“Come, show me where she is,” said he. “You need not refuse, for I will know. Come!”
Finding it useless to resist, she led him toward the church-yard. When they approached the gate, he said:
“You go to the grave-yard. Is she, then, really dead?”
Mrs. White replied not, but entered, and seeking poor Lucy’s grave, pointed to it, saying:
“Lucy sleeps here!”
A simple stone with the single word “Lucy” marked her resting-place. It stood apart from those around it, as if the dead, like the living, shrunk from the unfortunate. It was late in the autumn, and the trees were stripped of their foliage. The wind swept mournfully through their bare branches, and eddied around the vaults and monuments, like a spirit moaning over the dead.
Paul gazed long and silently on the solitary mound of earth where his victim slept. At length he turned to Mrs. White, who was striving to subdue her sobs.
“They deceived me, then, and sheisdead; and they have buried her deep in the earth to hide her from my sight,” said he. “But there are no flowers on her grave—no birds to cheer her lonely resting-place. And see! even the very leaves have striven to hide her grave from me. But they shall not—they shall not. I will see her once more. Ha, ha, ha!”
With this he dashed the leaves away, and commenced tearing up the earth with his hands. Mrs. White strove vainly to restrain him; he threw her from him and pursued his fearful task with the strength and activity of insanity. He was suddenly arrested by the strong hands of his attendants, who had missed him, and in their search had been directed thither. He resisted stoutly, but at length was overpowered by their superior numbers.
Next day his fever returned, and for weeks his life was despaired of. His illness now took a favorable turn, and he slowly recovered. With renewed strength reason returned; and his physicians advised an immediate change of scene and air, lest the sight of familiar faces should cause a second relapse into insanity. Preparations were immediately made for a visit to the Continent; and when Paul was well enough to be removed, they departed, late at night, in order that the darkness might hide every thing from his eyes.
A week later they found themselves in Paris, and Paul was still improving in health. Here they rested a short time, and strove by every means to dispel the melancholy which still brooded over him. When summer arrived they repaired to one of the German watering-places. The two succeeding years were spent in Italy, and then, as Mr. Weldon’s health declined, and he pined for the air of his native land, they returned to London. Immediately after their arrival Lady Laura fell ill and died.
The corpse was removed for interment to Weldon. The anxious father would fain have left Paul in London; but the latter persisted in paying the last sad rites to his mother.
He was deeply affected when, after his long absence, he found himself gazing again on the scene of his sin and suffering. His thoughts, were, however, diverted from such reflections by his grief for his mother.
Next day she was buried. For a fortnight Paul never left his father’s side; the old man was sinking rapidly. At the expiration of that time Mr. Weldon was laid beside his wife, and Paul was alone in the world. On his death-bed Mr. Weldon entreated his son to leave England immediately after his funeral, and advised him not to return until time had entirely obliterated the past.
The funeral was over, and Paul sat alone in his chamber, looking silently and sadly toward the church, in whose dreary vaults his parents now slept their last sleep. That benumbing sensation of utter desolation which comes when we have seen the grave close over those nearest and dearest to us, stole over his heart. The past, with its shadowy memories, arose in his mind. He thought of the beloved but mistaken mother who had cherished him so fondly—of the noble father who regarded him with so much pride. He remembered the affectionate words and caresses that he had received from them, and sighed to think how frequently he had caused them unnecessary pain by his boyish willfulness. But those lamented ones were lost to him forever. They lay in the cold gloomy vault, in the lonely church. Then his thoughts wandered to an humble grave in the church-yard. He remembered the fair young girl that he had betrayed; he thought ofherwild love andhiscrime, and felt that God’s just and unfailing retribution had already commenced. He was alone in the world; those whom he had most loved had been snatched away by death. There, in the bounds of that church, rested father, mother, and the one he had betrayed.
