m foRESt 
 
 -^FRANK A BATES- 
 
 LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
 D001E5T4t.3A 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 
 
 Chap... Copyright Ko. 
 
 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 
 
STORIES OF 
 
 LAKE, FIELD 
 
 . AND . . . 
 
 FOREST. 
 
 Rambles of a Sportsman - Naturalist. 
 
 With Ten Hilf-Tone Engravings. 
 
 By 
 FRANK A. BATES, 
 
 Author of " Gicie Birds of N:rth Araerica; " "Rambles of 
 E::ton:oI:g:5t; ■' '• Wanier^^s in Ne-^r Hampshire;" etc 
 
 SOUTH BRAINTREE. MASS-: 
 
 Frank A. Bates. 
 
 SciESTiFic A>D Historical Books, 
 
 tS99. 
 
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 c.^'^^ 
 
 ^^\ 
 
 38845 
 
 CopjTight 1S99 
 By FRANK A. BATES. 
 
 Weymouth and Braintree PublishingXo. 
 Printers. 
 
 ^i^-xev 
 
 VSAjCXA>V 
 
 ^^.^^ 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 1. GEO USE SHOOTIXG EXTBAOBDIXABY. 
 
 2. FLY-FISHING FOB WHITE PEBCH 
 
 3. GOOSE SHOOTING. 
 
 4. PEBCH FISHING. 
 
 5. A TALE OF WINNEPESAUKEE. 
 
 6. HOBN POUT FISHING. 
 
 7. THE FOX WE DID NOT GET. 
 
 8. INSECT HUNTING IN WINTEB. 
 
 9. LAKE TBOUT FISHING. 
 
 10. THE NATUBALIST IN THE WHITE 
 MO UNTAINS. 
 
I sat hy the shore of the sounding sea, 
 
 And a sioeet, sad song it sang to me. 
 
 It sang of vessels buried deep, 
 
 And men entranced in death's deep sleep. 
 
 It sang of battles, ivhose terrible roar 
 
 Besounded loud from shore to shore. 
 
 It sang of monsters ichose slimy for 7ns 
 
 Clove the shining waters, deep-hid from storms. 
 
 Then the music changed and it sang of the sun^ 
 Whose glittering beams made the ripples run 
 In glistening lines to the sandy shore., 
 Where lovers loalJced by the breakers' roar. 
 Where beautiful shells in silence crept., 
 And fishes swam and sea-birds slept. 
 And it told me to listen, then tell their lore 
 To the readers, who run these pages o'er. 
 
GROUSE SHOOTING 
 EXTRAORDINARY. 
 
GROUSE SHOOTING EXTRAORDINARY. 
 
 fT had been a bard day in the fields, for 
 the birds were wild and w^ary. And 
 when we drew up our chairs around the 
 fire, after supper, it was with a sigh of relief 
 to get our boots off. 
 
 After the pipes were lighted, a comparison 
 of experiences was inaugurated, and B. told 
 how the old cock partridge had dodged be- 
 hind a cedar, just about as soon as he got up 
 from the covert ; while P. told of his sur- 
 prise when he flushed a bird, and it fell to a 
 shot from a thicket close by, just as he caught 
 sight of it, and Will stepped out to retrieve 
 his bird, and was just about as surprised to 
 see P. standing there with gun at a ready. 
 
 If you want to hear stories of gunning, 
 fishing or anything else, in their pristine 
 vigor, you want to sit over a rock-maple fire, 
 in the kitchen of a gunning camp, after the 
 day's sport is over, and hear them as they 
 drop fresh from the lips of the actors them- 
 
8 LAKE, FIELD AND FOREST. 
 
 selves, unattended by the results of forget- 
 fulness from the lapse of thne, or fear of the 
 blue pencil of the editor. 
 
 On this particular evening, however, one 
 of our circle was a professional man from the 
 city, who had been a great traveller, and who, 
 in the course of his varied experience, had 
 been an officer in the U. S. Eegular Army. 
 
 The talk had been mainly upon the tricks 
 and dodges of the wily ruffed grouse, or 
 partridge, as he was termed l)y our coterie. 
 And by the way, "for ways that are dark, 
 and tricks that are vain," this bird can give 
 aces to any other bird and whi out every time. 
 
 Finally our friend, whom we will term the 
 Doctor, spoke up and said : 
 
 "You fellows have been telling how smart 
 and tricky your grouse were here (and I 
 fully agree with you) what do you think of 
 killing nearly as many grouse with stones, 
 as twenty men did with guns, and in less 
 time ?" 
 
 "O, come off! Doc. tell that to the chil- 
 dren !" was the cry from all directions. 
 
 "Well, its so," said the Doctor, "and I 
 was the one who did it." 
 
GROUSE SHOOTING EXTRAORDINARY. \) 
 
 '*Let's have the story," said every one and 
 the chairs were hitched up a little closer. 
 
 *'I was looking at that prairie chicken in 
 the case in the other room, while I was wait- 
 ing for supper and thinking about the work 
 that's beinoj done here in Massachusetts to re- 
 stock the covers with imported game l)irds, 
 and it brought back some of the times I've 
 had shooting in the west. By the way, where 
 was that bird shot, and when?" 
 
 '*I shot it," said Will, right here in Win- 
 chendon, on the sixth day of November, 1896. 
 I thought it was a partridge when it got up, 
 and I did not find out what it was till I picked 
 it up. I know of two others that were shot 
 near here, in the same way, and one was 
 found dead beside the road, where it fell, 
 after it struck the telephone wire. I would 
 not have shot the one I did, if I had known 
 what it was." 
 
 **Well, there's no doubt that it was one of 
 those that were put out around i'itchburg, is 
 there?" 
 
 "Oh, no! that's where it came from all 
 right. But lets have that story about stoning 
 partridges to death." 
 
10 LAKE, FIELD AND FOREST. 
 
 "It was not exactly stoning partridges, 
 for they were blue grouse (C obscura). 
 
 While I was stationed at Fort Spokane, in 
 Washington, in 1884, we were supplied with 
 a certain number of shotguns and ammuni- 
 tion therefor by the Government, to be used 
 in supplying the Post with game, and upon 
 requisition, they would be served out to the 
 men, when they desired to go shooting, but 
 many of the men preferred to use their rifles, 
 for the grouse will run about upon the 
 ground, and when flushed they fly to the 
 trees, where one can easily secure them by a 
 shot in the neck or fore part of the body, 
 but if you hit them from behind in the back- 
 bone, there will be but little of the bird left 
 to carry to camp. 
 
 One lovely day in July, about twenty men, 
 some with ponies and some without, started 
 out orrouse shootino- in various directions. 
 Not feeling very much like this sort of sport, 
 and still desiring to take a little walk, I 
 vainly endeavored to convince some one that 
 they could not do better than to accompany 
 me, and finally started oft' alone up toward a 
 ravine, where it was reported that the berries 
 were thick, and without a oun, fori did not 
 
GROUSE SHOOTING EXTRAORDINARY. 11 
 
 care to be bothered with the weight of a 
 Springfield rifle on a warm day in July. I 
 hunted for the berries for some time without 
 success and at last came to the Government 
 wood-pile, where I found a team and outfit, 
 provisions, fire smouldering, etc., but no one 
 about. This was perhaps no unusual occur- 
 rence, but it was very convenient later on. 
 
 Farther on, I saw a lot of little grouse run- 
 ning about in the grass, then some larger 
 ones, and finally flushed some large old birds, 
 which lit in some trees just above. One of 
 them settled himself cosily upon a limb, and 
 sat there, cocking his head at me from side 
 to side, looking, for all the world, like an 
 old hen. Just for fun, I picked up a stone 
 and threw it at him, but he never even 
 moved. This promised a little sport, so I 
 drew up on to the side of the ravine about to 
 a level with the bird, where there seemed to 
 to be an abundance of this sort of ammuni- 
 tion, and commenced a fusilade upon him, of 
 which he took no notice, until a large, slow- 
 flying missile took him on the side of the 
 body, and he deigned to' move about a foot 
 along the liml). Another smaller one, trav- 
 elling with more force, took him in the head 
 
12 LAKE, FIELD AND FOREST. 
 
 and he dropped off the limb dead^ I followed 
 up the same tactics upon the balance of the 
 flock, and before long had two old birds and 
 four half grown young, when I got tired of 
 throwing stones. 
 
 I went back to the outfit, confiscated some 
 salt-pork and flour, stirred up their fire, and 
 cut up two of my young birds in their pan 
 with some pork, cooked them, thickened the 
 fat with flour for gravy, and as the birds 
 were young and tender, I enjoyed a much 
 better meal than I would have had at the 
 mess table. 
 
 I got back to camp with two old birds and 
 two young ones, and when tattoo was beaten, 
 none of the men who w^ent out with guns had 
 brought in a bird, although they had been 
 hunting them all day. Just before taps, two 
 of the soldiers, who had gone twenty miles 
 up the river, taking turns at riding, came in 
 with quite a bunch, but I nearly beat the 
 crowd, with nothing but stones for ammuni- 
 tion. 
 
 The character of the blue grouse is rather 
 stolid, and indifterent, but when they start 
 they go like a flash, looking like a blue streak 
 
GROUSE SHOOTING EXTRAORDINARY. 13 
 
 in the air, and as they were heavy, they 
 made quite a commotion when they flew. 
 
 When hunting these birds in the winter, 
 we used to cross the river and take to the 
 bank, which was the lower of six terraces, 
 and go over a piece of each one in turn. 
 The birds would flush from the lower one 
 which was covered with a thick mat of sage 
 brush, and fly up, keeping about one terrace 
 in advance of us. The second terrace was 
 more thinly overgrown with the brush which 
 was mixed with a bush bearing a berry , upon 
 which the birds fed. Each terrace is more 
 thinly covered as you rise until the sixth is 
 reached, which is covered with pines; here 
 the birds take to the trees, and we would 
 knock them ofl" with a rifle bullet. 
 
 On the warmer days of winter they would 
 come out and bask in the sun, on the bare 
 spots, between the bushes, and it was some- 
 times, especially when there was a crust, no 
 small job to climb up the steep slopes after 
 them. 
 
 It is to be hoped that this is not one of 
 the birds to be imported here, the gunners 
 would faint at the idea of a bird that did not 
 put the breadth of a county between them. 
 
14 LAKE, FIELD AND FOEEST. 
 
 the instant of being flushed ; but joking one 
 side, it does not seem as though this was a 
 bird to be considered desirable from a 
 sportsman's point of view, although they 
 would no doubt stand the climate, since the 
 thermometer runs as low as 48 degrees be- 
 low zero in the winter, and the men would 
 sit and play cards with their overcoats on, 
 ear laps down, and the edge of the table 
 within six inches of a red-hot stove. 
 "Chain-lightning whiskey" (a compound of 
 kerosene, tobacco and murder) would freeze 
 on the table, but 3^et they never heard of a 
 man freezing. 
 
 Summer was as bad the other way, for 
 the mercury was at 116 degrees on the par- 
 ade ground for ten days together, and not a 
 drop of rain all summer. 
 
 Still the change might have an injurious 
 effect, for all our attempts at acclimatization 
 of birds are not as successful as that of the 
 English sparrow." ~ 
 
 ''No," says AVill. "None of the birds, 
 except the quail, seemed to live here a great 
 while, but I don't see any reason why the 
 pinnated grouse did not live and breed here. 
 There used to be plenty of them here, and 
 
GKOUSE SHOOTING EXTRAORDINARY. 15 
 
 there are some now, down on Martha's Vine- 
 yard. The chmate can't be much worse for 
 them here, than it is on the prairies." 
 
 '*If you had ever been out on the grounds 
 where the prairie chickens live you would 
 change your mind,'' said the doctor." The 
 trouble here, I think, is the lack of proper 
 food. The chicken feeds on grain, almost 
 exclusively, when there is any, but of 
 course they eat enormous quantities of grass- 
 hoppers and other insects, and when driven 
 to it will eat buds of bushes, but they pick 
 up lots of grain on the stubble in the large 
 wheat and corn fields of the west even in 
 winter. 
 
 Now you know that our partridge, in the 
 winter, feeds almost exclusively on buds and 
 seeds of bushes ; and I think that the prairie 
 hens put out here, did not find their accus- 
 tomed food, and either left or died. At any 
 rate very few of them ever bred. It is 
 mighty risky business, trying to import ani- 
 mals to new countries ; you do not know 
 what turn they will take. 
 
 I do not approve of introducing the Pheas- 
 ant into Massachusetts. It sounds kind of 
 big, but from what I have seen of them in 
 
16 LAKE, FIELD AND FOEEST. 
 
 the North West, I would rather shoot one 
 partridge than a dozen of them. They are 
 quarrelsome and will drive out our grouse, 
 for they will kill all the young birds they 
 come across and keep the old ones so dis- 
 turbed that they will not breed well. Let's 
 go to bed." 
 
FLY FISHING FOR 
 WHITE PERCH. 
 
FLY FISHING FOR WHITE PERCH. 
 
 f? 1 NCE upon a time, not many moons ago, 
 \y\ there lived in the colonial town of 
 ^^ Plymouth, a character by the name 
 Bosworth ; his friends called him ' * Les " 
 but he would answer to anything, even 
 the dinner bell. Now Les . was nothing, 
 if not a sportsman. A good shot, handy 
 with the rod, something of a naturalist, he 
 dearly loved his gun and rod, not because 
 they killed the game for him, but because 
 they gave him an excuse for tramping the 
 woods, or sitting in his boat on the pond. 
 If he brought home a string of fish or a 
 bunch of birds, he was happy, if not he was 
 content, for he brought something that was 
 not as visible, but fully as satisfying, which 
 can only be appreciated by the lover of na- 
 ture. 
 
 Now, Les had a score or more of friends, 
 and they liked to be with him, whenever the 
 stars were favorable, and among them were 
 
20 LAKE, FIELD AND FOREST. 
 
 two who have to do with this story. Never 
 mind whether their names were Smith, Jones 
 or Brown, or whether he himself gave the 
 name of Bos worth to the town clerk when he 
 went to get his marriage certificate. Its all 
 the same. "What's in a name?" You 
 could not improve the flavor of a catfish if 
 you did call him a trout. 
 
 But to our two sports. The first and most 
 important, in his own estimation at least, 
 w^as Fred David. He came from "way down 
 in Maine " and • his head would never brush 
 the cobwebs ofl' a l)arn scaflbld unless he 
 stood on a milk-pail and then he would have 
 to reach ; in fact he made excellent ballast 
 for a canoe, for when he sat on the bottom' 
 it was ahnost as good as a lead keel. 
 
 He liked to go fishing, and when the sec- 
 ond of this trio, who we will call Ike, was 
 likely to be somewhere near Les, Fred 
 would make some sort of an excuse at the 
 office, that his grandmother was sick or the 
 plumbing was frozen up, or some such likely 
 reason, and would start for home; but the 
 attraction of the railroad was so great, he 
 would be drawn awav from the rectitude of 
 
FLY FISHING FOR WHITE PERCH. 21 
 
 his path and would find himself on ])oard the 
 train for Plymouth. 
 
 Now Ike was no fisherman, he was what 
 the sailors call a Jonah, he did not care 
 whether the fish bit or not, and he would sit 
 in the boat and stick his birch pole over the 
 side and let the little fishes nibble off his 
 bait, and go off in a **dope" and wonder 
 where the fish lived winters, and whether 
 the kingfisher, which was swearing at him 
 from an adjacent stub, speared the fish or 
 simply picked them up with his mouth, or 
 whether or no the dragon-flies really ate the 
 mosquitoes, and all such nonsense of no 
 practical use to sensible people. 
 
 Now it came about, through the progres- 
 sion of events, that these three uniques of 
 the human race, were, one day in the sultry 
 month of August, lounging in a canoe on the 
 placid waters of Billington Sea. Ike with 
 his corn-cob pipe, Avhich he forgot to pull, 
 and his birch pole, with baitless hook dang- 
 ling in the water. Les, with his old rod, deli- 
 cately threaded with silken line, pulling in the 
 fish for dinner, while Fred sat on the center 
 thwart for ballast, and got oft' poor jokes on 
 Ike, changed his tackle from gimp-snelled 
 
22 LAKE, FIELD AND FOREST. 
 
 bass-hook to No. 8 minnow every five min- 
 utes, alternating with a rubber frog or a 
 Skinner spoon and occasionally pulling in a 
 stray sun-fish which had lately left its mother, 
 and had not yet learned it must not put too 
 much trust in appearances. 
 
 " Well" says Fred, when for four minutes 
 he had allowed his hook to stop in the water, 
 *' I do not believe there is a Bass in your old 
 mud hole. I don't care anything about catch- 
 ing those little perch, I want a Bass." 
 
 *'Sour grapes" ejaculates Les, "you have 
 had on fourteen difterent hooks in the last 
 hour, do you expect to catch Bass with a 
 minnow hook?" Here he stopped to pull in 
 a nice white perch. "Now you ask Ike and 
 he will catch a Bass for you." 
 
 "Ike, catch a Bass! Nit, he could not 
 catch cold," said Fred. 
 
 "Betcher I could" said Ike. "But you 
 would take it back to the oflfice and tell the 
 boys you caught it. 
 
 "Oh ! come oflf, Ike, fish in the cracker 
 bag and catch your dinner. Why you 
 haven't caught a fish today." 
 
 "Well you have" says Ike, "you've caught 
 three sun-fish, a dozen ot them would come 
 
FLY FISHING FOR WHITE PERCH. 23 
 
 within an ounce of weighing. Say did you 
 ever catch a fish witli that flip-flap contri- 
 vance of yours ?" Betcher never caught any- 
 thing but a horn pout in your life. Own up 
 now, you brag on your old trout rod, did 
 you ever catch a trout ?" 
 
 "Course I have, I caught one that 
 weighed a pound last Memorial Day out of 
 the old pork barrel pool up in Ashburnham. 
 You i^ee I dropped the fly " 
 
 "Let up, Fred, let up. You have got 
 sins enouojh without tellino: fish stories." 
 
 "Well, I can prove it by Charlie Bailey." 
 
 "Well, Bailey is good evidence, for he's 
 fairly honest for a fisherman, but I will wait 
 till he tells me so," said Ike. 
 
 Just then Ike's old birch pole gave a dip 
 and away went the line, and out of water 
 went a Bass, but he was fast hooked, and 
 soon tired, and Les slipped the landing net 
 under him and laid him in the bottom of 
 the canoe. 
 
 "There Fred," said Ike, "I'll give him 
 to you ; take him back to Boston, and tell 
 your own story about him." 
 
 "Well I'll be jigged" says Fred, " caught 
 
24 
 
 a Bass on that old birch pole, a fool for luck ; " 
 and Ike grinned. 
 
 ''Now you boys have got done quarrel- 
 ino'," said Les, "lets 2:0 over to the shore 
 and catch a mess of white perch on the fly ; 
 they come up just at dusk to feed on the 
 white millers that come off the shore at that 
 time." 
 
 ' ' What yer givin us ? " says Ike. ' ' White 
 perch won't rise to the fly, you want to find 
 a rocky bottom, and use pond minnows or 
 shrinyD for bait. Betcher fifty dollars you 
 never caught a white perch in shallow water 
 in your life. Come oft\ 
 
 *' Now old man" says Les, " don't get rat- 
 tey. Come over to the shanty, get my other 
 rod, fling that old tree-trunk overboard, and 
 fish like a gentleman." 
 
 "Never caught a fish on a fly in my life," 
 Ike replied. "Its taking an unfair advan- 
 tao'e of them, as Rowland Rolnnson savs. 
 Think of getting a mouthful of feathers when 
 you expect a nice miller. Give the fishes a 
 show, if they can steal your bait they get 
 something to eat, and if they don't, they get 
 caught ; either way they get something. Say 
 boys, did yer ever read any of Robinson's 
 
FLY FISHING FOR WHITE PERCH. 25 
 
 books. That chap knows what he is writing 
 about. You can hear the leaves rustle, and 
 the birds sing, when you read Avhat he writes. 
 And they say he is blind now. 
 
