486 WILD SCENES AND WILD HUNTERS. 



Ego — " Yes ! in the name of mercy go anywhere — where 

 its cold — into Round Lake or Nova Zembla. Wish Round 

 Lake, Lake Pleasant and all the rest of your lakes were 

 boiling in the cauldron of Hecla, and I was sitting on an 

 iceberg to witness it — how I would rejoice to see the bleached 

 salmon tossed up on the bubbles !" 



Piscator — solemnly — " but then we should eat them without 

 the glory of capturing them alive. Unless I had felt them 

 play upon my tackle I should have no stomach for their 

 blanched sides. It is a wish unworthy a true brother of the 

 angle !" 



Ego — "Piscator, when you die, the Zodiac will be the 

 richer, for you will surely be translated into the sign of 

 the fish ! — to join the patriarchs who have gone before — 

 Walton, and Cotton, Mr. Secretary Bibb — when he does 

 go ! A breeze ! a breeze ! my kingdom for a breeze ! 

 George, let us away to Round Lake — this bad cannot be 

 made worse !" 



We pass into the narrow inlet, and the boat glides briskly 

 among the parched water lilies, the drooping flags and long 

 bowed grass. A half mile of its winding way, and we are 

 shot, with a long sweep of oars, into Round Lake. " Beau- 

 tiful ! beautiful!" — I exclaimed aloud — "What a scene of 

 fairie." 



Piscator — "Verily, it seems promising for trout here, at 

 last, George. They are known to bite on this deep water 

 such days as this ?" 



Ego — "No, unfortunate Piscator — you may rest assured 

 never ! They would scald their noses if they came near 

 enough the surface to strike, even here." 



George — with a sly evasion — " It requires a breeze, sir, 

 for them to bite most any time !" 



Piscator — " Here goes with another shiner — breeze or no 

 breeze, we must have a trout for dinner ! Would that I had 

 my hook of flies !" 



