ECHO LAKE. 251 



he was off with fifty feet of line. It was his last flurry, 

 and now he came alongside and lay quiet, sinking into 

 the net as it glided under him and lifted him gently 

 into Frank's boat, which was ready for him. He was 

 soon in the great tank in the house, and the three fish 

 were worth looking at. This was on Friday evening. 

 Saturday was stormy and wild. Sunday was one of those 

 days of indescribable beauty which make the Profile 

 House to seem sometimes in the land of Beulah. Mon- 

 day was the last day of my stay that season at the Profile 

 House, for we were to go northward in New Hampshire 

 to fish the waters west and east of Dixville Notch, and 

 had planned to leave on Tuesday morning for the ren- 

 dezvous at Littleton. It seemed hardly worth while to 

 expect any more such sport on Echo Lake, but as I rowed 

 around the lake in the morning in a clear soft sunshine, 

 and resting on the oars passed gently over the spring- 

 hole, I looked down, and in six feet of water saw one soli- 

 tary trout, apparently looking around for his lost com- 

 panions. So toward sunset Dupont and myself went 

 clown, and after casting for an hour with all kinds of flies, 

 but raising nothing, I put on the same queer fly with the 

 scarlet body and white wings, and at the first cast up 

 came the last of his race, so far as I knew, in Echo Lake, 

 and I landed him after ten minutes of sharp struggling. 

 He weighed a short two pounds. The same care was 

 taken with him, and he reached the tank in the Profile 

 House in fine condition. Four more beautiful trout were 

 never seen together in a glass aquarium than these which 

 attracted the admiration of the crowd of visitors at the 

 Profile at the close of the season. 



This ended the summer's fishing in the Franconia 

 Notch, and the next day we started for the north. 



