n I yj m^ms^sm^m^mmm ^W^^^y^^. P'o^jii'^mm :--^U^mi^^ <^^uJ^^ J II. ;, iWl J, *w^^vgg; ':!i*ii;Viw "v^ltr^^^'^^^^^ississsjgv: VvL/^yv^^yV ^^^^^^^■yigi^^^^'m\i^^0^\ .V^V^V^V>^wV:^,,V^V, iyUv.&!tt^6fB/i vvw/^WV^^yv-^' '^.;^';^^i>^v.^^- ^Wv^^y V ^ *^ v,«) Uv-VvVi ' VvWV ^jmjsm !«W#«53'il ■'^ APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK <:. sifi American Summer ile- soit-.," whobe gmddnce we ]ifi\ e followed th roughout, "who love the \^ m \ astnesb and bolitude o f pnine\cil wil- / derness, may l)ush to the Avestw ardfrom Moosehead Lake to the Umbagog district, till they hear tiie melodious names ot the Indian Lakes Moo- selncmagunticook, AUe- gundabagog, and Welock- sebaoook The scenery, climate, and game, ri\al those ot the Adirondaoks, but it 'should be under- stood, ho^\e\el, th.it the tuuiist who undertakes lo penetrate the outlying forest and lake region has no easy task before him. Rugged roads and scant physical comforts will not be the most severe trial; for in many places he will not find a road or I rude skiff over the lakes, and trust to his rifle inn at all, but must trudge along on foot, or by | and his rod to supply his larder." This is just *'« A 'Carry" in the Adirondacks. OUR SUMMER PLEASURE-PLACES. 11 those thirsting for woodland ad- venture It IS also said that an enjoyable route for the adven- turer 18 f 1 o m Moosehead lake, by a two miles' portage, down the west blanch of the Penobscot Mount Katahdm, the great moun- tain of Maine, may be ascended from the mei shore Still faither west and north, just withm the bordeis of the great forest region, are the remote and romantic Rangeley Lakes, the only remaining portion of our Eastern States that 'can be truly called "the paradise of sports- men." The chain known collec- tively as " the Rangeley Lakes " the picture to fascinate some adventurous spirits, | consists of several distinct lakes, connected by and hence we quote it as a tempting bait to all | narrows and streams, extending from the Oquos- The Catskill Mountain House. 12 APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. soc or Rangeley Lake to Lake Umbagog, form- ing one continuous water-way for a distance of nearly fifty miles, embracing eighty square miles of water-surface, and abounding in blue- back trout and other game-fish. From the cold and limpid waters of these lakes trout are often taken weighing as much as ten pounds ; and in the adjacent forests deer and other game reward the efforts of the hunter. From Moosehead and Rangeley on our flight southward we pause at Lake Winnipesaukee, ly- ing just south of the White Mountains, with a magnificent outlook on that noble range. Ed- ward Everett has left on record the opinion that he has seen nowhere abroad a lovelier scene than this lake presents. The waters are pure; it is dotted with islands, and lofty hills and moun- tains close it in ; all charming, but it lacks, at least, the snow-capped peaks and the delightful villas of the Swiss lakes. Near it is Squam Lake, a much smaller but scarcely less beautiful sheet of water. Up on the northern border of Ver- mont, extending into Canada, is Lake Memphre- magog, a superb, mountain-inclosed sheet of wa- ter, some thirty miles long. Numerous other lakes diversify the surface of the Eastern States, but we are on the borders of New York, which ought to be called preeminently the Lake State. The great Ontario forms a large part of its west- ern and northern border ; the superb Champlain separates it from Vermont ; and it holds within its bosom that gem of all our inland sheets of water. Lake George, and the scarcely less beau- tiful Cayuga, Seneca, Skaneateles, Canandaigua, Otsego, Oneida, Oazenovia, Chautauqua, Mohonk, Mahopac, and the several score of lakes that lie among the Adirondacks. Singularly enough, our lake-region lies wholly in the North and West. Neither the AUeghanies of Pennsylvania, the Blue Ridge of Virginia, nor the mountains of North Carolina and Tennessee, have lakes, pict- uresque and beautiful as many of their moun- tain-streams are. There is not one of the New York lakes that is not a delightful summer place for the town-wearied searcher for wholesome air and pleasant scenes. A sheet of water would seem to be almost indispensable for true beauty in a landscape, especially if the view be an ex- tensive one. There is always a charm in swift streams flowing through shadowed forests; but if one emerge upon an open landscape the eye searcbes for an expanse of water, and is delight- ed in seeing one as it mirrors the hills and for- ests that encompass it, reflects tbe blue depths and moving clouds of the sky, and holds sus- pended upon its surface the oar or the sail of the pleasure-seeker. Lake George only lacks the white-capped peaks of the Swiss lakes to equal them in beauty, if its three hundred or more isl- ands are not a feature that more than compen- sates. They probably do more than compensate those on summer vacations, as they off"er admi- rable camping-grounds. To break away from civ- ilization and live out-of-doors is one of the in- tense desires of many people ; and hence on these dry, shaded, breezy islands of Lake George, with F-.-^^^=. -^ '^ ?>""* ■^ Catskill Mountains. glorious hills, charming water expanse, and ex- cellent fishing, camp-life abounds and has every nomadic felicity. To these petit gems stand in contrast the gi- gantic lakes of the West. In Lake Erie are the Wine Islands, recently become favorite resorts, where the life and the scene have their novel features, and which are gay with animated groups OUR SUMMER PLEASURE-PLACES. 13 of boating and picnic parties. Far up in the strait between Lake Huron and Lake Superior is Mackinac Island, which is only some three miles long, but full of interest. It is an old mili- tary post of the United States; was originally settled by the French ; has an antiquated vil- lage ; is marked by high and picturesque rocks ; and the waters that sur- round the island are ■wonderfully clear, and teem with fish of deli- cious flavor. The fish- erman sees the fish toy- ing with his bait, and the active little Indian boys on the piers are "always ready to dive for any coins the vis- itor may throw into the water for them. If re- port speaks true, this is a very gem of an isl- and, and, great as the distance is, would re- ward the summer tour- ists that visit it. From Mackinac we pass to the shores of Lake Superior. A steamer carries the pas- senger over the lake, giving him glimpses of its bold and striking shores ; but, if one would enjoy all their wild and rugged as- pects, he must com- mand a vessel tliat will land him where he lists. Excursions to the Pictured Rocks, and other strik- ing features of the southern shore, can be made from the town of Marquette ; and the more pict- uresque and majestic north shore, more than half of which belongs to the Hudson Bay Com- pany, whose hunters, trappers, and voyageurs are almost its sole frequenters, may be visited dur- ing the summer from Duluth or Port Sarnia. Lake Superior invites the attention of the ex- plorer ; there is the fascination of the dangerous and the unknown ; the life is wild, the adven- tures racy, the experience exhilarating and health- giving. And now, as to the mountains. We would say nothing of the White Mountains, because every one is familiar with them, either by per- sonal experience or by description ; nor need we dwell upon the Catskills, which come next in the affections of tourists and artists. The Green Mountains of Vermont are scarcely infe- rior to them in altitude, and, as their name im- Cord-uroy Bridge, Mount Mansfield Road. plies, the vigorous and verdant forests that clothe their sides give them supreme beauty. Mount Mansfield is the highest; a road from Stowe ascends to the top, along which can be noted, in the ravines below, grand forests. There is a smuggler's notch, similar to the great caverns of the West, that is certainly wild . and eminently picturesque. In the Catskills, the Clove Road is one of the most charming highways in the world; High Peak commands a view unsur- passed in reach and variety; picturesque roads descend in every direction through rugged gorges from the plateau to the plains below ; murmur- ing trout-streams wind through primeval for- ests ; to the west lie the profound glens of Lex- ington ; and all through the region are spots im- mortalized by the artists. 14 APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. The Adirondacks of recent years have been the fascinating theme of all lovers of the wilder- ness. People hurry to them by the thousands to enjoy a taste of nomadic freedom. The lakes are covered by their boats, and the forests that border the lakes are animated by their camping- grounds. But there are parties who penetrate into the interior, put the keels of their boats upon fresh waters, and set their feet in places where the primitive wilderness has remained un- contaminated by the presence of man. Rich in adventures, in experience, in life, in health, in beauty, are these interior Adirondack journeys; and if the labor is sometimes severe — such as a "carry" of boats and effects over rugged forest passes from one lake to another — still the re- wards are manifold. Our space is nearly occupied, and yet innu- merable places remain to be mentioned. The mountains of Pennsylvania are lofty, green, and beautiful ; the Upper Susquehanna runs through a wild region with many trout-streams, and places for the accommodation of anglers ; the Alleghanies have their many summer hotels and their sequestered retreats ; the Upper Delaware is glorious in picturesque beauty, and at the Dela- Mount Holyoke, Massachusetts. ware Water-Gap there is every charm of river and mountain scenery. A little way above it the romantic Raymondskill and Sawkill attract the angler and the artist. The Connecticut Valley has its hundred points of interest ; the Genesee flows into Lake Ontario through picturesque shores; the Berkshire Hills of Massachusetts and the valley of the Housatonic wear the crown of sylvan beauty; the Hudson, the Highlands of which are famous the world over, and whose shores are lined with places of wonderful beauty; the Thousand Islands of the St. Lawrence invite the dreamer, the poet, and all who love to sit contentedly in boats and be wafted amid green- fringed isles; the Ottawa and the Saguenay of Canada offer stupendous cliffs and somber forests; far away in the West are the wonders of the Yo- semite, the geysers and waterfalls of the Yellow- stone, and the peaks and parks of Colorado ; in Virginia lies a picturesque region of mountain- springs ; while farther south, in western North Carolina, the great Appalachian chain rises to heights not attained by any other mountain- peaks east of the Mississippi. Our seashore, our mountains, our lakes, our rivers, as we have seen, are wonderful in beau- ty ; and then for scenes of gayety what places can excel our Saratoga, the metropolis of water- ing-places, to which famous men and brilliant women come from every social center ; or Long OUR SUMMER PLEASURE-PLACES. 15 Scenes in Saratoga. 16 APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. Rocks at Mackinac. Branch, that dashing summer city on the sea ; or Newport, the social elegance of which is so exclusive ? Infinite is the variety ; and let us say, finally, that it is a mistake to sup- pose that our summer resorts have not, each in its way, a legitimate purpose to serve. To some brain-fagged men the brilliant gayety of Saratoga or Long Branch is a tonic ; their ideas are freshened, and their whole nature stimulated by this free contact with their fellow - beings ; with others a watering- place only repeats the experience of the town, and such long for the seclusion of the woods, the exhilaration of the mountains, or the rough life of the sea. He must be dull of imagination or sluggish in his sym- pathies who can not find in mountain or water- ing-place, seashore or forest, the place that will serve the purpose of a summer resort — freshness to the mind, strength to the body, and recreation to the whole nature. WONDERS OF THE SHORE. Oh, what an endless work have I in hand, To count the sea's abundant progeny ! Whose fruitful seed far passeth those in land, And also those which wonne in th' azure sky. For much more eath to tell the stars on high, Albe they endless seem in estimation. Than to recount the sea's posterity; So fertile be the floods in generation. So huge their numbers, and so numberless their nation. —Spenser. THE varied attractions which the seashore offers to seekers after health and pleasure, to those who are getting rid of the " long leisure of summer days," to lovers of the majesty and the awfulness of the ocean, and to those who, like Dr. Syntax, are in search of the picturesque — all these attractions have been often enough pointed out and emphasized ; but the riches and the wonders which it possesses not merely for the student of natural history, but for whoever WONDERS OF THE SHORE. 17 will open his eyes to what almost obtrudes itself upon his notice, have hardly as yet been even mentioned. Of all the departments of natural history there is none more curiously interesting, or more inviting to enter upon, than marine zoology ; and, while such a portion of it us the sojourner at the seaside would care to acquaint himself (or herself) with would present scarcely any difficulties, there can be no doubt that it will furnish a really enjoyable resource to many who become fatigued after a time with the vapid amusements and dull routine of watering-place life. This fact has long been understood and ap- preciated in England, and there are several popular and charm- ingly written guides to the zoology of the English coasts ; but Mr. W. E. Damon's " Companion for the Seaside " * is, we be- lieve, the first attempt that has been made to du-ect the attention of the non-scientific to the more varied wonders of our own shores. Mr. Damon's little book itself touches upon only a very few of those multitudinous forms of life which throng both the ocean and the shore ; and, as we can cite but a few even of those in- stances which he re- cords, what we shall say in the present ar- ticle must be regard- ed as merely hints or suggestions of the exhaustless wonders that offer themselves to the observer. Beginning with those baffling organisms which occupy the border-land between the animal and vegetable kingdoms, Mr. Damon devotes an in- teresting chapter to the anemones, or sea-flowers, of which every sea possesses some representatives, and which are found upon all our shores, usually adhering to rocks, but sometimes attached to the timber of our docks. Many of these animal- * Ocean Wonders : A Companion for the Seaside. Freely- illustrated from Living Objects. By William E. Damon. New York : D. Appleton & Co. 2 flowers, says Mr. Damon, " rival in beauty the choicest treasures of the garden or conservatory. But added to their loveliness of form is the supe- rior attraction of their vitality ; for these sea- flowers are living animals, breathing, eating, di- gesting, and capable of changing their forms at will. Would not a pink be more curious if it could walk? a rose awaken greater interest if it could reach after its necessary nourishment, and take care of its own buds? Well, this is what the flowers of the sea do." Some of the anemones are detached, swim- ming about freely when undisturbed, and all have some capacity for movement ; but the habit of Anemones, or Sea-Flowers. most is to attach themselves to some firm object, as a rock or a section of coral, or the back of a crab or other crustacean. " In fact, when free they swim backward, and wherever their base encounters a firm object, no matter what, there they will fix themselves by suction, and as a gen- eral rule contentedly remain. There are two species, however, which show a marked prefer- ence for the back of a crustacean. One is called the parasite anemone, and its favorite home is on the hard shell of the hermit crab (the Pagurtis 18 APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. Bernhardus) ; and as these crabs are great travel- ers, and have the peculiarity of frequently chang- ing their residence by taking possession of the empty shells of other animals, this parasite anem- one is likely to see far more of the world than its more modest brethren. There is one other genus which cultivates the parasitic habit, the Hermit-Crab with Sea-Anemone on its Shell. Adamsia, which selects the crab P. Prideauxii for its place of abode. This habit is known as comraensalism, as they are presumed to dine at the same table." The sea-flowers differ greatly in size, form, and color, and also in special peculiarities of de- velopment and function ; so that a large collec- tion would have the appearance of an animated flower-garden, composed of carnations, china- asters, dahlias, daisies, etc. " The beauty of many species," says Mr. Damon, "is greatly en- hanced by the fact that several colors are com- bined in individual specimens. Thus sometimes the main body or column will be green with white or golden tentacles, and the base buff with a pink disk or tips, or crimson with azure sphe- roids ; sometimes the whole animal will be of one color, varied by different tints and shades. Down below, in the caves of the sea, these won- derful creatures have for untold ages anticipated our modern ' combination-suits,' and have ap- peared dressed in all the glory of scarlet and gold, pink and gray, blue and white, green and crimson ; their exquisite taste always selecting accords or pleasing contrasts, and avoiding all discordant shades which would clash or 'kill' each other, such as we sometimes see in human productions." The column-shaped body of the anemone is soft, but usually tough and tenacious, and con- sists of a simple sac or cavity, commonly broad- ened at the base and open at the top or mouth. The upper chambers of the cavity are prolonged into tentacles or feelers which extend in a num- ber of rows around the mouth, forming, when they are all extended, a beautiful crown. " If these tentacles or feelers are touched, or if the creature is in any way alarmed, they are instant- ly contracted, and all the parts sink down and are drawn together into a compact mass. This is effected by the exudation of water from the cavities or chambers through a series of small openings connected with the central cavity. Ex- pansion takes place by the reversed action, filling these cells with Water." Sometimes the power which they possess of altering their shape ap- pears to be exercised for the mere pleasure of the thing. Now they will contract themselves into balls, partially elongated and expanded ; then they will stretch out their fringes or tentacles to their widest extent, like a polypetalous flower in full bloom ; and again they will encircle themselves with belts or girdles, drawn more or less tight and shifting up and down, involving changes of form every minute. "In addition to the tentacles," says our au- thor, "these curious creatures are armed for at- tacking their prey with what we may call fine thread-like lassos, of arrow-like sharpness, called cnidm (from a Greek word meaning a nettle), from which is transmitted a powerful stinging and benumbing sensation, deadly to small prey, the victim being affected as by a shock of elec- tricity. This I know by experience, for, some years ago, when in Bermuda, while attempting to take a large actinia from a rock, one of these soft-looking beauties gave me a shock which dis- abled my arm for hours. It will easily be under- stood that this concealed battery enables the sea- anemones to conquer much larger and stronger creatures than they could hold simply by the tentacles ; they often seize large shrimps and crabs far beyond their own size. Occasionally, however, if one of these finds an anemone weak- ened from any cause, it will take up a position upon the edge of its mouth, keeping it distended, and with its claws pluck out the food from the victim's sac and appropriate it to its own use. Sometimes, when such an attempt is made, a combat ensues, and then woe to the marauder if he has mistaken the strengtli of the sea-ane- mone ! He will surely fall into his own trap." Mr. Damon gives much curious and interest- ing information about the structure, habits, and modes of propagation of the anemones, but for further details we must refer the reader to the book, only inviting his attention for a moment beforehand to the coral, which is closely related to the anemone, being placed by naturalists in the same group of organisms. Unlike the anemones, however, the coral is not distributed over every sea, its natural habitat being the WONDERS OF THE SHORE. 