A TALE OF THE GRAND JARDIN 



from many streams and lakes, loiter for 

 a few miles in dead-waters where a 

 canoe will float, and then plunge two 

 thousand feet, through amazing gorges, 

 to the St. Lawrence and the sea. An 

 evening rare and memorable, when the 

 great trout were mad for the fly ; more 

 than a dozen of these splendid fellows, 

 a man's full load, lay on the bank, where 

 they rivalled the autumn foliage in 

 crimson, orange and bronze. This first 

 good luck came after many barren days, 

 the smoke-house of bark was still un- 

 filled, so it happened that we did not 

 leave the river till the darkness, and the 

 thunder of an oncoming storm put down 

 the fish. From the towering cumulus 

 that overhung us immense drops 

 plumped into the water like pebbles, and 

 the steady roar of the advancing squall 

 earned us to hasten. Gathering up the 

 trout we dashed for the tent, to find it 

 well-nigh beaten to the ground by the 

 weight of the wind and the rain. Though 



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