the paddles were being plied vigorously, and we shot into the narrow cleft that forms the bed of the La Val. Straight up from the water’s edge sprung the hills on each side, their grey rocks scarcely half covered with stunted spruce, pine and hemlock, and rarely leaving margin enough for underwood to grow upon the bank. The water, now limpid as crystal, poured down in an ever increasing current, and here and there boiled over a hidden rock. On we forced our way, a bald eagle the only contestant for our sole occupancy of the river, past the grey cliffs, the sombre trees, through dark pools, up rapid currents, by banks of clay greyer than the granite hills themselves. On, on, with steady exertions, at every moment ascending toward the source of the wild stream. The water became shoaler, the currents stronger, and the rapids more rocky as we advanced.

Poling up the rapids was strange indeed. Imagine a torrent pouring, hissing and boiling down over rocks, where the foam glistened and the spray danced into the air, sweeping through narrow channels and leaping up and curling over in crested waves; imagine a light, fragile boat, that a man could lift with one hand, forced against such a current, between or even over the rocks, swayed about, swept hither and thither, and once in a while caught broadside on, and, unless quickly righted, carried to instant destruction. Imagine the excited efforts, the quick directions of the steersman, or forward boatman, whose care it is to head the canoe straight, to choose at a glance the deepest channel, and to keep her clear as possible from the rocks. “Arrête! avance! pousse! à droite! à gauche!” with a thousand others, come streaming forth as she touches, swings round, or tries to take her own head. At times she stops entirely, and by main force alone is she pushed over; the rock being distinctly felt as it bends the thin bark, that by its elasticity gives to the pressure and springs to its place the next instant. The men stand erect, exerting all their strength, and handle their poles like a Paddy his shillelah, first on one side, then on the other, then in front and then behind, the iron taking a firm hold of the slippery rocks. Such was our ascent, and deeply interesting it proved to me, although at first it seemed inevitable that the foaming water must ingulf us all, and, destroying our provisions, leave us, if we escaped at all, shipwrecked mariners upon a desolate coast.

I was glad, therefore, at every opportunity to quit the canoe, and clambering as fast as I could over the slippery rocks, post myself ahead upon the point of some batture or ledge of rocks, and cast the fly till the canoe came toiling painfully along. Great was my success, beautiful the dark pools, ever varying the limpid water. The treacherous banks of clay, so slippery that it was scarce possible to stand on them; the dark pines casting a gloomy shadow upon the water, the sombre depths where the current had worn away a cavern for the naiads of the watery realm, made together a picture never to be forgotten. While the innumerable trout were enough to gladden the heart of any true sportsman.

The day was passed and yet our journey not half done; we halted for the night as “The shades of eve came slowly down,” and Walton joined me with his rod while the tent was being pitched and the fire lighted. Glorious was our sport; many a brave fish rose and sunk, and rose to sink no more; either in that region the parent trout had not learned the infant song that in civilized localities they are accustomed to teach their children, or else the mothers did not know the latter were out; for certainly they were not aware of the concealment of the cruel hook under the seeming insect. They showed no fear and we no pity, till the call of “supper” found us with over a hundred fish, averaging a pound and a half.

In conscious innocence and happiness we retired; the fire was bright, the night was warm, the woods were still, the sand was soft, but oh! the sand flies. They came down upon us more innumerable than the locusts in Egypt, and if Pharaoh had only been tormented with them, he would have given up in one night. I tossed and turned and rolled about, hid my head under the blanket, and covered it up with my handkerchief. All to no use; they would still find some means of entrance, the little, invisible things; and they bit till my face seemed on fire. Their bite does not itch like a mosquito’s, but burns, and I never again shall despise a thing because it is small. Compelled to surrender all hope of sleep, I gathered the dying embers of the fire, and adding fuel, drove away the pests, while, at the same time, with infinite relish, I scorched our men, who, to my previous disgust, had been sleeping during my sufferings as though they were in paradise.

By the earliest dawn I had waded into the river and made the discovery that fish, unlike the proverbial birds, will not take the fly too early. Just before the sunlight tinged the mountain-tops, they, thinking to provide their own breakfasts, provided me with mine, so that, when the time came to leave off, I had taken twenty fish weighing over forty pounds.