19 warm waters of the tropics ; yet among the dis- coveries of our Coast Survey is the fact that coral grows on our North Atlantic seaboard. One variety, at least, the Astrangia Danae^ has been found on the shores of Massachusetts and Connecticut ; but these are rare, and the coral is seen to advantage only at the Florida Keys, some parts of the West Indies, and at the Bernmdas. From the earliest times the coral has at- tracted the attention of naturalists and travelers. The Greeks named it " Daughter of the Sea," but do not seem to have investigated its nature and mode of growth ; and ever since their time the coral has been the subject of a number of popular errors — as that it is a vegetable forma- tion, and that it is soft while in water and only hardens on exposure to air. Mr. Damon re- marks that he has heard public speakers, in search of an illustration, speak of " the wonder- ful lahors of the coral insect " ! and points out that in this short statement are involved two fundamental errors, the coral-producers being neither laborers nor insects. " Their simple and sole business," lie says, '■'• is eating ; and that a strong stony structure is the result is no more creditable to them than it is to a maple-tree to secrete sugar, nor does it indicate any more effort." "Another very common mistake," he adds, " is the supposition that they are exceedingly minute — even microscopic — in size. This is far from being the case. Having had several varie- ties under observation in my aquarium for years, I can assure the reader that they are not only large enough to be plainly seen by the naked eye, but that they sometimes elongate them- selves nearly an incli above the upper edge of their cell, measuring one third of an inch in diameter. ''But some one may ask, 'If the coral-pro- ducers are not insects, what are they ? ' We answer, mainly polyps, with some hydroids and soft mollusks of the lowest class. These are all soft-bodied organisms, consisting of many varie- ties, having the organic function of secreting car- bonate of lime, which, with some other ingre- dients, as silica and small portions of sand, com- poses the hard substance called coral. " The body of the polyp consists of a cylin- drical skin, with an inside sac, which is the stomach, and is furnished at the top with thread- like appendages, with which it draws in its food. Whatever it does not wish to retain in the stom- ach it rejects by the mouth, having no other resource, as the lower end of the polyp is affixed to the stony substance. When expanded, these thread-like tentacles around the mouth give them a flower-like appearance. It is between the outer skin and the sac or stomach that the limestone is secreted which forms the coral sub- stance. " It will thus be seen that the polyp does not gather or collect from external sources the mate- rial of the coral — does not in any correct sense work or ' build ' any more than a tree may be said to work as it grows into wood. Nature has W^' Cluster of Coral-Polyps in various stages of expansion. simply provided that, in receiving its food, the polyp selects from the ingredients of the sea- water that which is capable of being reduced by simple functional processes into coral ; just as a plant selects and secretes from the earth that kind of nourishment which makes stems, leaves, and buds. " Each mature polyp, when fixed in its cell, may be considered as resting upon the tombs of its ancestors ; and, when it dies, its descendants will repeat the process over its remains, and its own body, within which its share of coral has been secreted, will be the base for a new living descendant. . . . " The large, massive forms of coral, whether of the dome, reef, or tree-like shape, would never reach the magnificent proportions that they do were it not for that peculiar provision of Nature in regard to the zoophytes, of life and death both proceeding simultaneously and successively ; each, combined and singly, aiding in one and the same object. This curious condition of growth favors the coral aggregation by allowing the living polyp, as it secretes the calcareous matter, to mount upward on that which it has already secreted and deposited. From the successful execution of this ascending process, we are led to infer either that the creature has the power of indefinite elongation, or that it must desert the precipitated portion of the corallum as growth proceeds ; and, in fact, this last is what actually occurs. In some instances a polyp of only an inch in length, and even less, has been found at the top of a stem many inches in height; for the 29 APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. whole substance of wliat is called ' living coral ' is in reality dead, excepting the extreme surface or point of each branch occupied by the little animal. The living tissues which once filled the cells of the lower portion of the corallum have been consumed by natural processes, and have disappeared as growth went on above. . . . " The final solidification of the coral mass is aided by the increased secretion by the polyp shortly before its death, filling all the pores with this stony matter in proportion as the vital tissues occupying them shrink and dwindle. This last deposit greatly aids in strengthening those tree-like or branched coral growths which, though so slender of form, are really very strong." When first born the young larvae are worm- like in form, and are very agile, darting about in all directions, and apparently enjoying them- selves greatly. But this life of freedom soon comes to an end ; their base becomes attached to some stationary object ; and their gay youth is exchanged for a sedentary life, with no other changes than that of eating and digesting their food. "There are few natural objects," says Mr. Damon, "more pleasing than an association of these corallets ; for, as the polyps rise above their cells and extend their fine, long tentacles, resembling threads of pure white silk, waving them to and fi'o like the radiated petals of a fairy-flower swayed by a gentle zephyr, or, again, like a minute feather fan slightly concave at the edge, they present an exceedingly animated and elegant appearance. Sometimes, when nearly at rest, and the filaments are more contracted, they suggest the appearance of a dense frost set- tled upon a bed of moss." Next to the anemones in interest and in their abundance on our shores are the star-fishes, of which the most common variety is called by sailors "five-fingered Jack." Says Mr. Damon: " One of the most common objects to be met with at Newport, Nahant, or almost any point along the Massachusetts coast, are the so-called 'star-fishes,' though, scientifically speaking, they are no more fisiies than is a rabbit or a bird; yet, for convenience and to save circumlocution, we may adopt the popular name in speaking of them. At low tide these curious ' stars ' may be seen by thousands, sometimes clinging to the rocks, some- times on the gravelly bottom, or perhaps attached to the sea-weeds." In examining one of these " stars," it will be found that it has two distinct sides — an upper, slightly convex, and an under or oval side. The upper is rough and tuberculous; the imder is soft, and contains all the vital and locomotory organs. The "rays" or fingers are usually on the same plane, but the animal has the power of raising them so as to progress over obstructions which may be in its way. Extending one of these rays, it is made fast by suction, while the remainder of the body is drawn forward, the mode of progression being something like that of a ship dragging its anchor. As star-fishes are found upon the shore, they often appear to be quite dead when they are really alive ; they are the opossums of the sea. " Take up one of these fellows who is lying perfectly still, and put him into fresh sea- water, and he will very likely soon be traveling about as well as- ever. However, as the dead and living, when left stranded by the tide, pre- sent so nearly the same appearance, it may be well to have some test by which to make sure of their true condition. There are two modes of ascertaining this with a reasonable degree of cer- Star-Fish on a Rock. tainty. If, on taking up a star-fish, he hangs loose and limp, he is dead ; but, however dead he may look, if on touching it there is a firmness and consistency in the substance, he is only ' playing 'possum,' and will revive in the water. The other mode of trial is to lay our starry friend on his back, when, if he is alive, you will soon see a number of semi-transparent globular objects beginning to move, reaching this way and that, as if feeling for something ; these are the locomotory organs or ambulacra, seeking to regain their normal position. If there is no movement of these, you may conclude that he is an extinguished star." One of the most interesting traits about this lowly-organized creature is the care it bestows upon its eggs, which are contained in pouches situated at the broad base of the rays. But their mode of reproduction is not limited to eggs. " They have the strange capacity and frequent habit of detaching one or more of their rays, when each of these cast-oflf members becomes in WONDERS or THE SHORE. 21 time a perfect star. I have seen this operation performed many times, almost incredible as the statement seems to those unfamiliar with the vagaries of the zoophytes and radiates. For in- stance, an arm or ray would, perhaps, be acci- dentally broken off close up to its point of junc- tion with the central portion of the body. The animal, instead of appearing to be disturbed or annoyed, as it would be at the loss of its eggs, appears to mind tlie disappearance no more than if it were a cast-off garment, and goes about as happy with its remaining rays as if the whole had remained intact. Perhaps, if we could re- place a lost arm as easily as our star, we should be nearly as indiffereut to such a loss; for what do we see next? Only a little protuberance where the lost arm was separated. But look again in a week, and we shall see some little suckers or ambulacra projecting; the parts by degrees enlarge, and at the end of a few weeks a somewhat smaller but apparently quite per- fect arm takes the place of the lost member ! Its spines, water-tubes, tentacles, pedicellarise, etc., are all in perfect working order, and its normal functions are fulfilled with all the pre- cision of the elder rays. It is not, however, quite equal to the original ; besides being smaller, it is of a more delicate texture, and its color of a lighter shade. It is very interesting to watch this extraordinary effort of nature in the devel- opment of the new member. The last one I had in my collection was just fifteen weeks in pro- ducing a new, full-grown arm." This curious faculty is of no small practical importance, for the star-fish is very fond of oys- ters, which it eats by inserting its stomach be- tween the edges of the shell and gradually suck- ing the substance out. When brought up in the Serpent, or Brittle Star-Fish. nets, rakes, or dredges, as they often are, fisher- men are in the habit of cutting them up by draw- ing cords around them and throwing the pieces overboard — the result of which is to multiply their enemies fivefold. Belonging to the same group {EcMnodermatd) as the star-fish, and, in fact, very closely related, are the brittle star -fish {OpMopolis) and the basket-fish, both found in Massachusetts Bay. The former has long, slender arms, nearly cylin- drical in form, attached to a small disk-like body. These arms seem to be very loosely attached, and are often thrown off when the creature is fright- ""^^ Sea-Egg, or Sea-Urchin. ened, readily growing again afterward. Similarly related, though not quite so closely, is the sea- urchin, or sea-egg, a curious animal, spherical in form and covered all over with long, beautiful- ly shaped spines, like those of the hedgehog. When alive sea-urchins are very shy, concealing themselves in holes and crevices of the rocks, or covering themselves with bits of sea- weed and the like, so that they must be closely looked for. As usually found, dead on the shore, the urchin is devoid of spines, and presents something the appearance of a melon, the surface being marked off into ten zones or divisions. " The urchin's relationship to the star-fish," says Mr. Damon, " may be illustrated by supposing that we bring all the five points of the star together, filling up the interstices with a similar substance : we have then a complete urchin minus the spines. Or, take the peel whole off of an orange, divide it into fifths, and bring the points up together, sticking needles in to simulate the spines, and we have an urchin, at least in shape." The color of the sea-urchin is usually reddish-brown or black, and while the body or ball part is not larger than a hen's egg (which it much resembles in shape) the spines are sometimes a foot long. " These animals," to quote Mr. Damon again, " are voracious vegetarians, eating off large fronds of the sea-lettuce and other plants, and cleaning a tank of every vestige of vegetation in a very short time. Their motion in swimming is slow, and when walking on the side of a glass tank, which they do with perfect ease on their long, slender legs (which are terminated by cup-shaped disks, constructed on the same principle as a surgeon's cupping-instrument), and 22 APPLETONS' SUMMEE BOOK. aided by the spines, they are certainly an attrac- tive sight, especially when all the spines and nu- Sea-Urchins lodged in the Rocks they have excavated merous pedicellariaj are fully distended. To the cursory observer they look no more capable of ascending a smooth surface like glass than a chestnut-bur does of walking up the side of a liouse." A more modest relative of tlie urchin is the " sand-dollar " or " sand-cake," which, instead of being spherical, is flat, and when at rest looks something like a circular cake of sand (of a red- dish-brown color) about the size of a silver dol- lar. Also belonging to the same group is the sea- cucumber {Holothuria), a curious cylindrical ani- mal, varying in length from an inch to between three and i'our feet, and found in several varie- ties on our shores. " They inhabit deep water, but when found near the sliore are usually partly imbedded in the muddy bottoms. Their outside covering is a tough, leathery skin, plentifully studded with short, liairy spines. The mouth, a circular opening at one end, is furnished with a wreath of beautiful plume-like appendages, which are extended at will for the purpose of grasping food and conveying it to the mouth ; but, the food being brought within reach, only one of these tentacula is occupied in ac- tually introducing it within the orifice, while the others remain passive, and appear to be waiting their turn to do the same service. Mrs. Agassiz has likened this group of tentacula in the sea-cucumber to some of the delicate sea-weeds, for their fineness of structure and the richness of their colors." These animals, be- sides the curious power of multiplying themselves by fissure, have the still more remarkable capacity of emp- tying themselves of nearly all their internal organs, and after a brief time of repro- ducing them and living on as comfortably as ever. The numerous family of hydroid medusae, jelly-fish, and the like, is very co- piously represented upon our shores. Of one variety of them (the Sertularia ar- gentea), Mr. Damon says : "Specimens can almost al- ways be found which have been washed ashore, lying high and dry, at Coney Isl- and ; and, in this state, I venture to say that not more than one person in a thousand who Sea-Cucumber. WONDERS OF THE SHORE. 23 pick this up supposes it to be anything but a vegetable production — some kind of sea-weed ; but it is altogether animal, built up by millions on millions of little hydroid polyps, almost invisible to the naked eye, but developing a world of beauty under the microscope. In its dead and dried condition it is of so fine and elegant a texture as to take the place of honor among dried ferns, and oth- er delicate plants or algae, usually with- out exciting the least suspicion in the minds of it>3 preservers that they are carefully cherishing an animal skeleton. The Sertularia pumila does not grow in such large masses as the former; it may be found attached to the lower sides of stones, or creeping along the sides of fucus, eel-grass, and different kinds of sea- weeds, and is a most beau- tiful object for the aquarium." The general principle upon which all these kinds of animals are construct- ed is that of a floating bladder, which can be filled or discharged of water at will, with a greater or less number of tentacula, and long, stinging filaments, and some appendages as sails with which to trim these bladder-boats, or else cilia to act as oars or means of propulsion. Some of them are so slight in their structure that they can not be submerged, though they are often thrown upon the shore, and in that manner suffer shipwreck. " When taken in- tact," says our author, "they will at first weigh surprisingly heavy for such transparent-looking objects, yet the weight consists almost wholly of nearly purfe sea- water; but when the animal is stranded and dies this water all escapes, and no- thing is left upon tlie sand but a filmy, gelatinous skin, scarcely observable, or looking like flakes of dried varnish in the sun. Some of them when distended with water will weigh ten or twelve pounds ; others are so small that a few ounces of water will contain thousands. Some of these animals have a much denser fibrous organiza- tion than others ; some are so extremely delicate that one would feel no substance if moving the hand through water in which they were sailing and actually coming in contact with them ; while others are not only gorgeously colored, but of a very definite consistency to the touch. Almost any day at certain hours may be seen stranded on the clean sands at Manhattan Beach hundreds and thousands of these shining little balls of life, varying in size from a pea to a marble. Some- times so many of these are blown ashore by the ocean-waves, that it is impossible for the multi- tude of people who visit tliis grand and popular seaside resort to avoid walking upon them.'' "The general name of Medusce,^^ continues Mr. Damon, " was given to this class of animals Living Hydrozoa. Seri'ula7'i(i 23innuta: a, natural size; b, enlarged. on account of the snake-like filaments which they all possess, and which are highly suggestive of the snaky locks of the Greek Medusa, one of the three Gorgons. And the petrifying power of the latter is practically exercised by their marine namesakes; for, if their looks are less terrible, their embrace may prove as fatal. And yet how beautiful they look as they move with a sort of pulsating motion through the water, generally borne by the tides and currents, but appearing to ride them voluntarily ! Sometimes hundreds of them may be seen floating along, showing every shade and tint, from the brightest to the most delicate opalescent hues. " How different is their appearance, thus dis- porting themselves, from the wretched aspect they present when stranded on the sands! But then the fine tissues, which in fact form the frame- work of the animal, can be examined at leisure; and it will be found that in nearly all there are four elongated oval marks crossing each oth- er nearly at right angles, variously tinted with some shade of red, and which are the seams or lines of juncture of the slight, sac-like skin which holds together this unsubstantial aqueous animal. But the best way, if possible, is to secure the medusa alive if one would see the modns operan- di by which this slight epidermis and these trail- ing threads resolve themselves into a beautiful form, which seems to hold the secret of the prism within its dilated cuticle. If, then, our medusa can be dipped up in a bucket, or some vessel large enough to secure it unmutilated, and the water drained or poured off, in a short time the animal will shrink away to a mere fibrous rem- 24 APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. nant. If now, before it actually dies, a new sup- ply of water is added, a little at a time, the whole process (f distention will be readily seen, and the animal will presently rise with something of that pulsating njovement which may be observed in a balloon during the procesi of filling it with gas. When nearly full it tugs at the cords, anx- ious to get into the aerial space ; and, as the me- dusa fills all its cellules with the fluid which gives it shape and consistency, it leaves the bottom of the vessel, floats gayly to the top, and once more revels in the air and light of the surface." One species of the Medusro, popularly known as "the stinger" {Gyanea capillata), is so dan- gerous, and so abundant upon our coasts, that Mr. Damon thinks that to it may be attributed some of the sudden drownings, apparently oth- erwise inexplicable, which have occurred with expert swimmers when at no great distance from shore. The long, poisonous filaments touch and paralyze the bather while the body of the animal is yet a considerable distance away ; and a gen- tleman who nearly lost his life from this cause at Long Branch a few years ago gives the follow- ing advice : " If the bather or shore-wanderer should happen to see, either tossing on the waves or thrown upon the beach, a loose, roundish mass of tawny membranes and fibers, something like a very large handful of lion's mane and sil- ver paper, let him beware of the object, and, sacrificing curiosity to discretion, give it as wide a berth as possible ; for this is the fearful 'sting- er,' the Gyanea capillata.'''' Other numerous and most interesting groups of seashore animals are the MoUusca and the Crustacea, which comprise the countless genera- tions of the shell-fishes, and some representatives The Dancing Scallops. of which are found on every coast. These are so well known and so easily found that we shall not pause to describe them, but will content our- selves with a reference to one or two of the most noteworthy. The common scallop, or " St. James's shell," is almost as familiar a sight in our markets as the oyster ; but, though chiefly regarded for its edi- ble qualities, its interesting habits render it pe- culiarly attractive to the zoological connoisseur. Says Mr. Damon : " The finest jewels of our fairest belles can be no brighter than the natural adornments of this common mollusk. In their native element alone the scallops show to per- fection all the beauties Nature has lavished upon them, especially when seen in motion. They move in a rapid zigzag fashion, and with the speed of an arrow, the propelling force being secured by the rapid opening and shutting of their valves. One can scarcely see a lovelier Crab eating a Clam. sight than that of a large number of these pretty creatures, with shells of every hue, from purest white to black, enlivened with shades of pink, yellow, fawn, and other tints, darting about in the clear water, up, down, here, there, every- where. In their fiight-like movements, vertical, horizontal, east, west, north, and south, they are more suggestive of a flock of winged animals than of bivalves of which to make a meal. When at last they dispose themselves to rest, sinking to the bottom for that purpose, and there remaining passive for hours at a time, they will in the aquarium, if not properly managed, come to anchor by tying themselves with their byssus to the rocks; and, if that occurs, they will entertain us no more with their lively and amusing habits." Perhaps the most fantastic creature of all the crab tribe is the sea-spider, or decorating crab, which, according to Mr. Damon, unites the ani- mal creation to the human, " for he has certainly one of the first instincts of civilization, namely, that of attempting to cover himself with extra- neous and ornamental garments. ... He is the dandy of the sea," continues Mr. Damon. " Bits of sea-weed are his great reliance, but small ob- jects of almost any kind he will appropriate, even to pieces of stone or wood. One of mine showed considerable taste and an idea of style, preferring always the most gaudy colors which he could find in tlie tank. These animals will spend hours every day at their toilet, appropriating with their hand-like claws bits of sea-weed, Sei'tularia, sponge, or Tubularia. One will perhaps place a bit on the tip of his nose, or suspend from it a TROUT-FISHING. 25 long ribbon-like strip of red or green algae, or affix similar fragments to his legs, elbows, or knees, as we may call them. He does not ap- pear to take these pieces at random, but has the air of selecting them with care, and then leisurely cutting them off from the large fronds with his own nippers, of which he has two pairs, one upon each of his two foremost arms. Having severed the desired portion, he takes it up in one of his hands (for his nippers serve for hands as well as shears), and, placing one end of it to his mouth, evidently deposits upon it a species of mucus or marine cement, which secures the object in the position in which his lordship sees fit to arrange it, and in which matter he is somewhat fastidious. This mucus must have great strength, for in his The Decorator. native element he will walk about thus arrayed, without any danger of his ornaments being washed away even by the rolling surf. In the tank, when his toilet is completed, he will ad- vance to the front or most conspicuous spot he can find, and as near to the spectator as he can conveniently get, with a self-satisfied air, as much as to say : ' I'm in full dress now ; how do you like my style?'" These are but a few even of those " wonders of the shore " which Mr. Damon finds room to treat of, and of course are but an infinitesimal proportion of the five hundred thousand recog- nized varieties of marine animal life. As we said at the outset, however, our aim has been to furnish only hints or suggestions, and if what we have written prove sufficient to arouse intelli- gent curiosity, and show the way to gratify it, we shall have accomplished all we hoped for and all the reader can reasonably expect of us. Those who desire more are advised to provide them- selves with Mr. Damon's handy little volume ; and such as would like to prolong the pleasures derived from their inquiries and researches are recommended to the article which appears else- where, entitled " A Miniature Marine Aquarium." TROUT-FISHING. FROM the time of old Izaak Walton and Charles Cotton until now, no pursuit or pastime in which man can engage has been the theme of such enthusiastic and appetizing writ- ing as angling ; and, by all the votaries of the art, trout-fishing is conceded to carry off the palm. If we may believe Dr. Prime, for example, there is no other way in which we can be so sure of reaching that innermost shrine where Nature ut- ters her mysterious oracles directly to the spirit of man ; and Mr. George Dawson, in expounding the "Pleasures of Angling with Rod and Reel for Trout and Salmon," finds it necessary to con- sider the subject in its relation to health, happi- ness, morals, religion, love of nature, serenity of spirit, and the like. Mr. John Burroughs, too, mingles his melodious notes with the general chorus, and devotes some of the most delightful of his ever-charming essays to enchanting us with " the legend of the wary trout." From one of these essays (on "Speckled Trout") we shall quote a few passages which will awaken a responsive thrill in those who have had experiences and sensations kindred to those described, and which to those who are un- familiar with the " legend " will serve to convey an idea of the fascination which it exercises and the enthusiasm which it can inspire. "I have been a seeker of trout from my boy- hood," says Mr. Burroughs, "and, on all the ex- peditions in which this fish has been the ostensible purpose, I have brought home more game than my creel showed. In fact, in my mature years, I find I got more of nature into me — more of the woods, the wild, nearer to bird and beast — while threading my native streams for trout than in al- most any other way. It furnished a good excuse to go forth ; it pitched one in the right key ; it sent one through the fat and marrowy places of field and wood. Then the fisherman has a harm- less, preoccupied look ; he is a kind of vagrant that nothing fears. He blends himself with the trees and the shadows. All his approaches are gentle and indirect. He times himself to the meander- ing, soliloquizing stream ; its impulse bears him along. At the foot of the waterfall he sits se- questered and hidden in its volume of sound. The birds know he has no designs upon them, and the animals see that his mind is in the creek. His enthusiasm anneals him, and makes him pliable to the scenes and influences he moves among. 