264 
and diagrams. Part VII., just issued, treats 
of the various American catfishes of fresh and 
salt water. 
Accompanying each part are two remarkably 
life-like portraits of fishes, which are triumphs 
of artistic and lithographic skill. The orig- 
inals of these portraits were painted by Mr. 
J. L. Petrie from living fish caught by Mr. 
Harris, and reproduced by the artist on his 
easel close athand. In no other way could be 
obtained an accurate delineation of the specific 
markings and the evanescent tints which, in 
most species, fade or alter in tone soon after 
they are taken from the water. The pictures 
are first painted in oil, then lithographed on 
stone in colors, of which as many as fifteen 
different tints have been required to reproduce 
the exact tone and mellow transfusion of color 
so frequently seen in many species of fish 
when living. So closely has the oil effect 
been followed that an expert can hardly dis- 
tinguish the lithograph from the original paint- 
ing. With Part VII. are lithographs of a 
striped bass, caught and painted at Riverdale, 
N. Y., and a small-mouth black bass, caught 
and painted at Greenwood lake. Over 100 
game fishes have been selected, of which color 
portraits will be given in the forty numbers of 
which the series will ultimately consist.” 
[Part VIII. of this work is now ready for 
delivery, and Parts IX. and X, will be issued 
this month—September. ] 

A Lady Goes Sharking. 
Sharks seem to have always been plentiful 
off the northeast coast of Nantucket Island, 
and fishermen who have grown tired of the 
milder sport of ordinary fishing, and are not 
even satisfied with bluefish, seldom fail to 
bring to the surface one of these ‘tigers of 
the sea,” if the skipper who takes them out is 
at all acquainted with the coast and wants to 
go where they are. 
It was a desire to bring in a shark, I think, 
more than anything else, which took us to 
Nantucket, and on reaching the quaint old 
town, which looks as if it rose gradually out 
of the sea, we hunted up a skipper, and in- 
quired if he knew where any sharks could be 
found, and if there was any probability of our 
getting some. He replied: ‘‘The bottom out 
there is lined with them; I don’t think you 
will have any trouble getting some.” 
He was instructed to have tackle, bait and 
everything ready to start at 7 next morning, 
The American Angler 
and when the time came, we boarded his cat- 
boat and were soon on the way. A delightful 
sail of seven miles took us out of the sound, 
and three miles more, in the open ocean, found 
us on the shark grounds. 
The tackle used for sharking is certainly 
not designed to deceive, and if it were not 
that he wants to swallow everything he sees, 
the shark might enjoy the luxury of his ocean 
home, and live to the ripe old age of other 
despots of the deep. (Whales are said to live 
1,000 years.) The line used to catch sharks is 
an ordinary clothes line, and should be new. 
The hook is made of a steel rod (¥ in.) eighteen 
inches long, attached to a one-inch chain two 
feet long, to prevent the shark biting it in 
two. 
On reaching the grounds, we anchored in 
about five fathoms, or thirty feet, of water. We 
put half a bluefish upon one hook and three 
good-sized fish heads upon another, and threw 
them out from opposite sides of the boat, then 
awaited developments. 
‘‘How do you land one when you get it on 
your hook ?”’ asked one of the party. 
‘“We haul them alongside and generally 
hammer them over the nose with this bat,’’ 
said the skipper, producing a baseball bat. 
“That stuns them, and then we kill them; 
‘some shoot ’em.”’ 
We were prepared for both means of war- 
fare. The baseball crank of the party was to 
wield the bat, and was dubbed ‘‘ Casey”’ for 
the occasion. I was to try my hand at shoot- 
ing every time the fish showed himself, while 
the other man of the party was to haul in, as- 
sisted by the skipper and his mate. 
During the first ten minutes we expectantly 
watched the lines. . 
The great ocean, spreading out before our 
unaccustomed eyes, on which was a light 
‘that never was on sea or shore,” gave to us 
all thoughts that were unspeakable, but that it 
were well if they could be spoken; thoughts 
of noble deeds, of beauty, of duty, of truth, of 
the nobility of life as given to man alone. 
The wind had now died down. The noise 
of the surf, breaking upon the beach, sounded 
like a hundred freight trains at a great dis- 
tance. The silence was broken by the man 
who held one line, saying: 
««There is something at my hook.” 
«Let him alone,” said the skipper. 
This brought a transformation on board in 
much less time than it takes to write it. 
