3i8 



The American Angler. 



where they were picked up by the 

 hundreds. Every spectator turned 

 fisherman. Men, women and children 

 joined in the sport. The fish were 

 mackerel. To escape the fate behind 

 them the school of maddened fish 

 dashed blindly up the beach, there to 

 be picked up by as an almost deadly a 

 foe as the one behind them. Thou- 

 sands of these mackerel were so taken, 

 and on the journey home nearly every 

 passenger on the train had some of 

 them. Some were strung on cords, 

 some in baskets, some in paper parcels. 

 The subject was one of conversation 

 with all on the journey home. Those 

 who happened to have been at another 

 part of the beach were disgusted, and 

 the expression "Oh! Why wasn't I 

 there ?" was heard on all sides. 



My old friend Jake Blenderman, of 

 Blenderman Brothers, loo West Street, 

 this city, is a good deal of a sportsman. 

 He loves to shoot in the field, has a 

 kennel of nice setters, and loves to fish 

 as well as he does to shoot, and that is 

 saying a good deal. Now Jake has a 

 big farm down in South Jersey, 

 although he never sees it until the 

 game season is open. Then he has 

 great fun with the woodcock, the quail 

 and with the cotton tails, these last 

 -numbered by the hundreds. A short 

 time ago Jake received word from his 

 farmer that, although he had hatched 

 out a big lot of ducklings, they had 

 disappeared one after another until not 

 over a dozen were left. He could not 

 account for the loss tmtil one Sunday, 

 about a month ago. A short walk 

 fiom the house is a lovely little sheet of 

 water about five acres in extent. The 

 farmer was standing at the edge of the 

 pond watching one of his little ones 

 splashing the water about, when he 



incidentally happened to raise his eyes, 

 and at the same moment the problem 

 was solved of how the ducklings 

 vanished without a trace being left as 

 to the manner of their disappearance. 

 A couple of rods out in the pond the 

 little group of young ducks were 

 swimming peaceably along. Suddenly 

 one of them went in under giving a 

 little startled quack as it sank from 

 view — almost before the enlarging 

 circles of rippling water had reached 

 the shore under went another. Ah! 

 the mystery solved, cried the farmer. 

 I must write to Boss Jake. As the 

 writer happened in Blenderman's when 

 that letter was being perused accounts 

 for this knowledge of the affair. There 

 were Tom Keller and Captain Cramer 

 and one or two inore. Ah ! boys, turtle 

 soup again this year. I thought I had 

 cleared out my pond of these cussed 

 snappers, but there they are again. 

 Who'll get me some hooks ? Snapping 

 turtle catchers. Some said ask Jack 

 Wright, of 8 Murray Street, he knows 

 as much about tackle as any man in the 

 trade. The writer knew Wright, so he 

 promised to get them for Jake. Wright 

 was seen. Snapping turtle hooks, what 

 do I know about turtles, they ain't fish? 

 Howell Wright looked over stock, and 

 soon found a fair sized hook with an 

 eye, and in that eye a length of stout 

 steel wire some six inches in length. 

 So a half dozen were sent down to 

 Blenderman's, and ever since then the 

 boys have been on the qui vivc for some 

 of that turtle soup Blenderman 

 promised them. He has been spoken 

 to about the matter several times, but 

 simply says: 



"Now you just wait. I have to 

 fatten those turtles just the same as the 

 farmer fattens his hog. How do I do 

 it ? You're asking too much, young 