Immediately after the meal was over, we continued our ascent as rapidly as possible, dreading another experience such as we had endured the previous night, and hurried on to reach our regular camping-ground and pitch a proper tent. On the way, I only had time to catch fifteen, weighing thirty-seven pounds, the largest being of three pounds and a half, and late in the afternoon hailed with pleasure the information that at last we had reached the spot that was to be to us for some time our home. It was a beautiful location; the stream, by a sudden bend, forming a low, long point of land, nearly level, which had been, by previous camping parties, entirely denuded of underbrush and partly of trees. In front, midway in the river, was a large flat rock, beyond which, extending to the further shore, and just fairly within casting distance, lay a deep, black pool. A dead tree leaned over this rock from our side of the river, forming a perilous swinging bridge by which one could reach it dry-shod. Directly across a cool spring brook entered the La Val at a place where the shore was a mass of overhanging underbrush. A pathway had been cut through the woods by some previous salmon fishers to the pools above and below; and with the poles, benches, boards and other insignificant but useful articles left by our predecessors, our camping-ground combined every requisite with many luxuries. At five o’clock the tent was pitched, our necessary part of the arrangements, the head-work done, and Walton and myself commenced fishing. We stood side by side upon the rock already mentioned, and before dark had taken fifty-three trout, weighing one hundred and twenty pounds. They were most vigorous fish, and many a time did their continued runs almost exhaust our lines. We had fished at Sault de Cochon with three flies; on ascending the river had diminished them to two, and now the fish themselves coolly reduced them to one. Almost invariably, if we struck two fish at a time, no matter what pains we took, one broke away with the hook. After a short time, we did not pretend to use more than one, and then had to take great pains in removing it from the mouth to avoid its being destroyed, so tough were the lips and strong the teeth of these noble fish. Indeed, it was soon effectually proved that any fly with the hackle wound from the shoulder to the bend was worthless, the first fish biting away the hackle, which should have been only wound close to the head. Heretofore the destruction of my fly had been a minor consideration, but now I found that I must look to myself, or, although provided with over thirty dozen, there might be danger of my falling short. As it was, the fish destroyed in the course of my trip at least ten dozen.

A delicious night’s rest was the reward of our efforts at arranging a proper camp, and in fact, henceforth there was no trouble from flies, mosquitoes, or any insect, except to a slight degree during the day-time; an annoyance that a segar would effectually dispel. From a quarter before seven to a quarter past eight next morning I alone took twelve fish averaging over two pounds, and during the day, while ascending the river for a short distance to investigate what now became to us a serious question, the depth of water, Walton and myself together caught twelve, and in the afternoon twenty-eight more. In the course of this day we established a rule to throw back all fish weighing under two pounds, a rule we adhered to till our last day in the river. The water proved to be very low, and although at night we occasionally heard the rush of a large fish up the rapids, the salmon had passed above and were probably on their spawning grounds, whither it now began to be very doubtful whether we could follow them. It was late in the season, as we knew, for salmon, although we had come prepared for them, and wished to catch at least a few.

We had picked up at Sault de Cochon, as a super-numerary, a boy of about eighteen, who was one of the most remarkable beings the sun ever shone upon. He would sit for hours with his mouth open and his hands before him, and, unless told, would hardly have sense to eat enough to keep himself from starvation. After dark, our men, with a hook and line and the entrails of a trout for bait, caught some eels, and he, emulous of their success, took the line after they had finished, and concluded he would try his luck. Although he had been watching their proceedings for an hour with the deepest interest, he had no idea what they used for bait, and was forced to inquire. They, with peals of laughter, suggested alternately “a cup of tea, a bit of biscuit, a little ale, a lump of sugar,” and such other anomalous baits. Although he at last succeeded in ascertaining from them what they used, it was not to be supposed that he would catch anything; in fact, it is highly probable he fell asleep over his rod and slept till morning.

The next day we prepared for a portage of five miles to the Lake la Val, a pond of some two miles in length by one in breadth, formed by the river’s spreading out and filling a valley in the hills. Walton donned a heavy basket, Joe, our chief canoeman, took the canoe, while François, the lazy boy, carried a bundle of bedding. We crossed the river, and striking directly into the woods, followed an Indian trail that had probably been there before this continent was discovered by Columbus. The mode of carrying the canoe was truly original; it was reversed and mounted on Joe’s shoulders, and his head being entirely concealed, he steadied it by holding to one of the cross pieces, and, at a distance, looked like some strange animal with a huge trunk, supported by two little legs. It was surprising how he managed it through the trees and among the underbrush, and even ascended places where we were compelled to give our legs the aid of our hands, not, however, without strenuous exertion, and the perspiration streamed from him when, after accomplishing about a mile, he leaned it upon a fallen log and slipped from beneath. Then the warning my friend had so often given me never to wet the bottom of the canoe, because it augmented its weight so terribly, came forcibly to mind. Fortunately François waked up, and having volunteered to carry the canoe over the next stretch, and it being ascertained, to every one’s astonishment, that he knew how, proved himself for the first time of any value, and shortened our journey considerably. During the portage we saw our first game, a spruce grouse so tame that no efforts we made could induce him to fly. He escaped death, primarily because we had no gun, and secondarily because it was out of season. At last, after a trying journey for our men, we passed a deserted lumbermen’s shanty, and found ourselves upon the sandy shore of the lovely Lake la Val.

