THE COMMODORE AND CREW. 301 

‘*What discordant sounds.” We do not agree; on the 
contrary, it harmonizes here, and upon all the lakes, most 
splendidly. Only listen to the echoes of the loon’s happy 
laugh, and his long note of call to his mate, and the far-away 
answer. Hear it all echoed and repeated, again and again, 
far back of the mountain beneath which you are camping. 
’Tis right royal music in the evening, over the calm waters, 
in this grand old ‘‘forestinal amphitheatre” (?). 
Our eagle is again sitting on the tallest pine, watching over 
all, and seems the fitting king, as he is, of all the feathered 
family living upon the shores, or that fly over these waters. 
To shoot him down in all his majestic pride and power, that 
fits him well, and he is worthy of, would seem to be an act of 
thoughtlessness; a deed committed by one wholly devoid of 
appreciation for what is beautiful to see on an outing, and we 
should pity the one having so little appreciation for a picture, 
so much more perfect with such living objects, all of interest 
and beauty. Shoot the eagles that each year nest at a lake, 
and chances are, five to one, that you will not see another there 
for years. They cannot do any harm here, except to take a 
few fish, which they should be welcome to when they are so 
plenty, more especially as they have to be satisfied with the 
roach mostly (the trout roosting too low generally ;) and ours 
never carry off any large sized babies. 
Far down the lake, by a small brook, we lay the canoe on 
shore and step out to have our luncheon. Lunch—eon. How 
cheery and welcome sounds the long drawn call, coming to 
the boys over the water from the companion detailed to 
make the coffee and cook the trout beside some little brook. 
Then leave off switching the stream, ‘‘ reel up,” put those last 
caught trout in the basket, put the grass over them again, 
