AND AMERICAN RURAL SPORTS. 
139 
or tapering form, than the older or larger fish, which ap- 
pear to acquire breadth with age, and assume a “ hog- 
backed” appearance, when they get to be over four pounds 
in weight. 
The Basse spawns in this latitude about the latter end of 
May. The female makes her bed in the sand, under a 
bluff bank, or, in preference, under a steep, rocky shore, 
where the fall of the water cannot leave it exposed. She 
is attended by the male, and both watch with great care 
and vigilance until the young fry are able to shift for them- 
selves. 
No other fish are suffered to approach them at this sea- 
son, that they can master; and sometimes, but very sel- 
dom, they will take the bait, while watching their spawn, 
but not unless it is placed very near to them. 
The food of the Basse is principally minnows; but they 
feed on worms, crawfish, and many kinds of water insects. 
The angler generally uses the live minnow bait, at which 
this fish bites eagerly, and affords such sport in landing, as 
to be called an “ exceedingly game fish.” In the morn- 
ing and evening, they come out into the shallow water 
around bars, and along the shore, in search of food; but 
during the day, they retire to the deep parts of the rivers, 
and generally take shelter under roots, logs, or rocks, or 
in the holes at the foot of mill-dams. Here they are 
sought for by the angler with great success. 
This fish is of a social disposition, and generally found 
in small parties of six to twelve, sometimes fifty to one 
hundred, or more; and in the lakes and northern streams, 
in immense numbers. 
In autumn they may be seen in shallow water, swim- 
ming along in small parties, stopping occasionally as if to 
listen, or reconnoitre; and then darting off suddenly with 
great rapidity. They are shy fish, and at the least noise 
take alarm; but so exceedingly voracious that they imme- 
diately return to their prey, darting after it a considerable 
distance, and frequently jumping out of the water in pur- 
suit; this trait in their character is very favourable to the 
angler. 
The Basse is of rather slow growth, and by some thought 
to attain a great age. 
In the Ohio and its tributaries, there is a fish called the 
“Rock Basse;” broad and flat, somewhat resembling the 
White Perch in shape, but of a brilliant yellow, shaded 
with green. 
There is also the Bank-Lick Basse, peculiar to a small 
sti’eam opposite Cincinnati, that I have never noticed else- 
where. A small fish, weighing from one quarter to one 
and a half pounds, of a pale greenish olive — shaped like 
the White Perch — mouth remarkably thin and tender. 
These, with other fishes that inhabit the western waters, 
I may have occasion to notice hereafter. 
Piscator. 
Cincinnati , August , 1832 . 
THE PERILOUS SHOT. 
BY C. W. THOMSON. 
The following ballad is founded on an incident which 
is said to have occurred, some years ago, at the Cape of 
Good Hope. 
The hunter went forth at break of day, 
And he left his babes behind ; 
He turned to look where his cottage lay 
On the hill’s green breast defined ; 
And thoughts, like the mist of the morning gray , 
Came thronging across his mind. 
The past and the future were mingled there, 
With a crowd of hopes and fears, 
And he breathed a soft but fervent prayer, 
While his eyes were filled with tears, 
That God would their innocent beauty spare 
Through the lapse of coming years. 
But most of all that his guardian arm 
Would bless them through the day — 
And keep them from the grasp of harm, 
While he was far away — 
Nor let one feeling of alarm 
Upon their bosoms prey. 
The hunter let his bright glance run 
O’er the land where his cottage stood, — 
The hunter turned to the glorious sun, 
And he felt that God was good ; 
Then over his shoulder he threw his gun, 
And he hied away to the wood. 
’Twere vain to tell how the roe-buck fell 
Before the hunter’s aim — 
’Twere vain to recount from meadow to mount, 
How he tracked the wild and tame ; 
But the sun when low, saw a gallant show 
Of the forest’s choicest game. 
’Twas a long day’s hunt, and the hills were gray 
When he reached his lowly cot : 
It stood ’mid nature’s wild array, 
Though luxury owned it not. 
But peace, like a mantle around it lay, 
And he blessed his humble lot. 
