Fes. 3, 1906.] 
FOR ES AN DiS IR ESA M. 165 

Patience and Hope. 
OnE of the most mysterious features of ang- 
ling, to one who has not the gift, is the patience 
with which a man will sit at the end of his rod, 
hour after hour, and half a day or a day at a 
time, though never a nibble nor a rise gives him 
encouragement. The uninitiated are wont to 
scoff at such perseverance; they are always ready 
with a dozen or two other things that a man 
might well better give his time to than dangling 
a bait-line or throwing a fly. Leave such wise- 
acres to their conceit. The patient angler is wiser 
than they. He knows that after all the waiting 
there may yet come the reward. Perseverance 
is his cardinal virtue. Hope springs eternal in 
the angler’s breast. And if the fish is not finally 
creeled, if the long vigil has been without tang- 
ible fruition, yet is he not without compensation, 
for has he not all day long been indulging in the 
pleasures of hope? To-morrow, perhaps, he will 
prove again not only the joys of anticipation, but 
the satisfaction of basketing a fish as well; and 
so to-morrow you will find him once more at his 
post. 
A Pioneer Incident. 
In the early days of the Western Reserve, 
when wolves were more numerous than settle- 
ments, a man by the name of Guild, living not a 
thousand miles from Geauga county, had occa- 
sion to go to mill, some four miles distant—the 
only road being a trail through the woods—and 
not being the fortunate owner of a horse, had to 
pack his own grist. Returning late in the after- 
noon he had got within about half a mile of home 
when, on happening to look back, he saw two 
wolves some twenty rods away, following his 
track. Off went the grist and up a tree he 
started, calling for help till he made the woods 
ring. His father and brother, who were working 
near the house, hearing the cry, each taking a 
gun hastened to the rescue. As they came up a 
little rise of ground near the source of all this 
noise, the sight that met their eyes was one not 
soon to be forgotten. There the fellow was 
bareheaded, with arms and legs tight clasped 
around a tree, sitting flat on the ground and the 
wolves squatted on their haunches some ten rods 
away evidently enjoying the sport. TAMARACK. 
Wild Turkeys by Night. 
“Ir doesn’t seem quite fair,” my wife wrote 
in a letter, “to shoot turkeys at night on their 
roosts.” I had something this same idea my- 
self when I first tried it. Between me and the 
full moon a great turkey was crouching close 
to the limb of a tree and I was just out of gun- 
shot. I had stolen along cautiously with my 
darky guide through the woods toward the 
roost, and if ever an honest man felt like a 
chicken thief I did. But just at that moment the 
turkey straightened out his long neck, and by 
the “moonshine” I saw that he was perfectly 
aware of our presence. He showed his exact 
knowledge of shotgun range by taking wing the 
next moment? and as I saw him majestically sail 
away through the treetops my feelings under- 
went a sudden revolution. At that moment I 
realized that it was a case of misplaced senti- 
ment. I determined the next time a wild turkey 
came my way to throw sentiment to the winds 
and take with thankfulness any unfair advantage 
fate might offer. Tob. B: 
It Sometimes Happens So. 
Capt, “BriLL” ELpripcE was just pulling his boat 
ashore after a duck hunt one day, when a glance 
across the Absecom meadow showed him the long 
head and neck of a blue heron. ‘“That’s my blue- 
jimmy,” said the Captain as he threw himself on 
his stomach and began to wriggle toward the 
game. Every now and then he would raise his 
head to be sure that his prey was still there, and 
then another rod of wallowing through the salt 
mud. At last he comes to an “aim,” and raises 
to his knee—only to find that he had been stalk- 
ing the flagstaff and pennant of a sloop in Beach 
Thoroughfare, three miles away! Fact. A. 



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