There was a commotion, and a confusion of voices amongst them. At length Redding (the man who had visited our camp) was heard: "In with the net! haul it ashore! Douce that fire." His orders were obeyed instantly. There was a lively, bustling time. In a few minutes the net was in the boat, and they were pulling, as if the old Harry had kicked them," down the basin. One unlucky fellow was somehow left behind. He hallooed to them and cursed and swore "some." But there was no waiting. He was told, as they went off, to run down the shore a half-mile and they would take him in. But his progress was soon barred by a perpendicular bluff on one side and the water he did not know how deep-on the other. Then there was more cursing and loud hallooing to his companions; but after a while it ceased. So also did the sound of the deftly-plied oars gradually die away in the distance. We had drawn a long breath on their departure; and Bruno, whose voice was quavering a few minutes before, now broke into a loud laugh, as he slapped Roma on the back with his paddle, saying, "Did you hear de Captain cuss? dat make 'em go so quick. Oh, Captain, I t'ought you was Sunday-man. know some mans fish Sundays never cuss savage like you did dat time. I never hear you say sich ting before, Captain.".

I

I tried to explain to Bruno that my "cussing" was with the same intent as intimating that I held a "six-shooter" in my hand, and that it was as harmless and at the same time, perhaps, more efficacious than Roma's four-dollar gun. The poachers could have ducked us in the basin and continued fishing, if they had chosen to do so. But they did not know but what Hickson, the fish-warden, and a posse was at hand. And as we had the law on our side, and three of them at least could be identified, they substituted discretion for resistance, and "vacated."

In the morning I decided to do what had been talked of for many years to establish a camp at the "Jaws" for the

protection of the basin. So we moved down tent, bag, and baggage; teapot, oven, and kettle. The water being still too high for good fishing, we devoted two days to making a new camp, locating it on a bluff that went sheer down fifty feet to the water. We trimmed out the undergrowth, lopped off the lower branches of the young spruces to admit of a free circulation of air, and cleaned up a good space where tents could be pitched. I named the camp after a dear Irish lady, who once spent a week with her husband and myself on the river-" Camp Olivia." Then the water began falling, and, as a matter-of-course, the salmon commenced rising. ""Twere vain to tell " of the many stubborn contests I had with the fresh-run fish that had come up on the rise of the river. For three days I had "sport galore;" on the last I entered ten fish on my score, whose aggregate weight was a hundred and twenty-one pounds. I took them mostly at Cooper's Point. It was a dark day, with a chilly, spitting rain; so the fish, which lay close into the Point, not being disturbed by my presence or movements, took my bright orange fly almost at the end of my rod. I was wet, cold, and tired, when I returned to camp that evening. After putting on a dry coat and eating a hearty supper, I was laying on the firboughs listening to Roma's fiddle, when, rising to light my pipe, I looked toward the landing and saw the bright glare of a flambeau. It soon approached along the path, and I heard a cheery voice, as it came, singing,

"Oh, love is the soul of the nate Irishman;

He loves all that is lovely, loves all that he can. With his sprig of shillalah and shamrock so green-"

And then Nick, for whom I had been waiting so long, came through the bushes and slapped me on the shoulder. There was short greeting, and then an exclamation, "Don't you see I have a mouth in my face? Put on your tea⚫ kettle. Divil the morsel but the stem of my pipe has passed my lips since one o'clock, when I dined at Mid Landing. There was a beast of a salmon, too, that

played me an hour and ran down the Big Chain. Then I killed another, and fished on until neither I nor the fish could see the fly. So you see I am belated and hungry."

We soon had the potatoes boiling, the tea-kettle sputtering, and a salmon steak between the wires of the broiler before the fire. While Peter was getting supper ready, the other boys were bringing up Nick's luggage, and returning with their last load, Ned Veno laid before us three handsome salmon, weighing respectively eleven, fourteen, and eighteen pounds; it was the largest fish that had gone over the Big Chain. On his way up Nick spent a few days with Mr. Spurr, who had exchanged stations with me, going down to Pabineau on the day I came up to Grand Falls. They both had good sport at Pabineau, as the easterly winds and the freshet had brought in a new school of salmon, and with them a great many grilso. The water had fallen sufficiently to put the Flat Rock Pool in splendid condition. It was full of fish, and one morning there, before noon, Nick killed nineteen salmon and grilso.

"Cork or Denville?" asked Nick, when we had finished our pipes after supper. "I am as thirsty as a sirocco. Cork," he continued, "is the king of all whiskies. I know the old caubeen on the River Lee, where it is made, and Cork it shall be. Stir up the fire, Peter, and let us hear the music of the kettle, and then bring us the 'groceries.''

