My client
asked me privately what I thought of it, and I told him that, if Mr.
Sprague had said he was going to sing it in an infernal way, he would
have been nearer the truth."
"Your language is strong, my friend. The late Mr. William Basse, as you
designate him, would not have condescended to the use of such terms."
"Faith, the language isn't made that's too bad for Ortonville. You've
got a big one this time, Wilks, my boy--play him!"
The dominie succeeded in bringing in his fish, a big fellow, between a
pound and a-half and two pounds in weight, on which he gazed with
delight, as the lawyer unhooked it, and deposited it, with a smart rap
on the head, at the bottom of the canoe.
"Is that a trout, Corry?" the Dominie asked with eager pride.
"No; it's not a brook or speckled trout, for it has no speckles, and
it's not a relative of the late William Basse, for it isn't deep enough
in the body, nor a perch, for it's too big and has no stripes. It's
either a salmon trout or a pickerel, Wilks."
"Is there not some fable about the latter fish?"
"Yes; old Isaac says that it's produced from the pickerel weed, the
Pontederia, that should be coming into flower about now.
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