"The rivers of the North Shore of Lake Superior flow through a rough, granitic country, and are interrupted by numerous falls, many of which are highly picturesque.

"The coast is for the most part rocky, and the north shore is much indented by deep bays surrounded with high rocky cliffs. Countless islands are scattered along this coast, many of them rising precipitously to great heights directly from the deep water. Some present castellated walls of basalt, and some rise in granitic peaks to various elevations, up to 1,300 feet above the level of the lake. Nowhere upon our inland waters is the scenery so bold and grand as on the north shore of Lake Superior. The irregularities of the coast, with the general depth of water, afford numerous good harbors." {American Cyclopaedia, article "Superior.")

But if I dream thus of future joys of angling, and of nature's beauties, it is because I have already had a taste of them in the past.

My first memorable experience of this sort was as far back as in 1884, when I was one of a party of four who, in a well-manned and well-provisioned yacht, set forth to spend the month of July cruising in Lake Superior. We talked bravely on leaving Chicago of the Nepigon River as our objective point, and really did cherish some hopes, I think, of seeing its wild beauty, and letting our lines fall in its pleasant places for the sportive and toothsome creature, that is know to all honest and simple-minded anglers as Salvelinus fontinalis. But "the best laid plans of mice and men" don't always run our way, as we full soon found out. The early part of our trip was decorated by those highly-colored events that are always happening in books. We almost capsized during a sudden squall, when the green hands were on deck and the seasoned hands (I wonder if that is why they are called "old Salts"?) were below. We had numerous encounters with wild storms and ferocious and persistent winds, sufficient almost to supply Clark Russell with material for a new marine tale. Through it all, however, we passed safely, and managed, during one of the pleasant days, when we were making what our captain liked to call "a famous run," to catch, by trolling, a MackinawTrout of eight or ten pounds, this being in the neighborhood of the Manitou Islands, in Lake Michigan. This, mark you, good reader, was on the 7th or 8th of July--mighty close to the dog-days -when of all fish the "lakers" are supposed to be farthest removed from all proximity to anything but the most heavily leaded "leaders." But then that is water as is water, that is to be found from the Manitous northward-cold, clear, pure -fit home for such a fish. In it he can frolic, with no fears of fevers and kindred ills that sap his strength in warmer floods.

Once in Lake Superior, we headed to the north'ard with stout hearts and fond anticipations. We fed a long time on anticipations. A stiff head-wind made it too rough for any change to fish diet, and the only thing that was at all suggestive of such a change was an impertinent little island named "Leach," on the map, which tantaiizingly stuck to us for the greater part of the day, while we vainly endeavored to shake it off, and go our way. By sundown we realized the actual discomfort and possible danger to our little craft of spending the night in such a "nahsty" sea, and choosing discretion for our companion, we took the advice of Louis, our half-breed pilot (what a land-lubber of a pilot he was, even if he did know the shore!), and putting about, ran before the wind for Gargantua harbor, a haven of rest and perfect security-the most charming spot on all the north shore, I verily believe. How great our delight and ease of sailing was, none can tell, save they who have been in like good fortune with ourselves. We fled lightly before the pursuing wind and sea, and rapidly approached a shore that showed no outward sign of welcoming us in peace, but rose in majestic fir-crowned glory, where ever)' point seemed inhospitable, and everywhere the dashing surf beat itself out in long lines of snowy rage. Yet, even as we were ready to question the knowledge and the honesty of our dusky pilot, and trembled before a seeming danger, his course was justified, and there opened before us a narrow passage between two points of rock, beyond which lay a calm expanse of water, on which a navy might have ridden securely. Meantime our anglers had not been idle, but as we neared the land, had been guarding the trolling line, to try their luck with "lakers." Just as we made fast to our "wharfing privilege"-the virgin shore on one side the yacht, and four fathoms of water on the other-preparatory to that prosaic but very necessary conclusion of a day's labors, the supper, the last man at the line brought in a two-pound Brook Trout, a vara avis, indeed. We fell to wondering whether this was to be the custom of the land, but it was so unusual as to be unique; we caught no more of that kind of Trout in that kind of way.

But we did have some royal sport with the "lakers." Our captain, even, was roused from his daily "bath," and dreams of "magnificent runs" for our trim little craft; and, sallying forth amid the dews of the early morning, with "Louis" to paddle his canoe (or mine, for my birch-bark was common property through all our cruise), came home with a job-lot of fish, the biggest of which was "way up"-a good, clean "high hook," with 13^ pounds of "too, too solid flesh" to his credit. I, fortunately, was not far behind; "fortunately," I say, for thus the unkind and unhandsome feelings of envy or of jealousy were not aroused. It was a pleasure so Protean in form that no one joy eclipsed the others, to ride in the tiny birchen shell, that responded as surely to the lightest touch of Louis' deftly handled blade, as the clean-cut racer of the ocean to the pilot's will. In the early morning sunlight the blue waters reflected the clearer blue above, as they quivered beneath the kiss of the wooing breeze, and the frail craft traced its dainty way in and out among a thousand rock built islets that gemmed the waters, some barely breaking the placid surface of the lake, others towering precipitously to dizzy heights above us. It was a very primal hour, and savagedom most fitted it. The rude canoe, the dusky guide, the wild scene, drew vague curtains of immeasurable distance between civilization and me, and I was well content. It would have been an ever-new pleasure only to have floated thus, and dreamed; but as action is ever better than mere contemplation, except it be on the mysteries of divine love, it was fitting that our dreams should be often interrupted by the leap of the whirling spoon, and the sudden arch and spring of the rod, that tell of an unwilling captive, struggling to be set free. And then the contest-how it waged from side to side, now here, now yonder, never in doubt, thanks to the consummate skill of Indian-born Louis, and the trusty fibers that linked the angler to his prey, yet always attended with such delightful uncertainty as made its attractions only more piquant and fascinating. Mystery surrounded the captive's every movement. No glimpse of him was seen; only the tense line, and the swaying boat, and the springing rod, showed how and where the fight was being waged, until at last, one by one, the beautiful cold Trout were brought to gaff and the ultima tJntlc of all good fish, the angler's "string," by the combined efforts of Louis and myself. The results were not stupendous, since the largest fish weighed only nine or ten pounds, but what need had we of more? Our wants were fully met, and we had had a witching day. Its fragrant memory lingers yet with me, and I joy in recalling its incidents. Five long years have passed since then, and other scenes of action far more varied have followed; yet still my heart goes back with strong desire to those countless islands of the deep, and lofty, verdure-topped heights of inaccessible rock, and I would fain be there again, to float and dream, and dream and float, and lead the lotus-eater's life of ease.