26 APPLETOXS' SUMMER BOOK. " Then what acquaintance he makes with the stream ! He addresses himself to it as a lover to his mistress ; he woos it and stays with it till he knows its most hidden secrets ; it runs through his thoughts not less than through its banks there; he feels the fret and thrust of every bar and bowlder. Where it deepens, his purpose deep- ens ; where it is shallow, he is inditFerent. He knows how to interpret its every glance and dimple ; its beauty haunts him for days. " I am sure I run no risk of overpraising the charm and attractiveness of a well-fed trout- stream, every drop of water in it as bright and pure as if the nymphs had brought it all the way from its source in crystal goblets, and as cool as if it had been hatched beneath a glacier. When the heated and soiled and jaded refugee from the city first sees one, he feels as if he would like to turn it into his bosom and let it flow through him a few hours, it suggests such healing fresh- ness and newness. How his roily thoughts would run clear! How the sediment would go down stream ! Could he ever have an impure or an unwholesome wish afterward? The next best thing he can do is to tramp along its banks and surrender hioiself to its influence. If he reads it intently enough, he will, in a measure, be taking it into his mind and heart and experiencing its salutary ministrations. . . . " The trout like meadows ; doubtless their food is more abundant there, and usually the good hiding-places are more numerous. As soon as you strike a meadow the character of the creek changes: it goes slower and lies deeper; it tar- ries to enjoy the high, cool banks, and to half hide beneath them ; it loves the willows, or, ra- ther, the willows love it and shelter it from the sun ; its spring-runs are kept cool by the over- hanging grass, and the heavy turf that faces its open banks is not cut away by the sharp hoof of the grazing cattle. Then there are the bobo- links and starlings and meadow larks, always in- terested spectators of the angler; there are also the marsh marigolds, the buttercups, or the spot- ted lilies, and the angler is always an interested spectator of them. In fact, the patches of mead- ow-land that lie in the angler's course are like the happy experiences in his own life, or like the fine passages in the poem he is reading: the pas- ture oftener contains the shallow and monoto- nous places. In the small streams the cattle scare the fish, and soil their element, and break down their retreats under the banks. Wood- land alternates the best with meadow : the creek loves to burrow under the roots of a great tree, to scoop out a pool after leaping over the pros- trate trunk of one, and to pause at the foot of a ledge of moss-covered rocks, with ice-cold water dripping down. How straight the current goes for the rock ! Note its corrugated, muscular ap- pearance ! It strikes and glances off, but accu- mulates, deepens with well-defined eddies above and to one side. On the edge of these the trout lurk and spring upon their prey. "The angler learns that it is generally some obstacle or hindrance tiiat makes a deep place in the creek, as in a brave life, and his ideal brook is one that lies in deep, well-defined banks, yet makes many a shift from right to left, meets with many rebufls and adventures, hurled back upon itself by rocks, waylaid by snags and trees, tripped up by precipices, but sooner or later re- posing under meadow-banks, deepening and ed- dying beneath bridges, or prosperous and strong in some level stretch of cultivated land, with great elms shading it here and there. " But I early learned that from almost any stream in a trout country the true angler could take trout, and that the great secret was this : That whatever bait you used — worm, grasshop- per, grub, or fly — there was one thing you must always put upon your hook, namely, your heart. When you bait your hook with your heart the fish always bite ; they will jump clean from the water after it ; they will dispute with each other over it ; it is a morsel they love above everything else. With such bait I have seen the born angler (my grandfather was one) take a noble string of trout from the most unpromising waters and on the most unpromising day. He used his hook so coyly and tenderly, he approached the fish with such address and insinuation, he divined the exact spot where they lay ; if they were not eager, he humored them and seemed to steal by them ; if they were playful and coquettish, he would suit his mood to theirs; if they were frank and sincere, he met them half way ; he was so patient and considerate, so entirely devoted to pleasing the critical trout, and so successful in his efforts — surely his heart was upon his hook, and it was a tender, unctuous heart, too, as that of every angler is. How nicely he would mea- sure the distance! how dexterously he would avoid an overhanging limb or brush and drop the line in exactly the right spot ! Of course, there was a pulse of feeling and sympathy to the ex- tremity of that line. If your heart is of stone, however, or an empty husk, there is no use to put it upon your hook ; it will not tempt the fish; the bait must be quick and fresh. Indeed, a certain quality of youth is indispensable to the successful angler; a certain unworldliness and readiness to invest yourself in an enterprise that don't pay in the current coin. Not only is the angler, like the poet, born and not made, as Walton says, but there is a deal of the poet in him, and he is to be judged no more harshly ; he is the victim of his genius. Those wild streams, TROUT-FISHING. 27 how they haunt him! He will play truant to dull care, and flee to them ; their waters impart somewhat of their own perpetual youth to him." That is very captivating, is it not ? But it is well that the author remembers to mention be- fore he closes that there is another side to the picture. "People inexperienced in such mat- ters," he says, " sitting in their rooms and think- ing of these things, of all the poets have sung and romancers written, are apt to get sadly taken in when they attempt to realize their dreams. They expect to enter a sylvan paradise of trout, cool retreats, laughing brooks, picturesque views, balsamic couches, etc., instead of which they find hunger, rain, smoke, toil, gnats, mosquitoes, dirt, broken rest, vulgar guides, and salt pork ; and they are very apt not to see where the fun comes in. But he who goes in a right spirit will not be disappointed, and will find the taste of this kind of life better, though bitterer, than the writers have described." This is no doubt true, but Mr. Burroughs might have added that much, of the disappoint- ment felt by beginners is due not merely to ab- sence of the " right spirit," but to mistakes pro- duced by their inexperience, and to ignorance of a few practical details which it is essential for a would-be angler to know, and which are rarely furnished by the rhapsodists. The more impor- tant of these practical details, therefore, we shall now proceed to furnish. OUTFIT FOR A CAMPING EXPEDITION. The late Bayard Taylor, than whom few can have had a wider "experience, has said some- where, in effect, that the art of traveling com- fortably is dependent upon the art of limiting one's baggage ; and this great truth is especially applicable to that sort of travel which is involved in camp-life and "sport." Not only are the elaborate outfits with which novices usually equip themselves a foolish waste of money, but he who takes such a one into the woods is con- demning himself to an amount of toil at which a hod -carrier would rebel. Nothing is more cum- brous and diflScult to pack than personal luggage of this sort, and, as guides have very distinct ideas of what they can be expected to do, the sportsman may be sure that any superfluous impedimenta will fall to his own share. More- over, there is no surer sign of the " greenhorn " ; and, as too obvious a greenhorn is apt to be treated as such by all whom he meets, the very outfit which has cost him so much pains and money will prove the chief drawback to his at- taining the objects of his ambition. According to those who know from long ex- perience, the following list comprises all the " essentials " in the way of clothes that one man will need for a two months' trip in the wilder- ness, beyond what he wears in : A complete undersuit of woolen or flannel, with a "change." Stout pantaloons, vest, and coat. A felt hat. Two pairs of stockings (woolen). Pair of common stout winter boots and camp shoes. Rubber blanket or coat. A pair of pliable buckskin gloves, with cham- ois-skin gauntlets tied or buttoned at the elbow. Hunting-knife, belt, and a pint tin cup. To these should be added a pair of warm woolen blankets, uncut, and a few toilet articles, such as towel, soap, etc. The above is a good serviceable outfit, and, with the exception of the blankets, can easily be packed in a carpet-bag, which is readily stowed in a boat or carried over "portages." Of course, but a small portion of this outfit will be required by those who make their headquarters at some convenient hotel or farmhouse; but, one of the first things that a beginner learns is, that fishing worth the effort can seldom be obtained in places that are easily accessible. The following is Mr. W. H. H. Murray's ad- vice regarding tackle : One light single-handed fly-rod, with " flies." In respect to " flies," do not overload your book. This is a good assortment : Hackles, black, red, and brown, 6 each. Avoid small hooks and imported " French flies." Let the flies be made on hooks from Nos. 3 to 1, Limerick size. All fancy flies discard. They are good for nothing generally, unless it be to show to your lady friends. In addition to the "Hackles," Canada fly (6), an excellent fly. Green drake (6). Red ibis (6). Small salmon flies (6), best of all. If in the fall of the year, take English blue-jay (6). Gray drake (6) — good. Last, but not least, a large stoutly-woven landing-net. This is enough. I know that what I say touching the salmon-flies will astonish some, but I do not hesitate to assert that with two dozen salmon-flies I should feel myself well provided for a six weeks' sojourn in the wilderness. If you are unaccustomed to " fly-fishing" and prefer to " grub it " with ground bait {and good sport can ie had with iait-Jishing, too), get two 28 APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. or three dozens short-shanked, good-sized hooks, hand-tied to strong crmm-colored snells, and you are well provided. K you can find worms, they make the best bait ; if not, cut out a strip from a chub, and, loading your line with shot, yanlc it along through the water some foot or more un- der the surface. I have had trout many times rise and take such a bait, even when skittered along on the top of the water. To every fly fisher my advice is, be sure and take plenty of casting- lines; have some six, othei's nine feet long. There are lines made out of " sea-snell." These are the best. Never select a bright, glis- tening gut. Always search for the creamy-look- ing ones. PEAOTICAL HINTS FOB BEGINNEES. 1. Whenever you see a small stream, cold to the touch, and rippling clear over clean, smooth, or mossy stones — especially if it is near moun- tains or in woods — there are probably trout in it, unless they have all been fished out or otherwise destroyed. Of course, the more remote the stream is from " settlements " and the more dif- ficult of access, the more likely it is to contain fish in abundance. 2. Always fish doicn stream^ if possible. 3. The art of successful trout-fishing is, to a great extent, the art of keeping out of sight of the fish. An expert angler knows almost by in- stinct where to drop his hook while remaining concealed behind a bush or a rock. 4. The mistake most often made by begin- ners is in thinking that fish are only to be caught in holes or pools. Most brook-trout are caught in those rippling shallows where the water fiows swift over barely concealed stones. 5. The trout-fisher must not be afraid of wet feet. "Where the banks are difiicult or afford little concealment, the best way to fish is to walk along in the stream, letting the hook run far down ahead. 6. When fishing in a party, never fish close together. Portion off the stream, and keep out of sight of each other. 7. Ordinary earth-worms (not too large) are usually the best bait. Put plenty on the hook, and as soon as the bait looks ragged or whitish take it off and put on fresh. The eye of a fresh- ly-caught fish is good bait ; better still is the anal tin ; best of all (especially for large fish) are the little bullheads or darts (an inch and a half or two inches long) found in clear, still shallows. When none of these are obtainable, a bit of ba- con, or bread, or white cotton will often answer. 8. Trout are as whimsical and coquettish as young ladies. At times they will bite anything as rapidly as it is offered. Again for hours or days together, nothing can induce them to bite. When reluctant, try them with diff"erent kinds of flies and bait. Somietimes they will accept one lure when nothing else seems to tempt them. 9. In small brooks, the best time to fish is just when the water is running clear after a good, hard, or long rain. 10. The best time of day to fish is usually in the early morning or forenoon. After dusk trout can seldom be induced to bite. 11. The smallness of a stream need not dis- courage. Any water deep enough to conceal a hook is deep enough to contain trout. 12. Small fish afford less sport in the catch- ing than large ones, but those about six to eight inches long are perhaps the best eating of all. 13. In trout-fishing, as in all other fishing, patience and quiet are the supreme requirements. BIED-SHOOTING ON THE COAST OF NEW JERSEY. THE entire ocean-front of New Jersey, from Sandy Hook to its corresponding point known as Cape May, is made up of long lines of sandy deposits, occasionally broken by inlets, and diversified by bays and lagoons, presenting a strange, and at first sight repulsive, combination of shallows and bars, mingling in interminable confusion. The water sometimes becomes con- fined in small harbors, into which empty minia- ture rivers, some of the largest of which afford tolerable navigation for boats of very small pro- portions. Against this low, broken coast the surf of the stormy Atlantic, even on the calmest days, beats with inquietude, and, when the storm rages, the angry waves plunge spitefully into the low banks, twisting the sand-heaps into every variety of form, and, in a night, in the wanton- ness of its power, often changing the very face of the landscape. In the "olden times" the lighthouses, placed here and there along the " desolation," were not supposed to be erected to welcome the home- ward-bound vessel to a safe ancliorage, but to announce danger, for there was no hospitality to shijis at Absecum or Barnegat. The lands in the vicinity have apparently but little soil worth cultivation; there are spots to be occasionally met with, which, by an inunda- tion of " moss-bunkers " and " horseshoes," change fi-om aridity to suggestive loam ; but, BIRD-SHOOTING ON THE COAST OF NEW JEESEY. 29 when the fertilizing qualities of these " queer fish " escape in fetid gas, or disappear through the bottomless sand, the fitful dream of vege- tation vanishes away. Then assumes again the supremacy of salt-ribbed grass, which is not only valueless to man or quadruped, but even defies the nippers and untiring industry of the fiddler- crab. But with time there has been found a charm about these waste places which makes them, to the constantly increasing populations which grav- itate in and around our great metropolis, a haven Bird-Shooting in Absecum Creek, New Jersey. of never-ending consolation. The strong, untir- ing arms of steam have almost robbed the coast of much of its marine terrors, while the jutting banks of sand are being crowded with costly res- idences. Taste and fashion have carried their votaries down to these surf-beaten shores, that they, the votaries, may be invigorated with the fresli, life-inspiring breezes which come across the sea. The surf, which was formerly the har- binger of evil, is now the nursery of health; while. the repulsive coast, in addition, is found to be the center of " feeding-grounds " which attract the inexhaustible wealth of the ocean, and the lagoons and sluggish streams are alive 30 APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. with every variety of feathered aquatic game that tempt the appetite and encourage manly sports. While the seacoast of New Jersey has be- come known to the fashionable world within a comparatively recent date, the country in its iso- lated condition was, and has been for scores of years, the center of a primitive people, who have lived pleasantly and thrived abundantly ; who, without being sailors, are pretty good seamen, and, without being husbandmen, glean treasures from the earth — a kind of amphibious humanity, almost as much at home on dry land as its rep- resentatives are on the water. These primitive people find a paying business in furnishing New York City and much of the outside world with fish, are kind and hospitable, and not given to the indulgence in conventionalities which are considered so essential where more artificial man- ners prevail. The amateur and accomphshed sportsmen have alike an admirable field for their pursuits on this southern Jersey coast ; independent of the unsurpassed fishing, the number of aquatic birds, which visit the vicinity each successive month of the passing summer and fall, is almost beyond calculation. Hence it is tbat the true Nimrod finds no difficulty, in company with his well-trained setter, in selecting his field and his game, and, sauntering away from the busy crowd, he indulges his love for Nature and gratifies his ambition for sport, by finding the reward of his Curlew-Shooting. labors at nightfall to be a well-filled bag, each individual specimen contained therein suggesting some reminiscence of a good shot, or of an un- expected trait of sagacity in his faithful hunting- companion, his dog. The tyro who, pent up in the city the long year, very sensibly rushes into the wilds we speak of to spend his short vacation from busi- ness, and who knows httle of the practical use of the gun, finds no difficulty, after he has over- loaded his weapon with powder and shot, in bringing down innumerable victims to his prow- ess, for fortune most frequently favors him with the privilege of firing into great flocks of cur- lews, snipe, or meadow-larks. To this excitement is added the novelty of threading the creeks and watercourses in some primitive skiff", or dug-out, the awkwardness of their construction and diffi- culty of their management adding relish to the expedition. Among the few birds which are abundant in summer, the snipe is the most delicious to eat, and most individualized in its peculiarities, and so easily approached, if any attention is paid to its habits, that the sportsman must be most in- different who fails to meet with some success. The red-breasted snipe, which is a favorite with amateurs, because less wary than other shore- birds, come in flocks, and settle upon the mud- flats and sand-bars, and soon become so engaged in the business of procuring food, that they will often allow a boat to approach sufficiently near to give its occupants an opportunity to fire with destructive effect. Yet, for all this easy killing of the game we speak of, " a crack snipe-shot," that is, a person who will take them singly and BIRD-SHOOTING ON THE COAST OF NEW JERSEY. 31 successfully, is good against all other birds. The curlew is also a favorite, and combines in its capture some of the excitement attending the chase after fish. With a favorable breeze, to send the well-trimmed boat over the bay, and the curlews jilentiful enough to be brought within gunshot, hours of enjoyment are obtained that leave pleasant reminiscences for the remainder of one's life. If hunted in the lagoons and marshes, they are excedingly shy, and difficult to approach ; but, if a curlew hap- pens to be wounded, its screams of pain and for succor will bring its companions to its res- cue, and their devotion under these circumstances is often the cause of their untimely death. The meadow-larks, which we naturally associate with the high and dry fields, find attractions in the barren places of New Jersey, and, along with that traditional glutton of rice and other farinaceous seeds, the reed- bird, make the vicinity of their temporary homes musical with their sweet notes, and afford most animated sport. Common to all regions filled with game, there is the hunter, who, regardless of the healthful excitement and the unfoldings of the secrets of Nature enjoyed by the refined and cultivated sportsmen, makes the pursuit one of business. After Reed-Birds. and to whose unsentimental industry the people of our cities are indebted for so much palatable food. These men are generally possessed of good- nature, are quiet, and fond of being alone. They work hard, and are satisfied with moderate gains. They are great favorites with "hunters," who exhaust their energies in talking about the plea- sures of wading through the swamps, plunging across mud-banks, fighting mosquitoes, and shoot- ing on the wing, when in search of game, but who really have no other actual ambition than to waste their time in idleness, in their hearts the while Shooting Robin-breasted Snipe. 