
Menet sub Jove frigido
Venator tenera conjugis immemor
Seu visa est eatulis cerva tidelibus
Seu rupit teretes Marsus aper plagas.' "

"Very apt quotation," interposed my mischietbrewing
friend. " Dangerous seas, these, Count," he went on,
looking at some rocks to seaward, from the base of which
there ascended, every now and then, a jet of foam nearly
as high as the fountains at Versailles. " You remember
that quotation, don't you ?
Patres conscripti took a boat and sailed to Philippi.
Trumpeter unus ant cot= qui scarlet habebat,
Et breeches purpureos, with a trumpet as long as my elbow
Cum Longo periwig, tied an with the tail of a dead pig.
Ventus surgebat, et botum overtarnebat.
Umnes drounderunt qui swim away non potuertint.' "

As he repeated this sublime effusion with much
emphasis, taking care to speak the Latin words more dis-
tinctly than the dog-Latin, the Count, who listened with
great attention, evidently became puzzled, as well he
might. But he put a good face on it, and said,—
" Noble passage, indeed! I don't remember to have
heard it before; but your pronon ci-a-ciron is so different
from mine. Very well ! never mind ! "
I should here say that these four English words, " Very
well, never mind," were constantly in his mind. He
seemed to ttink that there was some peculiar wit in them.
" Have you seen my dog?" exclaimed the Count.
" First-rate animal. I bought him in Regent-street, from
a man who was leading him in a string. He is a, what
•;ou call it? pointerre."
I thought that a—" pointerre," sold in Regent-street to
a Danish Count, must be an animal worth seeing. So we
went forward to the fore part of the vessel, where all
our dogs were kept. The Count's dog was a rough-haired
red dog, apparently a mongrel between an Irish setter and
a pointer.
" Here he is, sere !
' Qualls aut Melanins ant fultas Lacon
Agam per alias sure aublata Dives
Quiecunque preasedet fera.'"
he spouted in grandiloquent tones.
" But you are not going to use him to catch wild beasts,
surely ? "
" No, no ! of course not," he answered, a little testily,
" I was only quoting Horatian on dogs. He is a pointerre,
I shall use him on the Fugellagd, the rype, you know.
How do you call it in English ?"
"Ptarmigan," I replied.
" Oh, ah ! How you spell that word ?"
I spelt it for him.
" Very difficult language that English. What an odd
pronon-ci-a-ci-on."
At a later period of the voyage, I found the Count in
hot dispute with the humorous Englishman on the merits
of his dog.
" I tell you, sere, it must be a good dog. I paid seven
guineas for it in London. Yes, sere, in Itegent•street. It
is very well known that Regent-street is the best place for
buying them. It is a thorough-bred pointerre, and will
point at the charlatan; I mean the tarlatan. No bettor

784

dog in the world. Very well ! Never mind ! Now what
is your opinion about him ? "
" Well, sir, if you ask me my candid opinion," replied
he Englishman, " I should say the dog is a mongrel."
t " A what, sare?"
" I mean he is not what the French call pur sang. He
may be a good dog, but he is not thorough-bred. Com-
pare him with those English dogs on hoard. You will soon
see the difference. They are thorough-bred. Why ! his
tail is as thick as my wrist "
" What, sare," reiterated the Count, in a foaming fury,
"I am a Danish ;.3ount, sere, and a sportsman. As it I
did not know better than you!"
" Pellicle Albion," he went on : here another gentleman
interposed to pacify bim ; but he never forgave the
strictures on his pointerre. He was overheard more
than once, muttering to himself, " Bought in Regent-
street—thorough-bred—perfide Albion ; very well—never
mind."

The author rapidly notices the most striking fea-
tures of the Norwegian coast to the end of his
voyaging, describes the peculiar attractions of
the tour, throws out many useful hints to the
traveller, and relates in a lively manner anec-
dotes characteristic of the people.
In his enthusiasm there is nothing sur-
prising. The whole coast of Norway, with its
innumerable gulfs, rivers, islands, and moun-
tain ranges, seems created for picturesque
effect. It is a kind of anglers' paradise; and
we must recollect that in the height of
summer the sun never sets on these natural
beauties; the glories of the Arctic Circle are
illuminated by a sun which scarcely dips
beneath the horizon, and never rises to a
bei;.;lit which deprives the spectator or the
angler of the shade he loves.
One fault which we have to find with most
books of travel, we must partieularise in Mr.
Metcalfe. He is not nearly so precise as he
should be. An impression seems to prevail
among tourists that it would be beneath their
dignity to print their expenses and note the
exact details of their journeying& Their
reserve is very absurd. This information is
exactly what the reader would most prize. A
note, at least, should be attached to each
chapter, stating the distance traversed, the
mode of travel, and the cost. Every tour of
this kind should be a form of handbook. We
are sure the plan would greatly conduce to the
popularity of this class of books.

Bothwell. A Poem. By W. E. Aytoun,
London: Blackwoods.
Tnxs poem is a monologue spoken by the
guilty and unfortunate husband of Mary
Stuart in his solitary dungeon at Malmoe.
After his short-lived sovereignty, Bothwell,
deserted by the Queen and by his par.
tisans at Carberry-hill, fled for a time to his
relative, the Earl of Huntley, but being after a
time cast off by him also, sought refuge in the
Island of Orkney, of which Mary had created
him duke. The inhabitants of Kirkwall, how-
ever, rose up against him, and compelled him
to retire, and after subsisting for a while by
piracy, he was taken by the Danes and thrown
in prison, where he died. The poem is a nar-
rat►ve of his adventures, interspersed with be-
fitting reflections, from the time of Mary's
marriage with Darnley up to his own captivity
in Denmark. The reader will easily under-
stand that such a career presents fine oppor-
tunities for poetry, though we doubt whether
the Professor has chosen the pal tieular form
best adapted to his subject. The dark de-
bates of conspirators, the misfortunes of a
young and beautiful queen, the violence of a
fierce aristocracy, and the horrors of midnight
murder, would have found, we think, more
forcible expression through some dramatic me-
dium. The effect is weakened in a monody.
The character which Professor Aytoun has
drawn of his hero is such as most impartial
readers will be inclined to assent to. He was
literally the slave of his passions. Their
bidding must be performed at all risks, and
whoever would aid him in doing so became
at once his master. The more astute spirits
of the day took advantage of this to accom-
plish their own ends. None in reality gained
so much by the murder of Darnley, and the
marriage of the Queen to Bothwell, as Both-
well's worst enemies. But the two passions
of ambition and love blinded his reason no
less than his conscience, and led him on to
the perpetration of crimes which a little re-
flection might have convinced him could only
recoil upon himself. At the 8111116 time he was