more syllables than any reel that ever passed under my disgusted inspection. A reel that "ticks like a chronometer and moves like clock-work" is all very well in a show-case; but a reel with rough and ready action and straight-forward movements, like a man with "no nonsense about him," is the reel for service. It was the last bit of work that fancy reel was called upon to do during our three weeks on the Cascapedia.

Another incident, equally exciting, but resulting less fortunately, happened to the General upon another occasion. He had solidly hooked a very large fish in a pool where large fish pre-eminently abound. He sulked persistently. For nearly an hour he remained as immovable as a rock. No strain which it was safe to impose upon the rod could move him. He simply wouldn't stir. Nothing is more provoking, and nothing more tries the patience of the most patient angler. The fatigue is even greater than when hooked to a fish that deems "action, action, action," quite as essential to liberty as the rhetorician declares the same qualities indispensable to effective oratory. The tension must be equally preserved, without a moment's relaxation, whatever moods the fish may assume or whatever freaks may move him. To be obliged to stand an hour thus pulling upon an immovable object, until every muscle in one's

arms seems ready to come out in shreds, is about as wearisome a position as any angler can be placed in; and it would not be strange if, during some moments of this long tussle, he is inclined to the opinion that, after all, it may be true, as the cynic hath said, that angling is an exercise which requires a rod and line with a worm at one end and a fool at the other. But even such a struggle has its compensations, and every true angler would gladly bear even tenfold the fatigue involved in such labor rather than surrender one iota of the intensely pleasurable excitement he derives from it. But as there is an end to all things, so there is an end to a salmon's sulks. When well nigh weary to exhaustion, and when almost ready to make the effort to force him from his hole if every inch of rod and tackle should be smashed in the effort, the patient angler found the fish rushing as determinedly as he before had sulked. More than two hundred feet of line went out of the reel in a flash; and it became now even harder to stop than it was before to start him. Rush followed rush in such quick succession that scarcely a yard of line remained in reserve. The only hope was in the equally rapid movement of the canoe. The boatmen were as eager and excited as the fisherman, and whatever muscle could accomplish was done. It was a race for life on one hand and for

conquest on the other. In a moment the pool was left far back in the distance. Now one rapid and now another was passed. Shallows were

avoided and rocks were shunned with a skill which was as marvelous as the wonderful strength and vitality of the fish. A full mile had been thus gone over with lightning-like velocity. The General had not for a moment lost either his head or his feet. The line was held with an even hand, and the signs indicated a speedy triumph of mind over matter, and skill over brute force, when (may stale fish be his diet for a fortnight!) one of the men, by a wrong movement of his paddle, sent the canoe directly beneath an overhanging tree which compelled the General to lower the tip of his rod, of which the fish took instant advantage, snapped the leader and was off, leaving behind him a cascade of foam and followed by "a blue streak." Such an issue of a hard fight is a terrible test of one's patience, and when his leaderless line came back upon him, limp and empty as a stale joke, if the General had simply said, "Boys, go to camp," he would have proved himself more than mortal. If he uttered any other sentence, the angel's tear which fell upon the hastily spoken word of Uncle Toby, no doubt blotted out all that was superfluous and unseemly.

Other incidents of a like character were con

stantly occurring. Indeed, the successful capture of a fish that rises to your fly is as frequently the exception as the rule. And this is not to be wondered at when it is remembered that the hook used is not larger than the smallest pin when curved. When the fish rises to this diminutive object, and the angler "strikes," the chances are at least two to one that it will slip out of the huge jaws of the eager fish. And even when the hook catches some part of the exposed surface, it is quite as likely to catch where the fibre is tender as where it is tough. But if hooked just right, there is still the contingency of imperfect tackling, a misshapen hook, a brittle loop, a frayed leader, or a deceptive line; and superadded to all these, are the hidden rocks against which line or leader is often chafed up to the point of separation. With these and many other chances against the angler, the wonder is not that he often loses a fish, but that he succeeds in killing so many. And yet it is this uncertainty

- these always possible and frequently occurring contingencies- which give to the science its greatest charm, and make success something of which to be proud.

CHAPTER XI.

SALMON HABITS AND A LOST BATTLE.

A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.-[Old adage.

OTWITHSTANDING our suc

cess, we are every day made conscious that we are too late for the best fishing. Some of the pools from which half a score of salmon could be taken in a day previous to the middle of July, are now barren of fish; and in many others, a day may be consumed in achieving what could then be accomplished in an hour. into fresh water early in Spring freshets are over; and then they show their greatest life and voracity. From that time on to the middle of July, they are most active and rise most readily to any object which attracts their attention. After that when they have been a month or more in fresh water-they become somewhat sluggish and less disposed to rise. Besides, the water becomes so shallow and transparent that the very shadow of the line is

Salmon begin to run June, or so soon as the