32 APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. Meadow-Larks near Tuckerton. laughing to scorn the enthusiast who works all day for game that, they say, can be bought for a song. Let one of these idlers come suddenly upon a " pot-hunter " at work in the woods, who will dispose of the fruits of his industry for mod- erate reward in money, and you will witness the next hour an addition to the "settlement" of " a knowing one," who, overborne with game, will, for long hours, grow eloquent over his ex- traordinary experiences, accidents, and escapes, suffered by him while securing the contents of his well-filled bag. The country-store, dignified with the posses- sion of the post-ofiice, in these amphibious towns, is the true center of gossip — set up in some old- fashioned building erected in part of pine scant- ling and the wrecked pieces of stranded ships, while the cozy manner the goods are all stored away is highly suggestive of the economy of space so observable in the cabin of an Albany sloop. Salt and silks, tenpenny nails and gay calico, sweet crackers and pickles, tacks and nut- megs, sugar and carboHc soap, all mingle in gen- eral confusion. Here are carried on traffic and gossip, and the successful magnate, who has sud- denly filled his pockets to overflowing by some unusual luck in catching sheepshead or Spanish mackerel, will spend his money with the most gentlemanly disregard of economy, and gossip for hours, stretched on a pile of merchandise or the counter, so that the cor- roding effect of saline fogs and salt-water on jeans, satinets, and cow- hide boots, may be con- veniently studied by the casual customer. The " old inhabit- ants " of this Jersey coast H;ake great pride in their AIR-PAINTING. 33 locality, which is often illustrated in very char- acteristic ways. It was at one of these country- store gatherings that a learned cockney from New York attempted a general lecture on the voracity of animals of the feline species, more especially of the tiger-kind. A representative of Barnegat beach, who was present, listened a wliile with unconcealed impatience, and finally broke forth after the following fashion : " Thar's no use to talk to me about them tigers for fighting and biting; they ain't anything that may be compared to a well-grown blue-fish. He's an animal, if he hasn't got claws, that can whip anything of his size, and something over. In fact, a regular blue-fish is a natural enemy of every fish not superior to him in size, and goes about, as Satan does in Scripture, seeking whom he may The Knowing One. devour. Nothing swallowable comes amiss to him. He gorges himself with bits of sea-weed and junk-bottles, and then gobbles up clam-shells and gravel-stones to aid his digestion. The tiger is nothing to a blue-fish, in t'aring things to pieces. Why, a shoal of moss-bunkers or porgies, disport- ing in the sea, will be cut to shreds in no time by a dozen blue-fish. He's clipper-built, he is ; and, when doing his work, will spring at his fodder, dash around it like a mad cat, and, in a few sec- onds, kill, waste, and devour more than his own weight, driving every living thing from the vicini- ty but the tautog — that black rascal having sense enough to hide away in sand-holes and under tlie rocks until the yarthquate is over. And when the blue-fish has got a surfeit, and you would suppose you couldn't drive a point of a knife into his body with a hammer, he will dash at a bone bait, seize it, and, when you haul liim up, he will 3 give you a few nabs at your hands and legs, just to let vou know that his appertite is insatiable even in death. Talk about tigers ! what are they for fighting and eating, to a clipper-built blue-fish ? " The game pursued is, for the most part, not native to these shores, visiting the coast only as annual trysting-places, and hence can scarcely be exterminated. Each year it comes in abundance, and hence hunting and fishing must remain a permanent attraction of these sandy shallows. Absecum Creek and Beach, tlie scene of our illus- trations, are near Atlantic City, in the county of the same name. They may be reached from New York by the New Jersey Southern Railway to Atco, thence by the Camden and Atlantic road, or from Philadelphia direct by the latter route. AIR-PAINTING. " ~T' HAVE seen a gallery of many pictures," _L. said one who had been sitting on the sea- shore watching the sunset. There had been fleet- ing clouds, ships that came and went, and varying skies that now shrouded the scene in gray, now flooded it with yellow or rosy tints ; and the sails of the vessels, as they continually formed into new groups, at one moment became superb foci of light, at another shadowy phantoms. Those who have eyes to see need not go in search of new landscapes; there is always a succession of changes coming to him if he will but attentively watch the gallery that Nature keeps always open to those who can see. One of our best landscape- painters declares that landscape-painting is air- painting ; that a veil hangs over every scene, which is different at different times, and it is this veil, this medium of atmosphere, that gives to every picture its true quality. "One day," he says, " we go out in the morning, and, look- ing up and down the street, take no note of the sight; we are not impressed; but another day there is a slight change in the density or clarity of the atmosphere, and lo ! what before was a commonplace view has become extremely beauti- ful. It is the change in the air that has made the change in the object." There ought to be a great deal of philosophical comfort in this theory to all who liave to stay at home. Every one has observed how a distant mountain changes its as- pect during difterent hours of the day, and noted similar transformations on the sea; but few, per- haps, have fully realized how every view, how- ever apparently ordinary in character, has its succession of changes ; how completely it proves to the studious observer an ever-varying gallery of pictures, each of which has its peculiar quality and its subtile beauty. 34: APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. THE HUNTERS' RETURN. 'TTT'ITII rhytliniic chime VV Our oars keep time Adown the rapid river ; On groves of balm And bays of calm The hues of sunset quiver. Ob, glad the song That lilts along From hearts so fondly yearning! For them afar Night's fairest star — The lamp of home is burning! And sweet the thrill Of hearts that still Await night's radiant cover, That lips may press In tenderness Their weary, hunter lover! All day we clove Past isle and cove, And pine-trees' fringy branches, And where the stream Danced, all agleam With foamy avalanches! A MINIATUEE MARINE AQUARIUM. 35 'Neath rocky steep Where mirrored deep Were caverns black and glossy, And we have dipped Our oars, and slipped By meadows mild and mossy. But shadows fall. Night covers all, And we are landward going ; Our toils are past: Give way ! and fast Now, comrades, be our rowing ! Oh, day may fail. And night may pale, And stars maj" one by one set ; But lights of home, Howe'er we roam, Burn brighter at the sunset ! George Coopek, A MINIATURE MARINE AQUA- RIUM. IN his charming little volume, " Glaucus, or the Wonders of the Shore," the late Charles Kingsley gives the following practical directions for forming an "aquarium," such as the least ambitious can put in practice, and which any one can derive pleasure from possessing : "Buy at any glass-shop a cylindrical glass jar, some six inches in diameter and ten high ; wasli it clean, and fill it with clean salt water, dipped out of any pool among the rocks, only looking first to see that there is no dead fish or other evil matter in the said pool, and that no stream from tlie land runs into it. If you choose to take the trouble to dip up the water over a boat's side, so much the better. " So much for your vase ; now to stock it. " Go down at low spring-tide to the nearest ledge of rocks, and with a hammer and chisel cliip off a few pieces of stone covered with grow- ing sea-weed. Avoid the common and coarser kinds which cover the surface of the rocks, for they give out under water a slime which will foul your tank ; but choose the more delicate spe- cies which fringe the edges of every pool at low- water mark : the pink coralline, the dark-purple ragged dulse {RJiodymenia), the Carrageen moss (Chondrus), and above all, the commonest of all, the delicate green ulva, which you will see grow- ing everywhere in wrinkled, fan-shaped sheets, as thin as the finest silver-paper. The smallest bits of stone are sufiicient, provided the sea- weeds have hold of them ; for they have no real roots, but adhere by a small disk, deriving no nourishment from the rock, but only from the water. Take care, meanwhile, that there is as little as possible on the stone, besides the weed itself. Especially scrape off any small sponges, and see that no worms have made their twining tubes of sand among the weed-stems; if they have, drag them out; for they will surely die, and as surely spoil all by sulphuretted hydrogen, blackness, and evil smells. '• Put your weeds into your tank and settle them at the bottom, which last, some say, should be covered with a layer of pebbles ; but let the beginner leave it as bare as possible, for the pebbles only tempt cross-grained annelids to crawl under them, die, and spoil all by decaying ; whereas it the bottom of the vase is bare you can see a sickly or dead inhabitant at once, and take him out (which you must do) instantly. Let your weeds stand quietly in the vase a day or two before you put in any live animals, and even then do not put any in if the water does not appear perfectly clear ; but lift out the weeds, and renew the water ere you replace them. " Now for the live-stock : In the crannies of every rock you will find sea-anemones (Actinia') ; and a dozen of these only will be enough to con- vert your little vase into the most brilliant of living flower-gardens. There they hang upon the under side of the ledges, apparently mere rounded lumps of jelly; one is of dark purple, dotted with green; another of a rich chocolate; another of a delicate olive ; another, sienna-yel- low ; another, all but white. Take them from their rock ; you can do it easily by slipping un- der them your finger-nail, or the edge of a pew- ter spoon. Take care to tear the sucking base as little as possible (though a small rent they will darn for themselves in a few days, easily enough), and drop them into a basket of wet sea-weed; when you get home turn them into a dish full of water and leave them for the night, and go to look at them to-morrow. What a change ! The dull lumps of jelly have taken root and flowered during the night, and your dish is filled from side to side with a bouquet of chrysanthemums ; each has expanded into a hun- dred-petaled flower, crimson, pink, purple, or orange; touch one, and it shrinks together like a sensitive-plant, displaying at the root of the petals a ring of brilliant turquoise beads. That is the commonest of all the ActinisB {Mesembry- anthemiim) ; you may have him when and where you will. But, if you will search those rocks somewhat closer, you will find even more gor- geous species than he. See in that pool some dozen large ones, in full bloom, and quite six 36 APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. inches across, some of them ! If their cousins, whom we found just now, were like chrysanthe- mums, these are like quilled dahlias; their arms are stouter and shorter in proportion than those of the last species, but their color is equally bril- liant. One is a brilliant blood-red; another, a delicate sea-blue, striped with pink; but most have the disk and the innumerable arras striped and ringed with various shades of gray and brown. Shall we get them? By all means, if we can. Touch one. "Where is he now ? Gone ! Marine Tank, Front View. Marine Tank, Side View. Vanished into air or into stone? Not quite. You see that knot of sand and broken sliell ly- ing on the rock where your dahlia was one mo- ment ago. Touch it, and you will find it leath- ery and elastic. That is all which remains of the live dahlia. Never mind; get your finger into the crack under him, work him gently but firmly out, and take him home, and he will be as happy and as gorgeous as ever to-morrow. " Let your Actiniae stand for a day or two in the dish, and then, picking out the liveliest and handsomest, detacli tliem once more from their hold, drop them into your vase, right them witli a bit of stick, so that the sucking base is down- ward, and leave them to themselves thence- forth. . . . " But you will want more than these anemones, both for your own amusement and for the health of your tank. Microscopic animals will breed, and will also die ; and you need for them a scav- enger. Turn, then, a few stones which lie piled on each other at extreme low^-water mark, and five linutes' search will give you the very animal you want, a little crab, of a dingy russet above, and on the inner side like smooth porcelain. His back is quite flat, and so are his large, angular fringed claws, which, when he folds them up, lie in the same plane with his shell, and fit neatly into its edges. Compact little rogue that he is, made especially for sidling in and out of cracks and crannies, he carries with him such an ap- paratus of combs and brushes as Isidor or Floris never dreamed of; with which he sweeps out of the sea-water at every moment shoals of minute animalcules, and sucks them into his tiny mouth. "Next, your sea-weeds, if they thrive as they ought to do, will sow their minute spores in milUons around them ; and these, as they vege- tate, will form a green film on the inside of the glass, spoiling your prospect; you may rub it off for yourself, if you will, with a rag fastened to a stick ; but, if you wish at once to save yourself trouble, and to see how all emergencies in nature are provided for, you will set three or four live shells to do it for you, and to keep your subaque- ous lawn close mown. " That last word is u6 figure of speech. Look among the beds of sea-weed for a few of the bright yellow or green sea-snails (Herita), or Conical Tops (Trochus), especially that beautiful pink one spotted with brown, which you are sure to find about shaded rock-ledges at dead low tide, and put them in your aquarium. For the pres- ent they will only nibble the green ulvaa ; but, when the film of young weed begins to form, you will see it mown oif every morning as fast as it grows, in little semicircular sweeps, just as if a fairy's scythe had been at work during the night. And a scythe has been at work ; none other than the tongue of the little shell-fish. "A prawn or two, and a few minute star-fish, will make your aquarium complete; though you add to it endlessly, as one glance at the salt-water tanks of the Zoological Gardens, and the strange and beautiful forms which they contain, will prove to you sufficiently." The author then goes on to explain that there are tw'o more enemies to guard against — dust and heat. If the surface of the water becomes clogged with dust, aeration caTi not take place, and the animals will die. The best way to pre- vent this is to stir the surface of the water occasionally, or tie a piece of muslin over the mouth, or simply lay a sheet of brown paper over it. This last is best of all, perhaps, because its shade also protects against the next great evil, heat. If the vase is left in a sunny window long enough for the water to become tepid all is over with your pets, and lialf an hour's exposure may frustrate the care of weeks. And yet, on the other hand, light must be abundant, or the sea- weeds will neither thrive nor keep the water HOW TO MAKE AN HERBARIUM. 37 sweet. Choose, therefore, a sontli or east win- dow, but draw down the blind, or throw a hand- kerchief over all if the heat becomes fierce. The water should always feel cold to your hand, let the temperature outside be what it may. Next, you must make up for evaporation by adding a little fresh water, as often as you find the water in the vase sinking below its original level. Otherwise the water would soon become too salt, for the salts, remember, do not evapo- rate with the water. "Where, from any cause, the water has be- come spoiled, and fresh sea-water is not pro- curable, the following formula (Mr. Gosse's) may be used for making artificial sea- water: Parts. Common table salt 81 Epsom salts 7 Chloride of magnesium 10 Chloride of potassium 2 Total 100 One pound of this mixture carefully dissolved in water, and then filtered, will make about three gallons of sea-water. For those who would like something a little less primitive than the glass jar, a marine tank, such as that shown in the cuts, will answer ad- mirably, and make a very beautiful display. The front is of glass, the back and two ends are of mar- ble, slate, or well-seasoned wood, and the bottom is an inclined plane rising from the lower corner in front to above the water-level behind. The purpose of the sloping bottom is to afford the anemones, etc., which move seldom and slowly, to approach the surface and recede from it at pleasure. The bottom may be covered to the depth of an inch or two with sand and gravel, and rocks and shells may be arranged on the slope above. In selecting and arranging the plants and animals the suggestions given above will apply. The animals should be fed twice a week with finely cut fresh mussels, oysters, or raw beef ; and, in the case of mollusks, actinia), etc., etc., food should be placed within reach by means of a small glass rod. When the supply of oxygen is deficient the fishes approach the sur- face often to breathe. HOW TO MAKE AN HERBA- RIUM. THE first thing to do is to collect the plants. They should be carefully dug up with a trow- el, so as to preserve the root intact, as, to form a good specimen, it is necessary to have the root, leaves, flowers, and fruit. It also adds to the value of a specimen if the seedling is shown, the autumn tint of the leaves ; if a parasite, the plant on which it grows, etc. When going on a collecting expedition, it is a good plan to carry a few sheets of newspaper in a portfolio, and to place the plants flat between the pages as soon as they are dug up. If this is not convenient, they will keep fresh for some time if placed in a tin case or vasculum. To dry them, the surest way is, to lay them between a good many sheets of blotting or newspaper, with a board at the top and bottom of the pile, and a heavy weight placed on the top of all. Change the papers every two or three days, and take care to keep the plants quite flat and with a good many sheets of paper between them, or the thick stems will crumple and bend the thinner ones. The sheets of paper on vvhicli to mount the plants must be rather stout and of a uniform size — 16-J- inches by 10^ inches is a useful size ; but of course this must depend on the taste of the collector. Bot- anists diflfer very much as to the best method of attaching the specimens to the paper. Some at- tach them by means of strips of paper secured with pins, others gum or glue the specimens, others fasten them with gummed straps of paper, or sew them with a needle and thread to the paper. The best plan, however, is to combine the last three methods, and to secure plants of a medium size, such as the buttercup, with narrow gummed strips of paper; thick, woody plants, such as the oak, with glue; and such delicate plants as ferns and grasses should be tacked to the paper by means of a needle and thread as much the color of the specimen as possible. Weak gum may be used for the large petals of flowers, and for large flat leaves ; but when it is used the plants must be again laid under heavy pressure to dry, or they will shrivel. The plan followed in foreign herbaria is to lay the plants between a double sheet of paper, without fasten- ing them to the paper at all. When managed in this way they are more easily examined ; but the great disadvantage of this plan is that both the plants and their labels are very apt to become inserted in tlie wrong sheets among specimens of totally different species. When fastening the plants to the paper they should not all be an*anged precisely in the center of the page, but should be fastened more at the sides, otherwise, when the plants are laid one above the other, the packet will not be nearly flat, but will be higher in the middle than at the sides. With regard to the names of the plants, they may either be written on the sheet itself or on printed labels sold for the purpose. If the herbarium is to be an aid to the study of botany, and not a mere ornamental collection of gayly tinted plants and flowers, it will be found very convenient to inclose a flower, fruit, bud, etc., 38 APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. of the plant in a little envelope fastened at one corner of the paper, so as to avoid touching the rest of the plant for the purpose of examination. These little envelopes may be made on the same plan as those used by tradesmen to inclose change, or may simply consist of a piece of paper folded 80 as to form a small flat case, similar to those in which seedsmen inclose seeds, and druggists pow- ders, etc. The labels must contain a brief his- tory of the plant, thus : its technical and com- mon names, habitat, by whom collected, where and when, and the order to which it belongs. After tlie plants have been fastened down and labeled, the next thing is to poison them, or the insects will soon find them out, and it will be observed that they show their good taste by feeding solely on juicy, succulent plants, scarcely ever touching the dry, sticky plants. The best poison for this purpose consists of one pound each of corrosive sublimate and carbolic acid to four gallons of methylated spirits. The great drawback to the preparation is its disagreeable smell. The plants are simply painted with it after or before fastening down ; if it is done be- fore, they require to be pressed while the poison is drying. The best way of preserving the color of flowers is to dry them quickly, either by plac- ing them between sheets of paper, tying them together firmly, and drying them near a hot fire, by laying them among dry sand, or by pressing them with a warm flat-iron. This is an excel- lent plan, but great care must be taken not to have the iron too hot, or the plants will become brittle. No varnishing is requisite in forming an herbarium ; if the plants are properly dried and stuck down they look better without it. When the plants have all been duly affixed to their re- spective sheets and labeled, they are ready to be placed in covers, so as to be handy for reference. Each genus should have a separate cover, which should be of stouter paper than that on which the plants are mounted. The name of the genus should be written distinctly in the bottom right- hand corner. ABOUT FISHING: TROUT-FISHING, BASS-FISHING, BLUE-FISHING, SALMON-FISHING, COD- FISHING. By Barnet Phillips. AS a grand center, whence a fisherman can enjoy all the delights of sport. New York has few equals. Good angling may be found not only within an hour of him, but, if he has time and means, in half a day, or at most two days, he can cast his line amid the trout in almost a primeval country. If he wishes to fish in his own country, the streams and lakes are count- less. If he has the impulse to seek nobler game, such as the salmon, the Restigouche and other Canadian or Provincial streams are almost as near to New York as Quebec. If not inclined to fresh- water angling, and he be desirous of sea-fisliing, he can find, not fifteen miles from New York, in ordinary seasons all the sport and amusement he requires. The writer of this has often been in doubt, through pure emharras de richesse, whether he would catch a striped bass or a bluefish, as both were possible within three hours' journey from his house in New York. To define what are game-fish is somewhat difficult. Those fish which are handsome to look upon, which take hold vigorously, which require skill to capture, which resist and show fight, are called game-fish. A trout or a salmon is con- sidered as representing the type of the game-fish; a sucker or an eel the 0])posite. There is one fish — 'the pike, pickerel, or the muscalonge — whose title to the nobility of a game-fish has been de- nied. Still, Professor Goode classes them among the game-fish of America. Those who argue against the gameness of the whole Esox family will tell you, and quite rightly : " The muscalonge is a craven fish. Yes, he will strike with the vigor of a shark ; but, once you have him on your squid, he gives up like a whipped hound. It is not'ning more than to haul him in hand over hand. He shows no fight. He is dead beat at once." A game-fish is, then, one which requires especially skill and judgment in the catching of it. Looking at the matter philosophically, it rather speaks to the credit of the fisherman than otherwise that he should make these distinctions. The mere pleasure of catching fish might be ac- complished by means of a fish-weir, if quantity alone were desirable. It is, then, the pleasure an angler feels in overcoming the wiles of the fish which enliances the character of his sport. Game-fish, in order that they should be caught, have called forth the ingenuity of the rod-maker. Man's inventive faculty, the possibility to devise tools which will accomplish his purpose, have necessarily been combined with personal dex- terity. There has been just as much care be- stowed upon a modern trout-rod to-day as on a Stradivarius violin in the seventeenth century. To accomplish the greatest amount of work with the lightest material and with the most elegant ABOUT FISHING. 