He arose and sought their resting-place. There at least he would be less lonely, for would not they be near him, although invisible to his sight? He hastened to the church-yard. He sought among the graves until a simple stone, with the single word “Lucy,” told him who slept beneath. He knelt beside the grave, gazing intently on it, as though his sight could pierce the earth to where she lay within her coffin. He fancied he saw her, pale, cold, rigid, as on that fatal morning when he last beheld her. He remembered how time had flown, and knew that her beauteous form had long since returned to its originalclay. He smoothed the long grass that grew above her, and parted the creeping ivy that partly enveloped the grave-stone. Flowers had been planted around, and they bloomed and flourished luxuriously. He hated them when he remembered that they drew their nourishment from the ashes of the dead. Gradually the feeling changed. He plucked one of them and gazed into its cup, until he fancied he saw her face within its depth. He recalled to mind how she had loved them in her life, and felt that even in the spirit-land she delighted in their grateful incense. Their presence at her grave finally comforted him. A slight whirring sound, followed by a sharp cry, startled him. He raised his eyes, and glanced nervously toward the spot from whence the sound proceeded. Upon a grave-stone near him sat a bird, which, as he gazed on it, uttered another cry, and soared away into the azure overhead. He followed it with his eyes until it disappeared, and then, urged by an irresistible impulse, arose and approached the grave on which the bird had perched. He glanced at the head-stone, and read the name of “Mary White” on its pure surface. A heavy groan burst from his lips, as the words met his eyes. He did not need words to tell him the history of the broken-hearted mother who slept beneath the marble. He felt it all; she, too, was dead, and her blood also rested on his soul! The bitter curse which, in the madness of her anguish she had invoked, rang again in his ears. “He should never know peace.” The dead had said it. The desolate mother had called down curses on him ere she died, and they were already closing around him. He was, indeed, accursed. Father and mother had been taken from him. The joyousness of youth had passed forever. Remorse had fastened its fangs in his heart. A demon pursued him wherever he fled. His senses whirled; the hot blood danced madly through his veins. He bared his brow, that the soft air might cool the fever of his brain. He felt the old mood returning. He feared that he would again become insane. He knew himself on the very verge of madness, and strove to restore the balance of his mind. He entered the church, and resting his burning head upon the cold marble underneath which his parents reposed, endeavored to calm himself—to tear his thoughts from subjects which he dreaded to dwell on. He remembered his promise to his dying father, and felt that, to save himself from madness, he must fulfill it, and that quickly. Still Weldon had an irresistible charm for him, since he was there near the resting-place of his lost ones. He could come daily to water the grave of his injured, murdered love with repentant tears. But he was bound by his pledge, and he fully recognized the wisdom which dictated it. Gradually he became more composed, his mind grew more clear, and still kneeling, with bowed head, he entreated his dear parents to offer up the prayer for him which he himself dared not make.
He remained thus until the last rays of the setting sun left the spire of the church, when a step by his side aroused him. He turned and beheld his father’s steward. Tears stood in the old man’s eyes, as, with a faltering voice, he addressed him.
“Pardon me, sir, for intruding upon your grief,” said he; “but he who sleeps below required me to perform the duty which brings me here. He bade me entreat you to leave Weldon as soon as he was laid in his grave. Forgive my boldness; but I hope you will obey his urgent, often-repeated request.”
“And did he say I must go so soon, Elwood?” asked Paul, anxiously.
“He did,” replied the old man. “Indeed he wished you to depart in a few hours after his funeral. I ought to have told you before; but I could not interrupt the indulgence of your grief. There is a sacred comfort in weeping alone over the graves of those whom we love.”
“Well, return and order the carriage: I will be with you at once,” replied Paul.
Elwood bowed and withdrew, and Paul again knelt beside the tomb of his parents, and, pressing his lips to the cold marble, inwardly invoked their blessings. He then arose and turned to depart; but when he reached the door suddenly paused, and rushing back, threw himself once more on the tomb, and burst into tears.
Tears! what sad, yet welcome guests they are! When the deep sorrow which is pent in the heart bursts forth in its natural expression, what relief is found. Thank God for the power to weep, for grief would become madness but for this means to give it vent. Tears have a healing magic, for after an utter abandonment to weeping there comes a heavy, sullen stupor, from which gradually arises slight gleams of hope, which dissipate the midnight gloom of sorrow, and light up the horizon of the future.
Paul wept long and bitterly, then sunk into deep thought, and at length arose and left the church. He knelt a short time by Lucy’s grave, and then by a desperate effort sprung to his feet and rushed from the burial-ground, without casting a single look behind him. He hurried to the manor-house, and finding the carriage in waiting threw himself into it, and, with a hasty adieu to those around, bade the coachman drive on. The next day he found himself in London, from whence he sailed for the Continent. There he wandered from place to place, sometimes mingling with the gay, at others, immuring himself in religious houses, or again seeking excitement in every thing which promised forgetfulness. He next sought oblivion in travel, and went to Palestine, hoping to find in its sacred scenes something more powerful to charm his mind than the all-engrossing subject which continually haunted him. He visited Egypt, and pondering over her buried mysteries strove to devote his intellect to the solution of those wonderful records of old, which she holds with jealous hands, granting but slight glimpses of Truth to the most profound of seers. In vain: the one thought reigned supreme. He now hastened back to Europe, and visiting every place of note, strove to interest himself in her glorious historical remembrances, which impregnate her very air with food for thought. Still in vain. At last he resolved toseek America—the happy land of Freedom. There, among a nation who dwelt but little on the past, who looked to the future with glorious aspirations; there, where none need despair—where the road to fame was open unto all; there, in the bounding hopefulness of a young people’s heart, he hoped to find that something which might excite an overwhelming interest in his soul. His last hope failed him, and the mirage-like Lethe which he had so long and vainly followed on the Sahara of sorrow disappeared forever from his view.
Visiting one of our northern cities, and feeling unwilling to endure the noise and bustle of a large hotel, he resolved to seek a private boarding-house. He was directed to one which ranked among the highest. The terms were soon arranged, and Paul Weldon came to dwell within my walls.
What impression his strange, restless melancholy produced among his fellow-boarders, I have already made known. The cause of his conduct was a mystery which each one vainly tried to solve; and, failing in this, each gave a different reason for what they could not comprehend, agreeing in but one particular—to avoid him.