 "My, my, my I but it must be cruel for 
 a chap like him, to love the woods and fields 
 and know how pretty the trees look in the 
 spring, and to smell the wild violets and hear 
 the fish jump and the birds sing, and know 
 that he can't never see 'em any more. But if I 
 could see him I think I could make him hap- 
 pier, by telling him how he has helped his fel- 
 low-men, who love these things, and can't get 
 out to see them, by putting down on paper just 
 how they all are in words that sound like the 
 jingle of the brooks. I would'nt be blind, 
 but I would give a good deal to feel that I 
 had his gifts. They say the next best thing 
 to S'oino^ fishino- , is to read about it. But how 
 about that perch fishing? Are you dead 
 open on that yarn, Les?" 
 
 "Sure, Ike, sure, come over and try it, 
 and you will never insult another Bass, by 
 catching him on a fence rail." 
 
 "Well, if Fred will lend me a couple, out 
 of that three or four hundred feather con- 
 traptions he carries round in his pocket to 
 
26 LAKE, FIELD AND FOREST. 
 
 make folks think he is a fisherman, I don't 
 mind. Come on. Betcher he don't get a 
 bite, miless its skeeters." 
 
 A little later, and the three emerge from 
 the shanty, and Ike has a rod, not a crooked, 
 top-heavy birch tree, but an eight-omice 
 lancewood with reel and silk line, which he 
 handles as if it were made of glass. 
 
 "By jing," he ejaculates, "if I ever get a 
 fish on that bulnish, I shall bust it as sure as 
 guns." ^ 
 
 " Well you ought to be ashamed of your- 
 self if you do, for I saw a four pound Bass 
 landed with it , and he fought every inch of 
 the line," says Les. " Now don't get rattled 
 and thrash around as if you were driving 
 pigs with a hickory goad. That rod will lay 
 a fly on the water just as lightly as a feather 
 would drop, and you can do it, too." 
 
 "All right, old man," replied Ike, "but 
 just put Fred where I can't see him, for I 
 shall bust the blasted thing over his head if 
 he gets in the way. Come on with your 
 fishes." 
 
FLY FISHING FOR WHITE PERCH. 27 
 
 Les sits in the middle to handle the oars, 
 Fred in the bows, and Ike in the stern, with 
 instructions to keep their lines far apart, and 
 the boat is laid up just outside the lily-pads 
 which border the shore. 
 
 '' Now Ike," explains Les, "pull ofi" about 
 fifteen feet of line and throw it out on the 
 water, and then lift the rod over your head 
 and throw the fly right off in front of you, 
 just as if you were going to snap a whip, 
 but do it easy, and pull off a few feet from 
 the reel every time it goes out till you have 
 all you can handle, but don't snap off the fly 
 by being too quick about it." 
 
 Ike soon gets the hang of the motion and 
 Les slowly puts the boat along with easy 
 strokes and frequent pauses, until a smoth- 
 ered ejaculation of "First fish" from Fred 
 attracts their attention and he is observed to 
 be reeling in a fish which seems to pull 
 pretty hard, and he lifts out a sun fish, which 
 is o'reeted with roars of lausiiter from the 
 other two, and smothered ejaculations from 
 Fred. 
 
 "There Les," says Ike, " I told you Fred 
 couldn't catch anything but roaches. He is 
 
28 LAKE, FIELD AND FOREST. 
 
 no good, let him walk ashore and take a 
 nap." 
 
 Just then Ike who has let his fly drift for 
 a moment, is disturbed by a click of his reel 
 which begins to run before his awkward fing- 
 ers catch the spool, and he yanks a little 
 perch into the boat. 
 
 "Hold on! hold on!" says Les, "don't 
 yank 'em so. If that had been a good fish 
 you would have broken the tip. You make 
 me think of a chap that came down here 
 with Bates this summer and camped over on 
 the little island. You remember him, Fred, 
 you were with Bates while he was here. I 
 mean Dr. Brett. Well, Bates took him over 
 to Boot Pond to fish, because this pond was 
 "working" and the fish would not bite. 
 They came down in style, had a team with 
 them, and Bates' light canoe. They would 
 put the boat in the wagon and drive all over 
 the country, fishing where they wanted to. 
 I went with them several times. Brett was a 
 mighty good fellow to be out with, lots of fun 
 in him, and took things as they came. Well 
 Bates told me they were fishing way up in 
 the toe of the Boot, and the perch were bit- 
 ing so fast that the bait was gobbled before 
 
FLY FISHING FOR AVHITE PERCH. 29 
 
 it was down long enough for Bass to see it, 
 and Doc. was twitchino^ them. He had o-ood 
 tackle, a fine reel, and a pretty fair split 
 bamboo rod, for they came for Bass, and 
 Bates believes in giving the fish a show, and 
 getting all the fmi he can out of it. Says the 
 fish bite too fast to give him what fun he wants 
 without wastino- them. Well the first thino- 
 Doc. knew, he stiftpoled a little Bass right 
 into the canoe." 
 
 " ' See here Doc.,' Bates says, 'I thought 
 you came down here to give the Bass a try, 
 and you don't give them a chance to try. I 
 have my opinion of a man who would lose 
 a hundred dollars worth of practice, spend 
 twenty-five more for canned chicken and 
 other grub that no sensible man ought to 
 expect in camp, and the first Bass he gets he 
 stiff*poles him into the boat; you ought to 
 have a dose of your OAvn medicine.' And 
 Bates never lets him forget it either, for he 
 socks it into him every time he meets him, 
 and the only reply the doctor makes is , ^ I 
 believe in getting there, whether its fishing 
 or physicking, and don't mind which method 
 I practise either.' 
 
30 LAKE, FIELD AND FOREST. 
 
 "And what does that impudent Bates do, 
 but throw in right where Doc. hooked the 
 Bass and catches on to a big pickerel that 
 weighed 3f pounds and landed him with a 
 No. 3 hook tied on single gut. Ginger blue ! 
 I would give a quarter to have been there 
 and seen the fun. There is more fun in 
 catching one good fish, with light tackle like 
 that, than there is in yanking out a ton with 
 an old birch tree. Then he tells the doctor 
 he did it to show him how." 
 
 While the storv was beino- told and the 
 laugh going round, the flies were out again, 
 and soon Ike had another strike from a big 
 white perch, struck him right, played him in 
 good style and brought him into the boat in 
 good shape. This was several times repeated, 
 but poor Fred never caught another fish, and 
 Ike broke out with. 
 
 " Say Les., I told you Fred would get no 
 bites but ' skeeter bites,' see him whack 'em." 
 
 "Confound the blasted mosquitos," says 
 Fred, "I can stand it not to catch any fish — 
 
 "Yes, you're used to that," says Ike. — 
 
 " Shut up, I've got the floor," retorts Fred, 
 "but hanged if I want to be chewed up by 
 
FLY FISHING FOR WHITE PERCH. 31 
 
 mosquitoes. Talking about Bates, he is a 
 pretty good sort of a fellow, but he roasts me 
 worse than Ike does ; every time I get a let- 
 ter from him he socks it to me with his boot- 
 heels and I expect any time to have him mop 
 the floor with me." 
 
 But the dark had come, and the fish had 
 stopped biting, and the boat was pulled out 
 in the open waters of the lake, away from 
 the hordes of hungry insects which flew about 
 next the shores. Here the three friends 
 lounged away the hours before bed-time in 
 gentle converse best relished by fishermen. 
 
 As they pulled upon shore, Les says. 
 *'Now Ike, what do you say to white perch 
 fishing with a fly ?" " Well Les," he replied 
 ** when I want fun I shall use a fly, but when 
 Fred David comes to see me and I have to 
 feed him, I shall stick to the fattest minnows 
 I can get. Its quicker. But you bet I have 
 a rod just like this, as soon as I get to the 
 city." 
 
 The next time Ike went to the village, he 
 found a package at the express oflSce, which 
 contained a nice rod, sent him by his friend 
 Fred, who knew that Ike's jokes on him 
 
32 LAKE, FIELD AND FOREST. 
 
 were friendly pats, and hence laid up no ill 
 feeling. 
 
 Why do I spell Bass, with a capital letter? Because 
 he is the king of fish and kings ahvays have their 
 names capitalized. — The Author. 
 
GOOSE SHOOTING 
 AT PLYMOUTH. 
 
GOOSE SHOOTING AT PLYMOUTH. 
 
 'p/ HEN I was a boy — how long that 
 ^ seems, and it is not many years 
 ago, yet what changes have been 
 made since then — when I was a boy, I lived 
 on a hill, a portion of a ridge, which divided 
 the shores of Massachusetts Bay from a 
 string of inland ponds, and it was a usual 
 sight late in the fall to see flocks of geese 
 flying over from the turbulent waters of the 
 bay to the quiet haven of the fresh waters, 
 and often within gunshot. 
 
 The first *'honk" of the leader of the V- 
 shaped skein brought the farmer from his 
 barn, and the shoemaker from his last. The 
 old gun, loaded with buck shot, had long 
 been standing behind the door or hung upon 
 the wall, ready for just such an occasion, and 
 the progress of the flock could be noted by 
 the fusilade which often followed it across 
 the town. Sometimes after a shot, one was 
 observed to throw up his wings and fall in a 
 
36 LAKE, FIELD AND FOREST. 
 
 confused mass to the earth ; or leave his 
 place m the procession, and lag behind, till 
 with failing wing, he would glide toward 
 the ground where he would soon l)e marked 
 down in some field, or drop into the waters 
 of a flooded meadow which bordered the 
 river. In either case he was generally a 
 *< gone goose," for a raft or boat was usually 
 hidden somewhere in the bushes alons; the 
 shore, and it was not long before he received 
 his '^coitj) de grace,'' perhaps at the hands of 
 some farmer lad with an old musket, a relic 
 of the Civil War, then not long ended. 
 
 Even when the persecuted birds reached 
 the ponds their trials were not over, for the 
 shores of this retreat, which they sought for 
 a rest from the buftetting waves, and to 
 quench their thirst, were lioed with *' stands" 
 behind which were more guns, and in front 
 added dangers, in the shape of wooden and 
 live decoys, alluring devices to attract them 
 within gun shot. 
 
 1 used to think that the live decoys seemed 
 to be like some people I knew, anxious to 
 get their mates into trouble, at least they 
 would IionJc and flutter their wings and swim 
 
GOOSE SHOOTING AT PLYMOUTH. 37 
 
 back and forth to wile their wild relatives 
 nearer to the masked batteries. 
 
 But that day is gone, and now they fly 
 along the shore, or the few flocks that pass 
 over, fly far beyond gunshot on their way to 
 more distant ponds, for the places that knew 
 them once, know them no more, and the 
 blinds, cunningly hidden by interwoven pine 
 and cedar branches, are replaced by the 
 noisy pufl* of escaping steam, and the more 
 subdued thud of the mighty pumps, which 
 send the water through miles of pipe to 
 thirsty bipeds of another genus in the towns 
 which lie in the valleys below. 
 
 During the late autumn days which I 
 passed in my tent on the shores of one of 
 the largest of the numerous lakes which 
 fleck the bosom of Plymouth with silvery 
 dots, I seemed to live over again the days 
 of old, when I lay in the blind, and eagerly 
 watched the curious flock which swept to 
 and fro, now approaching a little, as if to 
 gratify an insatiable curiosity, and anon re- 
 ceding, as the instinctive cautiousness of the 
 bird caused it to flee from the merest sem- 
 blance of danger. 
 
38 LAKE. FIELD AND FOKEST. 
 
 By the kindness of Mr. C. C. Wood, the 
 manaofer of the Plymouth Rock Trout Hatch- 
 ery, I was enabled to choose my ground to 
 pitch my tent wherever I would, on the long 
 easterly shore of Billington Sea. where he 
 and his brother, the genial Deputy Collector 
 of Customs of this old seaport, control many 
 acres of woods, protecting the entire side 
 of the pond. 
 
 My tent was pitched on the side of a hill, 
 in the midst of the woods, protected on 
 three sides from the winds and storms, and 
 with a view toward the west, which com- 
 manded the whole expanse of the lake, and 
 sti'etching away to the crest of the wooded 
 hills which divide this town from those to 
 the west. 
 
 Just to my right was a long px^int forming 
 one side of a little bay. on the exti'emity of 
 which was a long row of plain board fencing, 
 wMch in the season is covered with boughs 
 of evergreen trees, and which, when ap- 
 proached from the water-side, etfettually 
 masked everything behind it from view. 
 
 My companion and camp-mate was a 
 young artist, S. B. Duffield by name, and I 
 want no better one, and any camper knows 
 
GOOSE SHOOTING AT PLYMOUTH. 39 
 
 that tent life will bring out all the cussedness 
 in a man's nature, but he was always ready 
 and willing, always pleasant, knew how to 
 talk and joke, and a more rare quality still, 
 knew how to keep his mouth shut, on occa- 
 sion. 
 
 This point was a favorite resort of ours, 
 and I miss my guess, if the winter's exhibi- 
 tions do not show portions of this beautiful 
 spot immortalized in color on canvas. 
 
 Here we would paddle in our canoe, and 
 lying beneath the grateful shade of the over- 
 hanging trees, drink in the beauties of the 
 glorious and peaceful scene spread out be- 
 fore us. 
 
 Let us jump along to the days when the 
 leaves have begun to fall, and the lowery 
 skies and piercing winds give token of the 
 coming of wintry snows and cold. The 
 house is peopled with sturdy men clad in 
 corduroy and canvas, and the racks are 
 filled with heavy 10 guage guns, and the 
 talk is of powder charges and the merits of 
 chilled shot or smokeless powder. Outside, 
 about the blinds, are coops of ducks and 
 geese, while anchored on the water beyond 
 are groups of wooden decoys. An easterly 
 
40 LAKE, FIELD AND FOREST. 
 
 wind has been blowing heavily for two days, 
 and it has just shifted to southwest. 
 
 Geese do not fly in a nasty easterly gale 
 and the flocks that came up from the north 
 just ahead of it, are lying outside in the 
 salt water, waiting for a change. It is a 
 pretty sure sign of bad weather when a 
 bis: flioiit of ofeese is on, but those which 
 pitch into the bays will generally stay there, 
 until there is a change, in spite of the buflet- 
 ing they get from the turbulent waves. 
 
 But when the change comes, ofi" they go, 
 and it is then, when tired and thirsty, they 
 drop into the ponds, that our friends get in 
 their work. 
 
 Soon a ** honk" is heard from outside, and 
 one or more of the gunners go out and loose 
 the * ' flyers " who circle out over the pond 
 and back to the shore in front of the blind. 
 A wild volley of hoarse cries goes up from 
 the other geese stationed on the shore, and 
 the flying string of wild birds, attracted by 
 the decoys, circles back and shows signs of 
 stopping for a little chat with these, appar- 
 ently, earlier arrivals. 
 
 But now, from other portions of the pond, 
 goes up the call, for there are other blinds 
 
GOOSE SHOOTING AT PLYMOUTH. 41 
 
 on the southerly shore, and even on the 
 island that occupies the centre of this sheet 
 of water. 
 
 But there is a good strain of decoy birds 
 at Wood's Point, of the real Canada Goose, 
 bred up from wild birds and domesticated 
 for generations, and they get their share of 
 the birds. 
 
 <'Here they come," says the watcher. 
 *' they're down," and sure enough the 'wild 
 birds are in the water, and headed by an old 
 gander, are slowly swimming in toward the 
 blind. But they are not captured yet. 
 The old gander has evidently been there be- 
 fore, perhaps "many a time," and he is cau- 
 tious. Slowly he swims back and forth, 
 sometimes beating back the too eager young- 
 sters who would swim directly to their mis- 
 guiding brethren in the shoal water. 
 
 Now is the critical period, and woe betide 
 the unlucky tenderfoot, who in his eagerness 
 to watch the oncoming birds, incautiously 
 allows his head to rise a bit too high or raps 
 the muzzle of his gun on the boards of the 
 blind. If the birds are thereby frightened 
 away, he is lucky if he gets off without a rap 
 on the head from some quick-tempered 
 
42 LAKE, FIELD AND FOREST. 
 
 gunner, or ducked in the chilly water and 
 hustled off by the disappointed crowd. 
 
 But we have no novices here, the men are 
 all at their chosen stations, and the decoys 
 are sending out their most mellifluous and 
 coaxing tones. ' * Honk-honk-o-o-onk" cry 
 the decoys, ''come up here and get some 
 grub. Here is a nice bed of duck weed, and 
 there are lots of nice snails to give it a relish : 
 come up." 
 
 "Honk-o-honk," says the leading visitor. 
 "I don't know about it. I don't like the 
 looks of those bushes behind there. Seems 
 to me, I got hurt by something from a place 
 like that, last year, and almost frightened to 
 death by the big noise that came from it." 
 
 '*0h ! don't be such a coward, come on !" 
 Nearer and nearer draws the bunch of birds 
 and wilder and more urgent is the call of the 
 decoys, till they come in range, when ''give 
 it to 'em," and a volley of fire, smoke and 
 hurtling lead goes out from the portholes, 
 and then upon his feet goes every man, and 
 another volley crashes into the now fright- 
 ened and wildly fleeing lairds, who are hurry- 
 ing away at the top of their speed. 
 
GOOSE SHOOTING AT PLYMOUTH. 43 
 
 The dead birds are picked up, the cripples 
 killed or captured to be used in improving 
 the strain of the flock of decoys, and the 
 blind once more settles down to its former 
 comparative quiet. 
 
 But the day of goose-shooting in this sec- 
 tion of the country is passing away. In 
 spite of protective laws, the birds are getting 
 scarcer every year. The advance of civiliza- 
 tion is peopling the shores of our ponds with 
 houses, and the demands of the waterworks 
 are setting up disturbances that are gradually 
 driving away the game from our shores. 
 Some day, we will be sitting by the fire, with 
 our oTandchild on our knee, tellingr him of 
 sights and exploits, which he will never see, 
 unless he goes to those portions of the 
 country, not yet contaminated by the 
 accursed hustle for greed of gain, and the too 
 rapidly increasing communistic huddling of 
 our people into manufacturing towns, about 
 the streams and lakes, to the desolation and 
 desertion of the farming districts. The 
 home-loving, law-abiding, and contented 
 tiller of the soil who once laid in these blinds, 
 or shot over the adjacent fields, will have 
 given way to the gamin, and the sparrow 
 
44 LAKE, FIELD AND FOREST. 
 
 shooting Italian, and will gradually lose him- 
 self in the ciowd, or like the birds wend his 
 way to more civilized districts, where the air 
 is not befouled by sewer gas and factory 
 stenches. 
 
PERCH FISHING. 
 
PERCH FISHING. 
 
 E was just a boy, (plain boy,) freckle- 
 faced, red-headed, a trifle uncouth, 
 but not by any means awkward, ex- 
 cept when he was in a strange house. 
 
 My first sight of him was as he sat on the 
 stringer of the bridge, over the river, 
 dangling a line in the water, and occasionally 
 pulling up a bull pout, which he slung behind 
 him on the planks. 
 
 Leaning on the rail was a 12 guage gun 
 with a brace of woodcock hanging on the 
 guard. 
 
 ' ' Changed off" from shooting and gone to 
 fishing?" queried I. 
 
 *'Yep, didn't have much luck shootin', 
 and I wanted some thin' for breakfast, so I 
 thought I'd ketch a few hornpouts." 
 
 This was the beginning of as much of a 
 companionship as will exist between a man 
 of forty and a boy of sixteen, and many 
 
48 LAKE, FIELD AND FOREST. 
 
 were the trips we took that fall and winter 
 for partridge, quail and rabbits. 
 
 He was a veritable vagabond, so far as 
 love for roaming around the woods was 
 concerned, and I soon found that he was a 
 mine of knowledge of the manners and ways 
 of the wearers of fur, fin and feather. 
 
 He had the run of my library during the 
 winter, and while he passed by story books 
 in disdain, he spent long hours on stormy 
 days over the volumes relating to Natural 
 History and field sports. 
 
 One day in May he trotted his pony up 
 beside me as I was going home to tea and 
 called out, 
 
 *'Say, uncle Mat, les' go fishing.' Got 
 all done plantin', and its going to be showery 
 tomorrer. Les' go up to the pond and ketch 
 a mess of perch ; may get a pick'rel. Come 
 on, will yer." 
 
 "Why Bob," I said, "we have no boat, 
 and there's no place at the pond to fish off 
 the shore." 
 
