118 FISHERMAN'S LURES 



as we appear on these occasions, crumpled hat 

 on one side, face and neck well coated with sticky 

 perspiration, tie and collar hanging at the back 

 instead of the front, indulging in sprightly gym- 

 nastics that would make a clown's fortune. All 

 these things would be saved unto us had we only 

 been provided with an artificial frog, and the 

 thought flashes through our mind: "What a darned 

 fool to forget such a treasure ! " 



The stout stick or pliable withe as the case 

 may be is brought down with such a whack on 

 the poor little beastie that if the aim were true, 

 surely it would drive it two inches into the soft 

 green sward. Sometimes the aim is true, but not 

 quick enough. Then, like the big drum man, we 

 begin to beat more savagely than ever, until our 

 weary bones ache with pain. We at last take a 

 rest and time enough to say to ourselves: "Come 

 now, this is no gentle angler," and patience re- 

 turns. We soon manage to strike lialf a dozen 

 enough to stun them. We quickly box the precious 

 though light burden, and about 3 p. M., get to 

 work fishing. 



But frogs are not the only live bait to vex the 

 placid angler; digging for lampreys is another 

 back-breaking, pleasing pastime. How cheerfully 



