By the late David Foster, edited by Wm. C. Harris. All published by Orange Judd Company, New York.

When in Alaska last summer the Editor and party found the abundance of food which came down with the melting snows from the steep mountain sides so favorable to plenty of fish, that it almost seemed as if the boats pushed the fish away, as we pulled for the shore. On one occasion our young men with an Indian, in a canoe, actually drove the salmon into a narrow inlet, and, after an hour's absence, came back with eleven, which they had clubbed with the boat's paddles, and an Indian dart attached to a string - numbers being wounded and getting away. But there is no sport in this; kind of fishing. As Mr. Roosevelt remarks, there is more sport in catching one black bass with a fly, than a dozen with bait. In fact it is the fun, and not the fish - the art, and not its product, - that delights the true fisherman. All such will enjoy highly these works.

In angling, as in horticulture, there is a science and an art. It is at the same time a sport from which none should turn with disdain, since its influences in the direction of horticulture are by no means small. The true angler seeks his sport beside the streams about which the beauties of nature are scattered with the most liberal hand. The flowers and trees all have an attraction for him; he learns their habits, and while he may not learn their names, they become familiar friends to him, and he knows nearly all about them. These remarks of course apply only to the true angler, and not to him who with his hook and line aims to kill everything that waves a fin, large or small; this kind of a person has, when fishing, neither time nor soul for anything but to kill. Like the worthless gardener, he is worthy only of contempt. There are some men who enjoy the sport, and who are anxious to rise from mediocrity to excellence in the art, and to such this book will prove of valuable assistance. The author, the late David Foster, was a well known English angler.