310 PRAIRIE AND FOREST. 



making the liquid fly for feet around. For several 

 moments this continued, when, 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 scien- 

 tifically 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 discovered 

 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 excel- 

 lences than are usually to be found in such a small 



