124 I GO A -FISHING. 



Regis, apparently three or four miles distant. From the 

 summit of the hill you can count more than seventy lakes 

 lying around you. The water-flow is from the St. Regis 

 into the Spitfire, thence into the Follansbee, or Lower 

 St. Regis, and then by the St. Regis River northward to 

 the St. Lawrence. 



Having selected this point with so much judgment, Mr. 

 Smith has been careful not to spoil nature by attempt- 

 ing any improvement on the forest and lake. The two 

 are here, and what more do you want for beauty of scen- 

 ery? 



We were somewhat chilled when we reached the door, 

 but the warm welcome was itself sufficient to make us 

 comfortable, and I would not go into the house when that 

 sun was going down in such splendor. So I only ran in 

 to see the more delicate portion of my party taken care 

 of, and then I demanded whether it was possible to take 

 any trout before dark. 



Stephen Turner replied to my question. One of the 

 oldest of the forest guides, a warm-hearted old man, whom, 

 if I were going for a week or a month's sojourn into the 

 forest, I would select as the best of company, thoroughly 

 acquainted with his business, and withal a great talker 

 and a fair listener. 



From him I learned that brook trout were abundant in 

 one part of the pond, close by the house ; and as the twi- 

 light was at hand, I was resolved to make a few casts 

 that very evening. So we took a boat and pushed off 

 into the blue and crimson splendor which filled the basin 

 of the placid lake. A hundred strokes of the paddle sent 

 the light boat around the end of a rocky point covered 

 with lofty wood, and we coasted the edge of a large tam- 

 arack swamp through which a cold stream of spring wa- 



