quarry as he disappeared in the waters of the river. The performance was so unexpected and so soon over that not a shot was fired. For many years the Indian River country has been a prime favourite with those who visit Florida. The so-called river is really a long, narrow arm of the sea, and at some points, a walk of five minutes brings one from the river to the ocean. The soil along this river is exceedingly fertile, and some of the finest orange groves in the state are found at Rock Ledge and farther south. This body of water furnishes ideal conditions for sailing, hunting and fishing, and nothing can be more delightful than a cruise of a few days with congenial companions. We hired a sharpie, a flat-bottomed sailboat of such light draft that it is commonly said of it that it “will sail in a dew,” and with a generous supply of oranges on board set off from Rock Ledge towards the south. Some fishing, some duck-shooting, much idling and orange eating, served to make the days pass like a happy dream. When night came it was not difficult to find some winter-hotel with comfortable accommodations. Not infrequently night had fallen before we reached the desired haven, and the water would turn to silver as the mullet darted here and there before the slow-moving boat. One day we anchored at the mouth of the Banana River, that members of the party who had never seen the ocean, might walk across the narrow spit of land that separates between the river and the Atlantic. One of the company, to whom the sea was no novelty, elected to remain on board, moved to this decision, in part at least, by the fact that he had secured some bait the night before that as yet he had been unable to use. Left to himself, he began operations at once, and soon landed a seven-pound channel bass. This seemed pretty good to the lone fisherman, but he had no sooner put on a fresh piece of mullet and thrown out than another tug at his line assured him that “the best is yet to be.” Despite the angler’s most skilful manipulations that fish had its own way at first. It went down, down, until the anxious fisherman saw that the line remaining on the reel must be measured by inches. Then it decided upon a reversal, and came up so rapidly that only by reeling madly was the line kept taut. After that the fish took a notion to circumnavigate the boat, which he proceeded to do in spite of protests from the fisherman. When one is fishing from a row-boat with anchor safely stowed away in the bow, there can be no serious objections urged if the fish decides to describe a circle about the boat; but on a sail-boat at anchor, the case is radically different. It is not easy to manipulate your rod successfully under the anchor rope, crawl under the boom, keep clear of the rudder, and never, for a second, give the fish the least slack line. One such experience is more than enough, and when that fish repeated the performance three times he almost exhausted the fisherman’s patience.