or use of, that I became confused while I looked at them. “Hallo, there! Have you waked up at last?” cried a voice, breaking in upon my meditations. A short investigation showed that the voice came from the case that stood next on my right. I did not know, of course, what sort of a rod he was, or whether or not he would prove to be an agreeable acquaintance; but wishing to be civil, I replied that I _had_ waked up, and that, if he could tell me, I should be glad to know where I was and how I came there. “Why, you are in a one-horse country town, a thousand miles from nowhere, and you have always been here,” was the answer, given as I thought in a tone of contempt. “I have traveled. I came all the way from New York.” “Who are you?” I ventured to ask; for my new acquaintance spoke in so dignified and lofty a tone, that I stood somewhat in awe of him. “I am a split bamboo,” said he; and then I saw very clearly that he was disposed to throw on airs, and to lord it over those who were not as fortunate as himself. “I am a gentleman’s rod, and it takes the ducats to buy me. I am worth forty-five dollars; while I see by the card tied to your case, that you are valued at only six and a half.” Not being quick at figures at this early period of my life, I could not tell just how much difference there was between forty-five dollars and six and a half, but I knew by the way the bamboo spoke, that the gulf that separated him from me was a wide one. I have learned some things since then. I know now that the qualities of a fly-rod do not depend upon the varnish that is put on the outside of him, any more than a boy’s qualities of mind and heart depend upon the clothes he wears. The stuff he is made of and the company he keeps have much to do with the record he makes in the world. While I was turning the matter over in my mind, somebody who had been listening to our conversation, suddenly broke in with: “You are neither one of you worth the money you cost.” I looked around to see who the new speaker was, and presently discovered him in the person of a handsome bird gun, who rested upon a pair of deer’s antlers a short distance away. “You can’t bring a squirrel out of the top of the tallest hickory in the woods, or stop a woodcock or a grouse on the wing, but I can,” continued the double-barrel. “I can catch a trout, if I have some one to back me who understands his business, and that’s more than you can do,” retorted the bamboo, spitefully. “I can throw a line sixty or seventy feet; I heard the proprietor of this store say so.” “And I can throw shot sixty or seventy yards, which is three times as far as you can throw a line,” shouted the double-barrel. “You seem to think yourself of some consequence because you came from New York. I came all the way from England, and that is on the other side of the ocean.”