 "Got a boat, all right, Curtis and Thayer 
 had my canoe up there last week, after 
 pick'rel, and I told 'em to leave it in the 
 ice house. Come on. Curtis sot a old he 
 
PERCH FISHING. 49 
 
 one, weighed most six pound ; mebbe we'll 
 get one. We'll get some perch anyhow." 
 
 *'A11 right," said I, ''call around about 
 daylight and I'll be ready." 
 
 The boy was on hand, at daylight, and we 
 were soon in his old jump-seat buggy, with 
 bait, rods, and lunch stowed under the seat, 
 bound for the pond. 
 
 The fresh morning air, redolent of blossom 
 and leaf, was like a tonic to his boyish spirits 
 and he kept up a string of small talk all the 
 way to where we were to leave the team, in 
 a friendly stable not far from the shore. 
 
 "Say, boss, did you ever go troutin'?" 
 Bob often gets irreverent, and calls me boss, 
 especially when he is happy. 
 
 " Go trouting, yes ; why?" 
 
 ' ' Well , I went up to New Hampshire last 
 year, up to Uncle Bill's, and on the train 
 were two dudes, with fancy fish poles, and 
 baskets to put fish in, and pocket-books full 
 of hooks, all trimmed up with feathers. 
 Them fish poles were dandies though. So, 
 when I got there, I told Uncle Bill about 
 it, and he said they were goin' troutin' ; that 
 they used them feather fixins instead of 
 worms, and that they called 'em flies. Well, 
 
50 LAKE, FIELD AND FOREST. 
 
 I thougrht if there was so much fun in ketchin' 
 trout es that, I must try it, and Uncle Bill 
 put me onto a good brook, and I had fun 
 alive for about two hours. But I used worms 
 for bait, and I cut a pole m the woods. 
 They were little things, but they fought like 
 a sucker. Did you ever see them flies ?" 
 
 *' O, 3^es, often, and there is just as much 
 diff'erence in catching fish with a fly instead 
 of a worm, as there is between killing a bird 
 on the wino^ instead of sittino- still." 
 
 *' Well, by gum, I can get shots enough at 
 birds on the wing, without potting them, 
 and have more fun out of it. But I dunno, 
 if I was a bird, I would as 'lieves be shot 
 dead on a limb, as to be scairt most to death 
 on the wing. But 'bout them trout, I got 
 awful sick of 'em, after I had 'bout a dozen 
 messes." 
 
 ** Well, Bob, to be honest, I would rather 
 have a nice perch, caught out of cool, clear 
 water, than to have the best trout that I ever 
 saw. It is mostly because it is the fashion 
 to praise the flavor of the trout, and to 
 decry the value of other fish for food, but 
 there is no fish that swims that so palls on 
 
PERCH FISHING. 51 
 
 the appetite as those same trout, or any other 
 of the sahnon family." 
 
 ''There is a great difference, however, in 
 the flavor of perch. They are the finest, 
 when they are full of spawn, but I think a 
 man is pretty mean, who will catch fish when 
 they are breeding. Again perch, caught 
 out of muddy ponds and rivers are not as 
 nice flavored as those out of nice, cold, clear 
 water ; in fact no fish is." 
 
 "Say," says Bob, "you know I borrowed 
 those pages you cut out of Forest and Stream, 
 last winter, and read those stories that Fred 
 Mather wrote about the fellers he'd fished 
 with. Golly, that chap knows what he's 
 talkino^ al^out. But I shouldn't think he'd 
 had time to do anything but go fishing, if 
 he's fished with all those chaps. He's one of 
 those dude fishermen, that want to break 
 your head for calling his rod a fish pole ; 
 and he talks about ' coachmen,' 'hackles' and 
 'professors' and calls worms 'barn yard 
 hackles,' but he can tell a story in good shape. 
 Say didn't I laugh over that letter he wrote 
 you about boys killing birds ; he's a dandy. 
 
 "What was that, Bob? I have so many 
 
52 LAKE, FIELD AND FOREST. 
 
 letters from him that I do not remember the 
 one you speak of." 
 
 *'Hold on, boss, I cut it out of the paper 
 where you printed it, and I carry it in my 
 pocket. Here 'tis." 
 
 Brooklyn, N. Y., Aug. 23, 1897. 
 My dear Bates : 
 
 I have yours of 18th in reference to in- 
 sectivorous birds being killed as game, on 
 account of the benefit to agriculture rendered 
 by them, and the danger of their being 
 exterminated, or driven from the settled 
 portions of the country. In my opinion, 
 nothing will save our birds from slaughter. 
 You may educate all the adult sportsmen, 
 gunners, et al., to spare certain birds but you 
 can't educate that savage whom we call a boy. 
 Give him a gun and he only wants to see 
 something to kill ; that's what he is out for, 
 and as for expecting him to pass a bird as big 
 as a meadow lark, or a "high hole" you might 
 as well save your breath. It is boys, boys, 
 boys, who kill off the insectivorous birds, 
 robins, thrushes and others which are not 
 game, and as a boy I did more than my share 
 of it. In one of my sketches of early life, 
 now running in Forest and Stream, I relate 
 the killing of a "yellow bird" at ten paces 
 while it was feeding on a thistle top, and 
 how I exulted at my prowess and then 
 
PERCH FISHING. 53 
 
 suggest that if some kind-hearted man had 
 massaged me with his boot it would have 
 taught me that life should be taken with due 
 care and judgment, and that a boy should 
 not have a gun until he is 90 years old and 
 then his o-randfather should advise him to 
 go forth and kill every living thing he sees. 
 That would protect much game. Few men 
 are fit to be trusted with a gun, but a boy 
 should never have one. 
 
 Cordially yours, 
 
 Fred Mather. 
 
 *' Yes, Bob, and there is a great deal more 
 in those lines than you see now, but you will 
 understand better when you get older. Major 
 Mather is best known as a fisherman and is 
 a noted fish-culturist, but he has not passed 
 sixty-five years, without getting a grasp on 
 nature, that few get, who do not, as he does, 
 pass many days in the woods. That letter 
 has a big moral and it applies not only to the 
 gun but to the rod ; and not only to trout, 
 but to perch. I wish every man, who has a 
 boy, could read that." 
 
 ''Yes I spose so,*' replied Bob *'and he 
 says perch will bite at a fly, and its good fun 
 if you have a light rod. I guess that's so, 
 for I had lots more fun ketchin' that big 
 
54 LAKE, FIELD AND FOREST. 
 
 pick'rel with your little pole, that you lent 
 me last fall, than I used to with a big one 
 that I cut in the woods, but I dunno what the 
 fish think about it. I guess I druther be 
 yanked out and have it over if I was a fish." 
 
 "Well, Bob, we seldom think now how 
 the fish and birds feel about it. But here we 
 are at the pond, and here is your canoe. 
 Now where shall we fish ?" 
 
 "Well, I guess we'd better go out there 
 ofi" the point ; there is some deep water just 
 outside those lily pads, and there's lots of 
 perch there, and p'raps I can get a pick'rel 
 out of the weeds. Golly, I'd like to see you 
 get a big pick'rel on that little pole of yours, 
 it don't look bigger'n a weed. Say, what 
 are you goin' to do with that other pole ?" 
 
 "Well, Bob, that rod is for you, but I 
 don't want to hear you call it a fish pole, and 
 I want to teach you not to * yank'em out ; ' 
 for I am going to take you with me some 
 time, and let you catch a Black Bass, and you 
 have got to learn to play a fish, before you 
 can land one of those fellows." 
 
 "Now that rod did not cost much, and it 
 will break if you yank too hard, I would not 
 risk it on a big bass, but it will do to learn on. 
 
PERCH FISHING. 55 
 
 Here is a reel and a braided silk line, and 
 these hooks are tied on gut snells. You 
 would better commence to fish right now, and 
 when you get after more gamey fish, you will 
 find it second nature." 
 
 " Say Uncle Mat, you're a brick. Say, 
 I'm one of those dude fishermen now. Say, 
 if anybody says j^ou're not all right. I — I'll 
 get him out in this canoe and tip him over." 
 
 ' ' Well Bob, see who'll get the first perch." 
 
 Just off the shore, where the water from 
 the inlet, came around on its way to the 
 lower end of the pond, we threw over the 
 anchor and dropped our hooks, baited with 
 earth worms, and then laid back and waited. 
 
 Am I lazy? AVell perhaps, but I love 
 (occasionally) to sit in the end of a boat, 
 floatino^ in the still waters, and watch the 
 clouds roll by, the leaves tremble in the 
 breeze and the ripples playing tag on the 
 shallows. Every one seems to have a strain 
 of wild blood in his veins, a heritage of his 
 primeval ancestors ; and when these wild 
 corpuscles come on top, he is not contented 
 till he hies himself to the woodland and plays 
 lazy till the fit is off and he sighs for the 
 hurly-burly of civilization. 
 
56 LAKE, FIELD AND FOREST. 
 
 I love to hold the butt of a little fly-rod 
 and cast the pretty delusions of hook and 
 gaudy feather, taking care to drop the flies 
 lightly as the real insect would dip his feet 
 in the water and delude the poor fish into 
 thinking that he has a toothsome morsel 
 for his appetite. I love to feel the thrill, 
 that telegraphs itself along the braided line 
 and liml^er rod to the hand, when the trout 
 or bass seizes the line and darts off* with his 
 prey only to find himself a victim of mis- 
 placed confidence and fastened to a bending, 
 springing rod which with every jerk, forces 
 the cruel barb deeper into his jaw. I love to 
 see the lordly bass leap from the water and 
 shake the line, fastened to his lip, with a grim 
 exhibition of anger, which culminates in the 
 wild rush for liberty, only to finally lay his 
 form in the landing net, while the wild blood 
 rushes through my veins in the cruel exulta- 
 tion of mastery by skill and science over the 
 wilder animal before me and I often wish, 
 after his form lies in the bottom of the canoe, 
 that he was back in the water in the glory of 
 health and activity. 
 
 But I also love to lie quietly in the seat 
 and watch the bobbing float and almost wish 
 
PERCH FISHING. 57 
 
 that the fish had not pulled it under to dis- 
 turb my reveries in the calm still surround- 
 ings of water and wood. Am I lazy? Well 
 I guess so. But there are others. 
 
 Bob interrupted my soliloquy, with a good 
 fat perch, which he took in over the side and 
 then plunged into the fish bag which hung in 
 the water. 
 
 *' Say, it's lots more fun to ketch fish with 
 this rod than it is with a birch pole. Golly, 
 how that perch pulled. When do these fel- 
 lows spawn?" 
 
 "They lay their eggs in the spring, about 
 the time the herring run. The time varies 
 with the locality, say from April to May, 
 when the temperature of the water gets to 
 about 50 to 55 degrees. Did you never see 
 the strings of eggs hanging on the bushes 
 when the water fell after the spring 
 freshet?" 
 
 *' Well," says Bob, *'I have seen them, but 
 I never knew what they were before. I 
 pulled a lot off the button bushes last 
 spring and dropped them in the water 'cause 
 I thought they were fish eggs and it was a 
 pity to have them dry up." 
 
 Just then the fish commenced to bite and 
 
58 LAKE, FIELD AND FOKEST. 
 
 the steady stream of fish coming in over the 
 side interrupted the conversation, till with a 
 sigh, Bob broke out with : 
 
 ** Well, I spose we better quit, we have all 
 we can use, and I think it is mighty hoggish 
 to ketch fish to throw them away. I have 
 seen fellers pull in a big lot of fish, over a 
 hundred, and tell what a lot they got, and 
 then throw them into the hen yard, or leave 
 them on the shore. That's what your friend 
 George Shields calls a ' fish hog.' Say, he 
 don't do a thing to them fish hogs, in that 
 book of his." 
 
 "Which book, Bob? He has written a 
 good many." 
 
 "O that magazine you have every month. 
 *Eecreation,' he calls it. He everlastingly 
 soaks it to the chaps what pulls in more fish 
 than he thinks is their share. But we might 
 as well 0*0 home now." 
 
 "Yes, Bob, you see the best men in the 
 country are trying to keep up the supply of 
 game and restock old depleted streams and 
 covers. Now see that you do not help to 
 undo their work." 
 
 And one more pleasant day was marked 
 with a white stone on life's calendar. 
 
A TALE OF 
 WINNEPESAUKEE, 
 
A TALE OF WINNEPESAUKEE. 
 
 fT was a warm summer night. The mist 
 hung heavy over the lake, and the 
 clouds drooped low over the mountain 
 tops. All nature seemed steeped in a rest- 
 less heavy fog. Sleep was banished from my 
 eyes as I tossed on the clammy sheets. 
 
 Despairing of repose, I left my room and 
 wandered along the shore, and finally threw 
 myself on a bed of fragrant leaves, beneath 
 the boughs of a wide spreading pine. The 
 flash of distant lightning lit the horizon, and 
 the growling of far ofi" thunder disturbed the 
 stillness of the air. Anon the lapping of the 
 restless waters of the lake, broke upon the 
 ear, and the hoarse cry of the night bird 
 grated through the trees. 
 
 The very loneliness of the scene was op- 
 pressive, and I lay with pent up breath, 
 striving to quell the very beating of my heart 
 which throbbed in hurried strokes. 
 
62 LAKE, FIELD AND FOREST. 
 
 Like the twittering of distant birds, dis- 
 turbed by a loathsome serpent, came the 
 murmurino^s of a voice, oTowins^ strono-er and 
 more distinct, till I could hear a voice which 
 seemed to say : ' < Shall I tell you a story of 
 the early days, when these hills were spotted 
 with a crimson stain, and the waters ran red 
 with blood? Then listen to the tale of one 
 who once cleft these waters with restless 
 paddle, and roamed these shores with spear 
 and bow. " 
 
 AND THUS HE SPOKE : - 
 
 The afternoon of a beautiful October day 
 was drawing to a close ; the sun was already 
 sinking behind the mountain-tops and the 
 shadows were slowly creeping up the slopes 
 of Ossipee. The lake, always beautiful, was 
 taking on those delicate darkening tints as 
 the shadows. of the forest are thrown upon it 
 and with every moment it grew more and 
 more beautiful as the shadows deepened. 
 
 On the southern shore, at the head of a 
 little bay which indented the border, em- 
 bosomed on the sides by the forest which 
 stretched away in miles of trackless wilder- 
 ness, was a cluster of Indian wigwams, the 
 
A TALE OF WINNEPESAUKEE. 63 
 
 home of a band of the Winnepesaukees. 
 Amonof their tents was one distino-uished from 
 the others by its superior size, the emblems 
 of authority painted upon its curtains, and 
 inside, by the mass of beautiful skins which 
 covered the earth. 
 
 It was the home of the old chief, and he 
 was now slowly passing from earth to the 
 Happy Land of the Beyond. His massive 
 frame, only a wreck of its former self, 
 stretched upon the bear skins, the hickory 
 bow, six feet in length and of a size calcu- 
 lated to withstand the efibrts of anything but 
 a giant to draw its arrow to the head, told a 
 story of the prowess of the owner. By his 
 side, with her face buried in her hands and 
 her hair dishevelled, crouched a young girl ; 
 and without the curtain stood a youth six 
 feet four inches tall and a perfect athlete in 
 form and figure , gazing off over the bosom of 
 the lake before him. At a word from the 
 girl the young man entered and stood by 
 them. The old Chief, with the damp of death 
 already upon his brow, lifted his mighty form 
 upon his elbow and spoke, — 
 
 **My son, the race of the chief of the Win- 
 nepesaukees is nearly run. No more will he 
 
64 LAKE, FIELD AND FOREST. 
 
 breast the side of the mountam in chase of 
 the deer or climb through yonder ravines to 
 lay the skin of the bear upon his bed. The 
 sun is setting and when it disappears behind 
 the top of the mountains the spirit of Win- 
 netonka will join his friends upon the other 
 side. But just now the spirits of my fore- 
 fathers came to me as in the days of my 
 youth and they bring sad tidings of our tribe. 
 But a short time will you rule over them, for 
 the invader will close in about you and the 
 remnant of your people will be forced to 
 seek another home. You and you only can 
 bend the bow and wield the axe of your 
 Father and Chief. Many times have they 
 been used in mortal combat ; but they have 
 never been dishonored. Promise me that 
 you will bear them with honor and that you 
 will repel the foot of the enemy as long as 
 a drop of blood runs in your veins. Even 
 now they appear and you will soon be called. 
 Away ! and meet them face to face !" He 
 fell back and all was over. 
 
 A few miles away, down the lake, a war 
 party of Mohawks were approaching, headed 
 by their chief, who, accompanied by his son, 
 was looking for the beautiful lake of which 
 
A TALE or WINNEPESAUKEE. 65 
 
 be had so often heard. They broke through 
 the bushes at the edge of the forest and 
 stood upon the shore. The last expiring 
 rays of the setting sun were gilding the 
 mountain tops, and, as he gazed upon the 
 scene before him he said: — "Beautiful in- 
 deed ! " 
 
 Yes, beautiful ; even to the eyes of the 
 savage who was so soon to color the water 
 with the crimson stain of human blood. 
 
 The next day the two tribes met in 
 deadly conflict and the stalwart form of the 
 young Winnepesaukee, towering above his 
 warriors, was picked out by the Mohawk 
 chief as a foe worthy of his prowess ; but he 
 had met his fate ; that night his body lay in 
 the water of the lake levelled by the axe of 
 the young chief. 
 
 Thus were two young men, both in the 
 prime of youth, and both models of physi- 
 cal strength and suppleness left to combat 
 each other. Each seeking the other, the 
 one to revenge the death of his father, the 
 other to destroy the invader of his home ; 
 but they were kept apart until the natives 
 of the soil were nearly exterminated. At 
 last, in the heat of the fight they met, and 
 
6Q LAKE, FIELD AND FOREST. 
 
 despite the prowess of his antagonist the 
 Mohawk was the victor, and the young chief 
 left upon the ground for dead. 
 
 The faithful sister, who had clung to him 
 through all misfortune, sought him out and 
 found him just in time to hear his last 
 words : — 
 
 "The son of Winnetonka has kept his 
 promise. The bow of his Father is broken 
 and the Winnepesaukee will seek a home 
 among the tribes of the North. Promise me, 
 my sister, the last of my race, that you will 
 revenge my death if ever the opportunity is 
 afforded;" and as she promised, his spirit 
 passed to its long home. 
 
 Several years passed on ; the maiden, who 
 had been captured by the Mohawks, and 
 adopted as one of the tri1)e, had grown to a 
 beautiful woman. One day as she was cross- 
 ing the lake in a canoe a squall arose and 
 her streno'th proving insufficient to withstand 
 the power of the gale, the craft upset and she 
 was thrown into the surging water. But not 
 thus was the race of the Winnepesaukees to 
 disappear from the land. The young chief, 
 who had often admired the girl, was fishing 
 within the cove and saw the accident. His 
 
A TALE OF WINNEPESAUKEE. 67 
 
 arm was strono- enouoh to encounter the 
 blast and she soon lay in the bottom of his 
 canoe which was being driven toward an 
 island near at hand. 
 
 After reaching the shore, the young chief 
 stood near with folded arms, gazing at the 
 beautiful girl whom he had just rescued from 
 the hungry water which seemed now lashing 
 itself into a fury at the loss of its victim. 
 
 Many times had he gazed upon her form 
 as she mingled with the other maidens of his 
 tribe, among whom she was conspicuous 
 from her pleasing face and willowy grace. 
 This attention had not been unnoticed by the 
 young girl and she was in a measure pre- 
 pared for the words which at last fell from 
 his lips, — 
 
 * 'The sapling rising from the soil in the 
 midst of the forest, longs for the light of the 
 sun, and as it grows older and more thrifty 
 it towers and climbs until it is warmed by 
 the welcome rays, when it takes on a new 
 life and its leaves grow fresher by the con- 
 tact ; so has Lone Wolf longed for the sunny 
 face of one who would be his companion. 
 His wigwam is empty and he waits for a 
 maiden to cheer its gloomy interior, brighten 
 
b» LAKE, FIELD AND FOREST. 
 
 the firelight and make a happy home-coming 
 for its owner. Will ' The West Wind ' share 
 my lot?" 
 
