The Angling Cyclist 
Fish and Two Fishers,’ you put the Master 
as he showed the Tyro how to catch ‘Old 
Fin.’ I caught, then and there, three bronze- 
backers of 144, 2 and 2% pounds each, and it 
was on our old-fashioned dressed flies of sober 
hues, the turkey-brown prevailing. Nonsense 
to talk to me of new combinations of feathers 
when I find that the old patterns of a score of 
years ago kill on this water and all others I 
have visited for nearly half a century, better 
than the new-fangled ones. 
‘‘T spent two hours at our ancient stamping 
ground, and then bowled away over a fine 
macadamized road, of light grades, to that cosy 
hostelry at Royers Ford, where for many a 
summer we rested after our bouts with the 
bass. The dear old landlady was not there to 
greet me. Peace to her ashes! Stabling my 
pedalling steed, I rigged up my tackle and 
walked thirty yards to the pool above the 
bridge. You rememberit, for it was there you 
told, or did not tell, the biggest fish yarn of 
your life; how you saw a black bass in the 
shallows of this pool come thirty feet after 
your fly, and take it as it fluttering fell upon 
the surface. From this pool I took three more 
black bass of over a pound weight each. 
““T then remounted my pneuniatic iron steed 
and coursed it over a fine country road two 
miles, to where our old fishing box stood in 
1880. It was ona high bluff, you know, and 
the Schuylkill lapped its base, which it still 
does, but not even a hemlock splinter is left to 
remind one of the shanty where we passed so 
many happy days. I dismounted, leaving my 
wheel on the bank opposite the old fish weir, 
and waded across to the western side of it, 
where on the shallow white beach I could see 
the jumping minnows affrighted and frantic 
over the feeding rushes of the black bass, and 
just there I passed the grandest hour of my 
life, catching six big fellows nearly two pounds 
each. After this great experience I felt as if I 
had had enough of sport to round up the day, 
and well for me that it was so, for when I 
reached Yankee Dam, a few hundred more 
vards up the river, I found the water covered 
with country rods and baits floating and 
daping in every direction. And so I came 
back to Philadelphia, absent from there just 
fourteen hours, five of which were spent 
wheeling and the balance at meals and on the 
stream. It cost me just $1.25.” 
[Thanks, old chum for this reminiscence. It 
recalls halcyon days, when “sculls” (peace to 
269 
his ashes), Mal. Shipley, and you, and I had 
daily bouts with the lordly bronzebackers of the 
Schuylkill. I am glad to hear that they still 
loiter among its pools and feed in the gloaming. 
I hope to be with you before the season ends 
with another “jagged, worn-out fly,” with its 
characteristic “stearn-wheel steamer wake.”— 
Wie Gx EL] 
Prices in 1896. 
It is the same old history repeating itself 
commercially as well as historically. Given a 
demand for anything that man or woman uses, 
and the supply at once comes to even up 
things. Perhaps this rule has never been so 
exceptionally illustrated than in the case of 
the manufacture of bicycles and the demand 
for them, and while wheels could not be man- 
ufactured this year quickly enough to supply 
the people who wanted them, there is no such 
condition to fear next year. In every section 
new manufactures are springing up, and every 
man, woman or child who wants one can get it 
in 1896 on order at once. 
This condition is apt to lead to the intro- 
duction of many worthless wheels, for the ma- 
jority of people, especially those in moderate 
circumstances, who have a yearning beyond 
control for a bicycle, will buy one of any qual- 
ity so long as the price comes within their 
means, and the machine looks ‘‘O. K.” to their 
eyes. The craze is on them, and the pedalled 
horse they must have. 
But it is to the manufacturer of the best 
class of wheels that the big reward will come 
as the seasons pass and the demand grows. 
It will be like it is with all good things—‘ the 
best is the cheapest in the long run,” and a 
badly constructed wheel will illustrate this 
axiom more speedily than any other article 
ever placed in the market. So we say to man- 
ufacturers: Persevere in your efforts to give 
the strongest and the smoothest riding wheel 
that money and skill can make, and the market 
is yours, if the price is fair and not prohibitive 
to nine persons out of ten. Zhe Wheelman 
has an article on this subject from which we 
quote: 
‘‘What will the price be next year?” That 
query is being drummed into the ear pretty 
early, but it goes to show a certain feverish 
anxiety. And for a wonder the question is 
being agitated more by the old concerns than 
by the new ones—possibly the latter are too 
busy planning to bother about such a thing as 
the price. 
