Aug. 28, 1897.] 
I^-oprietora of fishing resorts ivill find it profitable to advertise 
them in Forest and Stream. 
The "Briers" Pictures. 
There are tw'enty-Dine illustrations in the current edition of Gam p. 
Lavjs in Brief, most of them full page half-tones, and all admirably 
printed. The book is a beau'y, and well worlh having for the illus- 
trations which, Mr. Charles Halloclc says, so well represent America's 
wilderaess sports. The Brie/ gives all the laws of the ITnited States 
and Canada for the practical guidance of anglers and shooters As 
an authority, it has a long record of unassailed and unassailable ac- 
curacy. Forest and Stream Pub. Co. sends it postpaid for S5 cents, 
or youj* dealer will supply you, 
SOME FISHING WHIMSEYS. 
SiAscoNSBT, Nantucket Islanrl, Mass. — It is here that fish 
do abound. At this season they nre of the blue persuasion 
and all are birthright members. They hold protracted meet- 
ings in front of the -village. They gambol on the "rips." 
1 can't find it in my heart to disturb them in their innocent 
pleasure of carrying destruction into the seried ranks of the 
mosshunkers and other small fry. The mossbunkers don't 
enjoy the experience. They are not built that way. 
The gifts of Providence are dispensed differently. Some 
men have the genius for catching fish; olhers the talent for 
eating them. Let others catch. The hlueflsh can't say it is 
1 who ruthlessly break up their home circles. All I do is to 
eat them when caught by other men who have less tender 
sympathies. I neither fish nor cut bait. To this I attribute 
a lair reputation for truth and veracity in circles where I am 
not too well known. There is an occult relation between 
going a-fishing and lying about it afterward. Writers on 
ethics have not given the subject the consideration it de- 
serves. I can't account for it except on the supposition that 
the writers are fishermen and do not wish to write in self- 
cohdemnatioo. Every liar is not a fisherman. The few 
fishermen who do tell the truth prove the general rule to be 
the other way. 1 used to believe that fishermen did experi- 
ence pleasure in the sport. It was a generous illusion. It 
has been dispelled by close observation. I now know that 
the only inducement for mi n to go a-fishing is for the pleas- 
use of lying about it afterward. This statement applies to 
amateurs. Men who gain their subsistence as toilers on the 
waters do it as a business. It is pelf, not pleasure, they 
seek. 
The average amateur fisherman gays he loves the sport. 
He travels off ten miles to whip a trout stream. He sits on a 
bank and holds a rod and line with one hand and fights mos- 
quitoes and black flies with the other until nightfall. He 
anchcrs himself on a rock or a bridge with a drop line; at 
intervals he mournfully hauls in and spits on his bait and 
throws it out again. He sits in a small boat in waters where 
striped bass or shecphead sport in sweet communion and eat 
their neighbors. In solemn silence he awaits the coming of 
an unsuspecting fish which he hopes will be tempted by the 
bait he has thrown to allure his hankering maw. He does 
all these things, even in a drenching rain or a pinching cold. 
He does it, too, wilh a foreknowledge that his friends will 
wonder when they next see him whether he is recovering from 
the chickenpox or has been applying a blanket blister plaster 
to his face for a toothache, involving the entire force of his 
leeth on the retired list. He may come home without a scale 
of his own raising That "don't makes no difference." He 
will speak in rapturous praises of the delights felt in the 
silent communion with nature. He will descant on the 
poetic emotions inspired by gazing upon the landscape or 
listening to the cadences of the rippling waters. He will 
tell of the healthful effects on mind and body that come from 
rest to the brain, and breathing in the air free from the noi- 
some exhalations of urban surroundings. But the climax 
comes when he tells of the wild ecstasy he feels when the fish 
strikes the hook and the struggles that ensue when drawing 
him from his native element. How mortals do deceive 
themselves I 
Quiet and sentiment don't pay for the loneliness, the an- 
noyance and the fatigues inseparable from going a-fishing. 
Else why do fishermen never raid the waters without a 
pocket filled with highly concentrated fluid consolation? A 
man who enjoys the espeiieucp, per se, doesn't need to rein- 
force the pieasure by removing the cork from the business 
end of a bottle. It is when his spirits droop that he invokes 
other spirits from the vasty shoals of that pocket companion. 
They bring him solace and give him courage. They prepare 
him for feats of romantic narrative. If he catches no fish 
he'buys them at the market, and exhibits the stock as the re- 
sult of his skill. If he brings in a pitiful string of light 
weights, he smuggles it into the house. Then he goes out- 
Bide. He tells a story, in which he triples the number and 
quadruples the weight of the catch. "That is bad enough. 
