A TROUTING TRIP TO ST. IGNACE ISLAND. 109 



Walton ! where did you get those, Governor ? " both 

 exclaimed in a breath. " Boys," said I, " yon are 

 hungry, tired, and cross ; possess your souls in patience; 

 come to camp ; take some lime-juice and water, with a 

 little of something in it ; eat, drink, and recover your 

 strength, and you shall have the best afternoon's sport 

 you ever saw." These words of wisdom cheered the 

 fellows up wonderfully, and we all put off for camp. 



That redolent and shiny youth, Jim, soon cleaned 

 two of the dead fish, together about five pounds, cooked 

 them in a style of his own, and we sat down at the un- 

 fashionable hour of eleven to our first camp dinner. I 

 will, for once, give the menu, merely to show what 

 awful hardships we had to encounter ! 



Brook trout, fried in red-hot lard, garnished with 

 bread crumbs ; broiled mutton chops ; baked potatoes ; 

 cold tongue ; pickles ; sauces and jellies : aftercourse — 

 pancakes with maple syrup ; wind up — Stilton cheese. 

 Didn't we just suffer for our country ? After the in- 

 evitable and welcome pipe (not cigars), and some choice 

 and (lam happy to say) chaste anecdotes by " Bluffy," 

 we laid down for a two hours' siesta. Oh, the glory, the 

 happiness of out-door life, away from posts, telegraphs, 

 or newspapers t Oh, the delight of feeling that every 

 fresh breath of pure ozone-laden air, adds to health and 

 wholesome animal spirits, and is rapidly re-invigorat- 

 ing your system, and fitting you to more effectually 

 take part in renewed and honest work ! 



At four o'clock the sun was again obscured by kindly 



