er of a hundredweight or so of them,
ranging from 2 lb. to 5 lb.

But after a quarter of an hour with the frog, Ben pronounced the
absolute uselessness of remaining any longer. While he was operating I
had fixed up my most useful portmanteau-rod with its fly-fishing tops,
and with a sea-trout collar, and a small, silver-bodied salmon fly cast
over the open spaces. This was no more successful than the frog, and
we, as a matter of fact, caught nothing at all that evening. These
green bass take the bait voraciously ("like so-and-so bull-dogs," Ben
assured me) when they are sporting, and haunt these reedy coppices in
incredible numbers. As with the 'lunge so with the bass. I should say
that with proper appliances and some approach to a skilful method, the
arm, on a favourable day, would ache with the slaughter. One of the
canoes next morning at breakfast time brought in a couple of these fish
of about a pound weight. They were dark green in colour, fitted up
with a big mouth and a spiny dorsal fin, and had all the burly
proportions of a perch, minus the hog-shaped shoulders.

That same day two Port Perry gentlemen, keen and good anglers both,
left their homes and businesses to drive me and friend A. in a pair
horse buggy some nine miles across country to a fishing house belonging
to a club of which they were members. Indeed, they were part
proprietors, for more and more in Canada every bit of water that is
worth the acquisition is taken up for preservation. The club consists
principally of professional and business men from Toronto, and the
doctors are a large proportion. For the sake of a couple of ponds, and
the facilities for damming others out of a picturesque valley, these
sportsmen had formed themselves into a company, and bought up some
hundreds of acres of land. Their house was a wooden one-storied
building in the middle of a fine orchard and garden, and outside the
front veranda, where you sat in squatter chairs to smoke the pipe of
peace away from the noise of civilisation, there stood a discarded punt
converted into a bed of gloriously blooming petunias. It was an ideal
spot for week-end outings. The pond nearest the clubhouse had once
served the business of a mill long abandoned, and it was full of sunken
logs and of fontinalis--always spoken of in Canada as speckled trout,
and the same, of course, as the "brook trout" of the States. They were
said never to rise to a fly, and they are fished for w