TOO FISH: THEIR HABITS AND HAUNTS. 



in his venison stews, and the quantity that 

 disappeared before our keen appetites is 

 almost beyond belief; those of my friends 

 who have spent any time in the woods need 

 not be told of this. 



Wednesday we all went round the lakes, 

 each in his own canoe. We broke the 

 stillness by shouting to each other to wake 

 the echo, and a wonderful one it was. Echo 

 Lake in the White Mountains has not so 

 fine an echo. We spent our evening in 

 the light of a full harvest moon. J. would 

 call the echo, while the rest of us would 

 drift lazily with the wind and imagine 

 ourselves in Venice. What moonlight ! J. 

 was never tired of hearing the Indians sing 

 in their language, and of listening to the 

 echo. So passed our time, with no care or 

 thought of the morrow. We also stopped 

 for a short time at the deserted loggers' camp, 

 when, with our camera, we took some fine 

 pictures of place and friends. As for our 



