ON MOOSEHEAD LAKE 131 



forty feet away the flies are sent on their mission, 

 and then follows an experience that cannot be put 

 into words. For fifteen minutes the water fairly 

 foams, as the eager fish leap for the fantastic cre- 

 ations which are supposed to resemble different 

 forms of insect life. The sport is fast and furious. 

 Ten feet of line is as good as fifty, and a frayed 

 fly is as acceptable as a fresh one. They seem to 

 be fighting for the first chance at anything that is 

 offered. Singles reward every cast, and doubles 

 are not infrequent. Three of the number taken, 

 go over a pound and a half each, and not one falls 

 under half a pound. A quarter of an hour of this 

 delirium, and then it is all over. We whip in vain 

 for another hour, and turn towards the hotel, 

 puzzled but happy. 



Only a little time have we been in the Peaceful 

 Valley, when moose stories begin to circulate. The 

 rumour goes that Mr. P., a camper, has seen a bull 

 moose in the north meadow, and watched him feed 

 for more than an hour. Louise, the dining-room 

 girl, declares that she frequently sees a moose feed- 

 ing in the " logan " when she rises about daybreak. 

 (Will some etymologist settle the derivation of 

 that word " logan " ? About Moosehead it seems 

 to be applied to a bay of any sort or condition. Is 

 it a corruption of " lagoon " ?) The Higher Critic 

 kindly calls attention to the evident unreliability of 

 these stories. We know the habits of the moose. 

 It is a shy animal, and seldom comes out into the 



