FISHING IN MAINE. 153 



flies, I killed not only the greatest number, but the 

 heaviest of the brilliant representatives I had captured 

 during the season. With regret, having no desire to 

 pass almost an arctic winter, I turned my back upon 

 the three lonely, lovely lakes, with the following un- 

 pronounceable Indian names, Molleychunkeymunk, 

 Mooseluckmaguntic, and Moligewalk, to seek the 

 boundless prairies of the far West, and to substitute 

 for constant companion, my double barrel, in place 

 of my well-tried tapering fly-rod. 



In my experience as a fisherman in Scotland and 

 Ireland, I never knew of our river trout being cap- 

 tured in the sea. In Long Island, what is there 

 called the brook trout (Salmo fontinalis) is well 

 known periodically, when practicable, to visit salt 

 water; in fact they are constantly taken with the fly 

 in the tidal portion of those streams. The char of 

 Norway and Sweden does the same, and I can only 

 say that both these fish are wondrously alike. On 

 the other hand, the brilliant-colored inhabitants of 

 the interior lakes of Maine, that I have mentioned, 

 can not do so, for if they survived the descent of the 

 Burling falls, their ascent would be impossible. 

 Although the arctic char goes to the sea, the more 

 resplendent colored relation remains, I think, con- 



