ARROW-FISHING. 59 



however, are covered with innumerable bubbles, either 

 floating about, or breaking into little circling ripples. 



To the supcrticial observer, these air-bubbles mean 

 little or nothing; to the arrow-fisherman they are the 

 very language of his art ; visible writing upon the un- 

 stable water, unfolding the secrets of the depths below, 

 and guiding him, with unerring certainty, in his pur- 

 suits. 



Seat yourself quietly in this little skiff, and while I 

 paddle (juietly out into the lake, I will translate to you 

 these apparent wonders, and give you a lesson in the 

 simple language of nature. 



'- An air-bubble is an air-bubble," you say, and 

 " your fine distinctions must be in the imagination." 



Well ! then mark how stately ascends that large 

 globule of air ; if you will time each succeeding one by 

 your watch, you will find that while they appear, it is at 

 regular intervals, and when they burst upon the surface 

 of the water, there is the least spray in the world spark- 

 ling for an instant in the sun. Now, yonder, if you will 

 observe, are very minute bubbles that seem to simmer 

 towards the surface. Could you catch the air of the 

 first bubble we noticed, and give it to an ingenious 

 chemist^ he would tell you that it was a light gas, that 

 exhaled from decaying vegetable matter. 



The arrow-fisherman will tell you that it comes from 

 an old stump, and is denominated a dead bubble. That 

 " simmering " was made by some comfortable turtle, as 