This beautiful sheet of water, lying amid high sterile hills far from the abodes of man, has remained, and will continue for centuries, unvisited except by the native Indian or the adventurous sportsman. Romantic in its location and appearance, it is remarkable for the number and apparently irreconcilable character of the fish that inhabit its waters. While the voracious northern pickerel and giant mascallonge inhabit the upper part, and the fierce, greedy and powerful salmon have appropriated the outlet, shad or mullet and lake trout, both comparatively inoffensive, dwell in the centre, and doubtless prove an easy prey and grateful food to their natural enemies on either hand. Along the upper margin, weeds grow, and the bottom is in places soft and muddy, while the residue of the shore and bottom is firm white sand. The lake looked, in its broad expanse with the sun dancing on its rippled surface, lovely to us whose eyes had for a time been confined to a narrow gorge or the blue sky above.

Hastily launching the canoe, we descended the outlet, where the water poured over huge bowlders covered with a long, weedy grass, the seeds of which had been washed from the lake. Walton was standing in the bow of the canoe, and shouted with delight, and waved his paddle enthusiastically in air as salmon after salmon flashed up through the water, and shot by, rapid as light. The sight made our nerves tingle, but it was useless to try for them; the water was too clear, and they were dark and long run from the sea. At one point he frantically shouted to stop, and hastily explained that he had seen five salmon and numerous large trout in one deep hole. In vain, however, did we cast our flies, they had been frightened, and probably rushed down the stream, for we could not stir a fin. Descending a short distance further, we halted for dinner, after which, taking advantage of a resting spell, I waded back to the same spot.

The pool lay close beside a little island covered with alders, and by crawling cautiously I kept out of sight, and reaching the head of the island, cast carefully and lightly round it into the pool. The line went out straight the full length, the fly fell like a snow-flake on the water, there was an angry rush, a mighty splash, a quick taughtening of the line, and an enormous fish was fastened to my frail tackle. In his astonishment he fortunately darted up stream, and by skillful management was led round into the other channel, where, after many a struggle and desperate effort to escape, baffled only by prudence and care exerted through a long but exciting half hour, I landed him by walking into the water waist deep, and slipping the net under him. As for leading him to shore, my rod, already bent double would not bear the strain. He was a dark-backed, yellow-sided river fish, and weighed four pounds and a quarter. He was our champion prize, and remained so to the end. The water not having been disturbed, I made another cast, and was rewarded by another fish that weighed four pounds. A brace of beauties, fit to set before a king. The second one, however, so fought and flounced, and kicked and slapped about in the pool, in spite of all my persuasive efforts to induce him to leave it, that the rest grew suspicious, and refused the most seductive baits. My friend looked the least little bit envious when I rejoined him, and mentioned his having previously taken a sea trout at the Mingan that weighed nine pounds. I smiled, of course respectfully. We returned to the lake, having taken in all fifteen fish averaging three pounds, and leaving the canoe on the beach, wended our way through the woods back to our sylvan home, where Pierre received us with a redoubtable supper. Insatiable, however, I that evening took eight, and next morning three, from our preserve, as we called the pool in front of the tent.

As we intended to return to the lake, and might perhaps spear a pickerel, Joe made an égog, which appears to be the Indian name for fish-spear, the Canadians having not only adopted the word, but coined from it a French verb, égogger, to spear. Armed with it, and provided with make-shift tenting materials, we hastened to the lake, and launching our canoe,, tried its virtues upon the pickerel. The latter, however, were so scarce, that we rigged up the more effectual spinning tackle, and took a pickerel and a mascallonge of about twelve pounds each, and struck another of the latter very large, weighing, as well as could be guessed, from his passing close to the boat, about forty pounds. That night, provided with flambeaux, we went out for the purpose of again trying to spear pickerel; but, passing by the outlet of the pond, were so attracted by the numerous salmon, we could get no further.

It was a romantic sight; the canoe, lit up by the blazing flambeau, that was fastened, high above our heads, to a pole fixed in the bow, and by its glare made the surrounding darkness the more impenetrable; the silence of the night was unbroken, except by the dip of the paddle; and calmness of the water unruffled, through which the bewildered salmon lazily floated, following us about, coming so close that we could touch them with our hands, and occasionally jumping frantically into the air, utterly out of their wits and at the mercy of any poacher. Walton was excited, myself enthusiastic, but Joe was frantic; “Egoggez donc! égoggez donc!” he shouted, wildly pushing at the fish with his paddle, and almost ready to jump out of the boat. My friend held the spear in hand—he was a splendid spearsman, and could have filled the boat with salmon; but it was illegal as well as dishonorable to catch them in that manner—he wavered but a moment, and then with a sigh lay down the spear and took up his paddle, the greatest example of self-command and honest sportsmanship I ever knew. General Washington, when he refused to be king, was no greater. My friend was not rewarded if he did not sleep happier for it that night in the old cabin on the shore of Lake la Val; and if the falling pipe of the rotting stove that nearly crushed his head had killed him, he would have died virtuous, respected and without reproach.

