NEW BRUNSWICK. 123 
had taken all tlie fisli he wanted at a station farther on. 
we broke up camp at once, to the great disgust of our 
lazy cook, who thought he had cut his " sprunghungle," 
or stick that supports the kettle over the fire, for the last 
time. We pushed on to Burnt Hill, a famous camping- 
ground among all those that fish the Miramichi, and 
tliere, on the open point near the rock at whose base is 
the deep pool where salmon lie when the water is warm, 
we established our sylvan home for the last time. 
Burnt Hill is so named from having been burnt over, 
years ago, and is still a mass of dead and blackened 
trunks, that tower in fantastic shapes toward the sky. 
Next morning, having selected my choicest cariboo fly, 
Abraham pushed the canoe across the boiling torrent, 
so that I could fish near the rocky shore opposite. Hav- 
ing made several casts toward the bank, he swung the 
canoe in, and, running its nose on a rock, gave me a 
chance to fish the centre of the channel. I had hardl}^ 
cast, when from out the curling wave rushed a mighty 
monster, which gleamed a moment in the sunshine and 
disappeared, I felt a heavy, dull strain on my rod, the 
fish swam deep and seemed unconscious of what had 
happened. Then, suddenly aroused to his danger, a 
magnificent salmon rushed down-stream and vaulted 
high out of water. Abraham glanced at me ; I returned 
the look, but not one word was spoken. The fish 
returned to his former station, as though disdaining a 
struggle with a fragile cord and contemptible fly, and 
remained there some moments, heavily swimming round 
and round. Suddenly he became alarmed, and away 
he went, thirty yards at least, the line whistling through 