39 form of rod, has been the happy fortune of the American angler in 1880. It is a bold and sweep- ing remark, but English rods are not so good as American ones. They make no i)retensions to elegance. They are dreadfully heavy, without any gain of strength. The modifications they have undergone, quite notable ones during the last eight years only, are merely such changes as vi^ere made by our best rod-manufacturers in 1865, and abandoned in 1870. We Avork through our rough streams, both in the United States and in Canada, with our delicate rods, and are prepared to catch and land bigger fish, from a trout to a salmon, than are to be found in Eng- land, Ireland, Wales, and Scotland. Our tackle is lighter, stronger, and better adapted to the work. As to our flies, the best English lures, those of their crack makers, are not a whit more per- fect than ours. As to variety, we manufacture ten different kinds to their one. Here before me is a book of English flies, just imported. It is true, duty and all, they are a trifle cheaper than ours. But here the comparison ends. These English flies are dreadfully solid, too compact. If I used two of them, I could not, I think, throw them either lightly or well. Now, I may or may not be an adept in such things; but here is a fly which is handsome enough, and has not exactly that beefy, ponderous look which most English things possess. Here is my little test-piece of leather. I slip the bit of morocco (it has a slit cut in it) over the knob of a door in my room. Bass-Fishing in Rapids at Hell-Gate. I am lucky enough to be working in a fairly large room. I make a short cast from my six- and-a-half-ounce rod, and strike my leather at the second trial. I give a slight jerk, and out come all my pretty feathers and the hook, too. I have not struck harder than if I had hooked a two-pound trout. Then I remember the wail that Mr. Froude sent up some months ago, when he wrote a charming bit of liistory about the Russel family and fly-fishing. Though England might all be going wrong, his greatest complaint was just then in regard to the bad workmanship of the English fly-maker, and how his (Fronde's) heart was broken almost when he lost fish after fish, because his flies were poorly tied and fash- ioned. There can be no positive rule about the weight of rods. A rod is like the woman a man lives with, he must find one to suit himself. A rod is something on a par with a gun, and weigbt has to be considered, with only this difference, that you can see your bird and not your fish. You might be taking leisurely enough one-pound fish in an Adirondack lake, and your feather-weight rod would respond admirably to the slight strain put on it, when lo ! the grandfather of the Sal- viliuus, a five-pound fish, might fancy your fly. Then, if your rod be not perfect in material and make, you have a splintered joint, a broken rod, I and your day's sport is marred by the loss of the I crack trout of the season. Putting expensive 1 rods in the hands of younglings is often a mis- 40 APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. take, and accidents happen; but, supposing a father, witli the angling instinct, is sire to a son with the same fancies, a tirst-class rod does no harm. It teaches a lad early to be deft and handy ; and I have found that, though my boys will dog-ear some of their best books, and mine Trolling for Blue-fish. too, as for that, their fine rods, after two or three years of work, are almost in as good order as when on a certain Christmas they were presented to them. With April trout-fishing commences. The proximity of the fishing-grounds to New York has been commented upon. All along Long Island there are fairish fishing brooks and creeks, belonging, however, to private persons. Clubs composed of gentlemen with angling pro- clivities frequent these grounds. We may state that fishing here is generally poor. It is quite wanting in couleur local. Fish are small. A one-pound fish is a marvel. This year one fine fish, said to have been a four-pounder, was caught ; but this is unusual. These creeks owe their fish mostly to the efforts of the fish cultur- ists. It may not be exactly like a battue, for the fish are not plenty enough for that, but still it is a tame affair. If the season happens to be a cold one, and thin ice in the streams, the sport is only disagreeable, without any of the pleasurable ex- citement one finds in the wild woods. It may be considered as rather the reunion of gentlemen who have got very tired of a winter passed at the clubs, and who leave their counters at the whist- table for a day or so, to play with the fish in the brooks. Any one, who has fished but during the brief holiday of a week in some of those unknown streams in the Adirondacks which flow between the Raquette and the Upper Saranac, would prefer one hour there to a month on Massapi- qua Pond in Long Island. There, in those wild north woods, there is perfect freedom. The last splotch of ink that has sullied your hand has been washed out, scrubbed away, as you plunged your hands in the silver white sands that border these wild streams. It is up at daybreak with Bill Ilartly, the guide. You carry your canoe one mile (you think it ten), and launch her in some quiet blue water, all silent save for the flutter of some far-distant flock of wild ducks. Bill (he was always a skeptic) looks askance at your seven-ounce rod, and slowly whistles. " He don't keer about fishing, but is just going to see you try it on with that 'ere straw-stalk of yourn.'^ He paddles out through the water-lilies, and is so clever at it that he makes no ripple. " I've seed a big one around here. Just you cast from thar toward the shore." You have taken a dull fly — a Quaker-gray wound with honey-yellow hackles with just a smatter of oriole blue — only one — and you swing out the line. It is a fair cast, though fully three yards farther than you wanted to flirt it. You are a little excited, and have used just a shade too much exertion. Well, let it go! You trip the fly toward you. The water is so sweet ABOUT FISHING. 41 and calm that, as your fly skips along, great oval swells of water with their circular films are formed, and cross one another. Ha! Thei-e is just a little boiling up there. Can it be? Up starts a livid bit of gold and silver: you raise your hand just a shade, but he will not be fooled. He follows, vaults four inches full out of the water, and takes the fly, and away he is. You let him have his way. It is your first fish, and you must get him. The reel is spinning as he tries to bolt for the water-lilies a hundred yards off. You stop him, but not too suddenly. He shakes to right now, then to left. But line and leader, rod and reel are sound, and so are you. In he comes, inch by inch. Bill smiles, and says, "Not a big one ; but he is a handsome fish." You say, " Pound and a half? " as Bill puts a landing-net under him, and Bill nods his head. You cast again, and in fifteen minutes you have four more fish, all smaller ones. It is a pleasant beginning. Your wife and party are at some farmhouse, ten miles away, and you will send the fish to her, and they will arrive by nightfall. You count on thirty fish at least. You cast, and cast, and there is not another fish. As the day brightens, you try other flies. You fish for two hours more, and have nothing. Bill is asleep, for the canoe is anchored. It is monotonous. You pull up the stone, and let the canoe drift. Y''ou get near the shore, just a good long cast to the edge of the lake. You silently drop the anchor, you take a fresh fly ; it is done with deliberation. You have seen General Hooker — you remember him ? Here is a fly called after that brave old fellow. It is green, with faint-yellow reflections, and a dash of red, and a shading of rutfed grouse. It is a trifle large, you think, still it looks tempting. One wing of the fly is a little crumpled ; you moisten your finger between your hps, and smooth it, and think of the boy's luck, and wonder how much saliva has to do with it. You look close at your reel. It is all right. It is a big cast to make. Now, Seth Green has taught you a trick, but not in a canoe. You gather yourself up, and try to throw so as not to rock the canoe and throw yourself out, nor to wake up Bill, who walked twenty-five miles last night to meet you. Y"ou have done it well. The rod responds like a bow, and out flows the line as cleverly as if you were a Japan- ese prestidigitator playing with his ribbons. It does fall just about where you want it. Bill is snoring, and is happy. Along dances the fly. There is now a gentle breeze, which comes sough- ing through the great, gaunt fir-trees. There is air enough to belly out your line. It works it- self, the fly tripping along from crest to crest. You let out more line. You have a very — very long line, and you judge that half of it is out. If Salmon-fishing in Canada. the wind keeps on, in five minutes you will be in the spatter-docks. Well, time enough, then. "Whist ! Y^ou can see a little blue swell, heaving up of the water but watchful, tantalize him, s , A fish — a fish ! Not greedy, Let the fly sail on. It may o that he may clutch it yet. 42 APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. In a minute more you will be fouled. Well, let us run the chanpes. But the wind dies out, and, as you lift the rod ever so lightly, the fly comes in. He has struck. It is not a vicious lunge, rather an unguarded snap, but he smarts with the hook. He is an old fellow, up to all kinds of dodges ; has lived there about those reeds for years, and will play you a trick. That he is a big one you are sure. You never can let him have all that line. He is mad now, and you have to hold him. You have been dancing in tliat boat, and Bill wakes, sees the situation at once, and takes to the paddles. " A whacker ! " says Bill, sententiously. " Take the canoe in not more than three lengths, and hold her there ! " you cry. Working on the reel slowly, cautiously, you get nearer to him. Now he is for the weeds again; fortunately he don't jerk, but pulls steady like a horse. He finds it is of no use, so he suddenly darts to the right, slanting off" for the shore. He comes so fast that, with a little slant upward {when you check him to the left of the boat), you see a superb head and a bit of the dorsal fin. Now he sulks, getting his wind, and Bill looks slightingly at the rod, which is quivering in your hand : " It's a baby thing, nary good." " It is the best rod in the world, and I will get that fish," you cry angrily, for your blood is up. He zigzags, but has given up his bolts toward shore. You will have your hands full for a half-hour. The line twangs at times, and, as he stops fighting, just as suddenly is limp again. He must be kept tight hauled all the time. Though he is dogged still, you rule his destinies. Bill is all excitement, and has been fingering the landing-net for some time. At last, when you have him only a canoe- length distance from you, there comes the final combat. He has been saving himself for this. Nothing but a good rod, taxed to its utmost capacity, could have saved that fish. It fairly buckles as the fish tries to get under and past the canoe. If he does that, you are gone. Give him all the butt you can, and hold so tight, that the wrapping on the last joint of bamboo splint marks the palm of the hand. He is stopped, and is docile, lamb-like now. Bill has the anchor up, and paddles along now slowly, but it is not necessary. " Bully rod, mister," he says, "and I wouldn't have believed it." " And nothing about the fisherman ? " you ask. " It's the rod," says Bill. The trout is yours. He comes up slow- ly, quite exhausted. Bill can almost put his fin- gers in his gills, but he has him in the landing- net. " He is five pounds full, and the biggest fish of this year! " cries Bill. " Five pounds? He is six! Here, Bill, in that coat, left-hand pocket, is a spring balance: weigh that beauty." '"Most five and a half pounds," cries Bill. This is fish- ing — only a page taken from a book kei)t of such exploits, more to note excellence of rod than with any attempt to extol personal skill. Trout-fishing has its delights, but hardly less so are those of bass-fishing. I can speak of the pleasures of striped - bass fishing oflP Newport, though of late all good places have been so pre- empted that it is ditficult to get a locality for love or money. It is the noblest of American sjjorts, and the most exciting, requiring great skill — I think even greater skill than for the salmon. You want for the Roccus lineatus the best of rods, but not a delicate one — not a rapier, nor exactly a broadsword. About an eight-foot rod is ample. It must be fairly stiff", capable of standing a great strain, with a line of fully four hundi-ed feet in length. Every thing about this tackle must be of the best, with a reel that works on agates. You may use a live squid, or a sand-eel, or a bit of bass-skin. If you know how, you can throw your line out one hundred feet — I have seen it more than once thrown one hundred and fifty. If he feels like it, the striped bass is a ferocious biter ; and, once he has the hook, from his size, and the strength of the jaws, he is not likely to tear away. But for long manoeuvring, for watchfulness, for steady tugging, for give and take, for courage and endurance, the striped bass, as a game-fish, stands the first. There is a capri- ciousness about a trout or a salmon which a striped bass does not possess. He fights from the very instant he is struck, and has no give up in him. I do not take kindly to spinners, metal- lic baits, as I have never seen them bring in big fish. I have, watch in hand, counted fifty min- utes of hard fight between the striped bass and an adept angler, and he one of the most adroit fishermen I have ever known. It is in blue-fish that New-Yorkers can in- dulge the most readily. Last season was a par- ticularly bad one, as the Pomatomus saltatrix was not abundant. The most pleasant way to go blue- fishing is in a sail-boat. Vast schools of blue- fish, which eat up their weight almost every day in other fish, flock on shore after the shiners and moss-bunkers, and thus fall victims to their own greed. It is about August that the blue-fish may be found from Chesapeake Bay up to Vineyard Sound, Nantucket. In October he will weigh ten, even twelve pounds. Your squid or jig has a Avhite rag tied to it, and, as your boat moves along Avith the wind, your line trailing away far behind you, the greedy fish strikes. A six-knot breeze is fast enough. You want for this fishing, if it is active, rubber finger-stalls, or your fingers will be lacerated. Be careful how you take your fish from the hook when you have him, for, if he sets his teeth in your fingers, vou will be pretty sure to feel it. It is a goodly sport, requiring no special skill, when hand-lines are used ; but, ABOUT FISHING. 43 when it comes to rod-fishing, that is a different thing. It is then the jolliest of sports. Use an eight-foot rod and a stiff one, for the Pomato- rmis is a vigorous fish, and will smash your ele- gant trout-rod into smithereens. He is a game fish, and fully entitled to the name. Ahout this same time, the weak-fish, the squeteague (the Cy- noscion regalis), also affords ample sport. With the tide they come in to the Narrows, and of a good day you can catch many of them near Fort Richmond. Some fish with rods and tackle, and four-pounders sometimes turn up. Off Fire Island, at half-ebh, you can catch him with a hand-line and a squid, and glorious sport it is. Another fish is the kingfish, by far the most delicate of our table-fish. You can use for the kingfish a three-jointed rod of ten feet long ; you want a sinker which will withstand the sweep of the tide. A shedder-crab a kingfish espe- cially loves ; when he is hooked he works differ- ently from most other fish. He will hurry far away under the water, and suddenly break when seventy-five feet away. He is a sturdy fighter, and, though a three- or four-pound fish is a very large one, he will have a tussle with you of an hour. As to salmon-fishing and choice of rod, I want to fish with a twenty-foot rod, and not with one an inch less. I want to cast in impos- sible places. I can scramble on a rock and sight a pool below, yet can not get within twenty yards of it with a short pole. I must take every Cod-lishing. advantage of the situation. Nature makes the salmon-streams wild and brawling, and the shores inaccessible. You can't keep dropping your fly, and teasing salmon as you do trout. He takes it at once or not at all. Keep on sweeping with a long rod as you would for trout, and in a short time you tire of it. It is the play, the headlong dash of the salmon, that fatigues you, but when rest comes it is a glorious lassitude. You want a braided silk line, water-proofed for this fishing, and it must be sound, or good-by to your fish. You look at a Gaspe district fisherman, and be sure he knows what he is about. His rod is a New York one — though he lives in Montreal — but it is as perfect as can be. It is just as long as an English rod, but is a full three eighths of a pound lighter, which is an immense advantage. That reel of his is not an ounce too light, though it does assume horological proportions. I think fancy flies for salmon-fishing, have gone very much out of repute of late days. There is a cer- tain fly, "the Nicholson," that is said to have especial charms. I do not think there is any very great difference between a trout and a salmon fly, save that the latter must be the larger. A great many flies for both trout and salmon fish- ing are made pretty, rather as ornaments than for actual use. An elaborate, gaudy fly, save on special occasions, when the day is very dark, I have thought, frightened all the flsh that swam in those deep pools of the Nipisiquit, Restigouohe or Cascapediac Rivers. It is not all of us who 44 APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. have either the time or the money to spend, both of which are necessary, and specially much of the latter, for salmon-fishing. Still, for those who can afford it, it is a noble sport, but not any bet- ter than striped-bass fishing. There is one kind of fishing which New- Yorkers should be acquainted with. It is perhaps the sole one which removes a man entirely from his surroundings and makes' him live a new life. Such a happy change is not difficult to procure, nor is it expensive. It is rough, it is true, but it has its natural charm. Go codfishing — not for yourself, but for a market. This opportunity, by a little adroit management, you can obtain at any time. Every two or three times a week, during the fall, there leaves from the Fulton Market slip a smack going out to Vineyard Sound and Nantucket for cod and haddock. En- gage passage on board. The cost is slight. You may, if you are an epicurean, send on board a dozen claret, a ham, and some canned meats ; but these are not necessities. You will be almost cer- tain to find everything clean and sweet on board. You take your oldest clothes and stow away your razor. You are to rough it for a week or ten days. You can have a good berth, and the most honest and simple of fare. Off you go, and pass rapidly through the Sound. Ten to one your smack is a clipper, and nothing but a yaclit can catch her. By and by you make Point Judith, and in a day more you are off Nantucket. Away you bowl along, cross the tides which swirl through the Sound there, and you are on the cod- banks. Now the fun begins. As fast as you can open your clams, you must bait your line, heavy with a two-pound sinker. You have two, three hooks, and down she goes. You fish at thirty fathoms, maybe sixty. There is a tug — a slight one. You haul up, and find an ugly dog- fish ! The boat's crew smile. You are too much on the bottom. You will get the hang of it after a while. Better luck next time. Another clam or two on your hook, and you are at it once more. Up again comes your line. You have just touched bottom, and you have two codfish. One is a fifteen-pound fish, the other ten. They do not struggle, but come up even light, at least in your excitement you think so. You take them off, and, while you have been doing this, your neigh- bor the captain has caught ten fish. And so it goes on. You fish until your arm aches. There are muscles in the hand that you have never before this called into play ; a special lot of cords, be- longing to your anatomy, i"un along your forearm. which before this you were ignorant about. Your hand begins to swell, from absolute overwork. Still, you are excited and keep at it. You drop your line after a while, having caught in an hour and a half thirty fish, certainly two hundred pounds dead-weight, and now you recognize what really hard work it is; but you enjoy it. Soon a beautiful phenomenon takes place. A soft, downy fog settles on the ocean. You can hear the birds — the gulls — squawk, but can not see them. In the distance you listen to the chat- ter of voices — a laugh — the beating of a tin pan. It is a neighboring craft, though you can not see her. All is quiet and subdued-like. The deck is now fairly littered with fish. They are flapping all around you. Here come haddock tumbling on board. You must have a haddock. You look at your hand, which hurts ; but you try it again, and two haddock come up at every haul. After you have caught a half dozen at three hauls, you remember your hand and give it up. Ah ! what has your neighbor got? He gives a steady pull, and it is all he can do to keep at it. He beckons to a fisherman, who seems to understand what is the matter at once. Tlie captain gives the man his line, and goes for a good stout stick of wood with a strong steel hook in it. Can that be a gaff? Now the fisherman works for ten minutes on that fish, or whatever it is. Maybe he is pull- ing up the sea-bottom ! No ! now, as you look over the taffrail, you see a huge white surface, like a big sheet of paper, coming up. Now it turns, and is black — now it is white. His head is above water. You know now it is a halibut. The captain makes a lunge at him with the hook ; two men get hold of the wood of the gaff, and he is lugged on board ; and for the first time alive (or rather in a comatose condition, for no sooner is he on board, than the handle of the gaff is given him with a heavy blow across the head) you see the Ripjwglossus Americanus. It is a big one, will turn the scales at ninety pounds, and he is a white one, and quite a find. Your captain says: "We catch them occasionally, but they are small, chicken-halibut. This would be a fair halibut for the Georges." A week passes in this sport: You go to your bunk tired out, and sleep as you never slept before. You forget newspapers and books, and are happy because neither letters nor telegraphic dispatches can reach you. If the sport tires you, there are every day craft within call, going to Nantucket or Gloucester or New Bedford, and you can be in New York within ten hours. A TRIP UP THE HUDSON. 