and the reel should be stronger and higher geared than the common fly reel.  Three hundred feet of line are necessary, for the fish, if he is a large one, will sometimes determine upon a long flight, and it will not do to exhaust your line in his career.  In that case, he will snap it like a pack-thread.  An English bass rod is the best, and with such, and a large triple action reel, the largest fish of these lakes may be secured.

Smith had trolled scarcely a quarter of a mile, when his hook was struck by a trout, and then commenced a struggle that was pleasant to witness.  No sooner had the fish discovered that the hook was in his jaw, than away he dashed towards the middle of the lake.  The rod was bent into a semicircle, but the game was fast; with the butt firm between his knees and his thumb pressing the reel, the sportsman gave him a hundred and fifty feet of line, when his efforts began to relax, and as Smith began to reel him in, a moment of dead pull, a holding back like an obstinate mule occurred.  The trout was slowly towed in the direction of the boat.  Then, as if maddened by the force which impelled him, he dashed furiously forward, the reel answering to his movements and the line always taught, he rose to the surface leaping clear from the water, shaking his head furiously as if to throw loose the fastenings from his jaw.  Failing in this, down he plunged fifty feet straight towards the bottom, making the reel hiss by his mad efforts to escape.  Still the line was taught, pressing always, towing him towards the boat at every relaxation.  At last he rose to the surface, panting and exhausted, permitting himself to be towed almost without an effort, to within twenty feet of his captors.  When he saw them, all his fright and all his energies too seemed to be restored, and away he dashed, sciving through the water a hundred and fifty feet out into the lake.  But the hook was in his jaw, and he could not escape.  After half an hour of beautiful and exciting play, he surrendered or was drowned, and Smith lifted him with his landing net, a splendid ten-pound trout, into his boat.  By this time the shadows of twilight were gathering over the lake, and he came ashore.  A proud man was Smith, as he lifted that fish from the boat and handed it over to the cook to be dressed for breakfast, and though we had seen the whole performance from our tents, yet he gave us in glowing and graphic detail the history of his taking that ten-pound trout.

“Captain,” said Hank Wood, who had been quietly whitling out a new set of tent pins, addressing Smith, “you had a good time of it with that trout, but it was nothing to an adventer of mine with an old mossy-back, on this lake, five year ago this summer.”

“How was that?” inquired Smith; and we all gathered around to hear Hank Wood’s story.