. But no fisherman's story is believed without confirmatory 
proofs. In nine cases out of ten he drags wife, daughter, 
son, cook and chambermaid into the abyss of mendacity 
to sustain his story. The chief of the Department of Ethics 
in the Census Bureau writes me that he was astounded him- 
silf at the disclosure Liy the statistics of the number of wives 
and mothers whose home life had baen beautiful and charac- 
ters without reproach, who began downward careers in a 
reluctant affirmation of their husbands' exploits as a fisher- 
man. In each case, the initial step taken, her conscience 
became seared and her course was down, down, until the 
point of abject depravity was reached. "Then," the chief 
writes me, "without a blush she would pass hours and hours 
in building crazy quilts and writing spriog poetry." As the 
chief is not a fi^nermau, I believe what he says. If by 
chance a fisherman hauls in a fish of- fair propartion he will 
regale his companions for a half hour in describing the efforts 
the captive made to escape and the dexterous skill he had to 
use to land him. Then he will tell about another fish twice 
as big and four tim.s as gamy that got away just as he got 
him close to the gunwale or the shore. 
A story is told of a fisherman who, for fl.i'teen years, sat on 
an abutment of London Bridge day after day, rain or shine, 
holding his rod and line. He was never seen to raise a fish. 
One day a man asked him if he had caught anything that 
day. He answered no, but that three years before he had 
had a splendid nibble. This was told to illustrate the 
patience supposed to be thif! charafteristic virtue of the ideal 
fisherman. £ don't believe it. No man would sit day in 
and day out so many years to txperience the perpetual joy 
of catching no fish. He could drop a line into his cistern, 
go ofE and read the "Pandects of [Justinian" or "Baxter's 
FOREST ;AHD stream. 
Call to the Unconverted," or some other equally exciting 
work, and find just as many fish waiting when he should 
return home and pull in the line. If, for argument, T admit 
there was such a man, I know what his answer would have 
been. He would have told the marvelous number he had 
caught the previous day or week, followed by a bill of par- 
ticulars of the number and weight of the fish he had landed. 
If further proof of the absurdity of the story were needed, 
its author fails to chronicle that the man was not seen to take 
a drink during the whole fifteen years. That is conclusive. 
I think I have shown that fishing and telling incredible 
stories about are inlimately connecti d. I am convinced, too, 
that the paucity of the catch and the stories told about it are 
always in inverse ratio one to the other. The smaller the 
catch the bigger (he story, until zero is reached. Then 
lying, ipso facto, touches the boiling point. I didn't cipher 
this out until t came to Siasconset. Here and elsewhere on 
the island a man can nearly always catch enough to satisfy 
moderate wishes and sometimes the wildest ambition, I 
have seen a fisherman pull into his dory, a few hundred feet 
from the beach, from thirty to sixty fine bluefish in a single 
afternoon. When cod "strike on" in the spring and fall he 
can go out in a dory and sometimes bring in from fifty to 
one hundred off a single tide. From Sesachacha Pond a 
boy or girl wiM often average a perch a minute until tired, 
to say nothing of an occasional etl that will seek the favor of 
being caught to vary the entertainment. A man has scarce 
ever a chance to lie in telling fish stories here. His enthu- 
siacm for the sport is chilled. His spirits are depressed. 
Inverting the bottle will not dispel the gloom He leaves 
for other waters where there is some margin left for extrav- 
agant story telling. He never thinks of 'Sconset except in 
the privacy of self communion. 
There is one apparent exception to the broad statement I 
have made. It is apparent only. Those who go sharking 
wrestle with a game they are not familiar with either in 
theory or in practice. 'They neither know the sharking 
grounds nor how to catch the fish when the ground is 
reached. They rely upon the practical man who furnishes 
boat and tackle and bait. He it is who baits the fisherman's 
hook; throws out the line; tells him when a shark has struck ; 
when and how to haul in; does nearly all the work; per- 
suasively hammers the shark on his nose to overcome his 
scruples against getting into the boat; pulls him on board, 
and finally lands him on the beach. Matters are 
lively for a time. The fisherman may perhaps do 
one-tenth of the work; but for the contributary 
aid he does render he feels that he is a hero. 
Then comes the temptation to lie. When the time comes he 
will tell his friends that he did it. That is lo be expected. 
Perhaps he did, but it was on the principle of quifacit per 
aliuni facit per se. On the question of weight, however, he 
must take advice. There is no scale on the beach where the 
carcass is to be buried. The owner of the boat comes to his 
rescue. He has an eye' to business. He knows the weak- 
ness of his patron and wants further employment, If he 
shall say that a consumptive shark that might lift the beam 
at 200lbs, weighs 800, the fisherman is more than satisfied. 
On that authority he will tell his friends that he caught and 
landed a shark that "weighed nearly a half a ton. As the 
statement is not above the average of a fisherman's stories it 
will probably not be found recorded against him on the day 
of judgment. Edward F. Underbill. 
