Up at 6:45. Scarcely a cloud in the sky, and quite warm. Fitful northeasterly wind. Breakfast nine,- oatmeal, fried bull-heads, coffee. Broke camp at 9:30 and started down the river. About five miles down, while we were trolling, Fred unexpectedly hooked and landed a fine three-pound pickerel about a foot and a half in length. Trolled almost continuously all the way down the river, but had no further luck.

The further down we went, the more desolate the Raquette became, finally resolving itself into nothing more than a lumber canal, with low straight banks lined with enormous piles a regular intervals. Met but one boat with a solitary occupant, and two or three small boys, all the way down to Big Tupper. Got awfully sick of the monotony, and are glad there are not more such stretches of sterility, or we would soon tire of the woods.