 The maiden stood irresolute for a moment 
 for she was obliged to confess herself not 
 indifferent to the regard of the young chief. 
 His kindness to his people ; his just and 
 honorable dealings with all who came before 
 him ; his acknowledged prowess in the chase 
 and in the battle and his manly form and 
 beauty had rendered him a hero in the eyes 
 of the maidens of his tribe, any of whom 
 would have felt flattered if these words had 
 been addressed to them. But the mind of 
 the girl was torn between the remembrance 
 that the slayer of her brother and the con- 
 queror of her people stood before her, and 
 the regard and admiration in which she held 
 him. At last she spoke, — 
 
 *'Lone AVolf is the chief of his tribe, and 
 he can command whatsoever he chooses of 
 the members thereof. The West Wind 
 is the daughter of the Winnepesaukees and 
 only one of his band by the sufferance of her 
 good adopted mother. Her brother died at 
 her feet slain by the hand of the man who 
 now seeks to make her his wife. Before he 
 
A TALE OF WINNEPESAUKEE. 69 
 
 died he made her promise that she would 
 revenge his death. Does Lone Wolf sup- 
 pose that she has forgotten?" 
 
 ' ' I did not know that the West Wind was 
 the daughter of Winnetonka," said he, **but 
 I cannot see that this fact should stand 
 between us. Your brother was a brave man 
 and an honorable enemy. He was the slayer 
 of my father. He was my opponent on the 
 field of battle. We met ; he was vanquished. 
 It was his fate or it would not have been. I 
 did seek for him and he for me and when we 
 met I felt that I had met a man. 
 
 I did seek to avenge a father's death ; but 
 the spirit of my father has spoken with me 
 and told me that vengeance is wrong. I do 
 not understand ; but my father was a wise 
 man. He told me to cease war and unite 
 all the Indians under one tribe ; but I did 
 not know that it was by uniting with another 
 tribe. I see that it is well. 
 
 Our tribes have been enemies, let us join 
 them by being united ; bury all ill feelings 
 beneath a dead past. The lazy black bird 
 lays its eggs in the nest of the little yellow 
 bird and when hatched the interloper pushes 
 out the young of the true owners. 
 
70 LAKE, FIELD AND FOREST. 
 
 Do they then destroy him ? No ! They 
 cherish and nourish him as their own until 
 he is able to take care of himself. Shall we 
 not do as much and forgive those who have 
 unknowingly wronged us ? " 
 
 **The Lone Wolf is wise and has spoken 
 well, " said the maiden as she lifted her eyes 
 to his, ''and she knows that her brother has 
 withdrawn his enmity toward the Mohawk, 
 for his spirit has ceased to influence her to 
 hatred of his slayer and has caused her to 
 look upon him with favoring eyes. The 
 West Wind is proud to have been chosen by 
 Lone Wolf and will be a true wife to him 
 and will try to cheer his wigwam. " 
 
 Thus was the last of the Winnepesaukees 
 merged into the stronger nation. Many 
 years did Lone Wolf live to teach the spirit 
 of peace and good will to his people ; until 
 when the white man was first stretching 
 forth over the country, all was prosperity. 
 
 When at last the old chief lay upon his 
 death-bed, he thus prophesied of the future 
 of his tribe : ' ' Lone Wolf has followed his 
 last trail. No more will he sit in council 
 with his tribe, and no more will his canoe 
 skim over the waters of the lake. The white 
 
A TALE or WINNEPESAUKEE. 71 
 
 man's foot has been planted in our midst, 
 and it will soon crowd out the red man from 
 these scenes ; but the name of the Mohawk 
 shall live forever. When we are nearly for- 
 gotten, and the boat of the white man shall 
 float where now is my canoe, I will ap- 
 pear to him and make known my face and he 
 shall set its likeness in front, where it can 
 gaze over these hills and waters, and shall 
 carry my name and face to all w^ho meet 
 him. " 
 
 The Winnepesaukee and Mohawk are no 
 more ; for long years they have lain beneath 
 the sod. The waters of the beautiful lake 
 still lie embosomed in the shadows of the 
 hills and forest, and the prophecy of the 
 chief is fulfilled, for the white man's boat, 
 the ' ' Mohawk " now floats upon its bosom 
 and bears at its prow the protytype of the 
 old chieftain, where it can look over the 
 scenes where he once taught the principles of 
 peace and happiness. 
 
 The steamer Mohawk, Dr. H. F. Libby, owner, bears 
 on its front a bas relief of a Mohawk Indian, cast in 
 bronze. 
 
\ 
 
HORN-POUT 
 FISHING. 
 
{ 
 
HORN-POUT FISHING. 
 
 OME time ago I introduced you to boy 
 Bob, and some of you were glad to 
 meet him. Yes, Bob is a character, 
 he's honest, and has never learned much of 
 the art of politeness, so he often says things 
 about people and things that seem rude, but 
 he does not mean it to be so, it's simply that 
 he has not yet learned to be a hypocrite, and 
 says what he thinks. 
 
 Bob was sitting curled up in the big easy 
 chair in my den one day, which he had got 
 in the habit of doing, when he was not busy 
 elsewhere, and had been reading a copy of 
 the Amateur Sportsman. I was busy writing 
 and had not noticed that he was looking at 
 me, 'till I felt him. 
 
 It's funny how you can feel anyone looking 
 at you, I think it must be the result of the 
 sixth sense in man. I have often lain hidden 
 in the woods and noticed that an animal that 
 I was watching intently would get uneasy 
 
76 LAKE, FIELD AND FOREST. 
 
 and finally disappear as if he knew he was 
 being watched. I finally looked up and said, 
 ''Well, Bob, what is it?" 
 
 Bob grinned, as if he appreciated the situ- 
 ation and broke out with, ** Say, Uncle Mat, 
 you know Gammons?" 
 
 *' What Gammons, the Eastern manager of 
 the Boots and Shoes Weekly ? " 
 
 '*0h pshaw, there's only one Gammons. 
 I mean Wendall Gammons, has suthin to do 
 with this paper I been readin'. You said 
 that it made a man fat to be jolly. Well, 
 he's jolly, all right, and fat too ; golly, he'd 
 roll either way. Told me some stories the 
 other day 'bout his goin' fishin' when he was 
 a boy. He come along, when I was layin' 
 down on the stringer of the dam, w^atchin' 
 the frost fish, and he set down and we got to 
 talkin' 'bout boys and what they did when he 
 was young. He said : 
 
 "That was a good while ago, Bob. I was 
 a tender hearted boy in those days, and my 
 first fish seemed to be about the biggest that 
 ever happened. It was a horn-pout, a horn- 
 pout with lively horns, and the fish might 
 have weighed half a pound. I might tell 
 you. Bob, that it weighed half a pound and 
 
HOKN-POUT FISHING. 77 
 
 you would believe it. I might tell you it 
 weighed two pounds, and you might believe 
 that. But, Robert, my boy, always tell the 
 truth when you have got anything to say about 
 fishing. Fish story liars may get into heaven 
 all right, but they are becoming so numerous 
 as to become almost obnoxious, and I wouldn't 
 for the world have you accuse me of pre- 
 varicating. 
 
 *' But about the fish. I landed him with a 
 birch stick and a piece of twine, one summer 
 morning while fishing in the Shoestring pond 
 at South Carver, Mass. I had heard an 
 older brother say something about horn-pouts 
 and from the painful sensation that I experi- 
 enced in removing that fish from the hook, 
 I determined at once that it was a horn-pout 
 — and it was. 
 
 ' ' Horn-pouts are very intelligent. In fact, 
 Bob, they are the most intelligent fish that 
 ever grew from little eggs — and this one for 
 intellio^ence beat them all. To make a lono^ 
 story short, I kept that fish and educated it. 
 I called him Bill because all fish are fond 
 of water, and all the Bills I had ever known 
 were not fish. 
 
78 LAKE, FIELD AND FOREST. 
 
 *' When Bill got so he could almost talk, 
 people came from miles around to see him. 
 Talk about knowing things, that Bill was 
 an encyclopedia. He knew more than enough 
 and finally like some men, got so much 
 knowledge that it killed him. 
 
 ' ' There used to be a nice little lady next 
 door to where we lived, that I used to think 
 a good deal of — and another little lady — not 
 quite so nice — in another part of the town, 
 that I used to like pretty well. They both 
 liked Bill, and both of them imagined that 
 they had a cinch upon my afi'ections. Now 
 mind you, I don't say Bill got to telling 
 tales about me, but somehow those two little 
 ladies found out that I was a cruel, heartless 
 flirt, and the result was that we all quarrelled. 
 I blamed Bill for the whole business. There 
 wasn't any funeral, but Bill was dead enough 
 when I got through with him. There is such 
 a thino: as knowino; too much." 
 
 **I was so tickled over that yarn that I 
 went home and wrote it down just as nigh 
 the way he said it as I could. He's a funny 
 chap, keep a feller laughin' all the time. I'd 
 like to go fishin' with Gammons. He'd make 
 bully ballast for that canoe o' yourn. Say, 
 
HORN-POUT FISHING. 79 
 
 'member the first time I saw you ? I was 
 down on the bridge, ketchin' horn-pouts." 
 
 "Yes. Why." 
 
 "Well I was thinkin' I'd like a mess, they 
 must be gettin' ready to bite pretty quick. 
 Don't you wanter go ?" 
 
 "I don't know, Bob, I don't care much 
 for that sort of fishing, and the mosquitoes 
 are biting pretty well too. I don't care to 
 be eaten by mosquitoes for a few muddy horn- 
 pouts. They're not worth it." 
 
 *'I don't see why you are so set 'gainst 
 horn-pouts. I druther have them than perch, 
 and it's just as much fun ketchin' 'em." 
 
 "Well, Bob, you can have your choice, but 
 I prefer the perch to any fresh water fish 
 that swims. I have eaten pouts caught from 
 cold waters in the sandy lands, that were 
 pretty good, but those from these muddy 
 bottomed rivers are a little too rank for my 
 taste." 
 
 "Oh, I know they are not so good as some 
 fish, but they smell fishy, and I ha'int been 
 fishin' but once since last fall. Come on, 
 please do." 
 
 So I went, more to hear what Bob had to 
 say about horn-pouts than for any other rea- 
 
80 LAKE, FIELD AND FOREST. 
 
 son, for Bob always discoursed on the family 
 affairs of his game. I had plentifully sup- 
 plied myself with tobacco and ' ' punkie-dope " 
 determined to give the insect pests a tussle 
 for their supper. 
 
 We sat ourselves on an old stonewall, that 
 ended in the river, threaded a generous worm 
 on our hooks and waited. Only the deep 
 tones of the frogs and the peeping of noctur- 
 nal insects, occasionally broken by the call 
 of some farmer belated at his milking, broke 
 the stillness and I began to get a little dreamy 
 when Bob ejaculated ' ' Dot rot these skeeters, 
 lend me that bottle of stuff you put on your 
 face, will you ? Say, this makes me think of 
 Ed. Curtis. He said the mosquitoes were so 
 thick down south during the war that they 
 stretched him out pullin' at both ends. Con- 
 sidering he's 6 ft. 4 now, he could have let 
 himself to Barnum if the rebs hadn't sur- 
 rendered for another year or two. Say, did 
 you ever see an ole horn-pout with a school 
 of young 'uns. Well I found one in a " slew " 
 and watched 'em for a week and she acted 
 just like a hen with a brood of chickens. 
 Gee, I got a whale." 
 
HORN-POUT FISHING. 81 
 
 Bob had got a little high toned since I got 
 Mm a rod, and had eschewed his old birch 
 pole, and a good sized pout can pull pretty 
 well on a light rod. He pulled in a fish 
 which weighed perhaps half a pound. 
 
 ' « Gemini, I thought I had a big one on then. 
 What a difF' — it makes usins: this little rod. 
 Gosh, I got it that time. He stuck his horn 
 in me about a foot and he's swallowed the 
 hook. Well I got to go up to the fire." 
 
 We had built a fire about fifty feet behind 
 us to attract the mosquitoes and furnish 
 light to extract the swallowed hooks. By the 
 time Bob was back I had a fish and told him 
 to take it off", as he had his hand in. 
 
 " Gee," says Bob, " I think the fish had it 
 into my hand instead. Its easy to get 'em 
 oflf. Take hold of the sides with your fingers, 
 right side of his fins, and press the horn on 
 his back down with yer hand and squeeze hard. 
 Then he can't 'horn' yer. Sometimes he'll 
 do it though, spite of it. Wal' I'll try it 
 again now. Say, boss, how big a pout did 
 you ever see?" 
 
 *' Oh, two pounds and a half is a pretty big 
 pout, I never saw many as big as that and 
 none as big as that in these waters, but 
 
82 LAKE, FIELD AND FOREST. 
 
 Goode says they sometimes weigh three or 
 four pounds. Some of their relatives, the 
 catfish, grow to enormous size. The Mis- 
 sissippi cat has been taken weighing one 
 hundred and fifty pounds." 
 
 ** Gee-whiz, I wouldn't like to get one 
 o' them fellers on a rod. T'would take a 
 clothes line to hold him. By jiminy, what a 
 fish. Say, are there yery many that size?" 
 
 **No probably not, for a western man told 
 me he fished a week for a bis: one and did 
 not get a bite." 
 
 ** Wal', are them big fellers good for any 
 thing after you get 'em ? 
 
 "He said he had a slice off of one that 
 weighed about thirty pounds, and it tasted 
 much like rancid wheel grease ; but many 
 species of cats are good eating. The blue 
 cat of the southern streams is celebrated for 
 its delicate fiavor ; but then, you know, 
 "there is a difierence in taste," as the old 
 woman said when she kissed the cow." 
 
 < ' Oh ! horn-pouts are good eatin' ; they're 
 sweet when they're fresh caught and there 
 ain't so many l^ones in 'em as there is in a 
 perch. Gammons was tellin' 'bout a man in 
 Carver, who had a big mouth. When he eat 
 
HORN-POUT FISHING. 83 
 
 herrin', he'd put 'em in one corner and the 
 bones came out of the other side as the meat 
 went down his throat, but yer don't need 
 that kind of a hopper for pouts. '' Say, did 
 you ever "jug" fish. 
 
 Now, of course I had read about ** jugging" 
 for cats in the west, but I have found that 
 you must not know too much if you want to 
 draw Bob out, so I dissembled. 
 
 "I have heard of it. Bob, but never tried 
 it, did you?" 
 
 "Yep! I read about it in a book, and 
 when my cousin came down from New 
 Hampshire, we got to talkin' about it, and 
 we thought we would try it. So we got 
 about three dozen old bottles, and went up to 
 the pond ; and we tied a hook and line on 
 the neck of each bottle, and put 'em in the 
 boat and rowed over where the water was 
 not very deep and put 'em out in a string 
 al)out sixty rod long and then set and waited. 
 Pretty soon we saw one bob up and • down 
 and we rowed over and picked it uj). Well 
 we chased it 'bout five minutes before we got 
 hold of it, and finally pulled in a perch. 
 
 When we got him in we looked for the 
 rest and they was agoin' in all directions. 
 
84 LAKE, FIELD AND FOREST. 
 
 Whew ! didn't we hustle, we didn't have time 
 to bait many of 'em over again. So we 
 chucked 'em right into the bottom of the boat, 
 bottles and all, just as we picked 'em up. 
 We got one eel, and he so everlastin'ly 
 snarled things up, that it took an hour to un- 
 tangle the lines. 
 
 "Wal ! I had one big bottle, that would 
 hold 'bout two quarts, and I put a big hook 
 and a live minner on that one, and when I 
 took 'count of stock, I couldn't hnd that one 
 at all. Well, we rowed 'round a long time 
 and could not see it. So I come the 'Injun' 
 on it, and saw it 'bout a hundred rods oft' 
 bobbin' like jehu." 
 
 "Hold on. Bob, what is coming the 'In- 
 jun' on it?" 
 
 "Why! don't you know?" queried Bob. 
 "When you drop a little thing on the floor 
 and can't find it, jest lay down and look all 
 'round and you can see it stickin' up. So I 
 got my head down next the water and looked 
 along the surface. That's what the boys 
 call 'looking Injun.' " 
 
 "Well, when we see it, we went over, nnd 
 just as I reached out for it, it went down and 
 out of sio'ht. Well, I nearlv went over- 
 
HORN-POUT FISHING. 85 
 
 board, I was so 'stonished. We chased it a 
 long time, and I finally got hold of it with an 
 oar, and pulled it in, and it had a big pick'rel 
 on it, that weighed over two pounds. Most 
 of the fish was pouts and perch though. 
 Well, it was lots of fun, but a good deal like 
 work if your boat is heavy as our'n was." 
 
 All this time that Bob was chatting away, 
 we had been pulling in the ungainly crea- 
 tures, flattened like a miller's thumb, and 
 bearded like a billy-goat. I don't know of a 
 homelier fish than a horn-pout. There are 
 neither graceful lines nor pretty colors. 
 They look as if their ancestors had their 
 heads squat down by some enormous thumb 
 and finger, and the black back, fading out 
 into the white of the belly, is anything but 
 pretty. All these things go to show their 
 habit. 
 
 How wonderfully does nature provide for 
 her children, to protect them from their en- 
 emies, and adapt their form to their mode of 
 life. Even this homely fish furnishes a beau- 
 tiful lesson in evolution. The sluggish, bot- 
 tom feeding habit has flattened its head and 
 set the mouth low down nearly on a level 
 with the belly ; the numerous feelers, or bar- 
 
86 LAKE, FIELD AND FOKEST. 
 
 bels, furnish means of discovering their food 
 in the muddy water ; and the black color of 
 the back, of the same hue as the mud on 
 which they lie, protects them from the at- 
 tacks of their enemies ; while the belly, lying 
 next the mud, and not exposed to view, 
 has turned to the neutral white or gray. 
 
 "Well," says Bob, "I think the skeeters 
 are pretty thick, to make a lecture on Nat- 
 ural History real interestin,' I move we ad- 
 journ. Gee ! Whiz ! I guess there ain't 
 been anybody here this year. Leastwise, 
 these skeeters is mighty hungry. Le's git ! " 
 and we got. 
 
 On the way home, I told Bob of the ef- 
 forts to introduce the catfish into Europe and 
 Punch's poetic protest, ending with 
 
 "They say the catfish climbs the trees 
 And robs the roosts, and, down the breeze 
 
 Prolongs his catterwaul. 
 Ah, leave him in his western flood, 
 Where Mississippi churns the mud, 
 
 Don't brina- him here at all !" 
 
THE FOX WE DID NOT GET. 
 
Photo, by C. M. Emerson. 
 
 WATCHING A BUN WAY. 
 
THE FOX WE DID NOT GET. 
 
 IGH up on a ridge, girt al^out with 
 forests, which stretch away in silent 
 majesty to the place where they 
 fade away into the horizon, sits a long, low 
 house, known in the vicinity as " The Hunt- 
 er's Camp," the resort of a jolly band of 
 hunters, who come from the cities miles 
 away, to throw oflf the cares of business, and 
 breathe in the health-giving air, redolent 
 with the odors of spruce and fir. Four miles 
 to the nearest store, and only three little 
 farm houses in sight across miles of country. 
 
 The owner is the joUiest fellow of the lot, 
 and if we were to tell his name, it would be 
 recognized at once by many of the sportsmen 
 and naturalists who read these columns. 
 
 This is the scene of our story. 
 
 A little party of sportsmen were sitting 
 around the fire after supper one night in 
 December, and, as usual, were relating 
 reminiscences of former hunts, when the 
 
90 LAKE, FIELD AND FOREST. 
 
 talk drifted toward foxes, and fox-hunting, 
 by Will coming in from out-doors and say- 
 ing : 
 
 "Say boys, it is snowing a little, but I 
 don't think it will last long, and if we get 
 about an inch on the ground, it will be good 
 tracking tomorrow. What do you say to 
 getting* up about three o'clock and going over 
 to Line Hill? 
 
 There was an expression of assent from 
 all, the only objection being from Harry, 
 who did not want to get up early. 
 
 '*Do you want to see a fox?" says Will. 
 
 "Of course I do. But what's the use of 
 turning out the night before ? " 
 
 "Well, if you want to see a fox, you will 
 get over to the stand by daylight, or it will 
 be noon before we get one there, and we 
 may not then. The scent hes stronger in 
 the morning, and you want to get out, l3efore 
 the sun dries it up. 
 