His nocturnal rambles annoyed them; but he was so gentle and inoffensive, they could not complain of this one fault. It was true that very nervous ladies indulged in delicate shrieks of alarm, or perhaps fainted outright, when returning late from some festive hall, they encountered him in the dimly-lighted passage. But, then it was so good an opportunity for displaying their pretty little feminine fears, that they were rather grateful to him than otherwise: for how could they be angry with one who indirectly caused such tender inquiries as were always made the following morning. And then how interesting the frightened lady looked, as with a scarf or mantilla thrown gracefully around her, (as though the fright caused a chill, which lasted thus long,) she related the incident to her commiserating admirers—and what a dear, delicate little creature she could seem upon such occasions! Too ethereal for this rude world, it excited a fear lest she might too soon be called to a more fitting home.
It was such thoughts, perhaps, that stirred in the hearts of the devoted swains, and made them bristle up, and look fierce, and wonder why such a person was kept in the house, hinting that they would speak sharply to the landlady about it, and have the matter corrected. And then to hear with what earnest sweetness, with what an angelic spirit of forgiveness the fair lady entreated them not to do so; and how the gentlemen expressed their admiration of the lady’s forbearance. It was worth a half-a-dozen fainting fits to give these nervous ladies an opportunity for a display of such exquisite delicacy, and such rare virtues.
Paul consequently remained undisturbed, though he continued to be shunned by all. Under the withering influence of the demon which possessed him, his health gradually declined. Day by day his cheek grew paler, and his form more slender. He now ceased to frequent the public table, and ordered his meals to be served in his own apartments; and only when the solemn stillness of night roused afresh the fearful memories of the past, did he quit his chamber and wander out in the deserted corridors.
At length he became unable to leave his bed. He refused to call in a physician, and required but little attention; and lay there alone, gradually sinking into the grave, without a single friend to soothe or console him. When his illness and his loneliness became known among his fellow-boarders, they all expressed much regret; but he had held himself aloof from all, and there was such an impenetrable mystery around him, that all hesitated at proffering any of those delicate acts of kindness, which are so welcome to an invalid. At length, a young man named Barton, resolved to act the Good Samaritan, even at the risk of being repelled by the sick man. Mr. Barton was one of those true Christians, who do not hesitate at performing their duty, even when it jars with their feelings. He accordingly sought Paul’s chamber; and, tapping at the door, was bidden to enter.
Weldon started when he saw a stranger, but immediately recovering himself, spoke.
“I am happy to see you, sir,” said he: “pray be seated?”
Mr. Barton sat down; and after apologizing for his intrusion, asked if he could render him any service. Paul expressed his gratitude, but declined the proffered assistance.
“Human aid cannot help me now,” was his reply. “I feel that I am dying, and I thank God for it; although death is a fearful thing to one so stained with guilt as I am.”
“But,” replied Barton, “have you no hope from the mercy of God? Repent of your sins, seek forgiveness through the Saviour, and you will find peace.”
“Peace!” exclaimed Weldon; “talk not of peace to me: I cannot—dare not hope for it!”
“Nay,” replied Barton, “do not despair! The Saviour pardoned the thief upon the cross; and He has bidden all that are weary and heavy laden to come unto Him. There, and there only, will you find rest and joy.”
“O, do not mock me with such words!” exclaimed Weldon. “I tell you, I may not—dare not hope. Teach me to exorcise the restless spirit of the dead, and then I may find peace. Night after night she comes to me in my dreams: waking, she is ever before me—her accusing eyes are fixed upon me. Years have elapsed since she died; oceans roll between her grave and me. I have knelt at the holiest shrines—I have dwelt in the lowest depths of vice—I have joined the giddy in pursuit of pleasure—the wise in toil for knowledge. I have hidden in the caverns of the earth, and stood upon her mountain tops. The palace and the hovel, alternately, have been my home. Men have fawned, and fair maidens smiled on me; but all in vain. Still—still her pale face haunts me. The holy hymn and the din of battle—the mad curse of the drunken revel—the silvery laugh of pleasure—the soothing words of woman—and the flattering homage of man have alike failed tosilence the bitter, ringing reproach of conscience. Then, bid me not hope for the peace which for years I have vainly sought. Would you go to the fiends of hell, and picture heaven with all its joys to them, and say—‘see; all this might have been yours, though now it is lost forever?’ Would you stand upon the scaffold beside the condemned felon, and tell him that a bright heritage had been left him, and paint all the joys of life, saying—all these were his could he but live; and add, that there was no hope—he must die? It were as merciful as to tell me of that for which I would freely give up all that I possess; nay, even life itself to win—yet dare not hope for.”
“Still,” replied Barton, “you need not despair. There is no guilt, however black, that God will not wipe away. I fear you have never yet sought in the proper manner for the peace which you desire?”
