in pleasant shade, until the sun sinks towards the West, and the work of fishing begins.

One can fish equally well from bank or boat. The stream sides are grass-bound and flowerdecked to the very water edge, affording dry and safe footing, with here and there a fence to lean against, or hang your impedimenta upon. A little to the left of the farmhouse is the orchard, succeeded by a wood of nut and oak trees, which slope to the banks of the lake, and under whose shade bass may be caught at any hour of the day, be the sun ever so hot. The water here is deep and cool, and I use it as a swimming ground. It is also a fine place to cool drinks in. A bottle of Piper Heidsieck or a bottle or two of beer slung into the depths of the pool with a stout cord, can be drawn up an hour later cool as a snow stream in the mountains. A little distance above a rustic bridge spans the stream, under and on either side of which, just in the shadow line, a dozen or more fine bass, weighing up to four pounds each, may be seen at any time. As one crosses the bridge they raise their weather-eye and look up, but do not move, whilst hundreds of young bass, an inch or two in length, shoot from the innumerable crevices like so many fresh-water shiners. The very foundation of the bridge seems to be alive with them. There are also a number of giant sun-fish here which seldom refuse a bait. At daybreak on fine mornings, when camping there for a day or two, I have caught in less than an hour half a dozen two

pound bass, not counting other fish and small bass which I tossed back. I used one of Chubb's ordinary silk trolling lines and one of Abbey's spoons, which, by the way, to my fancy spin more freely and better than any others I have used. This I worked sometimes from a small bark canoe and sometimes from a wooden one, which I keep at the farm, and use to paddle up and down the stream between the willows and the bridge, or upon the lake itself.

Many men prefer a boat and oars, but I find a light canoe infinitely preferable. The double paddle ⚫ makes less splash than the oars, and if one can use the Canadian single blade, it does not make any noise at all. Added to this it is easier managed, one sees where one is going, and it can be lifted with one hand from stream to lake, and lake to stream.

The fish under the bridge are very tempting, but also very wary, and the residents say they are but seldom caught from the bridge itself. One day I cast a yellow-body fly, (a clumsy affair, but the best I had, having lost my fly book on the cars) and as it fell on the water I let it drift under the bridge, more in carelessness than by intent, and as it reached the rich bank of green weeds out of my sight, I felt the tug and magnetic vibration that every angler knows so well. Quick as a flash I dropped from the bridge to the bank, ran knee deep into the stream, and fighting the fish clear of the structure and reeds, landed a three-pound five

ounce beauty at my side on the bank.

"That's the first fish I've seen caught from the bridge," said an admiring native, and it was the only one I ever caught, although my line has dropped there many times before and since.

Now I know the trick. I made a stout cord fast to a stump above the bridge, and let my canoe float down under and through the bridge, then I cast my fly, and a boy sitting in the bows slowly pulled me through again up to the stump. The fish seeing no splash, only the passing shadow of the silent canoe, took my fly readily, and in the early morning I was sure of a fairly good catch. If fished for from the bridge, they will lie there, and never move a fin; the current is weak, and if scared away by a stone or twig, they will return in a second or two, almost to the same spot. I fancy the first one I caught was not a regular "bridge bass," but was one swimming up stream at the edge of the weeds in search of his breakfast. Now if any of my fishing friends think they can catch these bridge bass, I will guarantee to show them (or they can go and see for themselves) from six to a dozen of the beauties lying there at any time.

When I do not succeed with them to my satisfaction, I get some one to systematically drop stones and drive them up stream, where, perhaps out of pure unadulterated cussedness, they seem to readily take a fly. A great advantage of this spot up stream is that the baby bass and sun fish give but little trouble. The principal nuisances are the

large eels. If the line touches the bottom for an instant an eel seems certain to be waiting for it, and I would as readily handle a squid as an eel.

My brother, who frequently accompanies me, is not a fisherman and prefers fishing for eels, and by a rule of contrariness the bass bother him quite as much as the fresh-water "snakes," as I call them, bother me.

Among my troubles I must not forget the mud turtles and snappers. They, too, are a nuisance when baiting with worms, and anyone who desires a few of the "shell-backs" can be abundantly accommodated.

For more than two miles of this lovely stream any man who knows how to handle a rod or throw a fly can land, or at least hook, some of the liveliest two to three pounders he could wish for, and although bass vary in their tastes at different periods of the day, I know nothing better than the common trolling spoon as a regular thing. There is one pool where I would almost be inclined to wager that I could get a strike with either spoon or fly every ten minutes during the first two hours of daylight, or from five to eight in the evening. That is saying a good deal, but it is a fact.

The best fish I caught last season was when I was going up stream in the canoe near the mouth of the lake and close to the right side. By a sudden movement I shot under some willow branches. I was just letting my line run out after a weed strike and was holding the paddle in my left hand, with the line be

tween my teeth, using my right hand to give a good push to clear the boughs, when "zip, zip!" a beauty seized my bait as I floated out. I got nervous, upset my canoe and rolled into the water, but waded on shore and landed my fish. weighed four pounds, seven ounces, live weight, and I have his head and tail and a clear conconscience to prove it.

He

The last half day of the season I was fishing at Milton Lake, and I caught eighteen fine bass, and two eels, the latter as large round as a policeman's club and as dirty and slimy as usual. Eels always remind me of a skinny circus contortionist. When I am unfortunate enough to hook one, I generally make a clean cut of two yards of silk line, hook and all, and tie him up to the fence, or bow stay of my canoe. I would willingly let all of them go again only from a lingering remnant of a boyish superstition that they would go and tell all the bass how horribly indigestible my bait was.

I remember catching a big snapping turtle, weighing about twelve pounds, in the lake one day. When I pulled it up, my companion grabbed it, and I really think I would have jumped overboard but for the fear that others might be around to make things more pleasant for me for jumping "from the frying pan into the fire." I suppose a salt-water fisherman would have yelled and danced for joy; I am not built that way. When I fish for bass, I want bass, and when I fish for turtles-No! I would not want them even then.