 "Yes," says Harry, "but don't the foxes 
 wander around in the day time ? " 
 
 "Not much, down here. They generally 
 get up on a side hill, soon after daylight, 
 and lie down for the day. You see, they 
 are out hunting all night, after mice and 
 
THE FOX WE DID NOT GET. 91 
 
 rabbits, and by daylight they commence to 
 lay up for the day." 
 
 "I thought they lived in l)urrows, in the 
 ground." 
 
 *'So they do, but except in the breeding- 
 season, they do not hole up much, unless 
 they are wounded, or are run too hard by 
 the dogs." 
 
 "Ned Brown, an old fox hunter out in 
 Newton, tells a story," says another of the 
 party, "that is a pretty good illustration of 
 how a fox will act, when he is hard pressed, 
 and how a good dog will hold on to them. 
 
 Herbert Baird and a friend were hunting 
 foxes one day, with three dogs, and they 
 were on a trail. But, hy and by, two dogs 
 came back to them. The missing dog was 
 an old favorite, and Baird, knowing his 
 habits, said : "That dog is holed up some- 
 where with a fox." 
 
 They hunted until night to find him, with 
 no success, and the next morning, they 
 loaded digging tools into the wagon, and 
 went where they lost him. They hunted for 
 a long time, and finally met a native, who 
 told them that he had seen a burrow that 
 looked as if the doo's had been dio^s^ino: at it 
 
92 LAKE, FIELD AND FOREST. 
 
 very lately ; and he conducted them to the 
 spot. 
 
 "There," says Bah'd, «*my dog is in 
 there." 
 
 '*0, pshaw!" says his friend, "I don't 
 believe he ever got into that hole ; why it is 
 all stopped up." 
 
 *'Yes," replied Baird, "that dog w^ould 
 never give up as long as the fox was ahead 
 of him. He has dug in after the fox, the 
 other dogs have buried him in, and he can't 
 get out. I am going to open the hole any- 
 way." 
 
 They started to dig, and continued till 
 dark, then procured lanterns, and kept on 
 till about 11 o'clock, when they got to the 
 end of the burrow, and found the dog and 
 the dead fox with him. He had been buried 
 for 27 hours, and was lively and well when 
 taken out. 
 
 The men had taken a bottle of spirits to 
 revive the dog, if they found him exhausted, 
 but they needed the restorative more than 
 the dog did. 
 
 "That's a pretty big dog story," says 
 Will, "but I see no reason to doubt it. A 
 good dog will hold onto a trail wonderfully. 
 
THE FOX WE DID NOT GET. 93 
 
 They will run till they are so completely ex- 
 hausted that they will lie down right on the 
 tracks. I have known dogs to run so hard 
 as to kill themselves." 
 
 " Say," says Harry, "does every fox have 
 a burrow of its own ? " 
 
 <*0, no! a bitch fox will throw 3 to 5 
 pups, and I have heard of a lot of 23 pups 
 heincr taken out of one hole. There are 
 often two or three litters together. But we 
 must turn in if we are going to get up early." 
 
 "Bur-r-r-r, Ting-g-g-g," went the alarm 
 clock next morning, and a frowsy head was 
 poked out from under the blankets, and 
 yawns from the other room scared the rats 
 from their homes under the attic floor of the 
 old house. 
 
 '* What time is it?" says Harry. 
 
 *' Half past three, and if we are going to 
 start a fox today, we had better be getting 
 out of this." 
 
 "Well, I would like to get a fox, but I 
 don't want one bad enough to get up in the 
 middle of the night to shoot it. Call me 
 when breakfast is ready." And a snort and 
 then a snore arose from the blankets. 
 
94 LAKE, FIELD AND FOREST. 
 
 Heavens, how that young fellow could 
 snore. Starting from a low murmur, as of 
 pumpkins rolling out of a tip cart, the sound 
 would creep up, rising in volume and increas- 
 ing in pitch till the rafters echoed with the 
 sound, and the dogs would whine from their 
 kennels in the barn, till a gasp and a snort 
 closed the performance, only to rise again 
 and flood the air. I pity his wife, if he 
 ever gets one. 
 
 The stove clatters, and soon the snappmg 
 of the lire fills the kitchen, and Will rolls 
 out of the bedroom, with eyes blinking in a 
 vain effort to keep open. 
 
 ''What's the weather?" 
 
 *' Foggy and not very cold, but the snow 
 we had last night is in complete condition 
 for tracking." 
 
 Will goes out to interview the weather 
 man, and by the time he returns, the cofiee 
 is on, and the ham sizzling in the pan. 
 
 *' Well," he says as he comes in, '* if this 
 day had been made to order, it could not 
 have been better. Where is Harry ? " 
 
 ''Snoring; told me to call him when 
 breakfast was ready. Guess I'll blow the 
 horn." 
 
THE FOX WE DID NOT GET. 95 
 
 A couple of shells are slipped into one of 
 the guns standing in the rack, and with 
 stealthy footsteps, a form glides into the 
 other room, where a i;onfused heap of 
 blankets, alone indicates the sleeping form. 
 A window is quietly raised and **bang, 
 bang," the air shakes with the concussion. 
 
 '*Hi, there, there's a big fox going up 
 over the hill by you like blazes, go for him." 
 
 *'Wha', wha', what's the matter," as a 
 dishevelled head and frightened eyes sur- 
 mounting a thinly clad form appears in the 
 bed. 
 
 ** Get up there, the foxes will eat the boots 
 off your feet if you don't move round faster. 
 Get up there! Get up!" 
 
 An hour later, three forms, clad in shoot- 
 ing jackets and carrying guns, tramp over 
 the light snow, which covers the ground, and 
 a dog cavorting in frisky anticipation, dances 
 ahead of the party, as it plods almost sul- 
 lenly along in the semi-darkness of the 
 winter's morning. 
 
 "Now," says Will, *'if you fellows will 
 get up to the stands on the hill, I will take the 
 
96 LAKE, FIELD AND FOEEST. 
 
 dog down into the pines, and see what we 
 can find. " 
 
 As the solitary hunters, holding their 
 places in the twilight of the gathering dawn, 
 pace to and fro, or seek a shelter in the lee 
 of the nearest tree or pile of rocks, the first 
 glow of the rising sun gilds the clouds float- 
 ing above the mist which covers the earth, 
 and the clarion voice of the awakening cock, 
 from a distant farm-yard comes faintly to 
 the ear. In the silence, almost deathlike, 
 broken only by the sough of the wind among 
 the junipers which dot the hill, they wait the 
 eager bay of the hound, which will denote 
 the starting of the fox, but they wait in vain. 
 
 <*What can be the matter? Why under 
 the sun, don't that dog start something?" 
 they muse as they closely scan the sides of 
 the hill, over which they hope to see the 
 ruddy coat of Sir Eeynard, trotting along 
 toward a sudden surprise. But not a sound 
 of bark or bay disturbs the air. 
 
 From the far distance, on the other side 
 of the valley, comes the sound of two hounds 
 in full cry, but their quarry is not for us. 
 From the other side the hill, the bark of the 
 house dog on the highway momentarily 
 
THE FOX WE DID NOT GET. 97 
 
 attracts the ear of the silent watcher, but it 
 is not the music he expects. A shrike 
 perches on the top of a neighboring cedar 
 and curiously eyes the motionless form, and 
 wonders, what kind of a tree that is which 
 confronts him. 
 
 ''I'd like to have asmoke, if I dared," 
 murmurs the gunner, and his hand automati- 
 cally searches for the old pipe which has 
 cheered many lonely hours ; but it would not 
 do, for the keen nostrils of the fox would 
 quickly scent the tobacco tainted air, and 
 goodby to the wished for shot at the ruddy 
 target. 
 
 Two s\^eary hours pass away, and then the 
 tall form of Will comes down over the hill. 
 
 ''Well, what's the matter?" 
 
 "I don't believe there is a fox on this 
 hill," says Will. '*I have been clear round 
 it and I can't find a track, let's go down and 
 find Harry, and go over in the swamp." 
 
 "Where's the dog?" 
 
 "Lost him down in the hollow, he will 
 find us pretty soon. " 
 
 As we walked away through the pines 
 toward the swamp, a rustle in the underbrush 
 brino's the guns to a ready, but it is only the 
 
98 LAKE, FIELD AND FOREST. 
 
 dog, and we meander down the hillside to 
 the road, and cross the track of the dog, 
 where he passed a few hours ago. 
 
 Only a few rods farther, beside the road, 
 we see the track of a fox imprinted on the 
 spotless covering of new fallen snow ; if the 
 doof had o'one a little farther he would have 
 found it. 
 
 "He-ee-r-e, Here, Here," goes out the cry 
 as we follow the track along, and the dog, 
 plunging back to us, scents the pungent per- 
 fume, and dashes off on the trail. We follow 
 along over the ])rook and are puffing up the 
 steep side of the bank beyond, wdien '' Ow-w- 
 w-ow-ow-ow," rings out from the other side, 
 and when we get over we find he has jumped 
 the fox and gone off over the next swamp. 
 
 « 'Make for the hill," says Will, "and get 
 on your stands as quick as you can. He 
 may go over that way." 
 
 And off we go at a quick trot on the back 
 track alono: the hos^-back. We find the 
 tracks of fox and dog where they cross the 
 ridge, and the writer follows them a little 
 way to see which way they went, while 
 Harry goes on to the big tree at the corner of 
 the wall. 
 
THE FOX WE DID NOT GET. 99 
 
 The tracks lead to the pines, so I turn off 
 over a ridge toward the hill, when "bang, 
 bang" goes a gun from the stand by the tree, 
 not over twenty rods from me. I stop and 
 listen, and soon hear the crash qi some an- 
 imal as he plunges through the thick l)rush, 
 which lines the brook beyond. There is a 
 narrow open place at my right, where I shall 
 see him if he crosses that way, and sure 
 enough a Hash of red emerges from the 
 bushes, but he does not mind the two charges 
 of No. 1, which are hurled at him, except 
 that, if possible, he quickens his pace as he 
 plunges behind the trunk of a pine and dis- 
 appears. Before I can get there, two re- 
 ports from the open pasture beyond, are 
 flatly echoed up the wind, as he passes Will, 
 who has just come up from the swamp, but 
 the fox goes off" unharmed. Six shots, and 
 the fox is yet running, and we trail him to 
 his burrow near where we started him. He 
 did not hole up to die, for we found his 
 tracks where he came out, when we passed 
 that way about nightfall. 
 
 There were many explanations why we 
 each of us did not get that fox, but we all 
 came to the conclusion that it was because 
 
100 LAKE, FIELD AND FOREST. 
 
 we did not shoot straight enough to hit him. 
 
 If the truth were told, would not a great 
 many fox hunts turn out the same way. 
 
 After supper, Harry says; "Say partner, 
 lend me your pipe, I can't find mine. I 
 must have lost it. Haven't you got an ex- 
 tra one ? I'll buy it of you. Now give me 
 some tobacco, mine is all gone. I was most 
 broke when I started, and could not get any 
 more." 
 
 "Say, Harry you make me think of a 
 friend of mine, our local editor, and some- 
 thing that happened to him. 
 
 Country editors are noted as big hearted 
 men, who are always willing to do their fel- 
 low men a favor. One morning last week, 
 one of them went to his office at an un- 
 usually early hour. He had just loaded his 
 pet briar pipe with a charge of the mind- 
 soothing weed, when he heard a step on the 
 stairs, and a man of Hibernian ancestry, 
 slightly inebriated, came in and addressed 
 him as follows : 
 
 *'Good morning, Mr. Jones, a fine morn- 
 ing it is, and how is your health this morn- 
 ing. Will you do me a favor this morning ?" 
 
THE FOX WE DID NOT GET. 101 
 
 «* Certainly, Pat," was Jones' reply, "I'll 
 do you any favor that I am able." 
 
 "Would you spake the good word for my 
 friend Murphy, who has just died. They do 
 be telling hard stories about him, and it's the 
 foine man he was." 
 
 "Surely Pat," rejoined the editor, "I 
 would not say a word that would injure him, 
 or cause a moment of sorrow to any of his 
 family." 
 
 "I belave you, Mr. Jones, I belave you, 
 you're a good friend of moine, a dorm good 
 feller. Say would you do me another favor, 
 would you give me a pull at the pipe, I'm 
 dyin' for a smoke." 
 
 The editor reluctantly handed over the de- 
 sired article, from which he was just drawing 
 those seductive draughts so dear to the 
 smoker. 
 
 For a few moments, silence ensued, 
 broken only by the intermittent puffs from 
 Pat's lips. 
 
 "Say, Mr. Jones, that's a foine poipe, I'll 
 give you a quarter for it." 
 
 Mr. Editor, willing to do anything to keep 
 his visitor in good humor, answers in the 
 affirmative, with a deep sigh at the loss of his 
 
102 LAKE, FIELD AND FOREST. 
 
 pet, and disconsolately sits thinking of the 
 discomfort of breaking in a new one ; when 
 his visitor breaks out with. 
 
 «*Say, Mr. Jones, (puff) that's a great 
 smoke, its a foine poipe, (puff-puff) I'm a 
 man of me word, (puff) its a dorm foine 
 poipe." 
 
 And he reaches down deep into the reces- 
 ses of his pocket and draws out a quarter, 
 which he passes to Mr. Jones, who transfers 
 it to his own pockets. 
 
 Another silence, which Pat interrupts with. 
 
 "Say Jones, lend me half a dollar to buy a 
 pint, I'm dry as a fish." 
 
 "I'm sorry, Pat, but I haven't a cent with 
 me, except the quarter you just gave me." 
 
 "All roight, Jones," says Pat, "give me 
 that, it'll buy a half pint." 
 
 Exit Pat for the desired drink. 
 
 ' ' I have seen fox hunters with as big a 
 crust as that," says Will, "but sometimes 
 they get their comeuppence. A party were 
 out fox hunting on Cape Cod, and as they 
 supposed, run a fox into its burrow. 
 
 As it was getting on into the day, they 
 gave it up and started for the hotel. After 
 they had gone part way back, a portion of 
 
THE FOX WE DID NOT GET. 103 
 
 the party made some excuse, separated from 
 the rest, and made their way back to the 
 burrow, with the idea of digging out the fox 
 and winning all the laurels. 
 
 They borrowed some tools from' a neigh- 
 boring farmhouse, and dug for about four 
 hours, and finally pulled out and killed, an 
 enormous wharf rat. Discomforted they 
 wended their way back to the hotel with the 
 understanding that the whole matter should 
 be kept quiet. But they forgot to fix the 
 farmer and he let the cat out of the bag. 
 The town was too small to hold the party 
 after that. 
 
INSECT HUNTING 
 IN WINTER. 
 
INSECT HUNTING IN WINTER. 
 
 \ I /he Sportsman-Naturalist comes in 
 ^] I lo contact with all phases of life, grave 
 
 ■^ and gay, laughter provoking and pa- 
 thetic, sometimes pursuing his prey amid the 
 burnino' sands in the intense heat of midsum- 
 mer, and anon beneath the snow laden 
 branches of the forest 'neath the wintry skies. 
 Sleeping beneath the green umbrageous foli- 
 age of the cool lake shore, bedded with sweet 
 and feathery fern, and only a few months 
 later, heaping the logs higher on the campfire 
 and tightly rolled in blankets, turning to rest 
 on beds of browse 'neath the spreading boughs 
 of Maine's evergreen spruce and firs, perhaps 
 surrounded by snow and ice. 
 
 For fun? Sometimes. For business? 
 Much oftener. The editor and the publisher 
 call for more copy and fi'esh scenes ; the 
 dealer calls for a greater variety of specimens ; 
 or driven by desire for recreation, he wanders 
 at his own sweet will, but ever turns to the, 
 
108 LAKE, FIELD AND FOREST. 
 
 to him, all absorbing subject of Natural Life, 
 at once pleasure and business, omnipresent 
 and ever-interesting. 
 
 A bird in the trees, a fish in the waters, a 
 stone in the wall, a butterfly on the nodding 
 flower stalk, each speaks to him in Circean 
 tones, but which bring not destruction but 
 instruction. So it happened that one day, 
 snow two feet deep, cloudy, cold, raw, signs 
 of more snow, etc., we don our toques and 
 leggings, strap our snow-shoes to our backs, 
 and, with the implements of our puny warfare 
 at hand, start for the woods to hunt the fes- 
 tive beetle. 
 
 We imagine our readers saying, '«What 
 the mischief are they going bug-hunting for 
 in a snowstorm ! " But be it known that 
 there is not an hour, day or night, during 
 the entire year, when the entomologist need 
 to rest for want of specimens to collect. 
 
 My companion, and at that time partner, 
 was a short, stocky Canadian from Ontario, 
 full of life, and enthusiastic in this his fa- 
 vorite study, — a true type of that hardy 
 people to whom the use of the snow-shoe and 
 moccasin is a second nature. 
 
INSECT HUNTING IN WINTER. 109 
 
 We took train for the old Maiden woods, 
 and after alighting and leaving the houses 
 behind, strap up, and are soon skimming over 
 the frozen surface, making for a grove of 
 pines which loom up in the distance. 
 
 The everpresent * ' hoodlum " shouts at us 
 as we pass a cross-road, *'0h, luk at the 
 gillies with them things on their feet, don't 
 they go fine, though? Say, Mister, give us 
 a ride ?" But although they might, no doubt 
 prove fruitful fields to collect from, it is not 
 that kind of bug we are after, and we go on 
 to more congenial fields. 
 
 The first dead pine is attacked, and our 
 hatchets soon start the bark from the trunk, 
 and eager eyes are watching for the little 
 creatures as they lie in their cosy nests, hol- 
 lowed out of the inner bark, the surface of 
 which is furrowed by the hundreds of little 
 beetles which infest these trees. 
 
 Our first find is a fine specimen of the 
 Ribbed Bark-beetle (^Rhagium lineatum). 
 It is from one-half to three-quarters of an 
 inch in length, of a yellowish-gray color, 
 variegated with black. The head and thorax 
 are much narrower than the body, and the 
 antennae barely reach the base of the elytra. 
 
110 LAKE, FIELD AND FOUEST. 
 
 They lie in cosy little cells, between the in- 
 ner bark and the wood, in which they trans- 
 form from the larval state, and from which 
 they bore out in the spring to lay their eggs 
 in the crevices of the bark, again to com- 
 mence the round of destruction. A large 
 number are often found in one tree, and an 
 entry in my Field Notes reads, '* April 2, 
 Maiden, Mass. Cold and stormy. Over 100 
 H. lineatum were found in one dead white 
 pine, and twice that number of larvae. " 
 
 The next find is Pytho americanus^ a 
 beautiful little beetle, blue above and red be- 
 neath, which lives in a similar cell to the last 
 mentioned, excepting that the rim of the cell 
 lacks the chips which invariably characterize 
 the former. 
 
 Well do I remember the first time I found 
 this beetle. It was in the woods near my 
 old home in Braintree, Mass., and I was as- 
 siduously working away at a dead tree, when 
 a strange beetle dropped from under a strip 
 of bark which I was peeling ofi", and its bright 
 colors caught my eye as it fell. Down I 
 went on my knees in the snow and dirt to find 
 it before it became buried in the debris. I 
 
INSECT HUNTING IN WINTER. Ill 
 
 believe I took fifteen out of that tree, and got 
 logs and piled them up to reach higher. 
 
 Another tree discloses a specimen of the 
 rare Alaus my ops, a somewhat larger beetle, 
 gray, with two eye-like black spots on the 
 top of the thorax. This insect belongs to the 
 family of Elaters, or spring beetles, and is 
 closely related to the Cucujo or fire-fly of the 
 tropics. 
 
 By this time our toes have become numbed 
 by the straps of our snow-shoes, which have 
 borne too tightly over them, protected only 
 by a thin moccasin, and my friend suggested 
 that we find some cosy corner where we would 
 be sheltered from the wind, and build a fire, 
 warm our feet, and have a lunch. I needed 
 no urging, for my toes had long warned me 
 that they protested against such treatment, 
 and we proceeded to carry out the will of the 
 majority. 
 
 The lunch was eaten, the fire was warm 
 and comfortable, and we lay back, wrapped 
 in our warm blanket coats and talk over the 
 incidents of the forenoon. 
 
