A BROOK-TROUT. 319 
Bays and arms of the sea, innumerable small islands, numer- 
ous reefs of rocks and uncountable mountain peaks stretch- 
ed as far as the eye could see; while almost beneath my 
feet lay our goodly little schooner, reduced by distance to 
a mere cockle-shell; the busy crew, passing to and fro upon 
the beach, looked scarcely larger than ants. Here, with 
the unobstructed breeze playing upon me, I got a little 
peace from the troublesome insects, and I would have re- 
mained longer but that the hour indicated the close prox- 
imity of the time to close my evening fishing. 
The fly I had used in the morning had done me such 
good service that I determined to re-employ it, and the re- 
sult was quite equal to anticipation. I soon got to work, 
and in a few minutes was fast to a fine fish, who, although 
he made a noble struggle, succumbed in less than twenty 
minutes. Moving my position from some slow water, I 
took a cast in the throat of a stream formed by the projec- 
tion of some rocks—not that I expected to rise a fish, but 
to get the line out of my way as I scrambled over some 
rough ground ; in fact, the water, although rapid, looked too 
shallow for the retreat of any thing over a pound weight. 
With surprise I rose a fine brook-trout (Salmo fontinalis). 
Of course such a fish was not to be despised, so I gave him 
a second chance, and had the satisfaction of succeeding in 
striking him. With my strong tackle and rod I treated 
him cavalierly, and in about ten minutes had the pleasure 
of handling and canvassing his weight, which was a trifle 
over five pounds. 
I never remember to have seen a fish of more brilliant 
coloring and beautiful proportions, and I have little doubt 
that on a seven-ounce trout-rod he would have given a good: 
half-hour’s pleasure. These streams—or those which lie in 
this portion of the American continent—swarm with trout, 
more particularly when you ascend some distance above 