“And do you think I might indeed find it?” asked Weldon, eagerly. “O, if you can but teach me how to drive this restless fiend, Remorse, from my heart, I will be forever grateful!—but you must first know what has been my crime. The blood of two innocent, unoffending women rests upon my head; and one of them was my betrothed wife. She loved me—yes, loved me deeply, madly; and I—I betrayed her. She died by her own hand, and her mother of a broken heart. Knowing this, do you still think I might hope for pardon?”
“Your crime was a fearful one; but surely your deep repentance, your great suffering have, in a measure, expatiated your guilt. But permit me to arrange your pillows, and then I will read to you for a short time.”
The pillows having been arranged, Barton produced a pocket Bible, and read such passages as he thought applicable to Weldon’s case; panning occasionally to comment upon them. This was continued as long as he thought Paul’s strength would permit, and then he arose and took his leave, advising the sick man to sleep if possible. Weldon thanked him for his kind visit, and begged him to return soon again, which Barton readily promised to do.
Thereafter Weldon found his new friend by his bedside daily, advising and soothing him. Under Barton’s teachings his mind gradually became more calm, and he learned to look on the past without that agonizing remorse with which he once regarded it. He repented of his sin, and at last found hope that it might be forgiven. But his life was fast ebbing away, and scarcely had he rejoiced in the reality of his new-found peace, when he died. Calmly and happily did his spirit burst its bonds and fly to join the loved and lamented ones in a holier and happier home.
OR THE LOVE WATCH.
———
BY MRS. E. J. EAMES.
———
“’Tis she of Crete.”Wherefore, wherefore, dost thou standBy the sea-washed shore so lonely?Morn’s first crimson shadows onlySaw a vessel leave the strand!But its canvas glancing white,Long hath left thy straining sight—Sunset dies o’er sea and land:Yet across the waste of waters,Saddest of Earth’s quivering daughtersStretcheth still each small white hand!Cretan girl, still art thou there?Luna her soft watch is keeping,Eve’s first timid star is peepingThrough the hushed and shining air;For that fair ship dost thou wait—Beautiful, yet desolate?With thy long and jet black hairWild and loose about thee falling—Still complaining, moaning, calling—In thy heart’s forlorn despair!Watching still beside the sea!—Gem-like stars to midnight givenFlash upon the purple heaven—O! forsaken Ariadne!Leave thy seat beside the shore—He will come to thee no more—That young king is false to thee,Who for his sake crossed the ocean,And with deep, intense devotionWorshiped him, as Deity!Royal princess! morn againOn thy weary watching breaketh—Hope deferred thy heart sick maketh—Stretch thy hand no more—’tis vain!Could that false Athenian kingKnow what desperate faith doth clingTo thy heart, he would againSeek the bride so soon forsaken—But thy trust would then be shaken:Better dwell thou by the main!
“’Tis she of Crete.”Wherefore, wherefore, dost thou standBy the sea-washed shore so lonely?Morn’s first crimson shadows onlySaw a vessel leave the strand!But its canvas glancing white,Long hath left thy straining sight—Sunset dies o’er sea and land:Yet across the waste of waters,Saddest of Earth’s quivering daughtersStretcheth still each small white hand!Cretan girl, still art thou there?Luna her soft watch is keeping,Eve’s first timid star is peepingThrough the hushed and shining air;For that fair ship dost thou wait—Beautiful, yet desolate?With thy long and jet black hairWild and loose about thee falling—Still complaining, moaning, calling—In thy heart’s forlorn despair!Watching still beside the sea!—Gem-like stars to midnight givenFlash upon the purple heaven—O! forsaken Ariadne!Leave thy seat beside the shore—He will come to thee no more—That young king is false to thee,Who for his sake crossed the ocean,And with deep, intense devotionWorshiped him, as Deity!Royal princess! morn againOn thy weary watching breaketh—Hope deferred thy heart sick maketh—Stretch thy hand no more—’tis vain!Could that false Athenian kingKnow what desperate faith doth clingTo thy heart, he would againSeek the bride so soon forsaken—But thy trust would then be shaken:Better dwell thou by the main!
“’Tis she of Crete.”
Wherefore, wherefore, dost thou stand
By the sea-washed shore so lonely?
Morn’s first crimson shadows only
Saw a vessel leave the strand!
But its canvas glancing white,
Long hath left thy straining sight—
Sunset dies o’er sea and land:
Yet across the waste of waters,
Saddest of Earth’s quivering daughters
Stretcheth still each small white hand!
Cretan girl, still art thou there?
Luna her soft watch is keeping,
Eve’s first timid star is peeping
Through the hushed and shining air;
For that fair ship dost thou wait—
Beautiful, yet desolate?
With thy long and jet black hair
Wild and loose about thee falling—
Still complaining, moaning, calling—
In thy heart’s forlorn despair!
Watching still beside the sea!—
Gem-like stars to midnight given
Flash upon the purple heaven—
O! forsaken Ariadne!
Leave thy seat beside the shore—
He will come to thee no more—
That young king is false to thee,
Who for his sake crossed the ocean,
And with deep, intense devotion
Worshiped him, as Deity!
