344 
or to an instinctive greediness in the fish, 
I thought of a plan to catch the famous 
denizen of Elm pool. I would take ad- 
vantage of this peculiar characteristic of 
big trout and bait my hook with another 
and smaller trout, and thus get him to bite 
from jealousy if he wouldn't from hunger. 
Anyway, I meant to give the idea a good 
test. 
Next day’s sunset found me nearing Elm 
pool. Besides the usual fishing parapher- 
nalia, I carried a small pail containing a 
lively 6-inch trout. 
I waded the stream down to within easy 
throw of the hole and deposited my pail on 
a flat rock. Then I gave my tackle a final 
examination and baited on the little trout. 
I must confess that I doubted the success 
of the experiment as I hooked the youngster 
through just behind the dorsal fin and 
watching him go wriggling down the cur- 
rent into the pool. The poor fellow seemed 
to understand his danger, for he made fran- 
tic efforts to swim back up stream. For a 
minute I watched the line as the bait 
dragged it about. Suddenly it swept toward 
the high bank with a strong, easy motion 
and I knew that something had taken the 
bait. 
A minute passed and during that short 
RECREATION. 
interval I convinced myself that the big 
trout had actually taken the bait but that 
I would never land him. Reluctantly I 
tightened the line and it seemed fast. 
gave it a quick yank and a muffled splash 
answered under the bank; then with a 
strong pull I dragged the fish clear of the 
roots almost before he realized he was 
hooked and the fight was on. 
Three times in quick succession the big 
trout rushed madly for the root-filled bank 
and as often I gave him the butt. Then 
came a series of terrific yanks; but the 
faithful old rod stood the test. 
The fight in such a small pool was ne- 
cessarily a close one. There was no deli- 
cate maneuvering. Neither of us gained an 
inch of line. I knew the fish must be well 
hooked and that the tackle was extra strong, 
so with main strength I dragged him foot 
by foot into shallower water and away from 
the dangerous roots. 
Again and again he buried his head in the 
gravelly bottom in his frantic efforts to 
rub out the hook. The shallowing water 
hampered him in his struggles and I 
dragged him flopping far up the pebbly 
shore. His jealousy had been his undoing, 
and Squire Leggett’s big brown trout fin- 
ished his career in my creel, 

SONG.OF THE ANGLER 
BENSON B. MOORE, 
The darkness is ended 
For day has descended, 
And light is extended 
To every small nook; 
The sunlight is glowing, 
Soft breezes are blowing, 
And I am a going 
Away to the brook. 
Through the green fragrant pine 
With my flies and my line 
And my Bristol rod fine, 
Lighthearted I stray; 
*"Mong the yellow broom sedge, 
Through the briar and hedge, 
And by precipice edge, 
I go on my way. 
The happy birds fitter, 
They sing and they twitter, 
The bright dewdrops glitter 
Like gems in the grass; 
The lark doth arise 
From its nest to the skies, 
And the hare, in surprise 
Bounds away as I pass. 
And my heart fast doth beat 
When my dazzled eyes meet 
With a bright sparkling sheet 
Among the green trees; 
‘Tis the clear brooklet’s breast 
Which the angler loves best, 
For ’tis here he may rest 
In comfort and ease. 
Here the gamy trout leap 
From the clear water deep, 
And the carp and bass sleep 
In cavern of stones; 
While the bright water plays, 
In the cool shady bays 
Where it mtirmurs its lays 
In low peaceful tones, 
Here the kingfishers scream. 
O’er the breast of the stream, 
And the dark turtles gleam 
On rocks white with foam; 
While the wandering mink 
Glides along on the brink, 
And the muskrat doth sink 
To his watery home, 