45 A TRIP UP THE HUDSON. Day-Boat on the Hudson. THE fault commonly found with American scenery by traveled foreigners is that in its grander aspects, especially in the far West, its wildness is almost terrible, while in its gentler phases its unkempt ruggedness repels the admi- ration whicli its picturesque beauty might other- wise excite. To such criticism, however, the Hudson River is always confessed to be an en- tire and most striking exception. Many, in- deed, are willing to admit that, in varied and picturesque charm, it excels the world-famous Rhine ; and one who has seen both lias not hesitated to record the opinion that " the Rhine is monotonous compared with the Hudson. Its course," he adds, " is winding, but its shores are uniform in character, and the hills are denuded of trees, while the river has not that varying succession of broad ex- panse and narrow pass that gives to the Hud- son a peculiar and untiring charm." Still more emphatic is the testimony of Mr. George William Curtis: "The Danube," he says, "has in part glimpses of sucli grandeur, the Elbe has sometimes such delicately-penciled ef- fects ; but no European river is so lordly in its bearing — none flows in such state to the sea." The surpassing beauty of the Hudson, indeed, cannot be gainsaid; and it is beautiful under any of its aspects. Seen by soft moonlight from one of the spacious "night-boats" whicli ply in sum- mer between the metropolis and Albany, one can hardly resist the conviction that its weird and 46 APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. supernatural charm can not possibly be repeated under the garish light of day ; and yet, to see it ly granted, will endeavor to add to his enjoyment by pointing out, not too obtrusively, the more salient features of the double panorama which will speedily begin to unfold itself. Seated now in our chosen positions, secured by being early on board, we tui-n from the arid defiles of the city streets and the serried ranks of houses; and, looking out upon the broad, pal- pitating river, we remind our companion that he is viewing, perhaps, the most animated harbor- scene in the world. Nowhere, we assure him, can be seen such a picturesque variety of craft, from the huge steamships that link the Old World with the New, down to the snorting, rest- less little tug-boats and the diminutive yachts and pleasure-boats, a unique feature being given to the whole by the uncouth ferry-boats swing- ing irom shore to shore, and the great tows of canal boats and barges. >:^'^ ^' The Palisades and Palisade Mountain-House =^50,'- ■-'a - . to advantage for the first time, the tourist should take one ot the morning-boats, whose sump- tuous appointments go far to justify the epithet of " floating- palaces " so often applied to American liver- craffc. On a midsummer's day, when the great city about to be left behind is panting and reeking in its stifling atmosphere, the cool, aro- matic breath of the river seems to be wafted straight from the "Isles of the Ble>t"; and the umbrageous green of its banks invites eye and mind to serene enjoyments and contemplative repose. Supposing the tourist to have consigned him- self to one of these day-boats, and secured a good position on the forward- deck, whence both shores can be seen at a glance, we will ask permission to accompany him, and, if the permission be kind- ^^'^^'^, % '>:rz For the first few minutes after starting, the western or Jersey shore is decidedly the more interesting. Far down at the mouth of the river A TRIP UP THE HUDSON. 47 are the clustering houses of Jersey City. A little near- er is the village of Hoboken, where the bank rises steep- ly, crested in the fore- ground with the Stevens mansion on Castle Hill. Ad- joining it, on the summit of the heights, are the famed Elysian Fields, which are rapidly losing their elysian character ; and then come the Weehawken liills, at the base of which Burr put a nation in mourning by his murderous duel with Alex- ander Hamilton. The wood- ed quiet of these hills is grateful to the eye after the glare and tumult of the city, but, turning for a moment to the New York shore, we observe with interest the dense lines of piers and warehouses which testify to the presence of one' of the great commercial marts of the world. Even while we look, the scene changes; the houses of the city become more scattered, the attention is caught for a moment by the spacious edifice of the Or- phan Asylum at Manhattan- ville, and then the eye rests with pleasure upon the tree- clad Washington Heights, crowned with the lofty Deaf and Dumb Asylum and cov- ered with the beautiful vil- las of wealthy New-York- ers. Here the city prop- erly ends, though its "le- gal limit " is still far above ; and here the characteristic features of the river scenery may be said to begin. Opposite the Washing- ton Heights, on the other bank of the river, is the pic- turesque promontory still called Fort Lee from its Revolutionary associations, but now completely denuded of its warlike aspects and become one of the most popular pleasure-resorts of the metropolis. At this point begin the Palisades, a continuous wall of nearly perpendicular* cliffs from 300 to 600 feet in height which line the western bank of the rivei* for nearly twenty miles, and form one of the most striking features of its scenery. While the face of the clitis is bare and rugged, the sum- mit is thickly wooded, and consists of a level ta- 48 APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. ble-land, not more than three quarters of a mile wide in some places, separating the Hudson from the Hackensack Valley. About four miles above Fort Lee the Palisade Mountain-House crowns a tall escarpment of the cliff, and here and there cottages and villas peep through the trees of the plateau ; but in general the solitude is unbroken, and the precipice, as viewed from the steamer, looks as lonely and desolate as the cliffs of the Saguenay. After gazing for a time upon this silent pro- cession of cliffs, oue is apt to declare it to be monotonous and forbidding; and yet if we use our eyes to any purpose we are isompelled to admit that, aside from its own wild and austere beauty, it serves as an admirable foil to the soft- er and more civilized scenery of the other shore. The eastern river-bank, indeed, for upward of thirty miles, might fairly be described as a con- tinuous suburb of New York, whose citizens have crested its hills with innumerable villas and cot- tages, and whose wealth has converted its undu- lating and tree-clad slopes into an almost contin- uous panorama of the most exquisitely kept lawns and gardens. Here and there, at frequent inter- vals, the houses cluster into villages and hamlets, and at Yonkers and Tarrytown the dimensions of considerable towns are attained ; but even the towns do not lose the rural and verdurous aspect which pervades the whole, and the largest of them reminds us quite as much of a park as of a city. The first town seen after leaving the city is Riverdale, which is simply a group of elegant mansions without a shop or other common fea- ture to mar its aristocratic exclusiveness. Just above, between it and Yonkers, is Mount St. Vin- cent, from the crest of which the vast, bare Croton Point. building of the convent-school of the Sisters of Charity stares down upon the river. Adjoining this building and completely dwarfed by it is the -quaint castellated stone structure known as " Fonthill," formerly the residence of Edwin For- rest, the tragedian. Although now seen at a disadvantage, it could never have been a very pleasing because incongruous feature of the scene amid which it is placed. Much more attractive, because more obviously harmonious with the life and habits of the people, are the villas and man- sions which occupy every advantageous spot upon the shore in this vicinity, and some of which are really imposing by reason of their size and situa- tion, if not for any special architectural merit. A few miles ahove Yonkers, on the same side, is the pretty town of Hastings-upon-the-Hudson, near which is the stately old Livingston Manor- House, renowned as one of the oldest residences in the valley, as the headquarters for a time of Washington, and as the scene of the ofiicial con- ferences about the British evacuation of New York in 1783. Opposite Hastings, at Indian Head, the Palisades reach their most picturesque point; and a short distance above, at Piermont, where a pier nearly a mile long extends from the west- ern bank into the river, they end, or rather re- cede from the shore and cease to form one of the features of the river-scenery. At this point, too, the river broadens into a noble bay, ten miles long and two to five miles wide, known and re- nowned as the Tappan Zee. As the steamer plows its way toward the mid- dle of this lake-like expanse, the scene on either hand is most beautiful. On the western margin extends a line of undulating, richly-wooded hills, at the foot of which nestles the picturesque town of Nyack. On the eastern shore, which rises by long, receding slopes to the height of two or three hundred feet, are the prosperous villages of A TRIP UP THE HUDSOK 49 Irvington, Tarrytown, and Sing Sing, while costly villas and other residences are excep- tionally numerous on the intervening hills. Just below Irvington, the classic portico of Nevis, the home of the Hamiltons, and the stri- king Cottinet mansion, built of Caen stone in the Renaissance style, are passed. A little above Irvington and near the river, though hidden from view by the dense growth of trees and shrubbery, is Sunnyside, which as the home of Washing- ton Irving has become famous the world over, and which is now one of the classic spots of American literature. Still above and close at hand are the man- sions of Bierstadt, Wil- liam E. Dodge, Cyrus W. Field, and other wealthy citizens of Kew York. Near the shore is seen the tapering tower of Cunningham Castle ; while on a con- spicuous promontory just below Tarrytown is the Paulding Manor, one of the finest speci- mens of the Tudor style of architecture in the country. Tarrytown and its vicinity are perennially interesting from their intimate as- sociation with the life and genius of Irving and with memorable events connected with the Revolutionary struggle. Above Ny- ack, on the western shore, the Palisades come down once more to j ing Sing Sing a fine view is obtained of the mas- the river-edge, and form a high and precipi- ' sive stone buildings composing the famous Peni- tous bluff which bears the name of Verdrietigh ' tentiary. Hook — also called Point-no-Point, owing to its At the upper end of the Tappan Zee the river deceptive appearance, when seen from the river ' narrows sharply, and the vine-clad Croton Point above or below, of a grand headland. In pass- separates the Tappan Zee from Haverstraw Bay, 4 50 APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. which is another lake-like widening of the river, with the village of Haverstraw on its western shore and a long line of white limestone cliffs producing a million bushels of lime every year. As the steamer crosses this beautiful bay, the Highlands begin to loom up boldly in the dis- tance ; and at its upper end, where Verplanck's Point on the east and the historic Stony Point on the west con- tract the river to a comparatively narrow channel, their forms and outlines have be- come quite distinct. We are now at the entrance to the High- lands, and, in face of the scenery which be- gins to present itself, the attention of the tourist will hardly be secured for the Eev- olutionary memories which cling about all this region; even the famous exploit of "Mad" Anthony AVayne in capturing the fort of Stony Point, beld by a su- f perior force, at the I point of the bayonet J and without firing a - shot, will be apt to awaken but a languid interest ; and Peeks- kill will be regarded with a similar apathy, though we assure him that it is one of the prettiest and most romantically situated towns on the Hudson. The very steamer seems to be conscious of the superior inter- est and beauty ot the scenery to which it is approaching, and, turning swiftly into that sudden bend of the river to the west, known as "The Race,'* hastens with eagerness toward the Dunder- berg or Thunder Mountain, whose pre- cipitous front almost overhangs the water on the left, while the loftier peak of Anthony's Nose (1,128 feet high) con- fronts it on the right, and forms the twin out- post of the Highland region on the south. At the base of Dunderberg is a broad and deep stream known as Montgomery Creek, on either side of which in Revolutionary times stood Forts A TRIP UP THE HUDSON. 51 Montgomery and Clin- ton to protect the boom and iron chain which were stretched here across the river in an unsuccessful at- tempt to arrest the progress of the Brit- ish tieet. Just above Dunderberg, near the mouth of the Forest- of-Dean Creek, is the grape-abounding lona Island, a favorite pic- nic resort, three hun- dred acres in extent, and containing exten- sive vineyards. Following the river now in its curve to the northeast, a fine view is obtained on the right of the sym- metrical cone of Sug- ar-Loaf Mountain (865 feet high), at the foot of which, in a small cove, is seen Beverly Dock, and near it Bev- erly House, where the traitorous Benedict Arnold was breakfast- ing when news came to him of Andre's ar- rest, and whence he fled to the British ves- sel anchored in the stream below. From this point also a di' tant view is obtains of the ruins of Fo Putnam, of Revoli tionary fame, crowi ing the heights on tl left, and a short di tance above, also c the left, we come i sight of Buttermi] Falls, descending ovi inclined ledges a di tance of one hundrt^ feet, and forming at times a fine cascade, though the heats of summer are apt to dwindle it to insignificance. On the summit of the cliff" above is the spacious Coz- zens's Hotel, one of tlie favorite summer retreats of pleasure-seeking New-Yorkers. Just beyond Cozzens's, on an elevated plateau in the heart of the Highland Pass, is West Point, / the site of the great military school of the Re- public, and one of the most picturesque spots in America. From the pier where the steamer pauses for a brief interval, all that can be seen is the dusty road liewcd out of the cliff-side, and leading by a gentle grade to the plateau above, where tantalizing glimpses are obtained of spa- 52 APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. clous buildings and grassy slopes ; but, if the tourist should take our urgent advice and stop over for a day or two, he will be suryirised at the romantic charm and varied fascinations of the locality. If so inclined, he can examine into the organization and discipline of the military school ; can see the morning roll-call and the evening dress-parade; can pass a fruitful hour or two in the Library, the Observatory, the Picture-Gal- lery, or the curious Museum of Ordnance and Trophies ; and at tiie proper hours can amuse himself with the cavalry exercises in the Riding Hall. When the interest of these is exhausted, he can wander over the spacious parade-ground, smooth as a lawn, level as a floor, and command- ing at every point novel and beautiful views ; can search out the romantic and sequestered nooks, such as Kosciusko's Garden and Flirtation Walk ; can ascend the winding path to the picturesque Cemetery ; and, by climbing still higher, can ob- tain from the crumbling ramparts of Fort Put- nam a view the memory of which shall remain with him as long as he retains a taste for the grand and beautiful in scenery. If his visit happen to occur at the time of year (July or August) when the cadets are in cantonments, the social gayeties of a summer resort will be added to the other attractions of the place ; and, however exaggerated may have been the praises of West Point that he has heard, he will be apt to admit that the reality surpasses any anticipa- tions they may have raised. As we have already said, West Point is only half-way through 'the Pass of the Highlands, and some of its grandest features, as viewed from the steamer, remain to be seen. Just above West Point, on the same side, is Cro' Nest, one of the loftiest of the Highland group (1,428 feet high), and still above is Storm King (formerly known as "Butter Hill "), which is 1,529 feet high, and the last of the range upon the left. Between Cro' Nest and Storm King, and in the laps of The Catskill Mountains. both, lies the lovely Vale of Tempe ; and oppo- site, on the other side of the river, is the pictu- resque village of Cold Spring, from which a noble view is obtained of the heights across the river. Behind Cold Spring rises the massive granite crown of Mount Taurus, which is a modern euphemism for " Bull Hill " ; and on an elevated plateau a little to the north is Undercliff, the home of the late George P. Morris, the poet and journalist. Immediately above are the jagged precipices of Breakneck Hill, which is 1,187 feet high, and .vhich terminates the range on the east side. Traversing the narrow channels between this height and Storm King opposite, the steamer passes Cornwall Landing, on the west, the most frequented summer resort on the river, with fine scenery and drives above upon the Terrace ; and enters upon tlie broad expanse of Newburgh Bay, whence the view back toward the Highlands is singularly impressive. After the unapproachable beauty of the High- lands, the scenery of the upper river will be apt to seem tame and uninviting ; yet there are por- tions of it which but for the superior glories of the renowned Pass would be expected to arouse the enthusiastic admiration of the beholder. For more than fifty miles above the Highlands, the river-banks on either hand are high and varied, rising here into bold and sweeping hills, and dropping there into gentle, verdure-clad slopes, many of which are still crested with stately villas, while picturesque towns nestle at their base or look down from the sunmiit of the pla- teau. Some of the handsomest and most pop- ulous places along the river are to be found on this portion, such as Newburgh, rising in ter- raced lines on the west side of Newburgh Bay ; Poughkeepsie, the largest city between New York and Albany, built on an elevated plain 200 feet above the river, with a background of high hills ; Fishkill, a pleasant village opposite New- burgh, on the east side of the Bay ; Hyde Park, A TRIP UP THE HUDSON. 53 a high-lying village above PoughkeepMe, nestling amid tree-5, the bn^} com- mercial cities of Rondout and Kingston, lying close to each other on the west shore ; and Rhinebeck Landing, opposite King''- ton, where is the an- ^ , cient Beekman House, nearly two hundred years old, and the best speci- men of an old Dutch homestead to be found in the valley of the Hud- son. Nor is the more dis- tant landscape unworthy of the immediate foreground. Immediately upon leaving the Highlands and entering New- burgh Bay, far away to the west are seen the Shaw an- gunk Mountains, stretching northward in a dim blue line ; while to the northeast are the Matteawan Mountains, the dominating peak of which (the New Beacon) commands a magnificent view, extending even to New York City. Poughkeepsie has been left behind but a few miles when a first glimpse is obtained of the blue peaks of the Cats- kills on the northwest; and from this point to Hudson, a distance of thirty miles, an almost continuous panorama of majestic mountain-sce- nery, to which distance seems only to lend en- chantment, may be enjoyed. Beyond Hudson, which is a flourishing city on the east side, one hundred and fifteen miles from New York, the scenery is flat and monotonous, and nothing demanding notice presents itself until the steeple-crowned heights of Albany announce the approaching termination of a Source of the Hudson. voyage which, if taken for the first time, must prove a memorable event in the life of the traveler. At Troy, six miles above Albany, tide-water ends, and above this the Hudson is a rapid, rocky river, navigable only by sloops and smaller craft. By taking the railway to Glenn's Falls, however, on the road to Lake George, the tourist may see the river again in one of its more picturesque aspects, where, as a brawling mountain-torrent, it rushes in a series of tumultuous rapids and 54 APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. cascades down eighty feet of stony and precipi- tous descent. And if, leaving railways and steamboats far behind, he place himself face to face with Nature in the Adirondacks, there, in the inmost heart of that lonely wilderness, in the stupendous gorge known as the Indian Pass, in whose cold depths the ice of winter never melts entirely away — there, in a crystal spring whose waters trickle waveringly tiirough dim crevices and plash softly on the stones, he will find the " Source of the Hudson." — What a contrast does the vision bring up ! At one end a crys- talline spring where the wolf, the wolverene, the wild-cat, and the panther quench their thirst; at the other, only three hundred miles away, a noble river, bearing upon its opulent bosom the commerce of a continent ! Such is the Hudson; and from one of its extremes to the other the tourist can pass in the space of for- ty-eight hours. THE THOUSAND ISLANDS AS SEEN BY AN ENGLISHMAN. MY wife and I are camping out for a fort- night among the Thousand Islands. Our friend the Colonel has offered us the hosi^itality of his steam-yacht and his hut ; so here we are, on a charming little domain of four hundred yards square, living the primitive life of squaws and braves — fishing, sliooting, boating, swim- ming, and flirting unconscionably — in total ob- livion of Pall Mall or Piccadilly, and ready to fling politics and propriety, like physic, to the dogs. And this is how we have got here : Our friend the Colonel is a compagnon de voy- age, whom we picked up in the Clifton House at Niagara. He does not seem to be a military man, but apparently holds his title as a sort of brevet rank. He lives at Detroit, so he tells us ; and, from hints which various other members of our little party let drop from time to time, I strongly suspect that the Colonel's true vocation lies rather in the dry-goods line. However, our host has plenty of money, a pretty little steam-yacht, and an island of his own among the fiimous thou- sand ; so the only wonder is that he has not long since been elevated into a general or a judge. Handles to one's name go cheap in republican America, and every man with five hundred a year or upward receives honorary promotion as captain or commodore at least. The Colonel is hospitality itself. We wan- dered about Niagarii for a week with him and Mrs. Colonel (such a style of address is de rigveur in transatlantic society) ; and at the end of that short acquaintance the good soul positively in- sisted that we should accompany bis party to tlie Thousand Islands, and become members of a camping-out expedition. For all he knows, we may be bank-swindlers or pickpockets ; nay, worse, he may be introducing into the bosom of Ins family a pair of Englisli runaways, anxious to avail themselves of the easy deliverance afford- ed by the divorce courts of Illinois ; yet he ac- cepts lis unhesitatingly, on our own authority, as mere traveling Britishers on a scientific mission, desirous of seeing as much of America as we con- veniently can in a three months' trip. Upon my word, good, kindly Western brethren, when I be- think me of your warm hearts and your childlike confidence, I feel ashamed of myself for some- times hinting that your voices sound a trifle nasal, and that your manners smack a trifle of the aboriginal backwoodsman. But what and where are the Thousand Isl- ands ? asks my country reader. Now, dear reader, don't be angry because I have found you out. Confess that you have only the very hazi- est notion of where this delightful region may be, and I will confess to you in turn that I had not the slightest idea myself until I came here. Which of us knows anything about geography except by traveling? We have a clear concep- tion as to the whereabout of Paris, and Brus- sels, and Cologne, and Milan, and Naples, be- cause we have all been tliere ; but can you an- swer me whether Delhi is on the Ganges or the Jumna, and whether it lies to the north or to the sonth of Agra? In what State of the Union is Chicago, and on which of the Great Lakes does it stand ? You know yon can't tell me ; and I couldn't have told you three or four years ago. In topographical matters seeing is believing ; for eyes, as good old Herodotus puts it, happen to be better witnesses among men than ears. So allow me first to tell you what and where these Thousand Islands are, and then I shall try to picture for you our life in their midst. Just at the point where Lake Ontario emp- ties its waters into the great river St. Law- rence, a barrier of granite rock bars its course. Through the grooves and depressions in this rock tlie river winds its way by a hundred dif- ferent channels ; while all the higher masses rise above the surface of the water as tiny islets, crowned with brushwood and Canadian pines. Ages ago, during the great glacial period, the ice THE THOUSAND ISLANDS. 