218 RECREATION. 
turned to trout fishing, and one of the mem- 
bers told of having read somewhere how 
a trout had been kept 6 months in a tank 
of water as an experiment, and when taken 
out at the end of that period weighed ex- 
actly the same as when put into the tank. 
The remarkable thing about it was that the 
trout had not been fed during that time, 
and an analytical test showed that there 
was nothing in the water on which it could 
subsist. te 
Mr. Stewart was naturally much inter- 
ested in the story and proceeded to tell of 
a remarkable experience of his own with a 
pet trout. Here is the story in his own 
words as nearly as I can remember them: 
“I once kept a trout in captivity a whole 
year,” said he, “and where, do you think ? 
In the water tank of a locomotive! I 
think it was in the summer of 1869 that 
I caught the fish, I was then a con- 
ductor on the New Brunswick Rail- 
way. We had stopped near a standpipe 
one day to take water, and while the boys 
were loading the engine I dropped a line 
into a brook near and landed a trout, which 
I should judge weighed about half a pound. 
It was the only fish I caught at the time, 
and as the train was getting ready to pull 
out one of the crew jokingly suggested that 
I put my catch into the locomotive tank, se 
it would have a chance to grow. I was fa- 
vorably impressed with the novel idea, and 
raising the cover dropped the fish into the 
water. You may not believe it, but the 
trout flourished and grew fat in that tank. 
It had a fresh supply of water at least half 
a dozen times a day, and during its 12 
months in captivity it increased in weight 
from half a pound to 2% pounds. We 
fished it out once in a while merely to see 
how it was getting along. It was always 
full of life and whenever the cover was 
removed from its prison it would come to 
the surface with a rush and play and splash 
about on top of the water. On one occa- 
sion it splashed water into the face of a 
new fireman, not on to the game, and al- 
most frightened him out of his wits. The 
train hands took a great liking to the fish 
and frequently dropped food to it from their 
dinner pails. No doubt their kindness was 
to a large extent responsible for the trout’s 
phenomenal growth. 
“Well,” said Mr. Stewart in conclusion, 
“the trout remained in the tank until some- 
thing happened to the locomotive, which ne- 
cessitated its being sent to the repair shop. 
The water was then drawn off, and one of 
the workmen, finding the trout, took it home 
and made a meal of it. During the trout’s 
captivity the locomotive was nearly always 
in use, averaging perhaps 150 miles a day, 
so the trout must have traveled nearly 5o,- 
ooo miles. R. P. A., Fredericton, N. B. 
THE PERCH OF THE GREAT LAKES. 
F, M. GREENLEAF, 
I have read with much interest many able 
articles written in praise of that most hunt- 
ed of God’s wild creatures, the game fish, 
and it seems to me that something equally 
interesting could be said concerning the 
less combative habitants of the water. 
Waukegan, Illinois, is a bustling little 
port on the shores of Lake Michigan. Al- 
though it now devotes most of its energies 
to manufacturing, in the days of old, when 
I regarded it as my own burgh, fishing 
was the chief industry. Well it might be, 
for the clean, pure water of old Michigan, 
cooled by breezes from the Northland, gave 
up healthy, firm fish such as we of the 
West seldom taste. 
To rise at 4 in the cool mornings of a 
hot summer, to grope through the wood- 
shed until your hand finally touched the 
old pole, to take the can of worms you 
dug the night before and scurry down the 
road to the lake, all this was pleasant in- 
deed; for out at the end of the long pier 
were the perch. 
A plain bamboo pole, big and long, 10 
feet of strong white line, a sinker, a hook 
and a wriggling worm. That was all; no 
reel, no flies, no landing net. You picked 
out an especially inviting pile for a seat 
and quietly dropped your line into the dark 
green water. Then there was a tug, a jerk. 
You gave a mighty heave upward, and with 
a last, despairing, resisting pull, out he 
came! 
A great lake perch! A big, clean fellow, 
with immaculate golden sides, a_ bristling 
array of fins, a beautiful silvery underside, 
and a firm feeling to the touch. Noth- 
ing dirty or slimy about him. He comes 
from the cold clear water of Lake Michi- 
gan. Below him is pure white sand, above 
him is God’s own air and sky. 
He breathes what we drink. He drinks 
what we breath. He is not “game” because 
it is his nature to be gentle, submissive. 
He lacks the defiant braggadocio of many 
of his brothers because of his personal 
character, not from the absence of strength 
or spirit. 
Tell me, you Nimrod, is the trout or bass 
a daintier or more toothsome morsel than 
a fried perch? Is the trout prettier? Is 
the bass cleaner? You think because you 
are’ fighting that trout, that he has a fair 
chance for his life. Why, Ill bet I lose 
as many fish with my yellow pole off that 
old pile pier as you do with your blue 
hackle fly and automatic reel when pitted 
against the despairing struggle of a lithe, 
strong brook trout! 
Here’s to the great lake perch! I honor 
him, I respect him, I might say I love 
him. I am no fish hog, yet I have caught 

