A FISHERMAN'S PARADISE 



Leaving Montreal in the morning one disem- 

 barks in three hours at a small station, named for a 

 saint, for the Catholic church is the dominating influ- 

 ence in this country, where he is met by a team, and 

 driven fifteen miles nearly due north. The road is 

 really good, one soon passes through a little town, 

 clustered round its big church, with the signs over 

 the shops all in French, and then follows an attrac- 

 tive river, through little French farms. Ten miles 

 along comes another village, then a winding climb 

 for five miles and, from the ridge at last reached, 

 one suddenly beholds a great lake, ringed round with 

 mountains and studded with lofty islands, all heavily 

 wooded, and, rattling down the slope for a mile or 

 so, pulls up at the lower camp close to the water's 

 edge. 



This club house is a roomy frame building with 

 a wide porch. Most of the ground floor is a sitting 

 and dining room, with a big table, plain wood chairs, 

 a lot of splint bottom rockers and a great fireplace 

 at one end, the walls decorated with birchbark trac- 

 ings of big trout. Back of the dining room is a 

 kitchen and quarters for the steward, and the end of 

 the ground floor and the whole of the upper floor 

 are divided into four bedrooms, each containing six 

 or eight single iron beds, with good mattresses and 

 pillows and plenty of soft blankets, the guests bring- 

 ing their own bed linen. The house is in charge of 

 a French Canadian and his wife, who supply meals 

 at a fixed and moderate price per day, plain but most 