Royal princess! morn again
On thy weary watching breaketh—
Hope deferred thy heart sick maketh—
Stretch thy hand no more—’tis vain!
Could that false Athenian king
Know what desperate faith doth cling
To thy heart, he would again
Seek the bride so soon forsaken—
But thy trust would then be shaken:
Better dwell thou by the main!
THE GAME OF THE MONTH.
———
BY HENRY WILLIAM HERBERT, AUTHOR OF “FRANK FORESTER’S FIELD SPORTS,” “FISH AND FISHING,” ETC.
———
The Yellow Perch;Perca flavescens.
This fine fish, which belongs to the familyPercoidæ, of the divisionAcanthopterygii, or thorny-finned, is the common perch of the waters of the United Slates; ranging from the extreme east to the extreme west of the continent; from the streams and pools of Nova Scotia and New Brunswick, to the feeders of Lake Superior and the northern tributaries of the Canadian lakes.
To the northward, it is not found in the rivers flowing into the Arctic Ocean or Hudson’s Bay, and its southern limit is ill-defined, and can scarcely be ascertained, except by personal inspection; since the denizens of the southern waters have been disfigured by appellations, local, provincial, and most unscientifical, so barbarous as to defy the most intelligent inquirer.
The title of the divisionAcanthopterygii, orthorny-finned, is founded on the principle that every genus and sub-genus thereof has one or more of the fins supported on, or preceded by, strong, sharp spines, capable of inflicting a severe wound, and forming a very efficient weapon of defense, so that the boldest and most voracious of fishes rarely venture to seize them. All the genera have two dorsal fins—the first, or foremost, of which is invariably supported on spines, as opposed to soft branched rays; while the second, or hindmost, is of soft texture, preceded by one or more hard spines—two pectoral fins, both soft-rayed—one ventral, and one anal, each of which is often preceded by one or more spines—and one caudal, or tail fin, which is the main propelling power of the animal. On the number of the hard spines supplementary to the soft fins, are founded thedifferent families; and on the number of spines in the first dorsal, the dental system, and some other parts of the bony structure, the lesser or individual distinctions. On color, as distinctive of genera, or even varieties, little or no reliance can be placed, unless confirmed by distinct variations in the bony formation; since in all fishes there is observed to exist a great range of hues, shades, and even positive colors, arising sometimes from mere casual influences operating on individual specimens, sometimes from accidents of light or shade affecting peculiar situations, and most frequently of all from the soil and character of the feeding-grounds, and from the various mineral or earthy substances held in solution by the waters they frequent.
These latter influences frequently modify the same fish in different streams, even of the same region and neighborhood, and flowing over soils apparently identical, to such an extent, that the casual observer not unnaturally believes them to be distinct varieties, if not species, and can be with difficulty convinced, on the immutable evidences of structural sameness.
This fact has led, in a great measure, to the complicating and confounding the science of Natural History, by the undue multiplication of names, species, and genera, where no specific differences exist; rendering the science infinitely difficult to the beginner, and causing the unlearned to undervalue the lore of the naturalist, and to deny the reality of all scientific distinctions whatsoever.
On differences of structure, such as the situation and texture of the fins, the number of spines or soft rays in each, the form of the gill covers, the character and position of the teeth, perfect reliance may be placed, as indicating unchangeable specific characteristics, by observation of which the educated naturalist will name at a glance the species, genus and subgenus of any fish, unseen before; and will unerringly determine his habits, his food, and in some degree his habitation.
Thus of thePercoidfamily we distinguish the subgeneraPerca, perch proper, fromGristesandCentrarchus, to which are referred the types black basse of the lakes, and the little rock basse of the St. Lawrence basin, by the fact that thePercæhave one spine to the ventrals and two to the anal. TheGristesone to the ventrals and three to the anal. TheCentrarchione to the ventrals and six to the anal.
And in like manner, by the number of spines supporting the first dorsal, we are enabled to pronounce on the truth or untruthfulness of the many subdivisions of the perch family, as predicated by the fishermen of various regions, and insisted on by credulous naturalists, such as Dr. Smith, of Massachusetts, whose book is rendered absolutely valueless by the readiness which he displays in adopting every local legend concerning new varieties, and classifying new species; until, if we believe him at all, we must believe that every several stream and pool from Maine to Minnesota has its own distinct variety of perch; nor of perch only, but of trout, and, more or less, of every finny tenant of the waters.
The truth appears to have been at length firmly established, and to be this—that there is but one clearly defined and distinct perch,perca flavescens, the yellow perch, found in the United Stales—theperca fluviatilis, common river perch of Europe, does not exist at all in American waters, though it is so closely connected with our fish that a casual observer would pronounce them identical—that the supposed subgenera ofperca granulata, or rough-headed perch,perca argentea, silver perch,perca acuta, or sharp-nosed perch, andperca gracilis, said to be peculiar to the small lake of Skaneateles, in the interior of New York, are not sufficiently made out as permanent varieties; and that the variations of color from dark green, and greenish brown, to bright yellow, silvery, and something nearly approaching to orange, are merely local, casual, and individual differences, and not general, permanent, specific distinctions.
