DAYS STOLEN FOR SPORT 157 



Nimrod, was so worried by them that he called for 

 the cleverest artificers of his kingdom to build a 

 chamber that would give him a time of freedom 

 from them. It did not answer, so he was really 

 worse off than we are for there was neither tobacco 

 nor coal tar in those days. 



Lions, met unexpectedly by trespassers in their 

 preserves, pale for a moment the face of the bravest 

 man, but what is a little pallor compared to a change 

 from a healthy white man's bloom to the coal-black 

 hue of tar which friends of mine have donned on 

 face, neck and arms, in deference to Canadian flies ? 



Nature has lavished her most finished touches on 

 every member of the countless millions that help to 

 make the mighty hum which comes from we know 

 not where. Kings may talk and we are not bound 

 to listen, but the buzz of bog-bred flies commands 

 attention, and the tiniest of them is so armed as to 

 be able to make its presence felt. They are loving 

 creatures that from their first taste of you swear 

 a friendship which no amount of hustling will cause 

 them to forego. Fortunately for us their lives are 

 short, and they have no reason to complain, for, if 

 appearances may be trusted, they get more enjoy- 

 ment in their one brief day than the elephant in his 

 century. 



It was a happy day they had with me when the 

 high water which lent itself to successful fishing 

 had disappeared and I was anxiously waiting for 

 the rain that heavy clouds were promising. My two 

 sons were fishing on a small lake, a portion of the 

 the river that broadens out, where the salmon and 

 large sea-trout congregate to wait for floods. I was 

 on the bank, where the river ran narrowly, with my 



