Il8 FLY-FISHING IN MAINE LAKES. 



not quite, as much as'the fishing itself. One with- 

 out the other would not be sufficient ; and for 

 myself, though I love fly-fishing next to my wife 

 and children, I am free to say that I would better 

 enjoy a vacation, with them about me, among the 

 hills of New Hampshire, leaving the rod behind, 

 than taking the most gamesome fish within a dozen 

 miles of the Hub. 



You that have had the sweet experience of the 

 angler's haunts need not be told how much the 

 solitary dip of the paddle, the unbroken lines of 

 forest-trees, their clear-cut shadows in the placid 

 lake, and the cry of the startled loon, add zest to 

 your enjoyment. And now, if you will excuse me 

 for so much apparent digression, induced, I fear, 

 somewhat to apologize for my acquaintance with 

 the before-mentioned steamboats, I will tell those 

 of you who do not know, as well as those who do, 

 the whereabouts of these famous fishing-grounds, 

 and how you may go there and enjoy only a bowing 

 acquaintance with Robert Fulton's addition to our 

 civilization. 



The St. Croix River forms a part of the boundary- 

 line between the State of Maine and the Province 

 of New Brunswick. It has two branches, each 

 rising in a chain of lakes called The Schoodics, 

 though now more familiarly known as the Eastern 



