CONNECTICUT SEA-COAST YARNS.

New Zealand Times, Volume XXXI, Issue 4889, 22 November 1876, Page 3

CONNECTICUT SEA-COAST YARNS.

(From the Hartford Correspondent of the Springfield Republican.)

This is the season when the inhabitants of the towns all along the shore of Long Island Sound raise the price of their farms several hundred dollars an acre, and thus keep away buyers who will not even go down to look at them at any other season. But the advantages that they assume to offer at this season are innumerable—to judge from the letters and circulars sent out by the owners. But none of them have been more glowingly described than a certain South Lynne farm, to which a possible buyer objected that trout wore not bred upon it as they were in his own locality. “ No,’’ said Judge McCurdy, who was recommending it, “we only raise whales on our farms." Which reminds me of the Judge's response to the farmer in his section—a notorious rascal—who was pleading with him to act as his counsel in one of his innumerable lawsuits. Stretching forth his hand, he exclaimed, “Judge, I can be honest/’ “How do you know; did you ever try! was the quick retort. ' * ■

It was in this same section of the State that there : once lived, and for aught I know still lives, a fisherman named Bogue, generally known as “ Old Bogue.” No man ever had such luck as he ; whether he went after shad, black-fish, Spanish mackerel, or eels, it was all the same. He would catch more than any other man, and, in fact, when Bogue couldn’t catch fish, nobody could. But old Bogue loved rum, and when rum was plenty ashore he wouldn’t fish. There is a local story that, one day, after he had finished a quart of rum at a sitting, old Bogue started out to row across the Connecticut. When he got on to Saybrook bar, as he was wont to tell the story, hh suddenly found himself surrounded by a school of eels, of all sizes, lengths and descriptibns. At first he was delighted, i but when' he looked over the vast expanse of water and saw everywhere nothing but these squirming slippery eels, he was a little sobered, as well as frightened, and gazing at the foremost eel, the grandfather of the whole party, ejaculated, “ Eels, ahoy !” “ Ahoy, yourself!” was the answer of the eel, who stood right up in the water and gazed’at him. “Where did you come from?” said Bogue, thoroughly scared. “We came from the Thames river to have a frolic. It didn’t use to be safe round here, owing to that ‘ Old Bogue;’ but he’s over, in Saybrook, laying to a bottle of rum, and it will kill him, sure ; so we are bound to have some fun.” “But lam ‘ Old Bogue !’ ” “No ! ” “ Yes, ‘ honest Injun.’ " “ Boys,” said the boss eel, “ he’s here again ; let’s put for Montauk.” And with a whisk and a dash they were all off ; and Bogue sat alone in his boat, rubbing his eyes confusedly. He. has never drank a drop since.