and the Maritime Provinces. 191 



ing on the pebbly beach I made preparations for work. My friend, whose 

 rod was packed, said he would not bother to set it up and that I was wel- 

 come to the pool while he did a little botanizing. Accompanied by 

 Francois, I took my position on the point which jutted out into the pool 

 and began casting. What a perfect day for fishing it was ! A soft breeze 

 gently rippled the surface of the water ; golden and roseate clouds occa- 

 sionally flitted across the sky, casting their shadows upon the pool in the 

 manner that fishermen so much desire. The songs of birds in near-by 

 thickets and the tattoo of a " drummer" partridge lent their charms to the 

 scene and nothing seemed left to wish for except the rising and capture of 

 a fish. 



" Water very clear," said Francois, after I had for a number of min- 

 utes unsuccessfully cast my line over every foot of water within my reach ; 

 " why not try a smaller and darker fly " ? 



" I believe I will try it," I replied. " I fancied that my ' Durham 

 Ranger ' might be too bright ; perhaps a medium- sized ' Fairy ' will suit the 

 fish better." A change of flies was soon effected and again I made my 

 offerings but they met with no response. 



" Queer," said Francois ; "must be salmon in the pool somewhere; 

 s'pose we try um in the canoe." 



" Very good," I replied, " we will make the attempt, but perhaps the 

 fish have all run up." 



" No ; plenty fish here," answered the guide, " must find um." 



" All right, my boy, if they are here we '11 find them if flies will move 

 them." 



The canoe was placed on the water and we embarked, the guide tak- 

 ing his position in the stern, while I stood near the bow. Slowly we 

 moved from the shore, and silently was the paddle plied while I carefully 

 covered again and again all the water within my reach. Suddenly Francois 

 gave a quick turn of his paddle which changed the course of the canoe 

 and retarded its movement, exclaiming as he did so, " Just missed him, 

 sir ; good salmon came to your fly." 



" Is it possible " ? I answered, almost doubtingly. " I did not see 

 him." 



" Yes, he there all right," replied the guide. " We catch him bime- 

 bye." 



After resting the pool a few minutes, the canoe was again moved to 

 the favored spot. I presented my lure, and at the third cast a grayish form 

 moved upwards towards the fly, quickly seized it and the fish was hooked. 



For a few seconds, apparently disdaining the frail tie that held him, a 

 line but little thicker than a horse hair, the salmon sank to the bottom 

 where he remained motionless; but, feeling the strain as I lifted my rod, 

 he became conscious of danger, and with a wild rush he darted away, taking 

 out a good fifty yards of my line. 