Oh, that I had the pen of Julius Cæsar, Homer, Shakspeare, or even Byron, that I might write an ode to sapin, the balsam fir-tree! Tree of the weary woodsman, tree of the luxurious sportsman, tree of all men whom the drowsy god catches in the woods and compels to his embraces! A bed of thy leaves is softer than one of eider-down, and far more comfortable. A prince might sleep on thee and dream he was in paradise. Thou preservest us from colds, from rheumatism, and the many ills that flow from the evil humors of the cold ground. Thy leaves, growing in one direction from the stem, will lie flat, and may be piled to any depth—a foot of luxury, as in our permanent camp—and make a couch that combines the softness of the feather-bed with the firmness of the mattress, and an elasticity purely thy own. To thee, and to thy mate the hemlock, and thy associate the white birch, I now, far from thee, waft, in a cloud of tobacco-smoke, my love. Go on, increase and wax great; may often the one support me on the land, the other on the water!

When the next morning’s sun had once more brought round my birthday, the thirty-first that had ever dawned, we commemorated the fact by undertaking to descend the La Val from the outlet to our home; a roundabout journey of some fifteen miles, in lieu of the portage of five. It was to be a final test of the depth of the water, as the course lay over bad rapids and falls, and we entered upon the journey with great uncertainty. Packing our temporary bedding in a water-proof blanket, our party embarked and sped gaily along for the first mile or two, but soon found the bed of the stream one mass of huge rocks, over which the canoe had to be driven with sheer force, and which tore and strained the fragile bark till it leaked terribly.

During this day our progress was necessarily slow and laborious, and to relieve ourselves we fished continually. The trout rose beautifully—in fact, in one pool they were so thick, sweeping round in shoals, that we grew surfeited, and left it for a spot where they were less plenty. Still it required a long line and light fly to cull the largest—which were the ones we sought—and skill and patience to land them. We might have taken hundreds had the time permitted, or our canoe been in condition to carry them; but every strain had increased the leak till we could no longer keep it down by bailing, and had to land from time to time to turn the water out. In fact, it was a wet time altogether; there was a drizzling rain, the canoe was three inches deep with water, we had both been wading part of the day, and had so arranged our water-proof blanket that it projected beyond the temporary tent, and catching all the water that drained off, would not permit it to soak through, but collected a miniature Lake la Val in the middle of our bed. I being the heaviest, had the most of it; but by the aid of a blazing fire, I slept warm and comfortable till the morning air struck me, when the time came to rise, and sent a shiver to my very bones, giving me at first horrible visions of consumption, night-sweats and early death. Our tally of fish taken during the day amounted to fifty-three, weighing nearly two hundred pounds, and I had captured the greatest weight as yet taken at one cast, landing two fish, one of which weighed two and the other three pounds and a half. A handsome present the river gods made me for my birthday!

The next day, after an hour had been spent in vainly trying to attract the salmon, our journey was continued to the camp, the river as we descended proving worse, the rocks higher, the rapids fiercer, the water lower, our canoe frailer, till it came almost to dragging the latter over the bed of a current instead of floating comfortably along its surface. All hope of ascending to the head-waters was extinct, the rapids above the lake we knew must be worse than those below, and the latter were totally impassable for a loaded canoe. In our despair, we fished steadily at every breathing spell, and might have taken unlimited numbers, for they rose gloriously.

While walking unconsciously along, separated from my companions, I was fairly startled at observing what at first glance seemed to be a female figure seated on the opposite side of the stream beneath the bank. The impression was only dissipated by a close inspection. The rains had scooped out of the bank a dark niche, the edges of which were ornamented with vines and moss and in it was seated a figure of clay, worn to an astonishing likeness of a woman with a gipsy bonnet on her head. She appeared to be seated, and her bonnet, its strings and her dress, were accurately imitated by the curling white birch bark. The color of her face seemed dark brunette, set off by the birch bonnet, that was brought out in strong relief by the heavy shadow of the background. Altogether, it was a startling apparition, and conjured up to my eyes the wondrous sights of the times of elfin power, when my spectre would have made a most perfect wood nymph.

Whether my elf gave me good luck or not, it is impossible to say, but we caught thirty-seven magnificent fish, and after a hard day’s work, during which we had toiled at the canoe and waded most of the way, the camp was no unwelcome sight. It required Pierre’s best culinary efforts to restore our spirits, and soothe our disappointment at being unable to effect a further ascent, in which our worst forebodings were confirmed by Jermain, an additional guide who had followed us, and who reported from his Indian friends that the upper stream was impassable, the water being a foot lower than was ever known before. With sad hearts, therefore, the council of war determined that advance was hopeless, and retreat inevitable; even our splendid sport could not console us.

It had been drizzling all day, and the next morning we devoted to a general drying of wet articles—the camp looked like a grand clothes washing establishment, with lines stretched from tree to tree round a big fire, and hung with clothes. I took some seven trout for dinner, but otherwise the fish had a rest until the morrow, which was to be our last on the river, when we captured twenty-eight, a few of which, however, did not exceed a pound and a half in weight.

