220 WOODLAND IDYLS. 



The spiny-rayed fishes of Raccoon Creek, for 

 which I mostly angle, are evidently wholly car- 

 nivorous in habit. Worms, grasshoppers, mus- 

 sels, minnows and other things of meat alone, 

 will tempt them. This morn I baited for them 

 with blackberries, both unripe bright red ones 

 and ripe black juicy ones, but nary a nibble did 

 I get. Then trying a piece of half rotten mussel 

 I caught a fine sunny in less than half a min- 

 ute. The tastes of fishes are therefore different 

 from those of man. Did blackberry canes hang 

 over the water and the ripe berries drop therein, 

 the sunnies might have beer; educated up to 

 berry eating, but as it is, meat only seems to 

 tempt them. 



Most of the dwellers along this part of the 

 creek valley are happy-go-lucky farmers. They 

 think no more of breaking a fish law than I of 

 uttering a cuss word when occasion demands. 

 When fish hungry they take a trammel-net, dip- 

 net, seine or spear and go out and get them. To 

 angle as do I with worm or grasshopper is be- 

 neath their calling. What they want is meat, 

 nof sport, and they take the quickest way of 

 getting it. While I seldom break a fish law, I 

 do not blame them for so doing. The creek runs 

 by the side of or through their farms. They see 

 other people come with rod and tackle and carry 

 away the best which the stream can offer. While 

 fish would probably be much more scarce, it is 