 *'How many beetles have you taken?" 
 says Jim. '*I have about two hundred." 
 
 *' You are way ahead of me then, for I 
 
112 LAKE, FIELD AND FOREST. 
 
 have not over fifty, but I have two here that 
 I would not swap all the rest for." 
 
 "Well," says Jim, "you remind me of a 
 story that my friend Haywood used to tell of 
 an old Judge in England, who was an en- 
 thusiastic sportsman, but a very poor shot. 
 They were at a Pheasant drive on a leased 
 shooting down in the Eastern counties, one 
 day, and after the drive was over, the Judge 
 had but two birds, and one of the party 
 asked : 
 
 "How did the Judge shoot?" 
 
 "Oh," says the keeper," he shot beauti- 
 fully, but God was very merciful to the birds." 
 
 Jim was too much for me, collecting beet- 
 les, but I could do him up on the butterflies. 
 He was at it all the time , while I was doing 
 more in the way of taking notes and watch- 
 ing their operations, than of peeling ofl'bark. 
 By the way, a good suggestion to parents 
 who want to deter their children from killing 
 birds, and yet encourage them to study Nat- 
 ural History, would be to make them a pres- 
 ent of a pair of -opera glasses and a note 
 book, and reward them for good observa- 
 tions in the fields. The boys would have 
 
INSECT HUNTING IN WINTER. 113 
 
 just as much fun, and many birds' lives be 
 saved. 
 
 We were now thoroughly warm, and my 
 partner challenges me to a race to the next 
 grove on a hill about one-quarter of a mile 
 distant, to warm ourselves up, and decide 
 who shall pay for the supper when we get 
 back. 
 
 Away we go, skimming along, until a low 
 wall, on a steep side hill, unnoticed in the 
 excitement of the race, catches the toe of my 
 friend's shoe, and over he goes, head first, 
 into the drift beyond, all out of sight but his 
 short legs, looking like barbers' poles, with 
 their striped stockings and waving snow- 
 shoes, decorated with gay ribbons from the 
 last costume skating carnival. 
 
 As soon as I can recover from my lit of 
 laughter at his mishap, I roll him over, like 
 a big mud-turtle, upon his back, for a man 
 on snow-shoes has a hard job to get up with- 
 out assistance, and as he arises and blows 
 the snow from his bushy moustache, he says, 
 "No snow down there, crops coming up 
 finely, that field won't need ploughing next 
 spring." 
 
114 LAKE, FIELD AND FOREST. 
 
 But little mishaps like this do not trouble 
 us, and off vi.e go again, until the rapidly 
 falling snow and the cold winds fairly 
 drive us back to the city, full of renewed 
 life and spirits to once more tackle business 
 affairs. I paid for that supper. Canada won 
 the race. 
 
 Although it may seem incredible to the 
 ordinary reader that much pleasure can be 
 derived from a tramp in the woods, when the 
 snow is deep, and the mercury fast on its 
 way towards zero, with, perhaps, the snow 
 falling fast around you as you tramp over 
 the whitened earth ; still, the entomologist, 
 as he glances over these lines, will lie back 
 in his chair, and live over the hours which he 
 passed in just such circumstances. How 
 cold his feet were, as he tramped over the 
 snow, with eyes and senses alert to catch 
 some favorable spot, and when he has 
 stripped the bark from some tree, and found 
 a little insect, for which, perhaps, he has 
 been searching for a long time to fill some 
 vacant spot in his cabinet, how soon are the 
 cold feet and the other discomforts of the 
 body forgotten. And who would not endure 
 these trifling privations, to look at this in- 
 
INSECT HUNTING IN WINTER. 115 
 
 sect, properly classified and in its place 
 among others of its tribe, and on the cold 
 winter evenings to sit by the fire and, as we 
 examine its beautiful structure, to live over 
 those hours. 
 
 While we are enduring privations, or 
 working hard to get out of some difficulty, 
 we think that the game is hardly worth the 
 candle ; but after it is all over, and we sit by 
 the fireside thinking and living it all over 
 again, we forget the discomforts, and remem- 
 ber only the pleasant portions, and deter- 
 mine to try it again. 
 
 Sneer at the "bug-hunter" or the "Nat- 
 uralist crank," if you will, but he has pleas- 
 ures which you wot not of, and these little 
 things teach to him grander secrets than all 
 the garbled theories of past ages. Or per- 
 haps, as he roams the woods, maybe in a 
 strange place, as I once did, with his gun 
 under his arm, for a shot at some stray rab- 
 bit, he is overtaken hj the shades of night in 
 a lonely place, and with the only alternative 
 to roam the woods all night or build a fire 
 and roast a rabbit for supper, and then after 
 a smoke for a night cap, can roll himself in 
 his ulster, and lie down by the side of the 
 
116 LAKE, FIELD AND FOREST. 
 
 fire, and comfortably covered, can watch the 
 firelight and think over the captures of the 
 day, and finally drop to sleep as peacefully 
 as a child in its mother's arms, to dream of 
 loved ones far away, secure in the thought 
 that there is nothing there to harm him, as 
 he lies in the midst of Dame Nature's works. 
 And why not? After all, life is but a 
 span, and nothing serious can befall us, and 
 it be our fate to there end our mortal days, 
 where can we find a more glorious mausoleum, 
 than the undying clifts, or a more peaceful 
 lullaby than the song of the winds in the 
 soughing pines. 
 
LAKE TROUT 
 FISHING. 
 
LAKE TROUT FISHING. 
 
 J\ I L As I looked up from my desk, 
 ^ a vision in blue uniform and 
 brass buttons, hekl me a yellow envelope. 
 * ' Any answer, sir ? " 
 
 There were only five words on the slip en- 
 closed, '*Come up to-night, sure." Signed^, 
 *' Henry." 
 
 The boy was dismissed, no reply was 
 needed, but what did it mean? And I won- 
 dered the rest of the day. And I wondered 
 till I went to see what it meant. 
 
 My friend Doctor Henry was seated in his 
 easy chair, when I entered, and was calmly 
 reading his evening paper, and oblivious to 
 any undue excitement, that would suggest 
 any cause for the telegram. 
 
 *' What's the row, Doc, that you telegraph 
 me to come up ? Sick ?" 
 
 ** Yes, sick of Boston, I am going up to 
 
120 LAKE, FIELD AND FOREST. 
 
 the lake, Saturday. Come on. If its not 
 too late we will get a few lake trout." 
 
 **I would like to, Doc, but I am afraid I 
 can't, I must stay and look after business." 
 
 * ' Oh let the business go for a few days and 
 come along. You are not so important that 
 business wont go without you. Say, my boy, 
 who will attend to business when you're dead ? 
 Do you expect the world will stop then ?" 
 
 "No, I suppose not, but 'twon't make any 
 difference to me then." 
 
 '*Now my boy," says the doctor, '*Man 
 that is born of woman is small potatoes, and 
 few in a hill. When we die, the hole we 
 leave, will be just the size of the cavity left 
 in a pail of water, when you pull your finger 
 out of it. Come on. No preparation 
 needed. I have rods enough at the lake, 
 and the steamer will be at the whai-f, waiting 
 for us, when the train gets in tomorrow 
 night. Will you go?" 
 
 Now man that is born of woman is not 
 only small potatoes, but he is weak in the 
 knees, when the hour of temptation comes, 
 and I hesitated. He who hesitates is lost, 
 and I am afraid that I was lost when the 
 
LAKE TROUT FISHING. 121 
 
 subject was broached. Anyway I went, and 
 I stayed till I got my first '' togue.'' 
 
 Now I suppose that some scientific fisher- 
 man will put up a kick and say that a 
 Winnepesaukee Lake trout is not a '*togue." 
 Now let's go into executive session, and 
 moralize a little. This fish, closely allied to 
 the Salmon and other trout, has as many 
 names as a Spanish Grandee. They call 
 him J^amaycush in the Great lakes ; Lunge 
 on our North-eastern boundaries ; Togue in 
 Maine, and various other aliases in other 
 places, but when you're calling, call me to 
 dinner, and I'll eat him under any name. 
 The flesh is pink, and well flavored, though a 
 little dry, and needs a generous allowance 
 of good, melted butter to help it along. 
 
 In appearance they vary with every water 
 they inhabit, and though not as gamy as a 
 brook trout, a fish running from three to fif- 
 teen pounds will furnish some excitement, if 
 he has got any trout blood in him at all. 
 
 The ride from Boston to the lake is long 
 and tedious, despite the changing scenery as 
 we pass from Massachusetts into New Hamp- 
 shire, and *'we had all been there before, 
 several times," but picking up an addition to 
 
122 LAKE, FIELD AND FOREST. 
 
 our party at Dover, we finally got there, and 
 left the train at Wolf borough. 
 
 The steamer was at the wharf, and we got 
 away immediately. I must stop a moment 
 to describe the "Mohawk" for she is a beau 
 ideal for a gentleman-sportsman's boat. 
 About forty feet long, her forward part was 
 cased in plate glass, affording protection from 
 the weather, while aft of the engine, curtains 
 could be pulled down when needed. She 
 was fitted with all necessary conveniences, 
 and if desired, a party could live on board 
 for weeks, as well as in an ocean steamer. 
 
 We were afraid that the weather was get- 
 ting pretty warm for the fish, for it was 
 toward the last of June, and like all of the 
 trout family, this fish likes cool water, and 
 as the sun gets higher in the heavens, they 
 seek the deeper portions of the lake, so the 
 first question was : 
 
 "Say, Cap. have the trout done biting?" 
 
 "No," was the reply, "a party from Alton 
 Bay caught a 11-pounder this morning." 
 
 "Well boys," said the Doctor "I guess 
 we'll get some then." 
 
 The Doctor's cottage was on the shore of 
 Tuftonboro Bay, and just opposite the en- 
 
LAKE TROUT FISHING. 123 
 
 trance which leads in from the lake. Our 
 party was made up of ten persons, three of 
 whom were ladies, but as only three bear 
 any relation to our story, we will confine our 
 attention to them. 
 
 The Doctor was a lithe, active body, with 
 muscles like steel trained by years of work 
 over the dental chair, and indefatigable in 
 pursuit of sport, either with gun or rod, he 
 wanted the best of everythinof and he o-ot it. 
 He worked hard at his profession and he en- 
 joyed his holidays thoroughly, and better 
 still, he made his guests enjoy themselves. 
 What more could you ask ? 
 
 Uncle Alonzo was an elderly gentleman, 
 slipping down the path of life, and hurried 
 along by that insidious disease, consumption. 
 He needed to be careful, but he dearly loved 
 to feel the tug of a good fish on his split bam- 
 boo, and he intended to go fishing as long as 
 his strength would allow. 
 
 The third party was dubbed *'Bugs" for 
 he would leave his work to chase butterflies, 
 and always carried a bottle to confine his 
 victims. No more need be said, he was no 
 better than he ought to be. 
 
124 LAKE, FIELD AND FOREST. 
 
 The day in question now, was the first 
 pleasant one following two days of rain. 
 The boat had been out, and fish had been 
 caught, but no trout. The weather and the 
 water was cooler for the rain, and the 
 steamer started out with its living freight, 
 fully prepared to get trout, or know the 
 reason why. 
 
 Let us explain a little. On the after deck 
 were fastened tAvo chairs on swivels, for the 
 fishermen, and a button was set on the edge 
 of the upper deck, which connected the 
 sportsmen with the engineer. When the 
 fishing grounds were reached, the engine was 
 set on the notch, and the boat jogged along 
 at the proper rate of speed to spin the bait 
 and not dras: it too fast. The hooks were 
 baited with alive "red-fin," a heavy sinker 
 attached to carry it down into the depths 
 where lurked the finny monsters, and we sat 
 back and waited for a bite. 
 
 Uncle Lon and Bugs had the seats of 
 honor, the two chairs, for the latter was a 
 neophyte, and the former was going to show 
 him how to do it. The doctor was master 
 of ceremonies, and not long did they wait, 
 for shortly Doc says : 
 
LAKE TROUT FISHING. 125 
 
 *« Bugs, you've got a lish on. " 
 
 "Guess not," says Bugs. 
 
 ''Guess yes," says Uncle Lon, "confound 
 you, a greenhorn for luck." 
 
 And Bugs soon found that he had some- 
 thmg to learn, for his line commenced to run 
 out, and Doctor touched the button, and 
 stopped the engine. 
 
 "Snub him, Bugs." 
 
 "Give him the butt. Bugs." 
 
 "Hold on to him, Bugs, till I get a rope 
 round you, he'll have you overboard." 
 
 And it did look as if Bugs had the buck- 
 fever and was going over board after the fish. 
 This way and that way, starboard and port, 
 up to the surface and down toward the bot- 
 tom went the frightened fish, but flesh and 
 blood could not stand the strain of the little 
 bamboo rod, and the weight of the lump of 
 lead. Bugs had landed big fish before, and 
 though the tactics of this one were a little 
 strange to him, he slowly reeled in his line, 
 and the long-handled landing net was slipped 
 under the exhausted fish, and he came upon 
 deck. 
 
 "How much does he weigh?" was the 
 universal cry. 
 
126 LAKE, FIELD AND FOKEST. 
 
 The Doctor deliberately hung him on the 
 spring balance, and said : 
 
 *' Six pounds and a half." 
 
 But Bugs saw a peculiar smile on the faces 
 of the party, and began to smell a rat. He 
 had caught fish before and never saw a fish 
 of that size that weio'hed so heavy. 
 
 *'Hold on there. Doc, let me see those 
 scales." 
 
 Sure enough there it was 6 J pounds, but 
 not satisfied, he lifted the fish off the hook, 
 and the scales went back only to the 2f 
 mark. That trick did not work that time, 
 and the laugh was on the doctor. But one 
 man had carried what he thought was a 6- 
 pounder back to Boston and thought it had 
 shrunk badly in eight hours. However, a 3| 
 pound trout was good enough to keep. 
 
 The engine was again started and Bugs 
 did the same trick twice more, and nobody 
 else caught a fish that day. They all weighed 
 within two ounces of the same mark. 
 
 Uncle Lon was very sore, for not only 
 had the greenhorn beaten the experienced 
 fisherman, but said E. F. had not even had 
 a bite. 
 
LAKE TROUT FISHING. 127 
 
 '»Well, Uncle Lon," says Bags. *'I 
 shall have to show you how to catch trout. 
 I thought you was a fisherman. I want to 
 see that 10-pounder you were tellmg about 
 this morning." Which remarks were very 
 rude, and were to be thrown down his throat 
 the next day. But now, Uncle Lon only 
 sadly shook his head and held his peace. 
 
 Next day, we were at it again, but there 
 were no strikes for a long time, and we had 
 made up our minds that we would get left 
 this day, when Bugs jumped to his feet and 
 sang out : * ' Stop the boat ! Stop the boat ! !" 
 
 ''By ginger," says Doc. "he has another 
 one on." 
 
 *'No," replied Bugs. *'I haven't got a 
 trout on this time ; but I w ish that half-pound 
 weight was ofl*, I'd show you some fun." 
 
 * * What do you mean ? " 
 
 "I mean that I have a bass on here. I 
 don't know much about togue, but I know 
 when a bass telegraphs me that he's coming, 
 I have met him before." 
 
 Sure enough there was a nice one on the 
 hook, but the weight hanging to his jaw did 
 not allow His Royal Highness to perform any 
 of his favorite acrobatic tricks, and he was 
 
128 LAKE, FIELD AND FOREST. 
 
 too firmly hooked to get away, but he man- 
 aged to kick up considerable of a muss be- 
 fore he was laid in the fishwell. 
 
 The excitement incidental to this, had died 
 away, and the fishermen had commenced to 
 shift uneasily in their chairs, despite the 
 round of fun and jollity that was being ban- 
 tered back and forth. Finally the doctor 
 said : 
 
 "Say, this is getting monotonous, I'll put 
 up a stake, the first man who gets a trout, 
 wins this half dollar, and we'll have it en- 
 graved with its weight." 
 
 Suddenly Uncle Lon was observed to 
 straighten up in his chair, and his reel to 
 sing. It was nip and tuck, for the old gen- 
 tleman's wind was short, and the fish was 
 strong ; twenty feet of line would come in, 
 only to be ran out by the struggles of the 
 exasperated fish, while the old man would 
 stop to get his breath and commence again. 
 
 **Let me play him for you, Uncle Lon," 
 says Doc. 
 
 "Not — much, — I'm going — to show — that 
 bug-hunter — how to — catch — a fish." 
 
 And he did, for he fought it out and brought 
 to net a fine trout weighing 7f pounds. But 
 
LAKE TROUT FISHING. 129 
 
 it took a solid dose of * ' restorative " to get 
 him back so he could talk. 
 
 ''There Bugs," says he, ''that's the sort of 
 fish we catch, ive don't pull in minnows," and 
 the old man was heard to murmur in his sleep 
 that night : "Don't catch minnows." 
 
 He got the medal, and it was preserved, 
 and often proudly exhibited in a velvet lined 
 box, as long as the old man lived. 
 
 It was not long, and that was probably the 
 last fish that the old man ever caught. 
 
 Let us hope that in those happy hunting 
 grounds, where he now is, that his eyes are 
 clear to bait his hook, and that the fish are 
 plenty and not minnows, in the ghostly streams 
 of the land of the hereafter. Who knows ? 
 And it is a question that we would all like 
 to have answered. 
 
THE NATURALIST IN THE 
 WHITE MOUNTAINS. 
 
MT. KEABSABGE. 
 
THE NATURALIST IN THE WHITE 
 MOUNTAINS. 
 
 ^^ * OW the next trip you make next 
 summer will be to the Crawford 
 Notch. Is that all settled? I 
 shall be disappointed if you do not come, 
 and so will you, for I can show you birds 
 galore, and you will be well repaid for the 
 trip. Maybe we'll get a bear." 
 
 These were the last words of my friend, J. 
 Waldo Nash, artist and naturalist, as I bade 
 him goodbye, on the train north, after a very 
 pleasant winter's companionship in the city. 
 So I went. 
 
 It was my object to study bird life on the 
 higher altitudes, and I had for a week been 
 gradually approaching North Conway, by 
 way of Lake Winnepesaukee and the Ossipee 
 Eange. I had never been here before, al- 
 though I had been in higher latitudes, and I 
 was much interested by what I had seen so 
 far in my travels. 
 
134 LAKE, FIELD AND FOREST. 
 
 ' < I never knew you to go back on your 
 word, old man," greeted me as I stepped off 
 the train one night, and Waldo had me by 
 the hand. *'If we don't make these old 
 mountains howl within the next fortnight, it 
 will be because Miss Echo has got drowned." 
 
 ** Hold on, now, don't be introducing me 
 to any dissolute females. I am a poor weak 
 naturalist, and I know more about catching 
 hornpouts than I do about your misses. 
 I've no use for them." 
 
 "Well," says Waldo, "you will get along 
 all right with Miss Echo, for she always 
 agrees with you, but you never see her. 
 Come on." 
 
 So I found myself ensconsed in a nice 
 chamber, in a house by the waters of Kear- 
 sarge brook, which carried the waters into 
 the Saco, while the mist crowned peaks of 
 the Moat Mountains looked into my windows 
 in the morning, and called me from my bed 
 of ease. 
 
 From those magic portals were seen the 
 magnificent pinnacles of Cathedral Rocks and 
 the horse and sleigh of White Horse Ledge. 
 Never changing, yet ever new ; never end- 
 ing, yet ever beautiful, who would not be an 
 
IN THE WHITE MOUNTAINS. 135 
 
 artist, especially if he be a naturalist, to live 
 in the midst of these magnificent monuments 
 of nature's handiwork. 
 
 Mt. Kearsarge, or Pequawket, as it is some- 
 times called, was our first day's work, and 
 we hastened our steps to reach its foot, for 
 we knew it was a hard climb before we con- 
 quered 3,200 feet of rocks, thrusting their 
 heads into the clouds. 
 
 '*Hold on a minute," Waldo says, "let me 
 show you something pretty," and he lifts a 
 branch of a hemlock growing on a bank by 
 the edge of the brook, and there was the 
 oven-like nest of the black and white creeper 
 hidden in the moss. 
 
