CHAPTER XXXIV 



THE WALL-EYED PIKE 



NE attraction of the great river of the north, the 

 St. Lawrence, is its infinite variety and the im- 

 possibihty of exhausting its many charms. The 

 term, Thousand Islands, doubtless does the great 

 river an injustice, as there are many more. I have never 

 met any one who knew how many islands there are, but 

 every one knows their beauty and endless variety. They 

 range in size from one just large enough to step upon, to 

 almost principalities, like Westminster. I know a little one 

 not far from Clayton, just large enough to cast from, and 

 to hold your fire and camping outfit. I know this, as on 

 one happy day I lured a big bass from this region, a fish 

 that had been whispered about, season after season, like 

 the big tarpon of Aransas, with scales as large as dinner 

 plates and the eye of an ichthyosaurus. 



Indeed, the most exacting collector of islands can be 

 suited here, as they are of all kinds, sizes and conditions of 

 servitude ; no monotony here, as each has its peculiar charm. 

 Bill had a name for them all, and a little story to tell of this 

 one, where some old voyageur fished or camped, fought or 

 died. Indeed, there is a world of romance about the islands 

 which has never been exhausted, nor can it be entirely killed 

 by the modern man with a megaphone, who personally con- 

 ducts the summer tourist through these isles of enchantment 

 and makes and unmakes history with brazen tongue and 

 adamantine assurance. 



On my way home one afternoon, when Bill was rowing 

 slowly and we were drinking in the splendid colors of the 



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