FISHING IN NEWFOUNDLAND 239 



risen at least once every day, he never touched the 

 fly, but, as this was apparently our lucky day, it 

 seemed only wise to devote my energies to his 

 lordship, and so I cast over him all the afternoon, 

 trying every fly I owned. Once he acknowledged 

 the " yeUow sally," but fortunately did not take it. 

 I say fortunately, because shortly afterward a small 

 fish took it and forgot to return it to me ; evidently 

 it had been worn out by its previous use on bass, of 

 which it had landed over thirty. Supper-time 

 came and, as soon as the inner man had been 

 satisfied, I returned agam to the object of my 

 attentions. Once more I began with the orthodox 

 flies, but without result. Then, in desperation, a 

 very large bass fly was tried, and no sooner had it 

 touched the water than my big friend made a 

 frantic but unsuccessful rush for it. For an hour 

 or more I tried the coaxing quahties of aU sorts of 

 bass flies, and at last picked out a large royal coach- 

 man which had been in my book for over four 

 years and was pretty well dried out, and certainly 

 in poor condition to withstand the strain of a large 

 fish, but it was about the only fly that had not 

 been used, so on it went. The sun had aheady 

 set and the gorgeous crimson glow illuminated the 

 trees. As the line touched the water it disturbed 

 the placid surface of the big, dark and smooth 

 running pool and the thin ripples looked like 

 quivering threads of glistening gold. Slowly the 

 royal coachman floated along, for it was still dry 

 and its large white wings stood out in strong 

 contrast to the darkening background, when, with- 

 out the slightest warning, there was an upheaval in 