The following luminous description of this game and excellent fish is borrowed from Dr. Richardson’sTaura-boreali-Americana, or natural history of the Northern Regions of America, including parts of the United States, and the British Provinces as far north as to the Arctic Ocean. The specimen from which it was compiled was caught at Penetanguishine, on the great Georgian bay of Lake Huron, but will answer for fish of this genus taken in any part of America which they may chance to frequent; so small is their variation in any respect but that of color, which appears to vary in obedience to no fixed law of locality or latitude, except that it appears to me that of the fishes taken in estuaries and at the mouths of tidal rivers, the color is deeper and the tints fade from cerulean black along the dorsal outline to olive green on the flanks, with a silver belly; while in clear lakes and fresh streams, they change from olive-green on the back to bright golden yellow on the sides and belly.
THE YELLOW PERCH.
Color.—General tint of the back greenish-yellow; of the sides golden-yellow with minute black specks; and of the belly whitish. Nine or ten dark bands descend from the back to the sides, and taper away toward the belly; the alternate ones are shorter, and on the tail and shoulders they are less distinctly defined: the longest band is opposite to the posterior part of the first dorsal fin, on which there is a large black mark.
Form.—The body is moderately compressed, its greatest thickness being somewhat more than one half of its depth. Its profile is oblong, tapering more toward the tail, which is nearly cylindrical: its greatest depth is at the ventrals, and rather exceeds one-fourth of the total length, caudal included.
The head constitutes two-sevenths of the total length, and its height, at the eye, is equal to one-half its length from the tip of the snout to the point of the gill-cover. The forehead is flat, but appears depressed, owing to the convexity of the nape. The snout is a little convex. The orbits are lateral, distant more than one of their own diameters from the tip of the snout, and more than two diameters fromthe point of the gill-cover. The jaws are equal. The mouth descends on it runs backward, its posterior angle being under the centre of the orbit.
Teeth.—The intermaxillaries, lower-jaw, knob of the vomer, and edge of the palate-bones, are covered with very small, straight or slightly-curved, densely-crowded teeth (en velours.) The vault of the palate, posterior part of the vomer, and the pointed tongue, are smooth.
Gill-covers.—The preoperculum is narrow; its upper limb rising vertically forms a right-angle with the lower one; and its edge is armed with small spinous teeth, those on the lower limb being directed forward. The bony operculum terminates in a narrow sub-spinous point, beneath which there are three denticulations, with grooves running backward from them. An acute-pointed membranous flap prolonged from the margin of the suboperculum conceals these parts in the recent fish. The edge of the interoperculum and posterior part of the suboperculum are minutely denticulated. The edges of the humeral bones are slightly grooved and denticulated, the denticulations being more obvious in some individuals than in others.
Scales.—There are sixty scales on the lateral line, and twenty-two in a vertical row between the first dorsal and centre of the belly. The scales are rather small, their bases truncated and furrowed to near the middle (striées en éventail) by six grooves corresponding to eight minute lobes of the margin. A narrow border of the outer rounded edge is very minutely streaked, producing teeth on the margin, visible under a lens. The length and breadth of a scale, taken from the side, are about equal, being two and a half lines. A linear inch measured on the sides or belly, longitudinally, contains twelve scales, the scales on the belly having, however, less vertical breadth. On the back an inch includes seventeen or eighteen. The asperity of the scales is perceptible to the finger, when it is drawn over them from the tail toward the head. The lateral-line is thrice as near to the back as to the belly, and is slightly arched till it passes the dorsal and anal fins, when it runs straight through the middle of the tail. It is marked on each scale by a tubular elevation, which is divided irregularly by an oblique depression.
Fins.—Br. 7—7; D. 13—1 | 13; P. 14; V. 1 | 5; A. 2 | 8; C. 175-5.[2]
The first dorsal commences a little posterior to the point of the gill-cover and to the pectorals: its fourth and fifth rays are the highest: the first ray is slender and not half the height of the second; the last ray is so short as to be detected only by a close examination. The second dorsal commences a quarter of an inch from the first, the space between them being occupied by two or three inter-spinous bones without rays: its first ray is spinous, and is closely applied to the base of the second, which is thrice as long distinctly articulated, and divided at the tip: the remaining rays are all divided at their summits, but at their bases the articulations are obsolete. The pectorals originate opposite to the spinous point of the operculum; they are somewhat longer than the ventrals, which are attached opposite to the second spine of the first dorsal. The anal is rounded: its first ray is one-fourth part shorter than the second, both being spinous: the succeeding rays are articulated and branched, the five anterior ones being longer than the second spine, the others becoming successively shorter: its termination is opposite to that of the second dorsal. The caudal is distinctly forked, its base is scaly, the scales advancing farther on the outer rays and covering one-third of their length.
Such is the general description of the fish throughout the country at large, but great allowance must be made for accidental and local variations of color, some specimens being light-green, backed and barred with black, with silvery bellies, others exactly as portrayed above, others nearly orange, and approaching in some degree to the splendor of the goldfish.
