HARRY MILLER'S STURGEON.

BY BENJAMIN KARR.

Thirty-four years ago, boys who lived on the shores of Lake Champlain were very fond of catching the big sturgeons that abounded in its clear waters. Not more so, perhaps, than boys would be now if fine fish were as plenty and as easily captured; but then other sports were not so common in that day, and fishing had much less competition. Often six or seven would go out together with long seines, and some famous catches they used to make.

One spring day several lads about eighteen years old hauled in a splendid sturgeon, whose good nature and intelligence won him quite a local fame, and whose story ought to have been written long ago.

He was such a fine handsome fellow that Harry Miller, a kind-hearted boy who was fond of pets, determined to take him home and try to tame him.

The rest of the party were all willing to give up their share in the prize, so the big captive's fate was settled then and there. Harry took him to his home at Cedar Point, near Port Henry, and put him in a box which he had sunk in the water, and fastened to a landing at the edge of the lake.

The box was about eight feet wide and thirteen feet long, so that a sturgeon could have plenty of room, even if he was over three and a half feet long, and weighed about one hundred and fifteen pounds, as this one did. Harry was careful that there should be plenty of chance for the fresh lake water to flow all through this novel aquarium, so that it was always fresh and pure. He also made a door which could be securely locked, so that he could take his pet out when he wished, and yet be sure that no one would steal him.

The next thing was a name, and commonplace Tom was chosen, just as it might be for a horse or a dog. It did not take Tom long to learn his name, and as he had all the worms, meat, and kitchen scraps he could eat, and was always treated kindly, he soon grew very tame and fat. He was ready whenever any one came to feed him, and when his master playfully patted his sides, he would roll over just as roguishly as a pet puss might.

A Frenchman who lived near Harry Miller's home was wonderfully skillful in training animals, and he persuaded Harry to let him see what he could do with Tom. He found a most docile pupil, and succeeded amazingly, to Harry's intense delight. After several weeks, he considered his task accomplished, and returned his charge to his young owner.

Tom was now ready to do something practical in return for his master's kindness; in fact, he had become a real "sea-horse," well broken to harness, or rather to rope, for that is all he needed to pull a boat.

A heavy ring was fastened through the thick cartilage just behind the dorsal or back fin, and a stout rope was snapped into this ring when Tom was "hitched up," just as a rein often is into a bit.

The other end of the rope was held or made fast in the boat, so that all one had to do to have a fine ride was to attend to the steering. A long pole did duty for reins, and a slap on the water either side of Tom would turn him in the opposite direction.

If he grew lazy, as he sometimes did, a sharp splash just behind would quicken him up. There was never any trouble about getting home after a ride. Just as soon as Tom had a chance to turn around, he would start straight for his box, and swim with all his might until he was once more snugly housed.

While Tom was being trained, he was allowed only about six feet of rope, but after Harry felt sure that he could trust his pet, he let him go twenty or thirty feet from the boat, and instead of short rides he used to stay out as long as three or four hours.

Just think, boys, of going fishing with a fish to do the sculling! Naturally Tom was kept quite busy towing fishing parties, and he worked all the better when he had plenty to do. A vacation of two or three days would make him behave like a colt the next time he went out.

At first he would rush off at a great rate, drawing two men in a good-sized boat nearly as fast as one could row, but he would soon cool down until he hardly wanted to stir at all.

Work every day was what Tom needed to make him willing and steady, and if he had it he was a model of good behavior.

Of course a great many other boys thought it would be fine to have a trained fish, and many sturgeons were caught and petted, but all in vain. None of them could be induced to work, and Harry Miller's Tom remained without a rival, the pride of his master, and the envy of other boys.

Most of the sturgeons which boys tried to train killed themselves by staying too long under water when they were taken out into the lake, and others pined away and died before any progress could be made.

For three years Tom did his young master good and faithful service, but at last he changed owners, and nothing is known of his history from the time he was sold. Harry was forced to part with his pet because the Millers moved away from the lake, but the twenty-five dollars he received was a poor recompense to him for the loss of such an accomplished fish.

But though he never heard of him again, he has always cherished his memory.

Mr. Harry Miller is now a middle-aged gentleman, living in the town of Warren, Pennsylvania, where he often entertains his young friends with the story of his wonderful sturgeon Tom, every word of which is strictly true.