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

sure seekers, and while anglers still held the undisputed monopoly of their crystal waters, "Cole's Point," at the foot of Big Tupper, was one of my favorite resorts. Cast when I would, at early morning, at midday or in the gloaming, I was always sure of good sport. I would begin with a short cast, standing well back and dropping my fly at the very edge of the point around which the current, in those days, flowed with a graceful undulating motion over a cluster of bowlders where trout loved to congregate. For a few minutes I was kept busy, but the responses speedily ceased. By projecting my fly a few feet farther out, like results would follow; and so on until I had swept the entire length and breadth of the pool. Full half my take was from long casts. Why? Not because I had taken all the fish that were within easy reach when I began to cast, but because those I did not take, alarmed either by the shadow of my rod or the strugglings of the fish I hooked, slowly retreated, not really frightened, perhaps, but disturbed, halting after a dart or two, to become themselves the victims of their ravenous appetite. If I had not followed them as they retired, I would not now have such pleasant recollections of "Cole's Point" as it was twenty years ago, before the dam at Setting Pole rapids had changed the whole surface of the Raquette waters below the Raquette falls.

As it is with trout so is it with salmon. When they are alarmed by the approach of your canoe, the glint of your paddle or the shadow of your rod, they do not rush from the pool, but they do what the leopard cannot do they change their spots, retiring it may be fifty, eighty or a hundred feet from where your are anchored. If then you have the skill to reach them, you have a great advantage over those who have but half your skill. Hence my theory that success is always with the angler who makes the longest casts.

I once saw this very strikingly illustrated in a broad pool in which two friends were fishing at the same time. They were anchored on either side, and there was "ample space and verge enough" for both. But one could never get out more than sixty feet of line, while eighty or ninety feet was an easy cast for the other. With this exception, both were equally expert, equally enthusiastic and equally familiar with the habits and dainty tastes of their coveted prey. But the long cast scored two to his neighbor's one, because he had practically two-thirds of the pool. It is always thus, and hence every angler either for trout or salmon, should, if possible, acquire the art of giving his line a long sweep.

But some never acquire this art. Most novices start out with the idea that it simply requires the