As I have observed, no fish is more general than this in every description of waters throughout his range in the United States. From the largest rivers, so low down their channels that the waters begin to be brackish, to the smallest mountain rivulets; from the mill-pond, and small, clear mountain tarn, to the vast expanses of Huron, Michigan and Superior, they are omnipresent and numerous.
They spawn in March, each female excluding a vast quantity of spawn. So many as 992,000 ova having been taken, as it is stated by Mr. Brown in his “American Angler’s Guide,” though he does not annex his authority, from a single female.
They may be taken during every month of the year with the hook, being bold biters and among the most voracious of all fishes, devouring the spawn and young fry of their own species with savage avidity, and being among the most deadly foes to the trout preserves, owing to the rapacity with which they ransack the spawning beds.
They are in the main a lively and active fish, roving about in small bands or shoals, sometimes swimming high and near the surface, leaping merrily at the flies and smaller water insects, and sometimes, especially in clear, rapid scours of gravel-bedded rivers, sweeping along the bottom gathering the small, red brandling worms, of which they are very fond, caddises, and other water reptiles, as well the spawn of such fish as use these localities.
The larger fish will, however, often select stations, such as the lee of a large stone at the tail of a ripple, especially under the umbrage of trees growing on the bank, or among the piles and timbers of mill-dams or sluice-ways, whence they sally out like the pike or trout on any passing prey with great velocity and accuracy of aim. Still even these are decidedly gregarious, as one is never found singly in a hole, such places being invariably frequented by such band as it will liberally support, who rarely stray beyond its limits, and prey, for the most partover the same fishing-ground, and in the same course.
This propensity is taken advantage of by the angler, since, when he has once struck upon a well-stocked haunt, while the fish are in the humor to bite, he will be very apt, if patient and skillful, to take the whole shoal without the loss of a single fish.
The growth of the yellow perch is slow, and appears to be proportioned pretty accurately to the size and character of the waters which he frequents. In small, swift running brooks, or little spring-ponds or mill-dams, he rarely exceeds a few inches in length and a few ounces in weight, partaking generally of the green and silvery type of the fish. In estuaries and large rivers, in the pellucid tarns and lakelets, which are dotted so beautifully through all the uplands of the eastern and middle states from Maine to Pennsylvania, in the vast expanses of the great northern lakes of Canada, in the giant rivers of the west, they attain far more rapidly to a great size, three or four pounds being a run by no means unusual, and individuals being not unfrequently taken up to five, six and seven pounds, when they are very firm, fat, and in capital condition for the table.
They may be caught in all months of the year. Mr. Brown considers that they “may be had in the largest quantities and in the finest condition from May to July;” but from my own experience, which has been limited principally to the lakelets of Maine, to Greenwood or Wawayanda lake, in Orange county, New York, to Lake Hopatkong, desecrated into Brooklyn pond, in Sussex county, New Jersey, and to some of the north-eastern streams and ponds of Pennsylvania, I should say that late in the autumn—
When the maple boughs are crimson,And the hickory shines like gold,And the noons are sultry hot,And the nights are frosty cold;
When the maple boughs are crimson,And the hickory shines like gold,And the noons are sultry hot,And the nights are frosty cold;
When the maple boughs are crimson,And the hickory shines like gold,And the noons are sultry hot,And the nights are frosty cold;
When the maple boughs are crimson,
And the hickory shines like gold,
And the noons are sultry hot,
And the nights are frosty cold;
They bite with greater freedom, show more sport, and are better on the table than at any other season of the year.
The yellow perch is a bold, nay! a savage biter, and a greedy feeder; it is even recorded of him that he has been known to strike at his own eye, casually torn out by the point of the hook, which is to me by no means incredible.
Securely weaponed by the sharp palisade of arrowy spines bristling along his back, and by the stout jagged thorns protruding in advance of his ventral anal fins, when of any considerable size, he fears neither the tremendous rush and shark-like jaws of the savage mascalonge, nor the terrible agility and dauntless daring of the namaycush and siskawity, those vast lake trouts, but feeds himself, a lesser tyrant of the waters, on whatever crosses his path of havoc.
A light, stiff, ten-foot rod, with a small reel, and twenty-five or thirty yards of line, with a small cork float, and a proper sinker for bottom fishing, is the best implement; and the best baits for this method are the common ground-worm or the little scarlet brandling. The latter particularly in rapid channels and scours. Cheese pastes are also used, and at times successfully, but I do not advocate their use, but the most certainly deadly of all baits is the paste made from the preserved roe of any fish which frequents the waters you are to fish. Trout-roe, in lakes or rivers haunted by that gamest and best of all the inhabitants of the water, kills unerringly.
In brackish water shrimp beats the world for perch, remembering that you fish near to or upon the bottom.
Perch, especially when of large size, may be trolled for as pike, with the hind legs of a frog, or with any small fish on a gorge hook. But in my opinion the prettiest of all modes of catching them is to rove for them with the live minnow.
