260 DAYS IN THE OPEN 



a bee-line was made for the house of his friends 

 that he might have company in his rejoicing. 

 Passing along the street, proudly dangling the big 

 trout from an alder sprout, he was met by a man 

 who stopped to admire the fish. 

 " Where did you catch him ? " 

 " Down at the bridge. I snared him." 

 " Snared him ? Don't you know that's illegal ? " 

 When the good-natured man, who had not for- 

 gotten that he was once a boy, had explained that 

 snaring a trout laid one liable to fine or imprison- 

 ment, a scared, small boy sneaked by back-ways, 

 and with the trout carefully hidden under his 

 jacket, to the home of his friends. Heretofore 

 game laws had not entered into his scheme of life. 

 He was worried and unhappy; but nothing hap- 

 pened. 



Every fisherman has his favourite lure for bass. 

 Some put their trust in frogs, others swear by 

 minnows. The crawfish, dobson, fly, spoon, worm, 

 lamprey, pork-rind, and almost innumerable other 

 supposed attractions, each has its enthusiastic 

 champions. But what will you do when all these 

 fail? It came pretty near being that question 

 which was faced by the boy who sought to cap- 

 ture the big bass lying under the Erie Canal bridge. 

 On sunny days one could stand on the bridge and 

 see a score or more of bass resting near the bot- 

 tom of the canal, but this particular fish, of alder- 