The next day came, and good bye to the beautiful La Val. Slowly and sorrowfully we struck our tent, sadly we collected together, and stowed the many little articles that the occasion had hallowed to our hearts. With feelings of deep regret we embarked, and looking our last look at the camping-ground that had been our home, commenced a descent to our chaloupe. As there were three canoes, and only five canoemen, including my friend, I was gladly compelled to take the bow of one and act as steersman. Of course my experience was limited, for, with the exception of having once upset Walton to his intense disgust, I had taken little active part in canoe management, and having for my stern-oar, Joe, whose only idea was to push ahead under all circumstances, we performed manœuvres that astonished more than they delighted our associates. Ours was the leaky canoe that had been patched up with gum and a piece of a shirt for the occasion, and being utterly reckless of it, we shot down rapids and leaped over rocks like a runaway race-horse. Wonderful were our hair breadth escapes; the rapid water, Joe with his “Avancez toujours,” gave me no time to see and less to avoid the half-hidden dangers, even if my skill had been equal to the task, and we darted along amid the foaming current, or plunged headlong down cataracts, at a rate and in a manner that would have surprised a locomotive off the track. We succeeded, however, in keeping straight with the current, and although once or twice our destruction seemed inevitable, we finally arrived safe, though in a leaky and dilapidated condition, at the place where we had anchored our chaloupe. The latter, left to herself, had been trying what she could do on the rocks, and had succeeded, with the aid of a falling tide, in upsetting twice, and so frightening the boy in charge of her that he had fled for refuge to a shanty, which providentially was near at hand.

Joe had taken the opportunity during our last day’s fishing, on hearing of the misfortunes of his boat, to remove her to the Sault de Cochon, so that we had to paddle about two miles in the open St. Lawrence. The river was over twenty miles broad, and, under the influence of a southwesterly wind, was so rough that our unsteady bark danced, tossed and rolled about uncommonly. I could no longer stand up, as I had been forced to do hitherto, and was brought to my knees at once, while even Joe found it safer to sit down on the thwart. No one who has not tried it can imagine what a canoe is in the slightest sea-way; it appears to bob from under you, and rolls and dances so quickly as to render staying in it almost impossible, even if it should not carry out its evident design to turn bottom up. Once at Sault de Cochon and I again tried the fish, having taken, on the descent of the La Val, twelve, and was rewarded as I deserved, by total failure.

The wind had died out, the water lay a perfect mirror, and, crowding down into the narrow cock-pit, we slept till two o’clock in the morning, when a favoring tide helped us slowly along toward our destination. The night passed, and the next day, and we drifted by place after place that we passed before with such rapidity, and sunset again found us only thirty-three miles on our way. We ran into a little bay at the mouth of the Escomain, where, having built a huge fire and eaten a hearty supper, we slept, on a bed of the softest pebble stones, soundly and sweetly till the first grey light of daybreak, when we continued our journey along a coast so poor that the best fed hogs are, as we were credibly informed, light and weak enough to be blown over by a strong wind, and mill-stones, to say nothing of the miller, starve for want of grain.

Again the hills of the Saguenay rise to our view, Tadousac rests calmly in its nook, and the sun shines on the white houses of L’Anse à l’Eau as when we left. Our trip is done. The La Val will live in our memory as long as we can cast a fly—aye, and when gout or age shall have laid us on the shelf. To you, my friend, the genial companion of my trip, I give my thanks; may we meet again, and once more stand side by side upon some projecting rock, as fish after fish rises to our fly. May you long live to enjoy the sport at which you so excel, and may you leave children that can cast a fly as well. To the stately St. Lawrence, to the magnificent Saguenay, to the beautiful La Val, a long farewell.

CHAPTER V.

THE SALMON.

from out our waters. The willful, stupid obstinacy in building dams without fishways, in crowding the rivers with nets, and neglecting all measures for their protection, have annihilated the noblest of game fish. They are now only to be found in Maine, and to the northward of it. The rivers of Maine are no longer worth the angler’s attention, and if he would have good sport he must proceed to the wilds of New Brunswick or Lower Canada.

In the wild woods of those famed regions they abound, and there, amid the solitude of nature, in its primeval grandeur, the writer has cast the fly over thousands, has lured hundreds from their hidden depths, and seen myriads moving about in their romantic pools, or darting away when disturbed; has waited, casting patiently, for their appearance; has felt the vigor of their first rush; has seen them leap, maddened, high out of water; has experienced all the variations of hope, the exultation of success, and, alas! the agony of failure. He has known them to dart away resistlessly down some impassable rapid, and leap for joy as they broke his frail tackle, and he has seen them panting with the gaff in their sides and the dark blood streaming over their resplendent scales, as his quick-eyed assistant had secured them at the moment the hook was tearing out. Aye, he once had the good luck of having one that was thrown out of water by the blow, the hook tearing out at the same time, caught on the gaff ere he fell back into the watery grave of hope.

