The daily morning journal and courier., 1902-03-17

getic as her lords, But they always ate
 the trout and the game.
 There was one thing l loved that editorial farm for, and that was be-
 cause the best trout streams that ever
 lay out doors ran through if. l am
 Keeping far within bonds when l say
 that I never went dragging home in
 those boyhood days, after day of
 stolen pleasure on that stream, with a
 string of trout that had not pound
 CTS more than one, upon it, and a
 pound trout was no more for that
 brook in those days than a quarter pound one would be now in the best streams I know of.
 But one spring I got hold of a trout
 that was bigger yet than any trout I had ever caught or seen even In that rare brook. He got away, but l knew where he lived I knew that he would not forsake that deep hole in the shadow of the old log bridge into which the brook brought constantly from above the nest of the dainties for that big trout, and plenty of them. So I kept mum and campaigned for that boss of the brook.
 Weeks went by and I had passed un der the christening rod at home many times for being absent on errands con neoted with tile possible undoing of that trout, but still he defed me had tried everything in the way of baits known, and had essayed to tempt the old fellow by new and unheard-of lures. But he laughed me to scorn.
 "The log bridge crossed the creek in a meadow, and the deep hole in which the big trout lived was at the upper side of it, a large rock breaking the current of the brook just above and forcing the water around it in a swirl that left an ever-present crest or foam on the pool, cream colored and moving here and there on the surface as the water ed died or whirled.
 "One day, after a long siege of the trout, I was walking away heartsore and daspondent, and had stepped upon theb ridge, when little green snake, so little, in fact, that it was not much larger than some of the fish worms l had in my mustard box, went wriggling along the guard log of the bridge. An idea came to me
 "Here was am orsel for the most epi- curean trout. I would try 1t on the vexatious and obstinate big fellow that lay beneath there in that foam-crested pool.
 q captured the little snake, went back to the bank of the creek and placed the novel bait carefully and ar- tistcally on my hook. The pole I had was stiff peeled chestnut and the line a stout horse hair, the hairs for which I had twitched out of the editorial horses tail and braided myself.
 with a wildly beating heart and a | hand I dropped .that wig gling, comforting bait lightly upon the tossing foam Instantly that crest | >f foam was broken into a hundred bits | hat went flying in all directions over | he pool until 1t was flecked thick with | hem The green snake had beguiled he wise old trout, and my hook was in | lis jaw at last,
 wildly and without delay so conn ,letely had l lost my head, I gave a, ,ank that would have lifted a sturgeon rom the deep The stiff pole and the tout line responded to the yank, and he trout, big as he was, came out of he water with swish and went sail ng away through the air behind me. ar back in the meadow where the rass was knee deep and thick as the wool on sheeps back. The force of