Nick's men-Ned and Francis Veno -had a tough time of it pushing up in the drizzling rain; so he ordered one of them to get a bottle of whisky from out of the straw-packed box to warm the "inner man" of all of our five retainers. We had a jolly time that evening; I recounted my adventures with the poachers; Bruno and Roma told the same story to the new-comers, not forgetting, of course, to give due importance to the "Captain's cussing." As the evening wore away, and the whisky had its wonted influence, bear stories and other stories were told all around. At length Nick called to his

man, "Give a song, Ned; give us 'Whisky in the Jug.' That's a song that has made more highwaymen than all the stories about Dick Turpin."

Ned cleared his throat, and asking us to join in the chorus, sang in a full, musical voice:

WHISKY IN THE JUG.

I am a roving fellow, that never could be daunted,
Sometimes I had money, and sometimes it I wanted;
But roving for pleasure it always was my folly,
Till I fell in love with you, my charming Molly.
Musha whack fa rowdy dow,
Whack row for raddy O.
There's whisky in the jug.

As I walked out one morning down by the Wicklow Mountain,

I met with Colonel Pepper, and his money he was counting.

First I drew my broadsword, and then I drew my weeper,

Stand and deliver, for I am the bould deceiver.

Musha whack fa rowdy dow, &c.

I got a handsome penny, and I put it in my pocket; I put it in my pocket, and I took it home to Molly.

I tould how I got it, and she swore she'd ne'er

And if you meet a gintleman, you'll surely make him tremble;

With your whustle to your mouth, your party you'll assemble.

Musha whack fa rowdy dow, &c.

I had heard Ned sing this song frequently. Although a provincial Frenchman, he had picked up a good many Irish songs in the winter in timber camps, and rendered them with true Milesian brogue. He sang another of his favorites, observing before he commenced, "Big Irishman was going to whip me once for singing this song." It is called,

THE IRISH RECRUIT.

It is nine years ago since I digged the land,
With my brogues on my feet and my spade in my
hand;

And I said to myself, it's a pity to see
Such a broth of a boy digging turf on the lea.
Sing Teddy I-a,
Its whack for my loural,
Sing Teddy I-a.

So I buttered my brogues and I shook hand wid my spade,

To the town I did go like a dashing young blade.
I met with a sergeant, I ax'd for to list,
"By the great Gramagee give us hould of your fist.
Sing Teddy I-a, &c.

The first place they sent me 'twas on to the sea,
On board of a ship that they called "man-o'-wee."
Three sticks in the middle all covered with sheets,
And she walked through the water widout any
feets.

Sing Teddy I-a, &c.

The first thing they give me it was a red coat,
Wid a stiff piece of ledder to stick under my throat.
The next thing they give me, I ax'd what was that,
And sure it's a cock-cade to stick in your hat.
Sing Teddy I-a, &c.

The next thing they give me it was a great gun,
Right under the trigger I placed my right thumb.
First it made fire and then it made smoke,
And it give to my shouldther the divil's own poke.
Sing Teddy I-a, &c.

O Captain, indeed, you're a terrible man,
To put such a dangerous thing in my hand.
O give me a straw-een, and help me to tie her,
For I think she's the divil, see how sho spits fire.
Sing Teddy I-a, &c.

The next thing they gave me it was a gray horse,
With saddle and bridle-my two legs across.
I gave to my steed a touch of the steel,
By the great Gramagree, I am off to the field.
Sing Teddy I-a, &c.

I am off to the battle of Bally na Hinch,
Where the fire was so thick there was no room to
flinch.

Where the smoke was so thick and the fire was so hot,

Sure myself wouldn't shoot for fear I'd get shot. Sing Teddy I-a, &c.

Certain old songs come down to us only by tradition, and are mostly confirmed to a certain class. I think it quite likely that "Whisky in the Jug" was never printed. I have never seen the "Irish Recruit" in print. I have introduced them here as curiosities to cultivated musicians. I wrote them both down as Ned Veno sung them to me on the river a day or two after the evening just mentioned. Nick and I have sung them since with our legs under his mahogany. Nick sang the "Cruiskeen Lawn," and then we turned in on our buffalo-robes, thrown over the fragrant fir-sprigs.

In the modest apartments at the corner of Broadway and Liberty-street, up seventy-eight stairs, actual count, one will find at almost any hour of the day or night a dozen of men writing away as though for dear life. They do not write with pens and pencils, and on ordinary paper, as ordinary men do, but with styles made of carnelian and agate, and on the finest kind of tissue-paper. Nor are they satisfied to make one copy at a time; such contortion of countenance, rolling of tongue, and jerking of head, guarantee no less than a score, whereof the last evidently must go right down through the top of the desk. This is a veritable curiosityshop, in more senses than one. It is the headquarters of the Associated Press the birthplace of that subtle, indescribable something we enjoy new every morning and fresh every evening, which is commonly called "the news." Its works go forth every day to the extremities of the earth, and millions of people are interested in them; yet itself is scarcely known except by name, and to the outside world the little poste-haste and romage before us are a perpetual enigma and stumbling-block. Daily newspapers, printed in the United States, have been sent to this very office with "Please exchange "deliberately written across their wrappers; and enterprising business-men, native and to the manner born, have forwarded advertisements with the request to "Please have inserted in the Associated Press, and send bill."

