one, two, three and four-pound trout, and until (after floating below the shallow water) I was "brought up all standing" by the remark of my Indian canoe-man : "Trout plenty no more. Salmon pool here. If he should rise, trout-rod no good." My first impulse was to go immediately back to camp, and I had given the order to that effect when a grunt of surprise from my swarthy friend who could not comprehend how any one could enter a salmon pool and leave it unfished -induced me first to hesitate, then to countermand the order, and then to appease my conscience by the remark: "Well, I will make a few casts by way of practice." No sooner said than down went the anchor at the head of what I afterward learned was one of the best pools on the river. As I seized my great salmon rod-which seemed like a cedar beam after the eight-ounce switch with which I had been fishing—and began to gradually extend my cast, I felt as I suppose the raw recruit feels when he first hears the rattle of the enemy's musketry, or as some very timid men feel when, for the first time, they stand up before a great multitude of free and independent electors to entertain and enlighten them with those profound ebullitions of wisdom and those brilliant bursts of eloquence which are commonly considered the all-sufficient and matter-of-course ingredients of a

stump speech. I had reached a cast of perhaps fifty feet, in a direct line, and was watching my fly as intently as ever astronomer watched the unfoldings of a newly discovered planet, when a monster head emerged from the water, and with distended jaws-disclosing his red gills so distinctly as to make his throat look, to my excited imagination, like a fiery furnace—made a dash (which seemed like the splurge of a sea-horse) for my fly. It was my duty, of course, to accept the challenge and "strike" at the right moment and so hook my fish and take the chances for the mastery. But I had no more power to "strike" than if every limb and nerve and muscle was paralyzed. My rod remained poised but motionless, and I stood gazing at the spot where the apparition appeared, in speechless amazement, while the fly — which had, for a single moment, been buried in that great open sepulchre -reappeared upon the surface quite unconscious of the terrible ordeal through which it had passed. I do not know that any one could have "knocked me down with a feather" at that particular moment; but I do know that I never before came so near "going off in a faint," or found a cup of cold water more refreshing. I had heard of those who had had the "buck fever," and I shall hereafter have more sympathy and greater respect for them, for I undoubtedly had the malady in its most ag

gravated form, and felt, as my astonished guide said I looked, "pale as a ghost."

But this state of ridiculous semi-stupor lasted but for a moment. The slight twitch I felt as the fly slipped from the mouth of the fish operated like the sound of a trumpet. Every nerve tingled and the blood leaped through my veins as if every drop was an electric battery. In a very few moments, however, I was myself again. I had marked the spot where the fish had risen, had gathered up my line for another cast, had dropped the fly just where I desired it to rest, when, like a flash, the same enormous head appeared, the same open jaws revealed themselves, a swirl and a leap and a strike followed, and my first salmon was hooked with a thud, which told me as plainly as if the operation had transpired within the range of my vision, that if I lost him it would be my own fault. When thus assured, there was excitement but no flurry. My nerves thrilled and every muscle assumed the tension of well tempered steel, but I realized the full sublimity of the occasion, and a sort of majestic calmness took the place of the stupid inaction which followed the first apparition. My untested rod bent under the pressure in a graceful curve; my reel clicked out a livelier melody than ever emanated from harp or hautboy as the astonished fish made his first dash; the tensioned line emitted

æolian music as it stretched and stiffened under the strain to which it was subjected; and for fifty minutes there was such giving and taking, such sulking and rushing, such leaping and tearing, such hoping and fearing, as would have “injected life into the ribs of death," made an anchorite dance in very ecstacy, and caused any true angler to believe that his heart was a kettle drum, every sinew a jews harp, and the whole framework of his excited nerves a full band of music. And during all this time my canoe rendered efficient service in keeping even pace with the eccentric movements of the struggling fish. "Hold him head up, if possible," was the counsel given me, and "make him work for every inch of line." Whether, therefore, he took fifty yards or a foot, I tried to make him pull for it, and then to regain whatever was taken as soon as possible. The result was an incessant clicking of the reel, either in paying out or in taking in, with an occasional flurry and leap which could have been no more prevented than the on-rushing of a locomotive. Any attempt to have suddenly checked him by making adequate resistance, would have made leader, line or rod a wreck in an instant. All that it was proper or safe to do was to give to each just the amount of strain and pressure it could bear with safety — not an ounce more nor an ounce less; and I believe that I measured the pressure so

exactly that the strain upon my rod did not vary half an ounce from the first to the last of the struggle.

Toward the close of the fight, when it was evident that the "jig was up" and I felt myself master of the situation, I took my stand upon a projecting point in the river, where the water was shallow and where the most favorable opportunity possible was afforded the gaffer to give the struggling fish the final death-thrust, and so end the battle. It was skillfully done. The first plunge of the gaff brought him to the green sward, and there lay out before me, in all his silver beauty and magnificent proportions, MY FIRST SALMON. He weighed thirty pounds, plump, measured nearly four feet in length, was killed in fifty minutes and afforded me more pleasure than any event since-well, say since Lee surrendered. As he was thus spread out before me, I could only stand over him in speechless admiration and delight-panting with fatigue, trembling in very ecstacy, and exclaiming with good old Sir Izaak: "As Dr. Boteler said of strawberries, Doubtless God could have made a better berry, but doubtless God never did;' and so, if I may judge, God never did make a more calm, quiet, innocent recreation than angling."

This victory was a surfeit for the morning. With other fish in full view, ready to give me a repetition