FROM " GAME FISH OF THE NORTH." 217 



was to be done ? The line would not render, the rod 

 was so long we could not reach the tip in the boat ; and 

 the only horrible alternative appeared to be my friend's 

 losing his first fish. The latter, however, by this re- 

 markable course of treatment, had grown peaceable 

 and when he was dropped back into the water, made 

 but feeble efforts, while my companion, as quietly as he 

 could, worked out his line till he could land him like a 

 Christian. Great were the rejoicings when the prize 

 earned with so much anxiety was secured. That is the 

 way not to land a trout. 



One afternoon of a very boisterous day, I struck a large 

 fish at the deep hole in the centre of Phillipse's Pond, on 

 Long Island. He came out fiercely, and taking my fly as 

 he went down, darted at once for the bottom, which 

 is absolutely covered with long, thick weeds. The 

 moment he found he was struck he took refuge among 

 them, and tangled himself so effectually that I could not 

 feel him, and supposed he had escaped. By carefully 

 exerting sufficient force, however, the weeds were loos- 

 ened from the bottom, and the electric thrill of his 

 renewed motion was again perceptible. He was allowed 

 to draw the line through the weeds and play below 

 them, as by so doing they would give a little, while if 

 confined in them he would have a leverage against them, 

 and could, with one vigorous twist, tear out the hook. 

 When he was somewhat exhausted, the question as to 

 the better mode of landing him arose. The wind was 

 blowing so hard as to raise quite a sea, which washed 