The glorious sport! Ye delvers after the ore of gold, hidden as it seems to be in boxes of silk or bales of cotton, in bits of paper or leaves of ledgers; ye weary crawlers through the streets of mammon, who think the world is bounded by the four walls of your ambition; ye who have been brought up to work, as though work were the aim of life instead of the means of its improvement; ye who have laid up a few hundred for some pet dissipation, a visit to Saratoga or Newport, or a fight with the tiger—that man-eater—and ye who must watch every day over your accumulated millions, lest a penny slip into a cranny and be lost, go to the woods, where you will be surrounded by the sombre trees, where the rocks will be your companions and the wind whisper and the stream prattle to you. There you will learn how little it takes to render man comfortable and happy, how but for his reckless passions and extravagant desires all might be satisfied and plenty crown the human race. There, where nature speaks to you in her beauty, in her grandeur, and occasionally in her stupendous power; where the wonders of the universe by day and night are ever present, like old friends; where there is naught but the thin air between the Maker and his beings, you may learn what will be more valuable some day than any treasure of gold or silver. Breathe the pure air, shake off every ill that flesh is heir to; add to your life, if you love it so well, a week for each day, and that a day of never wearying enjoyment. Take rod and gun, aspire to cast the line far and straight and light, feel the struggle of patience, perseverance, skill, resolution, with brute strength and cunning; know the pleasurable anxiety of the chase, the alternate hope and fear, and the final glory of success. Learn the woodsman’s art, the “gentle craft of venerie,” and wonder at the resources of the wilderness, and on your return thank me not, if you can. But that you may do it well, read the following prosy instructions carefully, for if they be not entertaining they be useful.

The rod for salmon fishing should be from sixteen to twenty feet long; one of sixteen, or even fifteen, if well made and elastic, will answer. It must be strong and stiff, but not too heavy, and the further it will cast the greater will be the success. Salmon are more wary than trout; if they see a horrible, ill-shapen being, like man, lashing at them with a long whip, they lie close to the bottom, and it is only by keeping well out of sight, and never disturbing or approaching the pool, that they can be tempted. A short rod, though it may be capable of casting the requisite distance, will not give sufficient command nor enable the angler to lift the fly with facility.

The fly must be cast straight, light, and as far as possible; it must be put exactly upon the right ripple, and must fall like a snow-flake; it should, if the water is still, be allowed to sink a few inches and then drawn up to and along the surface a foot or so, again allowed to sink, and so on till it is raised for another cast. It is not moved as rapidly, nor with precisely the same tremulous motion as in trout fishing. Often a long time passes before a fish, no matter how plenty they may be, will rise; and when he does come, it is as often to play with and slap at the fly as to take it. Nothing is more provokingly exciting than to have a magnificent fish rush again and again at your fly, leap over and around it, break near it or strike at it with his tail, without, however, showing the slightest desire to take it in his mouth.

A fish hooked foul, though he gives a great deal of trouble, and often breaks the tackle, does not afford half the legitimate sport of one that has the hook in the mouth.

When fish are playing thus, and it is fully determined that they will not take the allurement presented them, no matter how attractive, it becomes necessary to substitute another, and continue so doing till their dainty palates are satisfied.

When they finally take hold, have a care for their first rush; the pain, if pain they feel, or astonishment, drives them wild, and they dash and fling themselves about, leap out of water, and carry on generally in a manner to surprise weak nerves. Finding their efforts to escape vain, they will dart down the nearest rapids, and here they must be followed if the water is too shallow for the canoe, by the angler, with the agility of the antelope. He must have feet, hands, and eyes for everything. The fish must be guided through the safest current, the line kept clear of rocks, while the angler must pursue his course through pools and over ledges and bowlders, slippery with the water, and requiring the sureness of foot of the chamois. On, on he must go, regardless of falls or bruises, his reel making sweet music to the uncoiling line, keeping within sight of his prey till the latter reaches the next pool or resting-place. After an hour’s struggle in this, he may take down another rapid in the same vigorous style. In these descents the angler will find his gaff, if shod with iron, a great convenience in steadying his steps, and heavy shoes with iron nails will in a measure prevent his slipping and will obviate stone bruises, although they are apt to break the delicate knees of the canoe, and should be removed before getting into one, and moccasins or slippers substituted. There is a well authenticated story of one fish that was struck at six o’clock in the evening, followed down through three rapids, and finally lost at half-past ten o’clock that evening.

Salmon will sulk, remaining motionless at the bottom for a long time after they are wearied with an unsuccessful struggle, and must be aroused with pebbles, bearing on the line, or in some other way. Many of the pools in the Canadian waters have been worn out of clay banks, and their sides under water are often perpendicular or overhanging. When the fish sulks in one of these, the line cuts into the edge of this bank, and is of course broken to pieces by the first rush.

