124 



The American Angler 



happen the chub have grown and flour- 

 ished beyond the scope of any fishing 

 memo, ever made by us. 



" We remember a little illustrative in- 

 cident that occurred some five years ago 

 while on a flying visit to our family, 

 who were housed but not homed at a 

 farm-house in the lower part of Chester 

 County, in this State. We were making 

 our first visit, leaving the city on Friday 

 for a sojourn until Monday, and, as it 

 has been our custom, which we can not 

 reform if we tried, to take our bundle 

 of light rods and fly-book with us 

 wherever our steps tended, we landed 

 beneath the capacious porch armed and 

 equipped for fishing. As our family 

 kiss was being distributed, we were 

 somewhat startled and even dismayed 

 upon hearing : 



" ' La, pop ! why if he hisn't going to 

 fish, is he ? There be'n't a fish this side 

 of the Delaware, is they ?' 



" We looked and saw a pleasant but 

 odd-featured old dame, whose best 

 quality — and one she prided herself 

 upon — was plain, outspoken talk, at 

 least so we were told as soon as the 

 season of marital conference and confi- 

 dence came in. 



" To cut our story short, we started 

 out with the children the next morning 

 after breakfast on our hunt for fish, 

 after being duly informed that ' thar 

 war nothing but mud-dabblers in the 

 creek.' We found the creek to be a 

 ditch, and passed on, learning from our 

 two boys that a little stream ran through 

 the meadows and woods about a mile 

 from the farm-house. This brook we 

 found to be from ten to fifteen feet 

 wide, the waters of which were quite 

 cold, and about three feet in depth in 

 the deepest pools. 



"Approaching its banks not a fin 

 could be seen, except here and there a 

 tadpole wriggling itself into the mud. 



Passing along to the next opening in 

 the dense brush that lined the banks, 

 we halted about twenty feet from the 

 margin of the stream, and flung a black- 

 and-red hackle clean and clear upon the 

 tail of a little rapid that gurgled over 

 the stones in the middle of the brook, 

 subsiding in a sand-bottomed pool be- 

 low. Instantly the water seemed to be 

 alive with jumping fish, and we landed 

 two, taking care to kill them above 

 the pool, and hiding ourselves behind a 

 bush as we did so. We found our fish 

 to be fine firm-fleshed chubs, one of 

 eight and one of eleven inches. We 

 fished until noon, repeating our first 

 experience, and had our large creel 

 well filled with about four dozen chubs, 

 none of which rated less than eight, and 

 soine as high as fourteen inches in 

 length. Our readers can picture the 

 astonishment of our farmer hosts when 

 the fish were spread upon the grass for 

 inspection. We remember but one re- 

 mark, and that came from the matter- 

 of-fact old lady : 



" ' I declare, pop, if he hain't got a 

 mess ! Never seed the like afore ! 

 'Nuff for breakfast, ain't it, pop ?' 



" We went down to that old farm 

 every Friday for a month with like suc- 

 cess, and we halt not in affirming that 

 our many mountain trips for trout, and 

 journeys for bass on our two noble 

 rivers, the Schuylkill and Delaware, 

 yielded no greater pleasure than we 

 gathered from those virgin chub waters. 

 Our experience can be duplicated by 

 any angler, on any small stream easily 

 reached in an hour from Philadelphia." 



Chub will take a lure of almost any 

 description, when offered them under 

 proper conditions — grasshoppers, earth- 

 worms, pastes of flour and honey, cereals, 

 ripe berries, cherries, grubs, raw meat, 

 trolling-spoons, live minnows, etc. ; all 

 are serviceable. Being of the carp — 



