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Show FISHERMAN'S LUCK page, and winding up with that lure which the guides consider infallible,-"a Jock o' Scott that cost fifty cents at Quebec." But it was all in vain. I was ready to despair. At this psychological moment I heard behind me a voice of hope,-the song of a grasshopper: not one of those fat-legged, green-winged imbeciles that feebly tumble in the summer fields, but a game grasshopper,-one of those thin-shankcd, brownwinged fellows that leap like kangaroos, and fly like birds, and sing K ri-karee-lcaree-lcri in their flight. It is not really a song, I know, but it sounds like one; and, if you had heard that Kri-karee carolling as I chased him over the rocks, you would have been sure that he was mocking me. I believed that he was the predestined lure for that ouananiche; but it was hard to persuade him to fulfill his destiny. I slapped at him with my hat, but he was not there. I grasped at him on the bushes, and brought away "nothing but leaves." At last he made his way to the very edge of the water and poised himself on a stone, with his legs well tucked in for a long leap and a bold flight to the 48 It was my final opportunity. |