 It was loosely constructed of pine needles 
 and dead leaves, and was lined with shreds 
 of birch bark and horse hair, against which 
 reposed the four delicately dotted eggs. The 
 green, mossy, fern dressed bank, laved by the 
 waters of the brook, and crowned by a gray 
 and moss grown fence, formed a picture long 
 to be remembered. 
 
 The way led along the course of the brook, 
 through the intervale ; and wild strawberries, 
 dainty flowers, and above all, the everchang- 
 ing scenery beguiled the footsteps to the 
 
136 LAKE, FIELD AND FOREST. 
 
 detriment of speed ; it was almost impossible 
 to tear ones eyes away. 
 
 At Sunset Hill, the bridle path began, and 
 we were rushing down the slope toward the 
 open field, when as I was leaping over a 
 patch of low blueberry bushes, to keep my 
 feet from getting tangled, and throwing one 
 headlong, a little bird flushed from between 
 my feet, and was gone, but not so quickly 
 that I did not recognize the little Junco, and 
 as I had never seen its nest, I stopped in- 
 stanter. 
 
 Foro^otten was Mt. Kearsaro^e, fors^otten 
 the rapidly passing hours, but I searched for 
 a long time, before I discovered it, curiously 
 hidden in the bushes. Another of nature's 
 gems, set in emerald green, its brown cup of 
 fine grass and pine needles, eflectively 
 blended with the dry aftermath, concealed it 
 till the eye caught the glint of the sun on the 
 surface of the five little eggs. It was more 
 neatly and compactly built than the creepers 
 but no more dainty. 
 
 Kearsarge has features of its own. One is 
 the Kearsarge Brook, a sparkling stream of 
 water, the source of which is the famous 
 Kearsarge Mountains, rising among the clouds 
 
IN THE WHITE MOUNTAINS. 137 
 
 from many springs ever uniting to form 
 larger streams, falling now over precipices, 
 forming, as it were, a bridal veil for some 
 bride of Old Kearsarge, noAV tumbling over 
 rocks and roots in a mad and merry whirl 
 and rush, as if each pai-ticle were trying to 
 see which would reach the base soonest, then 
 flowing quietly along under old and forgotten 
 bridges, so quietly that one would hardly 
 think that these were the same waters that 
 were so boisterous a short time before. Now 
 starting up again as if urgent business called 
 it along in haste, and anon, pausing in some 
 cool and quiet pool where the speckled 
 beauties bask and sport. Now flowing along 
 under mighty maple trees in whose sombre 
 shade the quiet hum of insect life and twitter 
 of birds carry one far beyond the toil and 
 cares of life. Now emero^ino- ao-ain into the 
 sunlight, flowing through pasture and 
 meadow, past happy homes, through groves 
 where people worn with the cares of a life 
 in the city are fast forgetting those cares 
 and taking on new life. Lying quietly in 
 some smooth and tranquil pond, now tumb- 
 ling over some dam or phihinthropically 
 turnino^ some wheel, orlidino- alono' over 
 
138 LAKE, FIELD AND FOREST. 
 
 polished ledges ; again running along over 
 rounded pebbles, under dark pines, ever 
 chano^iuor never found twice alike. Such is 
 the beautiful Kearsarge brook and offers 
 enjoyment to all, whether they carry a rod 
 and line, or an artists' outfit, or whether 
 they are out for an hour's rest. A trip up 
 this brook and its tributaries offers some of 
 the most beautiful scenes ever put on canvas, 
 and some of these scenes are very easy to 
 reach. One looking up from the mill pond 
 above the Chase shops is a fine scene, and a 
 few rods farther up is another of a little 
 difterent character. 
 
 East of Kearsarge and beginning to rise, as 
 it were, out of the brook is Sunset Hill, 
 formerly known as Birch Hill , which offers 
 some fine views of the surrounding country 
 and from which the glories of a mountain 
 sunset can be seen perfectly, and here also 
 can be seen the Moat Mt., White Horse and 
 Cathedral Ledges in bold relief against the 
 Western sky, and further north old Wash- 
 ington, which, at this distance, is toned down 
 into soft and hazy colors. Here one can get 
 the smell of the fir balsam and pine, or dream 
 in the shade of some mighty oak. And here 
 
IN THE WHITE MOUNTAINS. 139 
 
 can be seen the bleached and whitened 
 skeletons of old forest trees, and picturesque 
 old birches from which the former name was 
 taken. 
 
 The trip on Kearsarge Mt. can be very 
 easily made from Kearsarge village and 
 should not be missed by any one. 
 
 The bridle path wound around trees and 
 rocks, with numerous openings, whence the 
 valley below could be seen, and many were 
 the interruptions which lured us from our 
 path. Here were the beautiful flowers of 
 the Linnea borealis, and at the next turn it 
 was some bird which hopped out of the bushes 
 and as suddenly flitted out of sight. 
 
 About one-fourth of the way up, we heard 
 the sound of falling water, and knowing that 
 some of the choicest bits of mountain 
 scenery were to be found in the cascades, 
 we left the trail and were well repaid for the 
 moment's scramble. A series of little falls, 
 formed by the descent of the little brook, 
 swollen by the rains of the night before, 
 here leaped and swirled as they tumbled 
 down over the mossy rocks, now disappear- 
 ing beneath the fallen boulders, and gurgling, 
 struggling and grumbling as they worked 
 
140 LAKE, FIELD AND FOREST. 
 
 their way through hidden channels out, 
 once more, into the light of day, when with 
 a flash and spatter it plunged over a little 
 clifi*, and splashed into a crystal pool below, 
 then flowed calmly a little way like liquid 
 silver, framed by banks o'erhung with a 
 tangled maze of delicate green, a mass of 
 mossy, dripping, filmy, feathery fern. 
 These cascades did not seem to be well 
 known, and they are not easily accessible, 
 except by a sharp scramble, but they will 
 richly repay for labor expended. 
 
 On these banks, as we climbed over and 
 leaped across on the mossy and water-worn 
 rocks, we started the Redstart, the Chestnut- 
 sided Warbler, the Red-eyed Vireo and the 
 Olive-backed Thrush, hiding among the 
 bushes and the fern-grown banks. 
 
 We followed the course of the brook until 
 we found that it would carry us away from 
 our goal, when we turned again toward the 
 bridle path. 
 
 We lunched on Prospect Ledge, well 
 named, for here is aftbrded a fine prospect of 
 this section of the Saco Valley. 
 
 Leaving here, we find bird life growing 
 very scant, but see the Junco and White- 
 
IN THE WHITE MOUNTAINS. 141 
 
 throated Sparrow apparently breeding at a 
 height of 2,000 feet. 
 
 Speaking of this latter bird, it is here in 
 these mountains that I heard its voice at its 
 greatest perfection, at least two more notes 
 being added to its song as heard in the low- 
 lands. It warbles at intervals during the 
 entire day, calling back and forth with its 
 companions ; and later on , as I lay in my 
 blankets on the slopes of Mount Willey, in 
 the darkness of the night, and surrounded by 
 the sombre depths of the spruce forest, lit 
 only by the glimmering stars, I heard it 
 again, like a voice of hope calling from the 
 depths of gloomy despair, and enlivening the 
 solitude with its cheery notes. And as the 
 first rays of the rising sun adorned the east 
 he, first of all, lifted up his voice in gladness 
 and praise. 
 
 Not for all the world could I, since that 
 glorious day, harm one of those little creat- 
 ures, or take its nest. I would feel as if I 
 had killed or robbed my own brother. 
 
 But I have digressed, both from my path 
 and my story. We are now nearly to timber 
 line, and soon have passed out where the 
 only vegetation is low bushes, a few stunted 
 
142 LAKE, FIELD AND FOREST. 
 
 evergreens, twisted and gnarled by the force 
 of the winds which sweep over the summit, 
 and the low, creeping mountain cranberry 
 (uva wsi), which covers the soil wherever 
 any is found to cover the rocks. A few 
 more hundred feet and we step upon the tops 
 It has been a hard climb, but the view is 
 worthy of the labor. 
 
 We can follow the course of the Saco river 
 from where it emerges from the Notch until 
 it disappears in the distant fields of Maine. 
 Below us are the villages spread out in mi- 
 nute panorama, the buildings looking like 
 toy-houses, and the people indistinguishable 
 except by the aid of the glasses. 
 
 To the south, on either side of the valley, 
 the two ranges show their length ; to the east 
 the hills of Maine are nearly flattened into 
 the plain, though near by they are consider- 
 able eminences, and the view is unbroken to 
 the horizon, with river, lake and field varying 
 the picture ; while to the north are the mon- 
 archs of the range, too numerous to mention, 
 culminated by Washington, now for weeks 
 cloud-capped, and on whose sides the patches 
 of snow and ice are plainly discernible. 
 
IN THE WHITE MOUNTAINS. 143 
 
 As we stand on the northern span we see 
 a shower gathering about Mount Washington, 
 and sweeping down the notch. Washington 
 is hidden from view, and then follows Mun- 
 roe ; Willey and Webster disappear, and the 
 bank of fog, swirling and swaying with the 
 force of the wind, draws nearer and nearer. 
 
 In the midst of it all, in the gap between 
 Bartlett and Kearsarge, high in the air, and 
 in the very path of the wind, soars a large 
 hawk. He sways back and forward, ever 
 and anon coming to a standstill, facing and 
 in the very teeth of the gale, and hovering 
 there without the slightest discernible motion, 
 braving and conquering the very power of 
 the wind, a grand triumph of skill and power. 
 It was a majestic sight. 
 
 The wind is so strong that we are glad to 
 get under the lee of a little house which 
 crowns the summit, and which is firmly bound 
 to the rock with iron rods. 
 
 After plucking a few flowers of the bear- 
 berry as mementoes for absent friends, we 
 strike down the side of the mountain, avoid- 
 ing the paths, and soon are crashing our way 
 throuojh the foliage, below timber line. 
 
 10 
 
144 LAKE, FIELD AND FOREST. 
 
 This is the way to really enjoy mountain 
 scenery. If we cling to the regular paths 
 with a guide to explain the points of interest, 
 we shall see beautiful views, we shall inhale 
 the glorious mountain air, but we shall miss 
 the unlooked for bits of beauty, in the spots 
 frequented only by the wild animals, and the 
 delightful uncertainty of where we shall bring 
 up. Perhaps we shall easily come to a path 
 winding around the mountain side, which 
 shall lead us to civilization, and perhaps to 
 an inaccessible cliff, whose overhanging brow 
 warns us that we must either retreat, to search 
 for a safer descent, or compel us to make a 
 lono^ detour to reach the bottom. 
 
 The next morning, my companion, the 
 photographer of the expedition, Wm. H. 
 Wilson of Boston, having arrived on the 
 scene, we packed our knapsacks, put up our 
 black-fly killer and boarded our train for 
 farther up the notch. 
 
 It was our original intention to have 
 ascended the valley of Dead or Mt. Wash- 
 ington River, and make the ascent of the 
 Monarch of the Presidential range from that 
 side, via the river bed. But we found that 
 several parties had been through there with 
 
IN THE WHITE MOUNTAINS. 145 
 
 camera and rod, and as our idea was to get 
 some pictures where that everlasting 
 Appalachian Mountain Club had not been, 
 we turned the other way. 
 
 By the way, I am not paid to blow my 
 bugle for the Appalachian Mountain Club, 
 but I want to thank them right here for their 
 excellent habit of piling up monuments of 
 rocks. to point out vague paths on the moun- 
 tain sides ; they saved me some hard 
 climbing, this year. Long may they pile 
 rocks to guide the wandering footsteps of 
 those who reap the fruits of others' sowing. 
 
 But I need some monuments to keep me 
 on the straight track. 
 
 Various incidents turned affairs so that we 
 got fired off the train at Avalanche Station, 
 near the old Willey House, the scene of the 
 well-known tragedy. 
 
 We stood for a moment watching the tail 
 end of the train as it sped up the track 
 toward the end where it closes in. 
 
 Below us was the same old Saco River of 
 numerous turnings and windings, and beyond 
 it Mt. Webster reared its old bald head 
 against the sky. 
 
146 LAKE, FIELD AND FOREST. 
 
 We looked at Mts. Willarcl and Willey 
 and groaned at the steep hill which lay be- 
 fore us, and I inwardly wept as I thought of 
 the hard-tack and salt pork in my knapsack, 
 and my mouth watered for the flesh pots of 
 civilized life, and I wanted to go back. 
 But while we groaned, we strapped on our 
 packs, picked up our guns, and with a na- 
 tive to put us on the right track, started up 
 the slope. 
 
 We soon were on our proper path, and 
 bade our guide a long, lingering farewell ; 
 more sad, because he was the first man whom 
 I had struck in New Hampshire who would 
 not take a *'tip" for service rendered, and I 
 feared he would not live long, — he was too 
 delicate for that gall-bracing climate. I 
 found his mate when I came back. God 
 bless them I They restored my faith in hu- 
 manity. I had begun to think that I was 
 only the creature of unfortunate circum- 
 stances doomed to unlock my pocket, for the 
 benefit of humanity. But the inhabitants 
 must make hay while the sun shines, and the 
 rich ( ?) tourist is game to be bled. 
 
 We tramped along the top of the ridge 
 which separates the valley of the Saco from 
 
IN THE WHITE MOUNTAINS. 147 
 
 that of the Pemigewasset, until the afternoon 
 was well on the downward track, and as a 
 slight rain had set in we began to think of 
 camp. 
 
 The great desiderata of camp are wood and 
 water. We had enough of both, such as 
 they were, but they were both decidedly in- 
 convenient. The wood was green, and the 
 water in too small drops to be anything but 
 wet, so we turned southwest down the slope 
 till we struck the edge of a logger's tract, 
 fiom the like of which to see again, may the 
 saints deliver mo. Big logs and small logs, 
 tree-tops piled cross-ways, end- ways, and all 
 other ways, tough when we wanted to break 
 them, and frail and rotten when we wanted 
 to climb upon them, but we got over at last. 
 (O my ! but this was play to what we got 
 later on.) 
 
 Here we separated to find the way out, or 
 rather in, for we did not want to go out, and 
 I was down in the lowland ankle-deep in 
 water, mud and moss, hunting for the brook, 
 when a shot from Nash's gun, followed by a 
 cry from a bird which I did not recognize, 
 and soon another shot, betokened something 
 of vahie. I got back to my pack, which I 
 
148 LAKE, FIELD AND FOREST. 
 
 had gladly laid down while I was anathe- 
 matizino- the weather and the fates which 
 brought me here, and hunting for water, of 
 which we apparently had too much already, 
 for the whole side of the mountain was one 
 vast sponge. 
 
 We found Nash looking at a hole in the 
 side of a tree, from which emanated a suc- 
 cession of cries, which sounded like a troop 
 of angry cats. He held in his hand a pair of 
 woodpeckers, which I recognized as the Arc- 
 tic 3-toed variety, and as I had never before 
 seen the nest of this bird, I was correspond- 
 ingly elated. 
 
 The hole was excavated from the solid 
 green wood of a tree ten inches in diameter, 
 about twenty feet from the ground. 
 
 At this date, June 27, 1890, the eggs had 
 hatched, and this fact was made evident to 
 everyone in the vicinity, by the vociferous 
 cries which issued from the cavity. 
 
 The entrance was one and a half inches in 
 diameter, and the hole was ten inches deep, 
 with a width of tive inches and with one and 
 a half inches of wood between it and the out- 
 side. The nest was composed of chips and 
 moss. 
 
IN THE A\TIITE MOUNTAINS. 
 
 149 
 
 The stomachs of the young birds contained 
 larvae of pine borers and other remains of 
 insects, mingled with bits of coarse gravel. 
 The generative organs were well marked, 
 all three of the birds, which made up the 
 complement, being males. The color of the 
 iris was reddish-brown. 
 
 The most striking peculiarity however, 
 was a curious white, gristly process on either 
 side of the lower mandible at the base of the 
 bill, as shown in the followins^ engravino-. 
 
 a. Side ^ bill of adult. 
 
 b. Under side., bill of adult. 
 
 c. Under side., billofyonng. 
 
 BILL OF PICOIDES ABC TIC US. 
 
 This peculiar formation has apparently 
 never been noticed before, at least I can find 
 no record of it. 
 
150 LAKE, FIELD AND FOREST. 
 
 William Brewster, in his ** Description of 
 First Plumages," makes no mention of find- 
 ing it on a skin collected July 31, although 
 it is possible that it might shrink away in 
 drying, or might disappear before that stage 
 of development, as his specimen was four 
 weeks older than than mine. Unfortunately 
 my specimens were not preserved, for we 
 were not prepared for alcholic specimens, 
 but I have a photograph of the birds taken 
 while alive, that shows the formation very 
 well. 
 
 In May, 1892, William Brewster made 
 observations on a brood of young Flickers 
 (Colaptes auratus) and observed the same 
 conformation, an account of which was soon 
 after published in The Auk. 
 
 In this very excellent record of his obser- 
 vations, he advances the theory that the 
 membrane aided the parents in placing the 
 food in the mouths of the young birds. 
 
 Having paid full attention to this nest, we 
 again turned our footsteps down the hill, and 
 soon came across Ripley's Brook, which 
 empties into the Saco River, near where we 
 entered the woods. 
 
IN THE WHITE MOUNTAINS. 151 
 
 It was our opinion, which was later con- 
 firmed, that this brook had its rise on the 
 ridge which separates the two valleys, and so 
 we turned our steps toward its head-waters. 
 
 This little valley, or swampy run, is filled 
 with a luxuriant growth of underbrush and 
 small growth, the high spruce having been 
 cut off by the loggers. 
 
 At 5 P. M. we concluded that we had done 
 about as much as was desirable for that day , 
 and as we had found dry wood, and water in 
 plenty, and saw no immediate prospect of 
 finding dry land, we threw off our packs and 
 concluded to lay up for the night. 
 
 We had no tent with us, for we knew that 
 it would be inadvisable to encumber ourselves 
 with camp equipage, and we were prepared 
 to meet any emergency Avith equanimity. In 
 fact, we found that it would be impossible to 
 carry any extra weight, for sometimes, in 
 spite of the light load we carried, (only 45 
 pounds, including guns, being allowed to 
 each man) , we found that we could not travel 
 much over a mile an hour. 
 
 The ground was wet and swampy, the 
 dead tree trunks had fallen in every direction, 
 and it was a continuous drag all the time. 
 
152 LAKE, FIELD AND FOREST. 
 
 Hence we knew that we must make the best 
 of the goods that nature had strewn around 
 us. 
 
 Fortunately, a substitute for canvas, is 
 found in this locality, and the bark of the 
 white birch, which easily, at this time of the 
 year, peels off in large sheets, makes a fine 
 roof, impenetrable to the most driving rain, 
 when properly shingled on to roof-poles. 
 
 The weather had settled down to a light, 
 drizzling rain, so while one peeled birch bark 
 for a cover, the other two gathered poles for 
 a bed, twigs for a mattress, and wood for a 
 fire, which was soon blazing merrily before 
 the camp, and throwing its sparks up into 
 the darkness, which had by this time gathered 
 close around us. 
 
 What a difierence the camp-fire makes ; a 
 few moments before Ave were silently digging 
 away, pulling and hauling at logs and bark, 
 and anathematizing the fates which had got 
 us into such a scrape, and now we were 
 busily and happily engaged in preparing 
 supper, and laughing and chatting over the 
 pleasure and trials of the day. 
 
 The rain was falling fast, but what did we 
 care, we had a camp-fire, built of great logs, 
 
IN THE WHITE MOUNTAINS. 153 
 
 as large as a man could lift, and the two 
 2:reat back losfs threw the heat of the fire 
 into our shelter, and reflected by the roof, 
 made it almost uncomfortably warm, and 
 perfectly dry. 
 
 By the way, how few men, even those who 
 go camping, know how to properly build a 
 camp fire. It is an old saying that it takes 
 * 'either a wise man or a fool to kindle a fire," 
 but the latter has no show at all, when it 
 comes to properly setting up a camp-fire on 
 a stormy night. 
 