THE POETRY OF BAIT FISHING. 
The day is breaking. The darkness fades away like a 
heavy Veil. Light comes again to earth, and discloses the 
beauty of her sister. Nature. 
After hastily eating a small lunch, buckling on the basket, 
snatching the rod and cramming the baking-powder can 
(filled with bait) into my pocket, 1 hurriedly unlock the door 
and step out into the cold, crisp, bracing air. 
A short walk brings me to the little railway station, and 
while loitering around the platform and being asked the 
usual number of times, "Are you going fishing?" I am joined 
by my companion John, and we are off. 
Rechning on one of the old, rickety, velvet-covered seats, 
we settle down to enjoy the scenery. As the train goes 
winding along the river bank, we see the broad meadows, 
peaceful cattle, and the farmer going his daily rounds. Fur- 
ther on we run through small patches of woods; then longer 
stretches, and we at length stop at a beautiful, clear stream 
winding away back into the woods as far as the eye can see. 
We jump off, but are not going to fish here even if it does 
look tempting. 
We trudge along the rough road through the woods into a 
large clearing, climb a short hill, and suddenly there breaks 
upon our vision a new and inviting scene. The woods 
which environ us ring with the many sounds of nature; the 
birds are chirping to 'their mates; insects are humming, and 
from afar come the faint chime of the cow bells as the cattle 
are driven into the pasture. Down in the valley we see the 
stream winding gently through the meadows, and now and 
then gleaming in the soft sunshine. 
We go down, and leaving our rods outside, stop at a farm 
house, where we are speedily made welcome; and then from 
out our pockets come sundry curious packages, which make 
the children crowd eagerly around. First we make Granny 
happy with a package and a new pipe, then Granther with a 
similar acceptable gift; and lastly, after undoing many 
wrappers, we draw forth the candy and sweetmeats for the 
children. 
Bless their hearts I they look so happy that we feel more 
than repaid for the trifling outlay. Then intrusting the re- 
mainder to their mother, who deals it out more carefully, 
distributing the largest pieces to the best behaved, we sit 
down for a little chat with Grandmother. Presently George 
comes In, gives us a hearty^ shake of the hand, and wishes 
us "good luck." 
He tells us where he lost a good one the day before and 
hopes we'll catch him, although himself secretly yearning 
for the glory. 
With the promise to return to dinner we depart and soon 
reach the stream down by the old bridge, and hastdy rig up 
and then drop a line with its enticing bait under the bridge; 
then from the depths I feel what reminds me of a long pull, 
a strong pull and a pull altogether, and finally, splashing 
and struggling, I land upon the gravel a bright fellow which 
would weigh about ^Ib. 
Now we separate; John goes up into- the woods and I 
wander down among the daisies, where I soon come to an 
old mill which is fast falling to decay and in some places is 
completely overgrown with moss. Slepping carefully, 1 
pick a way cautioudy among the slippery timbers, and peep- 
ing over a half-rotted beam, I put on a fresh worm and 
169 
drop it under the old mossy water-wheel. A sharp pull 
brings a responsive strike and I have hooked one. He tries 
to run under the sunken timbers on the other side of the 
hole, but I hold him back, then h.e dashes up under the 
water-wheel. Suddenly I hear a surge, the snell snaps, and 
I have lost him. With, the reaction I lose my balance and 
down T go, the rod slipping from my grasp and falling into 
the water. 1 rise as gracefully as circumstances will permit 
and as by a certain impulse, grasp my pole firmly at the 
middle joint and, leaping like a chamois from crag to crag, 
finally deposit myself in aheap upon a nice, soft, yielding 
bed of the stickiest mud it was ever my good fortune to 
touch, meanwhile hRving left the butt of the rod where it 
hnd caught between two sunken timbers and reeled off about 
40ft. of line which was wound about my legs in the most 
artistic manner possible. Strange to relate, only about half 
my fish went toward restocking this beautiful hole. Finally, 
ascertaining that nothing was broken, I scraped off about 
haif of the mud, extricated myself from the fish-line, recov- 
ered my rod and proceeded. The mud, however, became 
so troublesome that I had to stop and wash part of it off, 
the other part, after the sun had dried it, I peeled off in 
lovely layers about lin. thick, 
I went on, now and then catching one and losing one 
until the horn from the farmhouse announced that dinner 
was ready. Then, with a light heart and a well-filled bas- 
ket, i reached the house. John had preceded me; he also 
had met with good fortune, although his fish were a trifle 
smaller. Fr^ideeigk W, Fassett. 
CANADIAN ANGLING NOTES. 
Editor Forest and Stream: 
Some very good fishing has been enjoyed this month in 
and about Lake St. John, and as usual at this season the 
sport is steadily improving. Among those who have 
within the last few weeks enjoyed excellent outings after 
trout and ouananiche, may be mentioned Mr. J. H. 
