320 PRAIRIE AND FOREST. 



changing operations, down stream he went with surprising 

 velocity. The reel screeched, and I followed with agile 



and careful steps, when, confound it ! the d 1 take it ! 



readers, you must excuse, remember the aggravation 

 my rod broke at the ferrule of the second joint, and my 

 line returned to my feet like a coil of rope scientifically 

 thrown by an expert boatman. I was in despair. Such 

 damage could not be repaired where I then was ; my leader 

 and new fly were gone, possibly for the estuary of the St. 

 Lawrence, and, like a vessel stranded in a falling tide, I 

 was perfectly helpless. To find the cause of this unexpected 

 casualty was my first endeavour. The wood of the rod at 

 the fracture looked fresh and sound, the brass appeared to 

 be put on correctly, but there was something to be dis- 

 covered yet of which I was still ignorant, and to the reel I 

 went to solve the problem. In winding up or taking in 

 line I had, through carelessness, permitted one round to 

 lap across the other. In paying away the two had jammed, 

 coming to a full stop. My rod had been broken, my fly 

 stolen, and my casting line was probably performing duty 

 for a pennant to a fish, totally disregarding distance or 

 trespass. " There 's no use grieving over spilt milk," some 

 one says, and after I had got rid of the fizz, like a bottle 

 of soda-water, I was calm enough, only regretting I had 

 lost the salmon, for, with all fishermen, the fish that gets 

 off is, of course, a very great deal larger than any you have 

 captured. 



To be a perfect fisherman, you require more excellences 

 than are usually to be found in such a small space as is al- 

 lotted to man's carcase. You should be patient, forbearing, 