But before looking in on the central office, it may be well to glance a moment at the nature, object, and extent of the Associated Press. As its name implies, it is a union of certain journals brought about to cheapen news by making one despatch serve them all. The scope of this union is the collec

tion of telegrams from all points, and of marine intelligence in New York harbor. All other fields of journalism are left to individual enterprise, and for any other than these two objects there is no Associated Press. These papers are the Tribune, the Times, the Herald, the World, the Sun, the Journal of Commerce, and the Express, of the city of New York. But their news is not confined to them. By bearing an equitable share of the expense of gathering the despatches, two hundred papers of the United States and Canada have become members of the union, to all intents and purposes, whereby the news is published every day, almost word for word, from Newfoundland to California simultaneously.

By

The Associated Press has an army of correspondents, called local agents, scattered all over the civilized world. In thinly-settled districts, where news is likely to be too scarce to warrant the appointment of regular agents by special contract, the telegraph company, which is alike interested in the forwarding of despatches, takes upon itself the service by making its operators ex officio agents of the Associated Press. such economical means the whole field of operations, coextensive with the telegraphic system, has been covered effectively with no less than fifteen thousand intelligent news reporters. All despatches from the local agents are sent directly to the headquarters at New York, where they are corrected and reproduced by a process of manifold writing, and the copies distributed to the several newspapers. The services of the telegraph are then required again -this time to scatter the news already collected, to all points of the compass and the farthest ends of the land. The receiving telegraphers at other cities deliver their copies to the Associated

Press agents, by whom they are again manifolded and sent to their individual papers, as in New York.

Such, in brief, is the Associated Press. These six rooms, called, with a little pardonable impropriety, the General Agency, are the centre of all this complex machinery, radiating thousands of miles in every direction, and become, therefore, the heart, the distributing reservoir, of the American news system. Here are the offices of the executive and his assistants, who control the details of the vast concern. Here, also, is the committee-room, where the representatives of the seven papers meet every month, and allow the cigar of peace to usurp the poisoned quill, while they make and annul contracts with the telegraph and outside newspapers. The next room but one is set apart for the messengers, who deliver the news to the newspaper offices, presided over by an old schoolmaster, who comes as near keeping two dozen fourteen-year-old New York boys from driving crazy every body in the same block as any man ever did or will. In that room, away over in the corner, smaller than a cigar-store or a box-office, sits the cashier, who must be master of all the modern languages. He takes care of the fiscal affairs, to the extent of millions of dollars a-year-receives and pays bills in dollars, pounds, reals, francs, and marc bancos. This large, light, and airy room in the centre is the manifolding room, where the news is put in a shape fit for publication. We shall find enough here to engage our attention.

Ranged about at a dozen desks sit a dozen men, who are expected to know something of every thing under the sun-the ports and products of every country, as well as every vessel by name. Parliamentary practice must be at their fingers' ends. They would be worthless without poetry and the dead languages, wherewith to correct politicians' bad Latin, and equally so without the living languages. Chronology is indispensable in the news business; hence Rollin, Gibbon, Hume, Hallam,

and Motley must be learned by heart. That great English lawyer, Lord Campbell, said: "There is nothing so dangerous as for one not of the craft to tamper with our freemasonry." Consequently these men must have studied law enough to master the statutes and rules of practice of all the States and all the nations. They must be able to "write up," understandingly, horseraces, regattas, and base-ball matches, as well as synods, conventions, and congresses. Like policemen and soldiers, they must have no politics, affections, or opinions; they must be stoically unconcerned in conflagrations, murders, shipwrecks, and battles. Practical printers they must be, certainly, as well as practical electricians. Finally, they must have good sense and judgment, in order to know the value of news, and a good common-school education, that they may write it out intelligently. These extraordinary men are the manifolders. They edit the despatches as fast as they arrive, whatever the subjectmatter may be, and at the same time write them out in good English, twenty copies at once. As may be supposed, men having all these qualifications do not present themselves every day. How many has this office been obliged to turn away, who were weighed in the balance and found wanting-how many college graduates, philosophers, lawyers, yea, even editors, who, like Fielding's hero, promised much in the prospectus, and performed nothing at all; who, upon trial, persisted in inventing new and non-existent geographical localities, like the Isle of Wright, the Straits of Andover, and the city of Cincinnatti!

The "manifold writer" is no new thing. Almost every body knows that it is a simple contrivance for bringing forth a number of copies at one writing, by using a hard pencil on a book of oiled tissue-paper, with carbonized paper laid between the leaves. But does every body think if there were no such contrivance the Associated Press could not live? The manifold writer has been introduced and rejected in every