 Roll a large log on top of another, holding 
 it in place by stakes. If you have no large 
 logs, build a screen of smaller ones, at least 
 18 inches thick, and 3 feet high. Kindle 
 your fire in front of that, and when you have 
 got some live coals, rake them to one side for 
 a cooking fire, and if you are not comfortable 
 do not try camp life, stay at home where you 
 can have steam heat and hair mattresses. But 
 if you want to breathe pure air, before it has 
 been used by an unwashed horde, give over 
 your daintiness, and go camping. 
 
 Now the readers will perhaps remember 
 that friend Nash mentioned bears. Now the 
 bear is a tender point to a naturalist, and I 
 
154 LAKE, FIELD AND FOREST. 
 
 must confess that I have long htigged to my 
 bosom, a cherished idea that I shall some day 
 shoot at a bear. I talked bear to every man I 
 met, mitil the subject was worn bare, but I 
 did not see one, I heard some good bear- 
 stories, however, and I cannot refrain from 
 relating one, which seems to illustrate the 
 grim humor of these old mountaineers. 
 
 It seems that an old hunter had brought 
 some bear-scalps to the selectmen of the town 
 to lay claim to the state bounty, which is 
 double the sum paid in the state of Maine. 
 The town officials had shown some doubt as 
 to the place of capture of the animals, and 
 insinuated that they were shot in Maine, and 
 brought over into New Hampshire for the 
 large bounty. This the old hunter combatted 
 very strenuously, and was highly indignant 
 that he should be accused of fraud. 
 
 One morning, the worthy chairman of the 
 board of town fathers, went out to feed his 
 cattle, and hearing a great noise up the street 
 went out info the roadway to investigate. 
 Soon the noise grew louder, and a bear, 
 black with sweat appeared, driven by a pack 
 of dogs, and followed by the old hunter and 
 his strapping family of boys, rifle in hand. 
 
IN THE WHITE MOUNTAINS. 155 
 
 They drove the bear down, rounded him 
 up in the yard, and shot him. 
 
 ** There, confound you !" says the hunter, 
 '< was that bear shot in New Hampshire?" 
 
 They had hunted out the bear and driven 
 him several miles to practically demonstrate 
 the fact of his words, to the authorities. 
 
 But I have got off my reservation. 
 
 After supper we made up our notes for the 
 day, put our firearms in order and rolled up 
 in our blankets. 
 
 Most people have an idea, that all birds 
 are quiet during the night, except the owls 
 and whip-poor-wills, but there is one excep- 
 tion to the rule at least, and I made his ac- 
 quaintance here. 
 
 The White-throated Sparrows are very 
 plentiful in these high altitudes, and their 
 sweet voices can be heard calling to each 
 other all the day long ; and when I awoke 
 after midnight, when the camp-fire had gone 
 down, and, the clouds having passed on, the 
 stars shone down through the thin branches, 
 I heard the voice of one of them calling from 
 far up the mountain side ; and again, when 
 the sun put up its first rosy shaft of light in 
 
156 LAKE, FIELD AND FOREST. 
 
 the east, they first of all woke the echoes and 
 welcomed the coming day. 
 
 The morning of June 28th broke bright 
 and fair, and we were up betimes, drying our 
 clothing and preparing for the day's tramp. 
 
 What a task it is to 2fet thino-s straio^htened 
 
 o o c* 
 
 out after a wet day in the woods. Shoes are 
 hard, clothes are wet, guns are dirty and 
 often rusty, but patience brings things out all 
 right in the end, and the bright sun gave 
 token of a more pleasant day than the pre- 
 ceding, and work went ofi" easier, with 
 brighter prospects ahead. 
 
 We got away early, and struck up the 
 lumber road for a few rods, to the head of the 
 brook, and then headed for the top of the 
 divide. 
 
 The axe of the lumberman had probably 
 never been struck in here, and travelling was 
 a little easier, through the underbrush made 
 it rather hard in places. 
 
 W^hen, at last, we reached the top, the 
 slope was so gradual that it was impossible 
 to get any observation of the surrounding 
 country over the tree tops, and so we started 
 due west as a venture. We soon heard the 
 noise of running water and found that it was 
 
IN THE WHITE MOUNTAINS. 157 
 
 running in the right direction to bring it fin- 
 ally into the Pemigewasset River, so we fol- 
 lowed its course. 
 
 We had gone about two miles and the 
 brook had become considerably increased in 
 size, while the banks showed that a consider- 
 able body of water flowed through here at 
 times. 
 
 Suddenly Waldo, who was ahead, sang 
 out : 
 
 '*Hold on, boys, there are trout here, we 
 must have some for supper." 
 
 I had never caught trout from a mountain 
 stream, and I was immediately interested. 
 
 Now stop a minute, I want to dream over 
 that a little. 
 
 There are two events in a man's life , which 
 he never fors^ets. The time when he smokes 
 his first cigar, and when he catches his first 
 trout. There is a world of pleasure and 
 anxiety in both, so I fill my pipe and think, — 
 about the latter event. 
 
 Soon the light fades and I am off and away. 
 The odor of spruce and fir, mingled with that 
 of the fragrant weed, and the fresh cool 
 mountain air sweeps across my brow. Tall 
 trees surround me, and far away sounds the 
 
158 LAKE, FIELD AND FOREST. 
 
 rush of falling waters as they huny away 
 toward the intervale a thousand feet below. 
 
 A log crosses the stream and the waters, 
 dammed by its corse , flow over it to the little 
 pool below. Knapsack and gun are strapped 
 to my back, and I am poised on the slippery 
 rock, with line just dropping into the pool. 
 No split bamboo, with supple strength, no 
 silken line with power within its dainty fibres ; 
 no gaudy fly to deceive the watchful eye that 
 I think lies behind that mossy I02:. Xothino^ 
 but an alder pole cut in yonder thicket, a 
 hook and line fished from the depths of my 
 ditty-bag, (the last time it was used it caught 
 minnows in one of Plymouth's wood-fringed 
 ponds), a worm impaled on the cruel barb. 
 
 As the dainty morsel touches the water, 
 there is a flash, a swirl and over the log comes 
 the spotted beauty. My first trout, an even 
 foot long. Worthy to have tested the skill 
 of Danforth himself, and to have been played 
 on one of Chubbs best with gold mountings. 
 
 The' vision is gone and once more I sit in 
 my den. Instead of the tall dark spruce 
 trunks, are rows of books, and the fisherman 
 is only a poor scribbler resting from the la- 
 bors of the day. 
 
IN THE WHITE MOUNTAINS. 159 
 
 Well ! well I half the fun of oomo^ fishinof, 
 is thinking about it afterwards. 
 
 After we had got as many fish as we 
 thought would be about right for supper, we, 
 having assured ourselves that we were on the 
 east branch of the Pemigewasset, which was 
 dnr objective point, turned our footsteps 
 once more toward the rising sun. A course 
 due east was struck, and we plodded along, 
 constantly ascending the ridge, which ran 
 nearly northeast and southwest. 
 
 After we left the river valley, we found 
 the first bit of dry land we had seen since 
 we left, and it was no great shakes at it 
 either. 
 
 Here the ground was padded with tracks 
 and signs of deer and bear, but we saw 
 nothing of them, though I heard a bear on 
 tlie night before, by the brook, near the 
 camp. 
 
 At about 4.30 p. m. the country ahead 
 began to look familiar, and shortly after we 
 struck a windfall on the opposite side from 
 where we were in the morning. 
 
 The camp of the night before was on the 
 other side of that pile of wood, and rather 
 than build a new one, we decided to cross it. 
 
 11 
 
160 LAKE, FIELD AND FOREST. 
 
 Shades of our grandfathers ! but that was a 
 job. 
 
 Here were great trees, torn bodily from 
 the ground and piled lengthwise, crosswise, 
 and all other- wise, slippery and often brittle, 
 with knapsack and gun to look after, and 
 when a fall of fifteen or twenty feet meant 
 danger by impalement on the cruel looking 
 stubs below. 
 
 It took us forty-five minutes to go about 
 six hundred feet, but we got across all safely 
 and before dark were again comfortably in- 
 stalled at "Birch Camp," as we had named 
 it, and busily engaged in refreshing the inner 
 man with broiled trout. 
 
 As the first rays of the morning sun 
 flecked the tree tops at three-fifty a. m., on 
 June 29th, I threw off the blankets and got 
 out for a breath of the pure, crisp mountain 
 air, which soon gave me a desire for some- 
 thing more satisfying. 
 
 Our menu was generally composed about 
 
 as follows : 
 
 Breakfast. 
 Hard Tack. Fried Pork. Coffee. 
 
 Lunch. 
 Raw Pork. Hard Tack. Water. 
 
IN THE WHITE MOUNTAINS. 161 
 
 Supper. 
 Coffee. Fried Pork. Hai'd Tack. 
 
 Unless the rod or o^un turned in somethins: 
 to help out. But this never got beyond 
 supper. 
 
 But this morning, being Sunday, I thought 
 I would give my companions who were still 
 snoring under the blankets, a change. So I 
 put some hard tack to soak in a birch bark 
 dish, and fried out some pork, in which I 
 afterwards fried the crackers ; and let me tell 
 you, friends, that concoction is not to be 
 sneezed at, when made with Johnson's Edu- 
 cators (which by the way, is the best and 
 lightest variety of wheat nourishment that I 
 have found ) , and good country corn-fed 
 pork. At least I judged so, from the man- 
 ner in Avhich it disappeared when my com- 
 panions got at it. I had to make some more 
 for myself. 
 
 Finally we packed our traps for our last 
 journey toward civilization. We carefully 
 extinguished the last embers of our camp- 
 fire ; cut the cords which held the rude shelter 
 
162 LAKE, FIELD AND FOKEST. 
 
 which had kept off the rains, took a final 
 draught of the crystal waters which bubbled 
 from the mountain side and started on our way 
 down the loggers' road. 
 
 It was a beautiful day ; hardly a cloud 
 dimmed the crystal transparency of the blue 
 vault above us, and it seemed as though one 
 could almost look away into its unimaginable 
 distance and see the other worlds beyond. 
 
 The birds, which gradually were becoming 
 more plentiful as we approached nearer the 
 railroad, were filling the air with their music, 
 and tempting us to leave the road to clamber 
 over the fallen logs and through the under- 
 brush which lay on either side. 
 
 The road was not as good as I have seen, 
 in fact it was at times rather difficult to find 
 it at all, but when we came to a more than 
 usually swampy place, we found corduroys 
 laid over the mud, and we "of two evils 
 chose the least," and only left the track for 
 an occasional examination of some more than 
 usually interesting feature. 
 
 We had been following the brook, at a 
 little distance from the bank, for some time, 
 and had heard a murmurino; sound throbbins^ 
 through the air, when Will says : 
 
IN THE WHITE MOUNTAINS. 163 
 
 "I think there must be falls below here, 
 let's go and investigate " ; so we pushed our 
 way through the brush to the bank, and the 
 grandeur of a water-fall burst upon our view. 
 One hundred and twenty-five feet above us 
 the waters of this brook fell over the edge 
 and striking its side, which inclined at an 
 angle which gave it a slope of about 150 feet, 
 slid down at lightning speed, breaking the 
 pool below into a mass of foam. On either 
 side the walls rose up in almost inaccessible 
 precipitousness, while below a continuous 
 series of cascades carried the \vater to the 
 valley of the Saco, 700 feet below. 
 
 It was hard to leave the scene. 
 
 Continuing our journey, at noon we came 
 out on the side of the mountain above Ava- 
 lanche Station, near where we entered three 
 days before. But what a change. Then the 
 sky was overcast, and the murky clouds hung 
 low^ over the mountain-tops, hiding the peaks 
 of some of the higher ones from view ; banks 
 of mist came rolling down the Notch, tempo- 
 rarily hiding it frcmi view, and the drizzling 
 rain made all uncomfortable. But now all 
 was transformed. The air was as clear as 
 possible in these high altitudes, where the 
 
164 LAKE, FIELD AND FOREST. 
 
 very atmosphere seemed so transparent 
 that it ahnost dazzled the brain ; the Decep- 
 tion Mountains showed their stony wall rising 
 at the head of the Notch seven miles away as 
 clearly as if it were but one ; and we im- 
 proved the opportunity by photographing the 
 scene in what is, we think, the most remarka- 
 ble view ever taken with a small Kodak 
 camera (unfortunately the plate was damaged 
 by the stupidit}^ of the operator who devel- 
 oped the film) , Ijut even now it stands as one 
 of the choicest scenes in my album of remin- 
 iscences. 
 
 No train would run down the Notch until 
 the next morning, so we deposited our heavy 
 luggage at the station, to be forwarded by 
 express, and we continued on down the val- 
 ley, now following the railroad and again tak- 
 ing the road, as the fit seized us, passing the 
 outlets of Washington River, which carries 
 oif a portion of the deposited moisture of 
 the Old Giant, and Nancy's Brook, which 
 drains the region of Mountains Nancy and 
 Carrigan. 
 
 Frankenstein Trestle and the old Crawford 
 House, with their many associations, were 
 left behind and as we progressed on our way 
 
IN THE \^^HITE MOUNTAINS. 165 
 
 we had the unusual pleasure of viewing no 
 less than seven sunsets, as the various peaks 
 successively hid it from view as we travelled 
 down the grade. We reached Bartlett in 
 time to go to bed, and closed one of the 
 most interesting trips of my experience. 
 
LIVE BROOK TROUT FOR STOCKING STREAMS. 
 
 Prices on Application. 
 
 Plymouth Rock Trout Co., Plymouth, Alass. 
 
A Handy Book For Gunners and 
 Sportsmen. 
 
 THE 
 
 Game Birds 
 
 OF North America, 
 
 Game Birds 
 
 Of nohtm/merica' 
 
 BY 
 
 FRANK A. BATES. 
 
 President "Boston Scientific Society," and formerly 
 Associate Editor •' Ornithologist and Oologist." 
 
 IFUustrateb. 
 16mo, Cloth. $1.00. 
 
 This book is designed for a handy pocket manual for 
 Gunners, giving descriptions of 124 species of Birds pur- 
 sued by Sportsmen, with notes on their habits, and 
 methods of hunting them. 
 
 What They Say About It. 
 
 " We are pleased to commend this little work. It is 
 concise and comprehensive. It is of such size that it can 
 be readily carried in the pocket of the sportsman, and we 
 believe, in this condensed form, it will be the companion 
 of thousands of sportsmen. For a great many years we 
 have needed just such a volume." — Shooting and Fishing. 
 
 " The book is in many respects a useful one, for its 
 size makes it handy to carry in the pocket, and its de- 
 scriptions, while wholly free from technicality, should be 
 sufficient to enable the sportsman in most cases to deter- 
 mine to what species the bird he shoots may belong. 
 Something of this sort has long been needed and the vol- 
 ume is likely to prove useful to a large class of men who 
 use the gun." — Forest and Stream. 
 
Natural History 
 
 . . . AND . . . 
 
 Sporting Goods. 
 
 I am prepared to execute commissions from Sports- 
 men and Naturalists, for the purchase of any goods re- 
 quired by them, not only in Books, Guns, Revolvers and 
 Pishing Rods, but in all of the minor details which go to 
 secure success. Full outfits will be supplied at any price, 
 quality, of course, depending on amount of money. 
 
 With 30 years' experience in handling goods used by 
 Gunners, Naturalists and Taxidermists, I have secured a 
 line of customers who prefer to buy through me, not be- 
 cause I can save them money, although this is often the 
 case, but because it practically serves the purpose of a 
 personal examination, since I exercise the same care in 
 purchasing for my clients as for myself. Goods are 
 billed at regular retail prices, and no commissions are 
 charged. I depend upon the discounts obtained from the 
 dealers for my remuneration. 
 
 Estimates furnished free. 
 
 Positively casli with order, except from 
 regular customers. 
 
 I am also prepared to furnish Guides and Outfits for 
 parties desiring to visit the hunting and fishing grounds 
 of Plymouth and Worcester Counties, or in the State of 
 Maine. 
 
 Can furnish best of references. 
 
 FRANK A. BATES, 
 
 p. O. Box 160. SOUTH BRAINTREE, MASS. 
 
Illustrated 
 Guides in 
 
 Natural 
 History. 
 
 
 B 
 
 Written and 
 Illustrated 
 
 By EDWARD KNOBEL. 
 
 The Trees and Shrubs. With 215 new illustrations of their leaves. 
 Ferns and Evergreens. With 11 full page illustrations. 
 The Day Butterflies and Duskflyers. With 14S new illustations. 
 The Beetles and Their Kind. With 5S0 figures of species. 
 The Night Moths. With 424 new illustrations. 
 Fresh Water Fishes. With 4S fine illustrations. 
 Turtles, 5nakes, Frogs, Etc. With 56 fine illustrations. 
 Mosquitoes and Flies. With 254 figures of the species. 
 
 Each book complete in itself, making a perfect guide. 
 Each, i2mo. Paper, 50 cts. Cloth, 75 cts. 
 
 K PERFECT BOOK KT LKST. 
 
 Field Key to the Land Birds; In Nine Plates, 
 
 A capital new book on the simplest plan, for the use of all students 
 and observers, young and old, 
 i2mo., cloth, net $1.75. 
 
 with 150 figures of our birds in colors. 
 
 The Grasses, Sedges and Rushes of the Northern United States, 
 
 An easy method for identifying them. An entirely new book 
 written and beautifully illustrated with many figures, and 28 tull page 
 plates. i2mo., cloth, net $1.00. 
 
 South Brain tree. 
 
 FRANK A. BATES, ISI^' 
 
BATES' LDCHL HlSTOaY SERIES. 
 
 Ancient Iron Works at Braintree, , 
 
 (First in America.) 
 
 Revolutionarij Soldiers of Braintree. 
 Early Schools of Braintree, 
 
 (OTHERS TO FOLLOW.) 
 By 
 
 SAMUEL A. BATES, 
 
 Vice-President of Quincy Historical Society. Honorary Member of 
 Weymouth, Old Colony, and Maine Historical Societies. 
 
 Author of " History of Braintree, Mass." 
 
 Editor of '' Printed Records of Braintree." 
 
 Settled in 1G25, incorporated in 1G40, and the birth- 
 place of John Hancock, John Adams, John Quincy Adams, 
 men who stood as ramparts to the country in her days of 
 trouble, the history of this town is fraught with interest 
 to everyone, and, these books, coming as they do, from 
 the pen of one who was, for twenty-five years, clerk of 
 the town, and during this time became noted for his 
 erudition in ancient local history, they are valuable addi- 
 tions to American literature. 
 
Ancient Iron Works at Brain tree. 
 
 The site of tlie first Iron Worlis iu tliis country has 
 been claimed by several towns, but the arguments of Mr. 
 Bates convinced historians of the justice of his arguments. 
 His book gives all the various conveyances of land around 
 this grant, and locates explicitly the farms of many of our 
 older settlers. It is extremely valuable to genealogists as 
 well as interesting to the historical student, and has been 
 adopted in the schools of Braintree as supplementary 
 reading, as has also the last volume of the series. 
 
 The Soldiers of tlie Revolution, 
 
 Is a valuable work of reference to Sons and Daughters of 
 the Revolution, in enabling them to establish their claims, 
 as well as many others ; for the author's familiarity with 
 the ancient families of Braintree was unsurpassed, and 
 the ancestors of a majority of the people in Eastern Mas- 
 sachusetts are represented in this book. 
 
 Tiie Early Schools of Braintree 
 
 Gives the history of the services to education of repre- 
 sentatives of most of the early families here, for the town 
 dates its school records back to 1640, the first year of its 
 incorporation. 
 
 The books of this series are for sale at the uniform 
 price of 
 
 25 Cents Eacln. 
 
 FRANK A, BATES, Publisher, 
 
 South Braintree, Mass, 
 
 For the convenience of the trade all books are for 
 sale by 
 
 BRADLEK WHIDDKN, 
 
 18 -A-rcti Street, Boston. 
 
C. A. OGDEN, 
 
 LICENSED GUIDE 
 
 For the Cobbaseecontee Lake 
 Trout, Bass and White Perch 
 Fishing. 
 
 Also for Large Game Hunt- 
 ing on Moosehead, Lobster 
 and Pamadumcook Lakes, and 
 neighboring waters. 
 
 Hallowell, Me. 
 
 COTTAGE and 
 BOATS. 
 Six miles from the City 
 of Hallowell, Me. 
 
JUL 31 lisyy