A TROUT-BROOK TRIUMPH 



3 2 



him. For a moment, for ten, he stood it and 

 then down he came. Now to this side, now 

 to that, he rushed, shaking himself fiercely. 

 The silken line sang with the strain, the 

 silvery leader hissed through the water, the 

 four-once rod was a circle always. Twice 

 the big fellow, striving for freedom, leaped 

 in splendid circles above the water. What 

 a fish he was! 



" Suddenly he rushed for the hole beneath 

 the pier and it took my supremest skill and 

 the uttermost strain on the line to stop him. 

 Now he fought around the pool madly. The 

 water was streaked with white with his 

 rushes. Jim shouted and I trembled. Then 

 again his fierceness gave way to the sulks 

 and he dropped down to the lowest depths. 

 I kept a strain steadily on him for several 

 minutes. Again he burst forth to the sur- 



face of the pool, renewing the battle with 

 fury. And all his strength was put forth in 

 that last tremendous effort to tear the burn- 

 ing steel from his mouth. I tell you, boys, 

 that was the hardest fighter that I ever hope 

 to hook. How he did rip and tear around 

 that pool! Twice he got slack on me and 

 came near tearing loose with his swift 

 rushes. He seemed to be winning his 

 fight. But of a sudden his strength went. 

 And I drew him, flopping weakly, to the 

 edge of the pool among the long grasses. 

 He " 



"Stop right there, Judge," said the 

 banker, " don't spoil that splendid battle 

 by telling us how much he weighed. He 

 was a game fighter. Don't let's measure him 

 at all. Let's drink to him instead." 



And they drank. 



FISHIN' FANCIES 



BY T. SHELLEY SUTTON 



In the shadow of the pines 



Where the canyon walls are steep, 



Where the mountain brooklet winds 

 And the cascade waters leap — , 



Oft I troll in moody rapture, 



Far from city, path or pike, 

 With my eye upon the ripple 



And my heart upon the strike — 



While my thoughts go wand'ring backward 

 To a childhood, gay and free, 



And I hear my mother singing 

 As I stood beside her knee: 



"Little fishies in the brook, 

 "Papa catch 'em with a hook; 

 "Mama fry 'em in a pan, 

 "Baby eat 'em like a man." 



Now, you'd think to hear that ditty 

 That the fish were easy game, 



But the fellow from the city 



Finds that angling ain't the same 



For the little speckled darlings 

 Now are wiser to the hook — « 



Mother's song is quite a chestnut 

 To the beauties in the brook; 



And if papa ever gets 'em, 

 Ten to one, my little man, 



Mamma '11 never get to put 'em 

 In the fam'ly frying-pan. 



"Little fishies in the brook, 

 "Papa catch 'em with a hook; 

 "Papa fry 'em in a pan, 

 "Papa eat 'em, like a man!" 



