mitted to the fascination; “and people would come from a very great distance to see such a sight as this!”
“Ah,” I thought, “I understand the life of this man. He has made a world of his own, which reserves for him her most extraordinary wonders!”
“But the fish!” the Canadian cried; “I don’t see any fish!”
“What does that matter,” replied Conseil, “since you do not know them.”
“I! why, I am a fisherman!”
And on this subject a discussion arose between the friends, for they knew the fish, but each in a different fashion.
Everybody knows that fishes form the fourth and last class of the vertebrate animals. They have been correctly defined as “vertebrates, with double circulation and cold blood, breathing by means of gills, and destined to live in water.” They form two distinct series—that of osseous fishes (that is to say, those whose dorsal fin is made of osseous vertebræ, and the cartilaginous fishes, whose dorsal fin is composed of cartilaginous vertebræ. The Canadian may have been acquainted with this distinction, but Conseil knew a good deal more, and now, bound in friendship to Ned, he could not hint that he knew less than himself. So he said:
“Friend Ned, you are a killer of fish, and a very skilful fisherman. You have captured a great number of those animals. But I will bet that you do not know how they are classed.”
“Indeed!” replied the harpooner. “They are classed as fish you may eat, and those you may not.”
“That is merely the distinction of a gourmand,”
