loosened and the expert angler instinctively recovers any slack that may result from this movement, so that by the time the fish is ready to descend, the line is taut; and unless this descent is followed by a simultaneous dropping of the tip of the rod, such a sudden strain on the line will ensue as to inevitably either break something or tear out the hook. The latter mishap was what befell me on this occasion. The hook had caught in some tender place in the mouth of the fish, strong enough to resist any ordinary strain but not strong enough to resist the pressure of a five or six feet plunge. No fish ever afterward leaped with my fly that my rod did not, in response, bow as promptly and as gracefully as the exigencies of the occasion required. No lesson is harder to learn, because nothing in all the angler's experience is so exciting as the spiteful leaps of a hooked salmon.

So, with the dashing rapids sparkling in the sun, with the balmy atmosphere redolent with the aroma of a thousand flowers, with the mountains casting their giant shadows upon the ever-changing landscape, with ten thousand birds warbling their grateful anthems, with no fretting cares or babbling intruders to jar upon the harmony of the scene, my ten-mile ride home was inexpressibly exhilarating. I can hope to experience no more ecstatic emotions until I stand upon the banks of

that "pure river of water of life, clear as crystal,” which sparkles in the sunlight of an eternal day.

While I had been thus reveling in solitude and enjoying myself to the "top of my bent," DUN and the Judge were rendered equally happy by the magnificent sport they had had in my absence. Each recounted his successes and mishaps before a rousing camp-fire, and the night was far advanced before the Judge wearied of describing, in his own inimitable way, the unpurchasable felicities available to a true angler on the banks of the "fair Cascapedia."

A day or two before my solitary ramble, an accident occurred on the river which might have resulted seriously, but which simply inconvenienced the gentlemen who were the unfortunate victims of it. I have before alluded to Mr. KINNEAR, of St. John, a veteran angler, and Capt. GRANT, of England, accomplished in all the mysteries of the art, who accompanied our party to the river, and who proceeded to the upper pools, thirty miles distant, to fish. They had with them most of their supplies for a fortnight, and their canoes were necessarily heavily laden. They had ascended several of the worst rapids in safety, and their Indian guides (two of whom had never before been on the river) had become less watchful than is essential to safety in these turbulent waters. The for

ward canoe, which was in charge of the two strangers, was being pushed up a very strong rapid, over one side of which a fallen tree projected. For a moment the canoe swerved from a direct course, was instantly driven backward with the speed of an arrow against this fallen tree, and went over like a flash, precipitating Mr. KINNEAR, his guides and all the luggage into the rushing waters. When Mr. K. came up (for at that particular spot the water is very deep) he found himself under the canoe, wedged in amongst the luggage; but he had the presence of mind to dive, and so extricated himself in time to prevent strangulation. It was a narrow escape, for which he was duly grateful. The occupants of the other canoes came to the rescue at the foot of the rapids where the water was not so deep, and succeeded in catching most of the luggage as it floated past. The canoe itself was badly broken, and it took two or three days to repair damages and to dry the saturated garments of the party. We had a visit from the captain, attired in Mr. KINNEAR'S breeches; and as Mr. K. weighs two hundred and twenty, and Captain GRANT one hundred and fifty, the captain looked far less jaunty than when on parade with his crack regiment at home. But he enjoyed the mishap as an incident in his visit to the river.

Captain GRANT is a fine representative of the enthusiastic anglers of the old world. He has

been a salmon fisher from his youth up, having taken his first lessons in Scottish waters so soon as he had acquired the muscle to make a cast. The passion had strengthened with his strength, and he had had the opportunity to gratify his tastes in all the most famous rivers in the four quarters of the globe. But in all his wanderings he found no waters so attractive as these. Whether in the East or West Indies whether on the Tweed or Shannon-whether "at home" or in the jungleshis recollection of these salmon rivers was an everpresent and an ever-pleasant memory- the subject of his discourse by day and of his dreams in the night watches. And as proof of his enthusiasm he had twice crossed the Atlantic for no other purpose than to fish for salmon. The present season he took the steamer at Liverpool, landed at Farther Point, spent a month on the Restigouche and the Cascapedia, returned directly to Farther Point, and from thence home-only too happy to make a journey of six thousand miles to cast his fly in these magnificent salmon waters. Nor is his an isolated case. Many another of like tastes, and with a like appreciation of the kingly sport, every year make the same journey. All of these "simple wise men" may not be "princes in the king's household," but not one of them would assume the dignity of royalty itself if it involved the surrender of their prerogative at will to "go a-fishing."

CHAPTER XX.

A SHORT ESSAY ON FLY CASTING.

But, Johnnie, I maun, as ye'r frien', warn ye that it's no' the fly, nor the water, nor the rod, nor the win', nor the licht, can dae the job, wi'oot the watchfu' e'e and steady han', and a feeling for the business that's kin' o' born wi' a fisher, but hoo that comes aboot I dinna ken.-[Donald Macleod, D. D.

RDINARILY the waters of these salmon rivers are so transparent that in still pools long casts are indispensable to success. I make this qualification because great length of line is not so necessary in pools whose surface is broken by the current ripples, which serve the same purpose in a sal

mon pool that a sharp breeze

does on trout waters—they blur the vision of the fish and render a more near approach feasible. But I never cast in either without parodying Napoleon's maxim: "Providence is on the side of the heaviest battalions: success is on the side of the longest casts. I remember very well where I first learned this lesson. Many years ago, long before the North Woods became the fashionable resort of mere plea