82 Sporting Sketches 



a few sociable raccoons are holding a clam-bake at 

 the rear of a quiet cove. Muskrats are busy trad- 

 ing from port to port, while some, more adventu- 

 rous than their brethren, go gravely steaming in 

 the open and plough long, silvery furrows to dis- 

 tant shores. Fish are constantly leaping, and the 

 trained ear can detect the nervous upward shoot 

 and sounding fall of the flat-bodied bass, the lazy, 

 oily roll of the catfish, and the sharp strike of the 

 lance-like pickerel. 



The canoe makes no sound to interfere with one's 

 observations; in fact, the rasp of the Cicada is an 

 uproar in comparison with the velvety slide of the 

 silent craft. From start to finish of the voyage 

 attentive ears may catch secrets from air, tree, and 

 water, for nature is forever tattling to those who 

 have learned how to listen. Through all the varied 

 night voices thrills one mysterious note. The water 

 seems to quiver with it it never varies, and it 

 apparently comes from directly under the canoe. 

 Miles make no difference to that low, unvarying 

 grunt the endless drone of the fresh-water drum. 



