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!” 
