FISHERMEN'S OWN BOOK. 



125 



the bait, but generally a big shark will nose it once or twice, and then suck 

 it up and move off, swallowing the bait as he goes. You want to give him 

 about fifteen feet of rope, and when he hauls the line taut all jerk together. 

 Then the work commences — fun some people call it. As soon as he feels 

 the hook he makes a big rush that will often start ten or fifteen men, and 

 I've seen five jerked right into the water on the start. Up and down he 

 goes, sometimes jumping into the air and trying to shake out the hook, and 

 some old fellows will swim right for you and try to bite the line. In India 

 they catch the sharks for their fins and send them to China, where they 

 make them into soup." 



In an interesting article on shark fishing, in Frank Leslie's Illustrated 

 Newspaper, we learn that the "capacity of some of these sea-wonders is 

 enormous. The writer caught one at Tortugas, Fla., that weighed about 

 900 pounds. It was a white shark, and for a long time had lived around 

 the slaughter-house located on the edge of the channel. It took about 

 twenty men to get him in ultimately. In the stomach was found the skull 

 and horns of a steer that had been thrown over the day before, three hoofs, 

 besides a heterogeneous mass of old rope, seaweed, and two or three old tin 

 cans that perhaps retained some of the meats that had been packed in 

 them. The jaw was saved. It had eight rows of serrated teeth, and fitted 

 over a man's body easily. It is now in the Museum of Natural History, 

 Central Park. The fossil sharks of the tertiary period grew to an enormous 

 length, exceeding 150 feet. At Charleston, S. C, their teeth are found bur- 

 ied in vast quantities, some measuring seven inches in length. A horse and 

 cart could easily have driven into the mouths of these monsters, that were 

 fitting representatives of the age of expansion in which they lived. 



NO MORE SEA. 



BY s. G. r>. 



We wandered hand in hand that day, 

 Beside the calm, bhie sea. 

 The smiling, sunlit sea; 

 The waters murmured at our feet, 

 The world was fair, and life was sweet, 

 The hours sped by on pinions fleet, — 

 He told his love for me ! 



Alone I walk the shore to-night, 



Beside the stormy sea, 



The wildly tossing sea ; 

 The watery waste is one vast grave ; 



sweeping surf ! O moaning wave I 

 What far-off, dreary, sunless cave 



Keeps back my love from me ? 



The tides come in, the tides go out, — 



But nevermore the sea, 



The restless, fickle sea, 

 Brings back my love. Yet, hand in hand, 



1 know my love and I shall stand, 

 Some blissful day in that fair land, 



Where there is no more sea ! 