55 wore down the summits of these rocky bosses into smooth, rounded domes ; and now they ap- pear upon the river's edge like basking whales or huge elephants' backs. You may trace the markings of the glacier on the scratched and worn granite, just as you may trace it on the roches moidonnees of Swiss valleys, or on the grand slopes of our own Llanberis and Aber- glasllyn. Sometimes the water has washed away the side into a mimic cliff; but, more often, the rounded boss rises in a gentle curve above the blue waves, showing its red seamed structure near the edge, and covered toward its summit by mold, on which grow low bushes or tall and stately trees. Some of the islands are big enough to afford farms for the industrious squatter, who has made himself a title by the simple act of set- tling down bodily on his appropriated realm. Others, however, are mere points of granite, on which a single pine maintains a struggling ex- istence against wave in summer and ice-floe in winter; while not a few consist only of a bare, rocky hog's back, just raised an inch or two above the general level of the water. But the most wonderful point of all is their number. Most people imagine that tlie term "Thousand Islands" is a pardonable poetical exaggeration, covering a prosaic and statistical reality of some fifty or a hundred actual islets. But no, not at all — the popular name really understates the true features of the case. A regular survey re- veals the astonishing fact that no fewer than three thousand of these lovely little fairy-lands stud the blue expanse to which they give their name — the Lake of the Thousand Islands. All day long you may wander in and out among their intricate mazes, gliding round tiny capes, exploring narrow channels, losing your way hopelessly in watery culs-de-sac, and drinking in beauty to your soul's content. Fairy-lands, I called them just now, and fairy-lands they veri- tably seem. Their charm is all their own. I have seen much variety of scenery on this planet of ours, north, south, east, and west; but I never saw anything so unique, so individual, so perfectly sui generis as these Thousand Islands. Not that they are so surpassingly beautiful ; but llieir beauty is so unlike anything that one may see anywhere else. Tiny little islands, placed in tiny little rivers, crowned with tiny little chalets, and navigated by tiny little yachts ; it all re- minds one so tlioroughly of one's childish dream- lands, that I declare I should hardly be surprised to see Queen Mab or Queen Titania step down, wand in hand, to the water's side, and a group of attendant fairies dance around her in a grassy •circle. Among such scenery it is that we glide these delicious summer mornings, disporting ourselves in the Colonel's yacht, and drawing in fresh life with every breath. All the world here seems to own a steam-yacht; indeed, the possession of that costly piece of property appears as neces- sary a mark of respectability among the islands as a chimney-pot or a card in Mayfair. Up and down they go perpetually, snorting defiance from tLieir shrill whistles, with a note whose excessive treble seems to surpass all the resources of acous- tics; saluting without end the endless bunting which waves the stars and stripes from every tent, hut, or cottage with that effusive loyalty peculiar to the great American people ; and get- ting into interminable trouble upon shoals or reefs, fouling, grounding, colliding, but, by the mercy of some special Providence, never cap- sizing. The Colonel brought us here from Kingston, in his own specimen of these quaint little craft, some ten days ago. Kingston stands to the islands in the same relation as Chamouni stands to Mont Blanc or Oban to the Western High- lands. It forms the starting-point, the center, and the rendezvous. To Kingston we came from Niagara and Toronto by steamboat, across the wide waste of Lake Ontario, a shoreless sea, whose low banks form one endless expanse of growing, waving corn. Corn in vast sheets for fifteen miles inland, as the country slopes away upw'ard from the lake-side ; corn in the fore- ground of our voyage, rising up for ever before us as we moved on; corn sinking below the horizon as we looked back over the distance already covered, and shaking its myriad heads in the breeze to the utmost limit that the eye could see. No hedges, no copses, no parks, no trees, nothing but corn, corn, corn, till one be- gins to disbelieve in the possibility of famine, and to wonder where all the millers and bakers will ever come from. The good Canadian farmer — that mild modern Vandal with a tinge of Methodism — has cut down the pine-woods right and left before his utilitarian axe, leaving only a Philistine paradise of agricidtural wealth and prosperity, where every man eats roast beef and plum-pudding under his own vine and fig-tree, while nobody troubles his head about useless trifles like the picturesque and the beautiful. If it be true, as they say, that good Americans, when they die, go to Paris, then I am sure that, by parity of reasoning, the soul of William Cob- bett must be comfortably housed on the dese- crated shores of Lake Ontario. It was delightful after ten or fifteen hours of this monotonous scenery to find ourselves at last in the pretty little open harbor of Kingston. A wooded country stretched around us on every side, while the outliers of the Thousand Islands 56 APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. lay within sight to the south and east. In front, a basking blue stone-built town glowed in the foreground, its roofs all covered with tinned iron, and shining like gold in the morning sun. I could almost fancy myself in the East once more, looking out upon some domed and minareted village of the Bosporus. Building after build- ing of a qaaint, debased American - Byzantine style, propped on pseudo-Doric pillars and sur- mounted by a false Italian dome (wood, tin- plated), stared out upon us boldly, unabashed by its own pretentious absurdity. Incredibly mon- strous they all are, if taken separately — perfect models of the avoidable in architectonic art, which Mr. Ruskin would rejoice to pillory, and Mr. Fergusson would delight in demohshing — yet, looked on in the mass from the water-side, they really compose a pretty and harmonious pic- ture. The effect is much heightened, too, by a few scattered martello-towers, standing straight out of the shallow water, with red-rusted iron roofs, which contrast finely with the sun-gilded domes; while a grim European - looking fort crowns a slight eminence eastward, and spreads its brown-burned glacis down to the water's edge. Altogether, rather a pleasant oasis in the desert of white-and-green American towns; for this quiet old Kingston is no bantling of yesterday, like Buffalo or Toronto, but the lineal descendant of Louis Quatorze's Fort Frontenac, quite an historical city for the New World. Onward from Kingston the Colonel escorted us in perspn on board his aforesaid yacht, the General Jackson, to Mathison Island, his own peculiar domain, some ten miles off, in the very heart of that beautiful miniature archipelago. We reached our destination at six o'clock on a lovely evening. The whole party, some seven gentlemen with as many ladies, were ranged ready to receive us on the landing-place, a rapid- ly shelving granite step, where the water stood ten feet deep close under the shore. Above the rock, a tall white pole bore aloft the inevitable bunting, provocative of a fresh loyal display from every wandering steam-whistle that passes throughout the day. '' Salute the flag ! " says the Colonel, with a military air; and the stoker turns on a hideous blast which stuns our ears like ten thousand claps of thunder. Then the little craft sidles gently against the solid natural pier, and we step lightly out at last on the shore of the Thousand Islands. The ceremony of introduction follows — and oh, what a ceremony ! I almost fear to tell the tale, lest I should be accused of exaggeration. The Colonel takes me by the hand gravely and trots me out in front of the assembled party. " Mr. Doolittle," he says to the eldest of the group in a sepulchral tone, " allow me to present you to Mr. Wilson, a British gentleman now on a scientific visit to America." I bow distantly to Mr. Doolittle, after our European fashion ; but such is evidently not the custom of the country. Mr. Doolittle advances three paces mechanically, as one would advance in a quadrille, grasps my hand firmly, and holds it while he says in the same sepulchral voice: "Mr. Wilson — sir, I am proud to make your acquaintance. Welcome to the Thousand Isl- ands! " Having said which words as a child re- peats its lessons, he drops my hand mechanicallyj and retreats three paces, quadrille-fashion, once more, into the general line. Then the Colonel begins again. Taking the second in age among the gentlemen he observes,, tone and manner as before: "Dr. Koerber, allow me to present you to Mr. Wilson, a British gen- tleman now on a scientific visit to America." Dr. Koerber takes his turn, steps forward his three paces, grasps my hand exactly as Mr. Doo- little had done, and then observes, in precisely the same regulation tone: "Mr. Wilson— sir, I am proud to make your acquaintance. Welcome to the Thousand Islands ! " The hand drops : three paces to the rear again, and Major Greely Robbins comes to take his turn. Through all the seven gentlemen the same pantomime takes place with admirable gravity, and then through all the seven ladies. Mean- while, Mrs. Colonel has taken my wife in hand, and, beginning with the ladies, presents the whole fourteen persons to her with exactly the self-same speeches on either side. Having done which, the party suddenly unbends, becomes natural, and begins to talk like rational creatures, not like highly trained poll-parrots. For my own part, I felt myself blushing fiery red, for a terrible fear possessed me that my wife would misunderstand this ceremonial, and laugh out- right with her hearty, silvery, English laugh. But I learned afterward, when a moment of in- tercomnmnication turned up, that she had been in equal fear lest my gravity should prove un- equal to the occasion: so happily no harm came of it in either case. "You see. Colonel," said Mr. Doolittle, lead- ing the way to the huts, " we have succeeded in erecting the flag of our country since your de- parture." "I observe you have. Sheriff"," answered the Colonel (of course, it was imperative that Mr. Doolittle should possess a title of some sort, and this was apparently the special form which the respect of his fellow-citizens had assumed) — " I observe, and I trust our British friends will en- joy the full freedom and security which that flag never fails to afford." Uttering which senti- ment like a copy-book maxim, the Colonel took THE THOUSAND ISLANDS, The Thousand Islands. 58 APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. us on to inspect the preparations made for our reception. I really often wonder whether these people possess independent minds like our own, or whether, after all, they form a sort of heredi- tary unconscious automaton. Assuredly, camping out is a much more luxu- rious proceeding than the ordinary Britisher could easily conceive. They know how to make them- selves comfortable, do these children of the Great Eepubhc, and their cousins in the Dominion over the way. The " huts " in which we were to house ourselves turn out on closer investigation to be two large and airy rough wooden buildings, look- ing very much like overgrown barns, but pleas- ant enough in their internal arrangements. No glass adorns the empty windows, which are really the etymological wind-doors of our early English ancestors ; but the light and the breeze come through them readily enough, and at night we close them up securely with rough pine-wood shutters against possible bad weather. One of the huts accommodates the male members of the party, who have permanent beds fitted up on the grassy floor; actual feather beds, erect upon four iron legs, with a flexible chain sommier to sup- port them. The second hut, which does duty as dining-room during the day, acts as general la- dies' bedroom at night. Tlie Colonel poetically refers to it as the Bower, but the other men of the party profanely christen it the Hennery. Supper stands on the table at the moment of our arrival, and we are seated in our places be- fore we quite know where we are. The table consists of several long planks, set carelessly on some trestles ; biit a snowy white clotli covers it from end to end ; and pretty common earthen- ware graces it with a homely grace. Simplex munditiis is the motto of the Hennery, and the supper of a surety deserves that higli commenda- tion. There is capital tea from a steaming kettle (the fire still smolders outside), with cream — real cream, for we keep a cow on the island ; there is bread, and there are hot cakes, and fresh white- fish, and ham, and cold beef, and boiled eggs. Above all, there is appetite— healthy, robust appe- tite, the result of abundant air and proper exer- cise. We eat our supper with a will, amid much laughing (a wee bit nasal), much chatting, and no small proportion of wild flirtation. But we are no ascetics, not a man or woman of the company, and we all enjoy a supper, a laugh, and a good flirt, as well as heart can reasonably desire. But, to avoid vain repetition, I had better tell jou at once how we spend a sample day. In the morning, we men are all astir at seven or before, the ladies never rising till half-past seven. We go down to a sequestered spot on one side of the island, shaded by Canadian cedar, and hemmed in by tiny granite cliffs; and here we take our morning dip. The water is deep enough to allow of a delicious header, and so clear that you may see the fifeh scuttling out of your way in alarm as you dive among their astonished shoals. By half-past seven we have all returned to the Club, as we call the men's hut, and have endued our- selves in garments fit for the eyes of womankind. Then, and not till then, the ladies may show themselves, which they promptly proceed to do, and the work of the day begins at once. Into the mystery of the ladies' ablutions I can not proceed — indeed, I have no authenticated accounts upon which to base a veracious history. The Doctor asserts that the ladies have a bathing-place of their own at the opposite end of the island, shel- tered from possible intruders by a canvas screen ; while two chains, set across the narrow channel, prevent the access of " foreign " boats. But how this may be I can not answer from personal ex- perience : I only know that a rope has been fast- ened from tree to tree at the ladies' end, which a law, like that in Tennyson's " Princess," for- bids any man to pass on pain of death : and of course no one of the party has ever at any time laid himself open to capital punishment on this account. In England, the curiosity of the young- er members might lead them to transgress during the small hours of the night, just to settle the problem ; but the self-restraining American, al- ways courtesy embodied where women are in question, would never dream of overstepping the appointed limit. The day's labor begins with lighting the fire and boiling the kettle on a rough hearth of heaped- up stones. That task completed by the men, the housewife community makes the tea and lays the table. Fresh provisions arrive every second day from Alexandra Bay, by yacht, and, more mar- velous still, the mail, including the New York papers. When breakfast has been set, we all fall to, and make short w-ork of the various good things provided for us. Then sentence of ban- ishment is proclaimed against the men, while the Club is cleared out and the beds made. After that performance, tlie excursions of the day are organized, and we separate till two-o'clock din- ner. Sometimes we boat among the surrounding islands, and lose our way among the little chan- nels, only to recover it by some red-painted num- ber, which indicates a special landmark. At other times we improve the commissariat by a catch of rook-bass or speckled trout. Some of us sketch or paint in water-colors; others bot- anize or gather snail-shells ; the Doctor has a mania for butterflies ; while the Major consumes most of his time by lying on his back in the shade, and smoking innumerable cheroots. So in various ways we while away the hours, every man in his Imnior, till two o'clock brings dinner. THE THOUSAND ISLANDS. 59 From dinner to supper passes in much the same manner as from breakfast to dinner, with this difference, that peradventure we work a Httle less and flirt a great deal more. Practical divorce has been imposed on us by the laws of the community, coupled with a kind of Platrmic communism. You stroll off after dinner witli some one of the seven pretty girls or women, to any sequestered nook on the island or one of its neighbors, and there you go through a farce of fishing or sketching, which really serves as a transparent pretense for a downright American flirtation. You lie on your back and discuss everything, nothing, everybody, nobody, philoso- phy, society, and love. Unhappily, the islands are so very small that you invariably find your own wife, with her companion, intervening at the exact moment when you have asked a most telling question, and are gazing with a capital imitation of boyish and poetical ardor into a pair of swimming blue eyes in front of you. But such little contretemps are really the very making of the flirtation. Without them, it might become " quite too awfully real " ; but, as we have all got thoroughly accustomed to surprising one another in the midst of tragi-comical pseuderotic passages, we have learned to regard the whole transaction as a vast and harmless joke, in which nobody means anytbing, and nobody expects to escape being laughed at. Of course, in dear, prudish, tittle-tattling Old England, such freedom would be impossible. In- effable scandals would arise, and become themes for Mrs. Grundy's tea-table throughout the next half-century. But then England, with all her "virtues — and I am one of her most devotedly affectionate sons — can not be acquitted of a ten- dency toward scandal-mongering, like a majestic old Aunt Tabitha as she is. America, on the other hand, is rich in that charity which tliinketh no evil. Roni soit might be just as truly her motto as that of her suspicious mother-country ; and, to say the truth, I think she applies it a great deal better. The self-respect of men and women and the universal chivalrous courtesy sbown to the weaker sex prevent the necessity for all those conventional barriers with which we in England fortify ourselves against Paul Pry and Mrs. Candor. Young ladies receive their own visitors in tlieir private drawing-room, and mamma never dreams of intervening to do pro- priety. Engaged couples start alone to spend a week at some hotel among the Hudson Highlands or the Adirondacks, and no New York society is convulsed by their shocking conduct. The result is that American women, perfectly independent and free in their outward movements, are hedged round by a cordon of self-constraint and self- possession which the boldest Lothario would never venture to transgress. If you want to know what were the emotions of a Greek who felt himself turning into stone under the petrify- ing gaze of the Gorgon Medusa, you have only to watch the freezing glance of an American maiden who fixintly suspects you of a contem- plated incursion beyond that magic and circum- scribed circle. Thus, between love-making, real and pretend- ed — for of course some of our young couples have an eye to serious business, and a camping-out excursion offers splendid opportunities for rig- ging the matrimonial market with little fear of competition — our day passes away pleasantly enough, and six o'clock brings supper. Tea, we should call it at home — the good-old fashioned high tea which still lingers in remote counties ; but the American mind follows the traditions of its Puritan ancestors, and speaks of it by the still older English name of supper. It is interesting to note how the habits of a simple colonial farm- er community still cling about this great, wealthy, thoroughly sophisticated, ultra-civilized mercan- tile people. They dine early almost to a man : and the terrible institution of an early dinner, which might really be substituted for the tread- mill in modern prisons, derives some mitigation among the Islands from the abundance of fresh air which we imbibe between whiles. They sup at six, with a portentous prodigality unknown to older lands. They seldom wear a swallow-tail coat, the decent black frock being considered suflicient for almost any solemnity. And they carry about five hundred minor farmer tinges through all their doings, which survive to mark the creature from which they have developed, just as Mr. Darwin and Professor Huxley tell us that the tips of our ears and the rudimentary caudal appendages of our vertebral column still survive in man to mark our descent from " an arboreal quadrumanous mammal" — Anglice, an ape. After supper comes the delicious coolness of Canadian eventide — Canadian, I say, for, though our island lies on the republican side of the im- aginary boundary, the archipelago as a whole belongs in its geography and its climate to Up- per Canada. We sit in front of the huts, on chairs or sward, and the Doctor strums his violin, while a young man from Skaniateles (orthogra- phy guaranteed) accompanies on the flute, and one or other of tlie nymphs in muslin sings some appropriate verses. The music lingers over the waters, and rings back again from the granite bosses in a dozen dying echoes, each one farther off and fainter than the last. Then the dayliglit fades, the fire-flies begin to glimmer among the cedar-trees, the calm water mirrors back their flashes, the violin and flute subside, a single Eng- 60 APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. lish voice pours out a lower, richer, fuller flood of music, and the heart of man waxes dreamily poetical till all is silent. The shrill whistle of a passing yacht happily intervenes to save us from