was continually getting caught in the shrubbery and rocks, until he came
to island No. 18. Here was a picnic party.

For reasons which the accompanying view may render obvious, Mr. P. and
his men declined the invitation of the picnickers to stop and join them.
The boat continued on until it reached the channel between islands No.
87 and No. 88, and there Mr. P. got out his lines and commenced to fish,
trolling his bait behind as the boat slowly sailed, under the hot sun,
among those lovely isles, where, to be sure, burning's half o' the
sport, but where "burning SAPPHO" would have lost herself utterly, and
probably have tumbled into some of the watery intricacies and have put
herself out.

Mr. P. did not have much luck at first. He caught one muskallonge, after
a period of patient waiting which he feels he also must call long, and
once, when he thought he was hauling in a fine bass, he turned very red
when the boatmen laughed at seeing him "cotch an eel." But after a while
he got a royal bite. He hauled in manfully, and although, owing to the
intricacies of the channel, he could not see what he had caught, he knew
it was a fine fellow from its weight. At last, after tremendous tugging,
he got it in over the stem.

It was one of the thousand islands!

What could be done now?

The steersman, who had slipped under a seat when he saw the great mass
above him, and the man who managed the sails, were both Canadians, and
after a great deal of excited talk, they agreed if Mr. P. would make it
worth their while, they would endeavor to put the island back in its