For this purpose you take a fine, clear, gut leader, with a No. 9 Limerick hook whipped on at the tail, and an inch and a half above it, and back to back to the tail hook, a second one size smaller than the first.
The upper should be hooked securely into the lower jaw of a moderate sized minnow, and the lower into his dorsal fin, care being taken not to pierce his back, when he will swim about naturally and gayly for many hours, if not taken by a fish, and if carefully released without laceration, will survive the operation. A small cork, or, what is better, quill-float, is necessary to this method, and a few shot, sufficient to sink the bait to within three inches of the bottom. When a bite is felt, a little time should be given before striking; when struck, the perch is surely taken, for though he pulls hard for a short time he has neither the fierce courage nor the wily craft of the trout, but succumbs after a few brief struggles. A reel is necessary, and the float often dispensed with by veterans in the art.
The following very graphic extracts, on perch fishing in the waters of the Niagara river and Lake Erie, are from the pen of probably the best piscatorial writer of the United States, long an esteemed correspondent of the Buffalo Commercial Advertiser, from whose lucubrations I have borrowed largely in my larger works on “Fish and Fishing,” and to whom I gladly record my obligation:
“The Yellow Perch.This beautiful and active fish is almostomnipresent in the fresh waters of the Northern States. There are probably two distinct but similar species in our country, blended together under this common name. The perch of New England differs from ours principally in the shape of the head. In the Saratoga Lake, Owasco Lake, Cayuga Outlet, the Flats of Lake Huron, and many other localities, the perch is larger than with us, frequently weighing three pounds. Among the perch of our streams and rivers, a half-pounder is a very portly citizen—though on a few particular bars they are sometimes taken in considerable numbers, averaging nearly a pound each. It is almost always to be had, from earliest spring to the commencement of winter; and when poor Piscator has had all his lobsters[3]taken by the sheeps-head, and utterly despairs of bass, he can, at any time, and almost any where, in our river, bait with the minnow and the worm, and retrieve somewhat from frowning fortune, by catching a mess of perch.
“In the spring, as soon as the ice has left the streams, the perch begins running up our creeks to spawn. He is then caught in them in great plenty. About the middle of May, however, he seems to prefer the Niagara’s clear current, and almost entirely deserts the Tonawanda, and other amber waters. You then find him in the eddies, on the edge of swift ripples, and often in the swift waters, watching for the minnow. As the water-weeds increase in height, he ensconces himself among them, and, in mid-summer, comes out to seek his prey only in the morning and toward night. He seems to delight especially in a grassy bottom, and when the black frost has cut down the tall water-weeds, and the more delicate herbage that never attains the surface is withered, he disappears until spring—probably secluding himself in the depths of the river.
“The back fin of the perch is large, and armed with strong spines. He is bold and ravenous. He will not give way to the pike or to the black bass; and though he may sometimes be eaten by them, his comrades will retaliate upon the young of his destroyers.
“The proper bait for the perch is the minnow. He will take that all seasons. In mid-summer, however, he prefers the worm, at which he generally bites freely. He is often taken with the grub, or with small pieces of fish of any kind.
“He is a capital fish at all times for the table. His flesh is hard and savory. He should be fried with salt pork rather than butter, and thoroughly done. He makes good chowder, though inferior for that purpose to the black bass or the yellow pike.
“A difference of opinion exists among our most tasteful icthyophagists, as to whether this fish should be scaled or skinned. Let me tell you how to skin him. Take a sharp-pointed knife, and rip up the skin along the back, from the posterior extremity of the back fin, on one or both sides of it, along its whole length—then take the fish firmly by the head with the left hand, and with the right take hold of the skin of the back near the head, first on one side and then on the other, andpeel it down over the tail. This being done, all the fins are thereby removed except those of the back and belly, which are easily drawn out by a gentle pulling toward the head. Cut off the head, and you have a skinless, finless lump of pure white flesh. Some say this is the only way a perch should be prepared for the cook’s art—others say it impairs the flavor, and should never be pursued. As for me, I say, ‘in medio tutissimus ibis,’—neither of the disputants is infallible. Much, very much of the sweetness of the perch, and, indeed, almost all fishes, resides in the skin, which should never be parted with except for some special reason; therefore, as a general thing, I scale my perch. But, in summer, the skin of the perch is apt to acquire a slight bitter taste, or a smack of the mud—therefore, in summer, I skin my perch.”
Before quitting this subject, I will simply point out that the excellent little pan fish taken in salt water, near the turn of the tide, in most of our large rivers, and usually known as white perch, or silver perch, is not a perch, but the little white, or the little red bass. And herewith, good-night; and good luck to the gentle friends and good fishermen all who read Graham.
[2]
Br.represents the rays within the gill-covers, which form the breathing apparatus of the animal—D. the dorsals—P. pectorals—V. ventrals—A. anal—C. caudal. The notations 1 | 13, 2 | 5, and 2 | 8, respectively indicate one hard spine thirteen soft rays, etc. etc.
[3]
By lobsters the writer means the small fresh-water crayfish.