362 AMERICAN GAME FISHES. 



month of September. They are in season then, if ever." 

 The last tale was told, the last pipe smoked. Fresh logs 

 were heaped upon the fire; we spread our blankets in the 

 tent, above our fragrant couch of hemlock tips, and soon the 

 hush of the forest rested on the camp, while 



"Through it, and round it, and over it all, 

 Sounded incessant the waterfall." 



I was astir soon after daybreak, but truth compels me to 

 say that this state of things was consequent upon the advent 

 of John at the door of the tent, with his four-ounce rod in 

 one hand and a pair of resplendent Graylings in the other. 



"I wanted fish for breakfast," he explained, "and thought 

 it wasn't worthwhile to waken you. So I just cast a brown 

 and a gray hackle outside the little cove, just below the camp, 

 and in two seconds I had 'em." 



The fish were soon in the pan, and breakfast dispatched 

 in "short order;" the tent struck, and we once more were on 

 the water. The Grayling should, if possible, be eaten soon 

 after it is caught, as it will become unfit for use much sooner 

 than the Trout. Wishing, however, to take home a reason- 

 able number, we had provided salt, and a small tub; and it 

 was agreed that only the finer specimens of our catch should 

 be saved. 



We anchored near the spot where John had taken his fish, 

 and soon perceived a school of Grayling, some of which dis- 

 appeared in the grass and weeds at our approach, while oth- 

 ers remained in sight. I was still busy with the anchor line 

 when John, waving the delicate rod around his head, sent 

 his flies some thirty feet down the stream, and just at the 

 edge of the weeds. A noble Grayling broke water, and was 

 fast to the stretcher on the instant. "See his fin," shouted 

 my companion, his eyes glistening with excitement as the 

 fish leaped clear of the water in his efforts to free himself, 

 the great dorsal flashing like jewels in the rays of the rising 

 sun. 