Gentleness will do much with fish, as with other reasonable beings, and a friend of mine saved a number in a pool above an impassable rapid, where other anglers had pronounced fishing impracticable, by striking and handling the fish with extreme delicacy till they were led to the head of the pool away from the dangerous neighborhood.

There is no superlative salmon line made; the best, probably, plaited silk, tapered and covered with a preparation to exclude the water; but that in general use is of hair and silk plaited or twisted—a combination that, as we elsewhere remark, is by no means advantageous; a plain hair line is preferred by careful anglers, and simple silk will answer. The leader should be of single gut, if round and strong, and may be colored in tea. Double gut will break the rod but not save the fish. The flies, contrary to the received opinion in Europe, should be dark, especially clarets and browns, above all the impalpable “fiery brown,” and of rather a small size, with a few larger for rough water. The reel should be large enough to carry two hundred yards of line, although with activity and a hundred an angler may make out.

As for the number of fish, even in the best streams, those who read Lanmann must receive his statements with, to use a moderate term, some allowance. Ten or twelve fish in the course of a day is excellent luck, and will keep the angler sufficiently occupied and excited, but the average good fishing through the season is not half that number, and there are many blank days. The upper shore of the St. Lawrence furnishes the largest fish, but New Brunswick the most abundant. The rivers in the former are mostly leased to individuals by the government, and of course closed to the public except by the consent of the lessees. That famous association called the Hudson’s Bay Company, a kingdom within a kingdom, until a few years ago, were sole proprietors of fishing rights, but having taken pains worthy of our emulation to destroy the fish, the government curtailed their privileges, and passed stringent laws and regulations, which are set out in the appendix, for the preservation of the fish.

The rivers of New Brunswick are still free.[9] The fly-fishing in Canada lasts till the first day of September, and in New Brunswick till the fifteenth; but the net fishing terminates earlier, and in Canada all spearing or fishing by torchlight is stringently forbidden. These laws are, strange as it may seem to us, enforced with commendable energy in Canada, though in New Brunswick our mode of letting the people override the laws prevails.

The best river in New Brunswick beyond all comparison, is the Nipisiquit, emptying in the Bay of Chaleurs, and near it are several almost as prolific.[10] In Lower Canada the Mingan, the Moisie, the Busamite stand preëminent, but have many rivals. Directions for reaching them have been given under the head of sea trout fishing, but instead of taking a sail-boat, as there suggested, from any port on the river St. Lawrence, the same might be done either from Bathurst or Prince Edward’s Island, both of which are nearer the lower streams.

There are many excellent rivers on the coast of Labrador as far as the Straits of Belle Isle, or even farther, and they would be well worth a visit, either in one of our clipper yachts or in a fast schooner. Many are entirely beyond the realms of civilization, and a pleasant party might have a glorious time and abundant sport.

It would be necessary to take canoemen and canoes, or what is strongly recommended, small, light flat-boats that can be rowed or poled by one man, and which can be purchased for five dollars apiece at most of the gulf seaports.

Arm yourself, then, with two good salmon rods; they may be so made us to constitute a trout rod as well, not by any means one of those detestable nondescripts called a general rod, but two rods distinct with joints fitting to each other. Take with you two good lines, plenty of flies, extra gut and hooks, leaders and feathers, and a strong hook gaff, but not that dangerous, unwieldy instrument called a spring gaff. Thus equipped, go forth conquering and to conquer, and may good luck attend you. Seek any of the rivers we shall name, ascend them in your fragile canoe, station yourself early in the morning or at the approach of evening, choose your best fly, keep well out of view, cast far and light, and may you many and many a time be rewarded with the fierce rush of the mighty salmon, his struggle and final conquest, and may your sleep be sound and your heart at rest amid nature’s primeval hills. May the black flies and mosquitoes spare you, may the sand-fly not find you out, may the heat be tempered to you by day and the cold by night, may you not lose your footing too often, nor fall too hard, and may your fish be the largest, strongest and bravest that ever were taken. May you receive that mercy which you show, never drawing one drop of useless blood, nor causing one unnecessary pang.

The aid of all good men and true is needed both by precept and example, to save the tenants of the water from final extermination. By putting restraint upon ourselves, never being guilty of wanton slaughter, by steadily urging measures for the preservation of the game, and by invariably obeying and compelling others to obey such laws as should be passed, we may be able to leave to our children a heritage of pleasure that bountiful nature has abundantly provided for ourselves. No fish are more defenceless and more readily destroyed than trout and salmon; there are certain prerequisites to the continuance of the species that must be complied with. The fish must ascend to the fresh water to spawn, and if prevented by an improperly constructed dam, will quit the locality never to return.