Wilkenson, of New York, who some two weeks ago made 
a splendid catch of ouananiche averaging 41bs. in the 
Grande Decharge. Not only were the fish large, but they 
were extremely numerous. Mr. H, G. Fellows, of Brook- 
lyn, N. Y., has also fished the ouananiche pools of the 
Decharge with great success. Rev. Dr. Dumbell, rector of 
St, Peter's Church, Sherbrooke, had great sport up the 
Ouiatchouaniche about the beginning of the month, and 
Mr. J. G. Sutphen, of New York, has also had excellent 
fishing in the same stream. Mr, L, Letour secured a 
splendid string of ouananiche in the Decharge, and Mr. R. 
E. Robinson has been camping for about three weeks on 
an island below Lake St. John, where he was highly fa- 
vored by the fickle deity who presides over the destinies 
of anglers. Messrs. D. A. Murray and R. W. Steven- 
son, of New York, made the Peribonca trip with 
very great success, securing magnificent takes ol 
ouananiche and pike. Dr. J. 0. Essig, Dr. Norman 
Essig and Mr. George Essig, of Philadelphia, essayed the 
trout fishing in the Riviere Croche, and met with the 
greatest success. Their good fortune will doubtless induce 
very many others to try this river, which, being about 
forty miles from the hotel at Roberval, has not, so far, 
been very much patronized. It falls into the St. Maurice. 
Dr. Lee, of Philadelphia, has left Roberval upon a long 
fishing and hunting trip, intending to cross the whole 
northern part of the continent to Moose Factory on James's 
Bay. The Messrs, McCormick, of Florida, have also left 
Lake St. John upon their second northern trip of the sea- 
son. Ouananiche are now reported running up the Meta- 
betchouan River, and with the approach of September 
there is likely to be a rush of anglers for the fall fishing in 
the island pools so graphically described by Dr. Van Dyke 
in "Little Rivers," and by Lieut.- Col. Andrew C. Haggard; 
D.S.O., in his charming introduction to "The Ouananiche 
and Its Canadian Environment." 
The days of the summer insect pests in these northern 
woods being now about numbered for the season, the 
members of the various fish and game clubs owning pre- 
serves along the line of the Quebec & Lake St. John Rail- 
way are returning in large numbers to the scene of their 
last spring triumphs. Besides their fishing rods, many of 
them are also bringing rifles with them, for much of this 
country is already teeming with caribou. Mr. Graham II. 
Harris, of Chicago, who is now on the Tourille tract, has 
seen several of them this month. He is now fishing for 
the large trout of Lake George on this preserve, near the 
headwaters of both the Ste. Anne and the Metabetchouan 
rivers, the first of which flows into the St. Lawrence, and 
the second into Lake St. John. Mr. Harris has just been 
joined by his friends, Carter Harrison, Mayor of Chicago, 
and the latter's brother-in-law, Mr. Onsley. 
Caribou have frequently also been seen of late upon the 
Triton tract, which is about to be fished by a large num- 
ber of prominent Syracuse anglers, and also by Messrs. 
Rathbone, of Albany, and Cheney, of Glens Falls. Among 
other very successful anglers upon this tract were Sir 
Charles Rivers Wilson, President of the Grand Trunk 
Railway, and Lady Wilson, of England, and Mr. Hays, 
general manager of the G. T. R. System. Mr, Hays was 
fortunate enough to obtain a view of a magnificent caribou. 
Two or three members of the Springfield Club have re- 
cently left here for their club limi.ts at Lake Amabalish, 
and next week will witness the arrival there of a number 
of others. The Nonantum and Metabetchouan Club mem- 
bers are already largely represented at their Canadian 
headquarters. Nearly a dozen of the latter, ijrincipally 
from Bridgeport, Meriden and other Connecticut points, are 
at Kiskisink, where they are enjoying splendid sport, 3 
and 41b. trout being fairly plentiful. 
Speaking of club houses, I must not forget to tell you 
that up at the main lodge of the Tourilli the other day I 
saw something that made my mouth w^ater, and that I 
suspect but few club houses hereabouts can boast of, 
namely, a complete set of the bound volumes of Forest 
A>'D Stream from the earhest number. They were pre- 
sented to the club by its founder and president, J. U. 
Gregory, Esq., one of the keenest of Canadian sportsmen. 
E. T. D. Chambers. 
Quebec, Aug. 20. 
An Egyptian invocation to Isis reads: "Oh, Isig, mistress of sor- 
ceries, deliver me, set me free, from all bad, evil, ?-e(i things." This 
doesn't mean the bright red cover of the Cfaine Lam in Brief, for 
while the Brief is in bright and plain English too, even an Egyptiaa 
would be interested in the liandsome pictures. 
