22 



RECREATION. 



dropping my bait wherever I thought there 

 was a possibility of landing a trout. I had 

 no success. I felt that trout fishing was a 

 sweet delusion, and, tired, discouraged and 

 heavy hearted, I was tempted to give up in 

 despair. I should have done so had I not 

 been fearful that my uncle would never 

 again take me with him. Therefore I kept 

 on fishing. 



I must have strolled for hours from one 

 part of the brook to another before I came 

 to a huge elm tree beneath whose twisted 

 roots there was a deep, black pool. I 

 noiselessly crept up behind the elm and 

 dropped my hook into the pool. Instantly 

 there was a tug at my line. How excited 

 I was! What a thrill of joy passed over 

 me! I jerked my line from the water as 

 hard as I could, expecting to have a trout 

 as large as a sucker on my hook. I fell 

 backward, my pole flew into the air, and 

 my hook caught among the overhanging 

 branches of the elm. There was no trout. 

 My hook must have caught on a root of 

 the tree. I sadly scrambled up and disen- 

 tangled my line from the elm's branches. 

 Then I re-baited my hook and again 

 dropped it into the pool. Again there was 

 a jerk at my line. Ah, it was not a root 

 that time, for I saw the gleaming sides of 

 a trout as he darted away beneath the tree. 



How he pulled ! I yanked my line from 

 the water and sent him flying from my 

 hook into the air. He landed on the sand 

 several yards from me, and near the banks 

 of the brook, which was, at that spot, shal- 

 low and narrow. I instantly dropped my 

 pole and ran for him, splashing through 

 the water, and when near him I fell on 

 him, just as he was about to flop into the 

 brook. 



I tenderly took up my trout and exam- 

 ined him. What a beauty ! He was as 

 delicately marked as a piece of rare china. 

 He was considerably over a foot long, I 

 felt sure, and must have weighed over a 

 pound. 



I cut a forked branch from a tree and 

 strung my trout on it. Hearing a noise 

 behind me, I looked around and there, 

 watching me, stood my uncle with a large 

 string of trout. 



"Well! Well!" he exclaimed. "Where 

 did you catch him? Why, he's bigger than 

 any I've caught today !" 



I told him. I was bursting with pride. 



"It beats me what luck these youngsters 

 have," he muttered as we wended our way 

 down the stream toward our boat. 



My weariness was gone, and I was one 

 of the happiest boys in the world, for I 

 had caught the biggest trout of the season. 



THE SEAGULL. 



EDITH M. CHURCH. 



AMATEUR PHOTO BY A. N. FLINN 



CURIOSITY NEARLY SATISFIED. 

 Winner of the 25th Prize in Recreation's 7th 

 Annual Photo Competition. 



Skimming the wave with pinions free, 

 Sailing far out o'er the restless sea ; 

 Soaring up to the bending sky, 

 Courting the cloudlets drifting by ; 

 Then down again till your snowy breast 

 Kisses the foam from the green wave's 



crest ; 

 Fearless and free you onward go, 

 Scorning the dangers that lurk below ; 

 With nothing to guide your onward flight, 

 Yet swift and sure you go through the 



night. 



And I, far out on life's great sea 

 Would guide my bark as fearless and free 

 Through wind and wave, nor turned aside 

 By gathering storm or treacherous tide. 

 Trusting the Power that marks your 



course 

 On the trackless sea, with compelling force 

 Will guide me through the storm and 



night, 

 'Till I see through the mists the harbor 



light. 



