TROUT-FISHING. 155 



we continued on what is familiarly designated a blaze 

 road id est, a path marked out by a tree at every 

 hundred yards, more or less, having a piece scooped 

 out of its bark. The walking was as bad as possible, 

 for constantly we were delayed by giants of the forest 

 who had been prostrated by the gales of preceding 

 winters. At length, tired and frightfully worried by 

 mosquitoes, we reached a brook eight or ten feet in 

 breadth, but deep and sullen as a canal ; down this 

 we pursued an erratic course till between two lofty 

 bluffs we came upon a beautiful sheet of water of an 

 area of about forty acres. To fish it from the bank 

 was impossible, for the sumach and cedar grew to its 

 margin, so that no other resource was left but to cut a 

 number of cedar logs and form a raft. An hour or 

 more was lost in this operation, and when we had 

 launched out we found that nothing but the smallest 

 fry could be taken, although these were in such quan- 

 tities that frequently we would have three or four rises 

 to a cast. For an hour or more we fished inde- 

 fatigably, still nothing over a quarter of a pound 

 rewarded our labours, and when we landed for our pic- 

 nic lunch I determined to fish the stream with the hope 

 of obtaining some heavier specimens. My friend, who 

 felt indisposed, either from the effects of the sun, 

 or some State-of-Maine whisky (warranted to kill 

 as far as a six-shooter) which he had been imbibing, 

 refused to accompany me ; so, with the youth who had 

 acted as Palinurus, I left him to ruminate over his 

 transgressions or misfortune. 



As I had supposed, large fish were to be found in 

 the stream, and my basket began to groan under its 

 weight, when I hooked my flies in the top of a larch 



