The daily morning journal and courier. [volume] (New Haven, Conn.) 1894-1907, 1903-10-30

The artist in the sport looks askance
at the hauler of the handline, and he
in turn sneers with contempt at the
delicate instruments Of the others
preference. The one seeks sport, not
fish; and the other fish, not sport.
Last Sunday pedestrian who was en-
joying the peaceful beauty of the Dug
way had an opportunity Of heholding
puzzling picture of piscatorial OPP
posites. At one bend in Irondequoit
creek stood man with slender and
flexible rod, more like a whip than a
pole. A glittering reel responded
delicately to the pressure Of finger,
and the silken line. ended in an in
visible length of filrny leader. The tiny
weight of leaden pellet made the rod
flicker and bend like a feather in a
zephyr. and when an occasional rock
has struck, the struggle whipped the
graceful shaft into a parabola of jerk
ing stubbornness. Every fish which
the sportsman landed meant five
minutes of skillful play, and their
number was not spectacularly great,
nor their size worthy Of extended
language.
Half a mile up the stream the
Wanderer strolled, and there he saw an
other sight. 1t was picture of peace
full repose set in a frame of restful
method. Beneath a willows mournfuI
boughs sat an ancient and runlinative.
A corncob pipe was between his lips
and ever anon he Duffed in a gentle
and contemplative cloud. From be-
hind. one would have thought him
asleep, but it would have been a mis-
take. He did not sleep. A nearer APP
proach discovered that this elderly and
peaceful man occupied a seat upon the
soft turf of the bank equi- distant from
four bamboo poles arranged like the
guns of a seacoast battery and trained
upon the ripping current Of the creek.
The ancient man sat with two poles on
each side OF him. and within reach Of
a ready wrist. From the outer ends Of
the poles hobbed and swung four corks
The pedestrian stood in silence and
watched. Suddenly one of the corks
suged under. Quick as a flash the
piscatorial patriarch reached for the
proper pole and heaved, struggling upon
the grass, leaping victim of his
successful lure. With quiet move the
hook was rewormed and the bobber
bobbed at ease. Once two Of the corks
were pulled under at once and the agile
ancient whisked his catch upon the
bank, one pole in each hand Between
times he sat in awfpl stiffness and
puffed his corncob pipe.
A question pitched in tone pro-
perly guarded brought his head around
upon his shoulder. He said he had
been having pretty fair luck for three
hours fishing and he strained at a
string anchored beneath him on the
bank. In this he was like the most
fastidious fiycaster that ever struck a
trout with q tiny glitter Of gold and red.
He showed his catch with conscious
pride. The pedestrian counted eight
mullets, FIVE rock bass, three so-called
Oswego bass, a five pound pickerel and
innumberable sunfsh. Are the mullets
good to eat at this time of year, asked
the pedestrian. WALL" said the man.
ager Of the pole quartette, mot pertick-
/ Ter. bein' soft" He was thereupon
asked what he did with them. TAKE
/ EN- home 20 show the old woman and
then, If the neighbors don't want them,
thrun 'em away. The ole woman is
powerful fond of lookin' at my ketch.''
Now. The artist with the fyrod was
fishing and the patriarch with the four
bamboo poles was fishing. The ques-
ton Isl: Who was the fisherman? p
From the Rochester Post Express.