THE FLOWER 



By LURANA W. SHELDON 



To hear the vespers of the dawn- 

 On gentle zephyrs pealing — 

 To watch the rosy glow of morn 



Across the meadow stealing; 

 To feel the dewdrop's tender kiss 



And see the sunbeams dancing, 

 This is the floweret's dream of bliss- 



This is its joy entrancing. 



A HAUL FROM THE HERRING POND 



(Sea-Fishing Near New York) 

 By EDWYN SANDYS 



AUTHOR OF ^UPLAND GAME BIRDS/' "SPORTSMAN JOE," "TRAPPER JIM/" ETC. 



HEN I go down to the 

 sea in a ship I like to 

 get at the bottom of 

 things, always ex- 

 cepting, of course, 

 the bottom of the sea 

 itself. Time was when 

 the genuine pleasures 

 of angling semed to 

 be confined to inland 

 lakes, sedate rivers 

 and hasty, brawling brooks, £mt that 

 was when I labored under the delusion 

 that it was all of fishing to take trout 

 grayling, bass and 'lunge. At last I 

 came to the briny, and like your young 

 singer, for the first time reaching the 

 high sea, realized that my range had 

 broadened. 



Far be it from me to decry the sport 

 of the sweet waters. No other fishing 

 can compare with it, yet there is 

 sea sport within reach of Gotham 

 which is well worthy the attention of 

 any man whose life-pump drives the 



real red stuff. From a tussle with a 

 tarpon to playing with a porgie, the 

 salt water sport has a charm all its own, 

 and while it in no way resembles the ar- 

 tistic work with the fine tackle, yet it 

 wears mighty well. If it had nothing 

 more than the sea to commend it, the 

 attractions would remain, for a close 

 communion with old ocean has a fasci- 

 nation which never ceases after one 

 has felt the spell. 



Born a water dog with the Great 

 Lakes in which to play, I was accus- 

 tomed to vast expanses that spread to 

 invisible boundaries, yet the first view 

 of the Atlantic was a wee bit depress- 

 ing. The white-whiskered rollers for- 

 ever crowding themselves up the slopes 

 of sand appeared to be mockingly 

 chanting a deep, measured something 

 which at first was hard t to catch. But 

 at last the untrained ear mastered the 

 song and the pounding distinctly said : 

 "Can't swim across me, can't swim 

 across me!" The more I listened and 



