The best August fishing in this section is to be found either in the streams or just where they empty into the lakes. Here the sprightly, always-up-and-doing brook trout furnish real sport. In the Chippeway River, outlet of Trout Lake, we made good catches, and where a spring brook empties into the lake, sport that met our highest desires was found. One spot on the river made an indelible impression. It was where the stream, rushing against a wall of rock, was sharply deflected, forming a deep and shaded pool. The timber grew so densely all about that it was seemingly impossible to fish this pool from the shore, and its depth made wading out of the question. By dint of much climbing and fighting with underbrush, the top of the rock was reached, from which point of vantage one could look down upon the pool and the big trout lying near the bottom. While the rod could not be used on account of the brush, it was possible to drop a line into the water from the over-hanging rock, and however unsportsmanlike this may have been, it was done with most satisfactory results. Eight large trout were pulled up, hand over hand, from this secluded retreat. The mouth of the cold brook yielded the largest returns of any one spot found during our stay. Just as the sun was going down, to send a cast of two or three flies dancing over this water was to be rewarded by doubles frequently, while rarely did the flies go untouched. Then back to the cabin and, after one of Edwards’ good suppers and a chat about the roaring fire, to bed and to the sleep that “knits up the ravelled sleeve of care” and sends one forth to the new day buoyant and rejoicing. ```_Full many a glorious morning have `````I seen ````Flatter the mountain-tops with `````sovereign eye, ```Kissing with golden face the `````meadows green, ```Gilding pale streams with heav- `````enly alchymy._ `````--William Shakespeare, `````_Sonnet XXII._ [Illustration: 0231] XVI. IN THE VALLEY OF THE DWYFOR [Illustration: 9231] HEN our steamer, the “Tunisian,” docked at Liverpool after a quick and pleasant voyage, the two brothers of my good friend and travelling companion, Dr. W., were waiting to greet him. It was something like half a century since my friend had left his home among the Welsh hills to devote his fine mind and loving heart to the ministry of Jesus Christ in America. Were this the place, one might write many a chapter concerning the faithfulness and fruitfulness of that ministry which has brought such priceless blessings to so many lives and helped so largely in building the Kingdom of God in the new world. However, it is of his early home rather than of the man, that we are to write just now.