The Milan exchange. (Milan, Gibson County, Tenn.) 1874-1978, 1882-05-20
The Man and the Fish.

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cannot find the American eitizenin his
office, look for him at the butt END 81 a
hshing pole, if ND isAa denizen of The
mighty West, or ut the red of 4 trout
rod ii so lbe That heAiveth in the bar
barrie orient; for there are no fishing
poles east of Ohio.
Man. born of woman, is Of few days,
and prone TO fish as the sparks to fly
upward. Whether in the long-legged
boots he wadeth along thesrocky) and
tortuous course OF the broken trout
stream, or placidly perehed on gum
log, he patiently hobs for cat" in the
sluggish and yellow creek of the low
countries, he must fish. And in either
case the result is about the same more
lies than fish '
Patient is the man who fishes, long
suffering, addicted TO malaria, lonely in
his habits, he smelleth Of the swamps;
the odor of the alders cling TO his raj
ment and the truth is not IN him. o., The
patience of his life is its great Charm.
The sun that beats upon his murmuring
head at noontide moves him nct;, the
long afternoon only makes him sleepy;
the threatening bank of clouds in the
distant west has no terrors for him; the
breath of the passing cyclone could not
move him it it should happen to strike
him just as he felt bite. He is patient
beyond all appreciation. From early
morn till dewy eve be fishes for some
thing that he cannot see. and il ever he
gives way to the slightest expression of
Impotence it is when the shadows of
night fall upon him and compel him to
return home and leave the brook or
pond Or creek ''just when they begin
to bite"
He knows the habits and the hannts
of fish, He is connoisseur in nibbles
and a Judge of bites, He knows there
are rock bass close under the dam and
sunfish among the tangled roots of the
fallen cottonwood that lies, bleaehed
and naked, like a, dead giant, looking as
though it had swan ashore and then
died before it could pull its roots out of
the water In the quiet pools under
the high bank there are big suckers,
and in the middle of the creek he can
fish on the bottom for .bull-pout. And
there are ''punkin' seeds and google
eyesp in the dark holes just below the
shadows, and there is a tradition about
a,''croppy," FIVE inches long, that was
caught down near the stone quarry; for
the fish of the Western waters are not
measured by weight, as the liars of the
Middle and New England States eXag-
gerate their tiny trou,, but by inches and
feet, even as the sea serpent of the Jer-
sey coast.
Moreover, the man who fishes knows
how to allure the willy inhabitants of the
deep. He spitteth upon his bait and re-
fraineth from accustomed profanity. He
knoweth that the 'snake feeders cir
Gle in many colored lines above the place
where abide the most fish. He knoweth
that you cannot drown ''skeeter' or
water spider, and that it is in vain that
any man trieth to splash water on the
back of the gregarious ''stink bug"
When the worms are all used up, or by
some heart breaking mischance spilled
into the creek, he baiteth with the mus
sci which passeth under the alias of
clam, or he ensnareth, with many out
spread fingers, much grass and few
grasshoppers; or the after legs of the
active frog supply him with the needful
bait. g..
But he never catches any fish, not any
to speak of. He has nibbles unnum-
bered, but not untold; he has big bites
that thrills the blood of the man to
whom he describes them; he pulls two
or three splendid fellows "clear out of
the water" he sees dozen or more
jump up in the middle of the creek, he
could have caught two dozen if he could
have got over to the other side of the
creek, and fifty if he had had boat.
But for the wind being in the south, he
would have eaten fish for the ensuing
week., the sun was too hot or the day
was dark, or something or other. With
a score of possibilities, and with num-
berless narrow escapes, he catches no
fish.
But somehow. while he comes home
fishless. he smells like fish market.
He has fallen into the creek twice or
thrice, and has caught frogs or carried
CLAIMS, and comes home wet TO the neck,
with WEAKNESS in his frame, aches in
his joints, a smell of fish all about him,
and not a fish near him. And thus
year after year he fishes, and considers
that he has had a holiday. He enjoys
it, and it requires only a very few fish
to satisfy his wild ambitions. If he
can't fish he can lie, and the most sue,
cessful usher can tell no larger stories
than the greatest failure. -BurdeHe, IN
BurIinQton HaUkeye.
The Other Horn.
/