It should be known that, contrary to the usually received opinion, salmon cannot surmount a fall of much over ten feet; this, probably, is the full extent of their powers. And in effecting this, much depends upon the depth of water at its foot; the deeper it is the higher they can leap. They do not take their tails in their mouths, according to the ancient theory, to enable them to spring higher, but rush with their utmost velocity from the bottom, and are carried by their momentum a considerable distance out of water. Such a leap or a struggle against strong rapids weakens them, and they must soon rest to recover strength for another ascent. They thus congregate below each fall, and often make many efforts before they overcome it. They usually move at night or early in the morning. A dam of fifteen or twenty feet will effectually exclude them from any stream, but may be rendered innocuous at small expense by placing below the wasteway boxes of heavy wood, with a fall of not over five feet from one to the other. A salmon leaps from the river to the first, from that to the next, and so on till he has overcome the barrier. A broad sluiceway leading at a moderate angle to the pool below, will probably answer as well.[11]

The fish, as they enter the rivers, may be deterred from entering, or all captured in nets spread entirely across the mouth, and when those that do pass have reached the spawning beds, they are peculiarly exposed to the cruel spear. At night, by this instrument, with the aid of flambeaux, hundreds may be killed and many more wounded and left to perish miserably. If they are to continue in reasonable numbers, nets must not be set close together, the spawning beds must be undisturbed, and the murderous spear utterly prohibited. With these precautions and a regulation concerning the sized mesh that is used, this valuable source of pleasure, health and profit may not only be retained but indefinitely augmented; without such care the day is not far off when “the places that knew them will know them no more,” when their bright sides will no longer gleam beneath the waves or glisten as they gambol in the sunlight, when the nets will cease to yield a return, when the fishermen, longing regretfully for their most valuable prize, will find their occupation gone, and honest and dishonest, fair fisherman and sneaking poacher, alike be overwhelmed in one common ruin. Surely we have too much good sense, too much public spirit, too much energy and determination to submit to such a calamity; let us unite, then, in repressing unseasonable and unlawful fishing, in preserving and protecting the fish, and in restoring rivers that have been exhausted.

In the salt water, salmon never take the fly, and rarely bait of any kind, although they feed on sand eels and small fish in addition to shell-fish; but as they advance into brackish or fresh water, they either miss their natural food and become hungry, or get accustomed to feeding on grasshoppers and insects, and are deceived by the artificial fly, and will at times take the bait.

When they leave the salt water, the sea-lice that have fastened to them fall off, frequently to be replaced by fresh-water parasites, and this is sometimes given as the reason for their leaving the sea so early in the year, although they do not spawn till the Fall. While spawning they are unfit to eat, and after the operation are utterly exhausted. In this condition, when returning to the sea, they are termed kelts, the male being distinguished as a kipper and the female as a baggit. As the spawning season approaches, a curious cartilaginous hook grows from the lower jaw, which is supposed to be a provision of nature to prevent an unfortunate termination to the many desperate contests between the males at that period.

The habits of salmon are by no means determined; in fact, little is known positively about them. It has been even suggested that grilse are a distinct species, although it is hardly doubted with us but they are young salmon. Their times of visiting the fresh water are subject to peculiar individual exceptions; in fact, it may be said there are two opinions among fishermen, and persons who have watched salmon for twenty and thirty years assert that some are ascending while others are descending. Izaak Walton says that salmon spawn in August, which is directly contrary to the views of other English writers, and certainly not in accordance with the practice of our fish. Others again say they return to the salt water in September, and reascend the rivers later in the Fall. The young in all stages have been disputed over, and called by divers names, such as pinks, smolts, parr, brandling, samlet, peal, grilse, until one hardly knows what sort of fish he really has captured. Every writer has his theory, and the following is mine; it may be true or not, but the statements of fact are.

Salmon are never found in our rivers except in three stages: First, a little fish much like a trout, but with a larger eye and richer colors; they have no blue spots, but have darker bands on their sides; they weigh from half an ounce to half a pound. Second, the grilse, which is precisely like a salmon, except that it weighs from two and a half to six pounds. Third, the salmon, which weighs from eight to eighty pounds. Salmon first appear in the fresh water about the 10th of June, and grilse a month later. The main run of the former is from June 15th to August 15th in New Brunswick, and from June 10th to July 20th in Canada. The explanation of this difference is simple: the Canadian fish are much the largest, averaging double the size of their more southern brethren, and as the waters fall during the hot months of Summer, they must ascend earlier than smaller fish, and before the spring freshets have entirely subsided, or they would never reach the high waters at all. Straggling fish, however, are running up at all seasons, early and late, and a few probably remain in the fresh water the entire year, or descend only when they are sickened by a lengthened residence in an unchanged element. Salmon do not spawn in Summer, but in Winter, commencing not earlier, and often later, than October; the fish that ascend last probably spawn last. Then they return to the sea; but not at once, some remaining under the ice through the Winter, others going immediately. My theory, therefore, is that the young fish, whether you