the approaching wave of sentimentality; and about ten o'clock sees us all turned oft' to our bachelor quarters, where we lie eight or nine in a room as big as a ballroom, and are soon snor- ing at our ease, to begin again the same aim- less, listless, delicious, do-nothing life to-morrow morning. A few more words about the other islands, and then I must quit the little group, perhaps for ever. Now and then we start in the yacht to explore the surrounding channels, and to discover " kings and islands new," like tbe great Eear-Ad- miral Bailey Pip in Mr. Gilbert's masterpiece. For kin;^ abound here as well as kingdoms. Numbers of wealthy New York merchants or Chicago shippers have bought an island, and built upon it a pretty little cottage, sometimes rising to the pretensions of a mansion. Mr. Pullman, the lucky inventor of drawing-room cars, has raised himself a perfect palace in the outward semblance of a chalet, grown out of all recogni- tion, but still retaining the deep eaves and fancy woodwork of its toy-shop original. Many an- other celebrity has displayed his taste (or his want thereof) in ornate buildings, perched upon little rocky knolls, and always surmounted by that ubiquitous square of bunting, which proclaims the aggressive nationality of its loyal possessor. On the whole, most of these cottages are in per- fect harmony with their surroundings, and add to the picture rather than detract from it. In- deed, the Americans, who generally fail with an absolute magnificence of failure in the higher walks of architecture, have considerable taste in domestic buildings, while in landscape gardening and the laying out of parks or ornamental grounds it must be at once conceded that they "whip creation." Every one of these island realms has its own landing-place, often a regular pier, where the yacht lies moored during the greater part of the day. The little craft bring down their masters at the beginning of the season, and carry them about during tbe summer montlis in search of the picturesque. The cottages are furnished in true American style, with aatin, mirrors, and gilding ; and they contain a company during the season not unlike that of an English coimtry-house, ac- cent and manners always excepted. Other islands, hke the Colonel's, belong to mere campers-ont, who prefer to rough it in sim- pler style. Even these, however, as will have been seen already, are far from devoid of tbe lux- uries of life; and I must say my first feeling was one of disappointment when I found pdte de foie gras and champagne included in the bill of fare. Civilization pursues us nowadays, as Hor- ace used to tell us black care pursued the wealthy, till at last we are reading English scientific week- lies, twelve days after publication, in a summer camp among the Thousand Islands. Here and there, however, we come upon some more genuine campers, in the shape of a young men's party, who have appropriated an unoccu- pied island for the nonce, and are really living under canvas. These hearty young fellows turn out as a rule to be Canadian students or military cadets, for the true Yankee loves civilization too well to forego roof or bed, except upon dire ne- cessity thereto prevailing. Your genuine camper also lives largely on the spoils of liis gun and his rod, often taking with him no more than a bag of Indian meal, which he kneads into damper with water from the river, and bakes rudely upon a flat stone. But, alas, luxuria armis scevior incu- buit; and I fear me that the honest Canadian stripling himself has begun to indulge in tinned provisions, while I can assert from personal ex- perience that brandy-and-soda is no unknown beverage, even under primitive canvas. When the first Japanese ambassadors came to Europe in quest of civilization, they were duly regaled at the Mansion House with a civic banquet. As the interpreter's glass was filled again and again with bubbling Veuve Clicquot, that excellent functionary exclaimed many times with much fervor, "How I do like civilization! " Japan is not the only country, apparently, which is ready to accept the precious boon in the same limited sense. One other island positively claims attention from its local coloring, its perfect raciness of American feeling. A good many hotels line the shores of the little archipelago, but for many years no island had been specially set apart for religious services. At length, an enterprising body set on foot the notion of a permanent camp- meeting. No sooner said than done. Wells Isl- and was opened for the purpose ; a meeting- house was built, a landing-place was provided, and appropriate services were devised. The en- terprise proved an enormous success. Numbers of good souls, who regarded picnics as worldly and camping out as little short of sinful, accepted the invitation to visit the islands for prayer- meetings and missionary sermons. You hire "a location " on Wells Island for the season just as you rent a pew in church. Steamers call at the landing-stage on their voyages up or down; the good people disembark, while the less good go on to livelier shores; and nowadays Wells Island does a roaring trade, from spring to autumn, in spiritual consolations and material provisions, not including alcoholic stimulants. The whole no- THE BIRDS OF THE BROOKSIDE. 61 tion is deliciously redolent of American charac- ter, with its quaint and shrewd mixture of godli- ness and money-making. As a parting word, let me say to all readers, if you are tired of that eternal round — Cologne, the Rhine, Switzerland, the Italian lakes, Rome, Paris, and London — why not run across the At- lantic? And, if you run across and can spare a week or so in the sultry summer weather, be sure you don't forget to try the Thousand Islands. You must be a very difficult fellow to please if you don't thank me heartily for the hint on your return. THE BIRDS OF THE BROOKSIDE. By Ernest Ingersoll. aj rpHE pleasantest of JL all my walks leads me along the banks of a rural stream, where ani- mals of the land and air and water make each other's acquaint- ance. The brook comes down from the hills, meanders through the meadow fringed with trees, darts under the rude bridge where the road crosses, and goes gur- gling on through depth and shallow, here lost among the reeds of a marsh, there running the gantlet of the old mill-wheel, until the cover of the deep woods is reached, and it can afford to saunter slowly under the quiet shade of the elms and sycamores. I am impelled to seek its banks by the same constant instinct which led Thoreau always to walk toward the southwest. He thought this inscrutable impulse in him was a part of the settled migratory instinct of tlie race, insisting on national and individual progress west- ward. But the avenues of entrance to new continents have always been by its rivers, so it may be that my impulse, also, is owing to the prevailing tendency of humanity ; yet I only think of it, if I consider it at all, as the quickest way of with- drawing into the wilderness. A walk along the edge of a stream in the country, following all its curves, stepping from stone to stone in its shallow bed, or better yet its navigation, furnish sensations akin to those felt by original explorers. The border of rushes, shrubbery, and trees shuts out the civiUzed land- scape, the sounds of distant industry are lost in the near prattle of tlie water, and the vista is as primitive and wild as when no keel but that of the birch canoe had cleft its waters. There are the hope and exhilaration of discovery in round- ing every bend. In the course of a mile along such a stream you may study the whole of geography: on either hand are continents; the stream is an ocean, or inland sea, or river, or brook, as your fancy dictates; the hills form & terra incognita where are the hidden sources of this Nile; the mill and bridge are the towns of its world, the meadow and pasture the plains and highlands by which it passes; it has islands and peninsulas and isthmuses, capes, promontories, and reefs. The teacher of the district school at the cross- roads can plant a firmer lesson in the restless 62 APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. young minds under her charge, by an afternoon's stroll along this stream, than by a month's study of atlases and definitions. Thither goes the ornithologist on sweet June mornings when the spring torrent has subsided, and the dogwood is launching its large petals on the brook. The long-roll of the kingfisher sum- mons him, and he finds a gay company of birds hardly to be met with elsewhere. As I follow the path where the cows go down by the side of the bridge to drink, a little Qua- ker-dressed object shoots past my face, and I stoop under the old timbers and look for the home of THE PHCEBE-BIRD. Here it is, plastered on the shelving upper side of this unbarked and dusty beam, so close underneath the planks that the bird can only squeeze in — a vvonderfully pretty and modest nest! It is shaped like a very thick half-bowl, or the quarter of a citron, cut lengthwise, made of mud mixed with moss to give it greater strengtl), and is fastened up by its broken edges ; or like one of the little basins for holy- water built against the pillars at the entrances of cathedrals. It ia green with moss on the outside, and lined ■ with hair within. The phoebes build nowadays under bridges more than anywhere else, and are known only as "bridge pewees" in many sec- ] tions, but in unsettled regions they plaster their ' bracketed homes upon the sunny side of a cliff, in a cave, or even against the upturned roots of a fallen tree in the woods. Sometimes the j phoebes save labor by building upon the flat sur- i face of a rocky ledge, where they only need raise a rim of mud round the bed upon which the eggs lie to keep them from rolling off their bed | of hair. So pleased with this economy were one family of phoebes I knew of that they returned j to the same ledge three summers in succession. Mr. Minot tells a remarkable story of a pair, which, being behindhand in their work, con- structed two nests side by side on a beam in a shed, and, as soon as one set of eggs was hatched, the female immediately began to lay a second set in the other nest, while the male fed the first brood. If undisturbed, they seem always to re- turn year after year to their old quarters, getting back among the earliest in the spring, and some- times raise three broods in the season. The phtTcbe {Sayornis fuscus) has several small relations belonging to the family of ti-ue fly-catchers, which are much like it and each other in appearance, but vary curiously in their architecture, although all agree pretty closely in respect to their pointed, creamy eggs, sparsely spotted with lavender and deep crimson. Look at the nest of the wood pewee. The bird is nearly as large as the phoebe, yet its ex- quisite structure is not one quarter the size of that bird's. It is balanced upon the upper side of an horizontal branch, often of an apple-tree, and seems merely an excrescence upon the bark ; for, while the inside of the nest is padded with the downy blossoms of the cottonwood, the out- side is veneered with silver-gray lichens. It is just such a nest as the humming-bird's, and looks as though it grew there. Now, a still smaller brother, the green - crested or Acadian pewee, does not take all this trouble, but in the remote beech- woods gets together a few long straws, out of which he weaves a shallow cradle across the fork of some low, drooping branch. These two, however, do not nest before the last week in May, at least, by which time the phoebe is feeding her young. While I am under the bridge looking at her snug home with its furniture of wood lichens and household of eggs, the mother-bird perches upon the railing of the bridge, nervously flirting her tail, and watches me, anxious lest all her treasures are to be lost, or at least lest she shall not be permitted to return until her eggs have grown so cold that all her warmth will not re- suscitate them. As I move away I see her joined by her twittering mate, and watch them as they survey the premises, clinging to the edge of the nest with clinching talons and whirring wings, and I fancy I understand their rejoicings as she settles carefully upon the shining eggs, and the loving husband darts after a gnat. The olive-green bird is so near the color of the deadened moss of which her couch is com- posed that she hardly needs the cover of the bridge-planks or the shelter of a cave to keep her from the eyes of hawks. It is a beautiful example of the protection afforded to most small birds by the tints of their plumage assimilating them with surrounding objects, and thus making them al- most invisible. I have frequently discovered one of these nests against a vine-trellised cliff, and, removing my eyes from it for an instant, have had to search long and sharply before I could recover the sight of it; the bird meanwhile re- maining absolutely still, as though well aware that the smallest movement might betray her presence. " The rock seemed to love the nest and to claim it as its own," I said. " What a les- son in architecture is here ! Here is a house that was built, but with such loving care and such beautiful adaptation of the means to the end that it looks like a product of nature. The same wise economy is noticeable in the nests of all birds. No bird paints its house white or red, or adds aught for show." The color of the lower parts of the phoebe-bird THE BIRDS OF THE BROOKSIDE. 63 is dull yellowish-white mixed with brown on the chin and sometimes across the breast ; the tail is brown, with the outer edge of the outer feathers white; the brown wing-feathers are edged with white, and the bill and feet are black. On the Pacific coast our phoebe-bird is re- placed by a brother — the black pewee — whose habits are almost precisely similar, and which is equally dear to all philornians. Just below the bridge, where there is a sharp bend, the brook cuts through a high bank, and, by eating it away at high water, keeps the face of the cutting bare and vertical. Approaching this bank I rarely fail being roused from my reverie by a sudden splash and noisy cry, and raise my eyes to catch a silvery gleam as of sun- light ilashing from a spear-point. It is the suc- cessful dive, and the triumpliant shout, and the glistening prey of THE KINGFISHER. We all know him with his jaunty crest and blue waistcoat, and admire him, too, as he shakes the bright drops from his plumage, and looks sharply down from some high sycamore ready for a new victim. Woe to the luckless fish who swims under the range of his piercing eye ! He is a diver who brings up living pearls. The design of much of classic mythology seems to have been to account for the appear- ance of favorite animals upon the earth. Promi- nent among these myths, and one of the most beautiful, is the touching story of Halcyone, the fond wife, who, awaiting the return of her hus- band from his long voyage, one day beholds his dead body tossing in the surf. Overwhelmed with grief she springs to snatch him from the sea, but ere she touches the water is changed into a kingfisher, and with her husband, alike transformed, she floats away over the billows. Many a time after are they seen resting upon old Ocean's bosom ; and, whatever the violence of the storm, around their buoyant nest the sea is always tranquil. What wonder that mariners protected and venerated Halcyone, the king- fisher, and that even yet we call serene, peaceful seasons halcyon days ? But for these old fables we have little room. Over the winds and waves the humble Ceryle alcyon of our day has no control. " Its nest is neither constructed of glue nor fish-bones, but of loose grass and a few feathers; it is not thrown on the surface of the water to float about, but snugly secured from the winds and the weather in the recesses of the earth. Neither is its head or its feathers believed, even by the most illiter- ate of our clowns or seamen, to be a charm for love, a protection against witchcraft, or a security for fair weather. It is neither venerated like the kingfishers of the Society Isles, nor dreaded like those of some other countries; but is considered merely as a bird that feeds on fish, is generally fat, relished by some as good eating, and is now and then exposed for sale in our markets." Thus prosaically the usually poetic Wilson brings us back from romance to reality, and cau- tions against anything 'but facts! The belted kingfisher ranges from the Rio Grande to Labrador, but everywhere is more conspicuous than abundant. In the northern portions of the Union he is migratory, flying away to the South on the approach of winter, and returning by easy stages in the spring as fast as the ice thaws in the rivers. Yet he does not altogether follow the river-courses, but often wings his way straight across the country thirty or forty miles, his flight consisting of a series of six or seven slopes, followed by a long slide on motionless wings. Thus progressing he reaches us by the first of April in ordinary seasons, and loses but little time before pairing. A mate is soon found, and together they seek out a soft, steep bank, usually near the water, where they dig a straight, sometimes winding, hole, three or four inches in diameter, and from four to ten feet in depth, near the enlarged extremity of which a little carpeting of loose grass and feathers, if anything at all, constitutes the nest. (It is the English species that makes a nest of fish-bones.) Both sexes work with bill and feet at this burrow, "turn and turn about," and progress so fast that, if the bank be of soft sand, the hole is sometimes completed in twenty-four hours. Then the eggs are laid, one a day. until there are six or seven, nearly round and crystal white. Should the nest be robbed, the parents will again and again renew their labor; and it is their custom to return year after year to the same bank to breed. They live almost or quite exclusively on fishes, plunging after them in a swift, curved line from some dead limb over the water, and flying off with their prey to their perch, or to the entrance of their nest, before eating it. The fish is swal- lowed whole, and after digestion the hard parts are disgorged. When the young are in the nest they are fed mainly at night, and, as each capture is heralded by the loud r-r-r-r — rallying-cry of the parent, this peculiar and stirring sound, which Wilson aptly likened to a watchman's rattle, is more often heard after dark than during the day. How keen must be the vision distinguishing fishes in the water at midnight, and how sure tlie aim which can catch them through the gloom! The kingfisher seems to me to be a wonder- fully capable, self-reliant bird. He shows it in his erect, vigilant attitude and brave crest. He knows he is the King-fisher, and is proud of his skill. He holds up his head like a soldier, and 64 APPLETONS' SUMMEE BOOK. the crest on his cap and the broad red band across his breast are his regaha. Knowing he can take care of himself, he defies, is solitary, taciturn, and exclusive. It is rare to see two pairs within a mile of each other, and it may be because each feels no need of the other's com- pany. The dashing torrents he loves are conge- nial to his heroic nature, notwithstanding the reputation of his mythical ancestors, who may yet be patrolling the blue iEgean. Opposite this crescentic bluff where the bank- swallows and kingfishers breed, is a broad grav- elly beach which, during spring freshets, is in- undated, as is shown by the muddy drift-wood entangled in the lower branches of the willows and alders. Whenever I come here my ears are saluted with a soft, little bird- squeal — pee-iceet, weet, weet, and a tiny object scuds ofl:' on swift, slender feet, or gray wings, trailing downward from its body as though broken, carry it away in a circuitous sweep, just skimming the surface of the water. This can only be THE SPOTTED SANDPIPER. He is another independent little fellow, scut- tling, in his ridiculous way, from the tropics to the Arctic Zone and back every year. Unlike most of its allies, this species is not confined to the seashore nor does it congregate in flocks, bat spreads all over the country, following those nat- ural paths — the rivers — until adventurous ones reach even Alaska and Labrador, scale the sides of the Rocky Mountains, and make their nests in the fens far north of Lake Superior. Meanwhile thousands, less energetic or more economical of time and strength, stay with us in every State, and, in the southern portions of the Union, suc- ceed in raising two families before being warned by comrades returning from the North that win- ter is at their heels. It breeds as abundantly in the depths of the Maine forests as on the low, sandy islands, or in the marshes by our seacoast. The female, about the first week in April, scratches a hollow in the sandy earth by some pond, or sometimes in a corn-field or orchard, lining it with a few pieces of straw or moss, and lays four eggs, which she adjusts with their small ends together in the mid- dle of the nest ; these eggs are usually abruptly pyriform, sometimes a little lengthened, are clay- color, marked with blotches and spots of umber and sienna, thickest at the greater end, where tbey are sometimes confluent, and measure about one and a tliird inch in length by one inch in width. Its nest presents so little to catch the eye that you may look long and not discover that it is close to your feet. The young appear during the first days of June, and run about with won- derful speed as soon as they leave the shell, be- ing covered with down of a dull-gray, marked with a single streak of black down the back, and another behind each ear. Their cry is weak and plaintive. The parents are greatly distressed on the approach of any person to their nest, and ex- ert themselves by counterfeiting lameness and hy other frantic movements to lead the intruder away and prevent its exposure. Mr. William Bartram — America's White of Selborne — told Wilson a pleasant story of how he saw one of tbese sandpipers defend her young against the attacks of a ground-squirrel — though it seems to me that it is not the ordinary habit of chipmunks to attempt to devour young birds : "The scene of action was on the river-shore. The parent had thrown herself, with her two young behind her, between them and the land ; and, at every attempt of the squirrel to seize them, by a circuitous sweep raised both her wings into an almost perpendicular position, assuming the most formidable appearance she was capable of, and rushed forward on the squirrel, who, intimi- dated by her boldness and manner, instantly re- treated ; but, frequently returning, was met as before, in front and on flank, by the daring and affectionate bird, who, with her wings and whole plumage bristling up, seemed swelled to twice her usual size. Her young crowded together behind her, apparently sensible of their perilous situation, moving backward and forward as she advanced or retreated. This interesting scene lasted for at least ten minutes ; the strength of the poor parent began evidently to flag, and the attacks of the squirrel became more daring and frequent, when my good friend, like one of those celestial agents who in Homer's time so often decided the palm of victory, stepped forward fi'om his retreat, drove the assailant back to his hole, and rescued the innocent from destruction." This bird is not uncommonly found also in western Europe, and winters in Central and South America and the West Indies, whither it departs in October. The spotted sandpiper is small — about seven and a half inches long — but has a straight, slen- der bill an inch in length, and grooved on each side; the legs and toes are reddish-yellow a,nd rather long, the outer toe connected with the middle one by a large membrane. The color of the upper parts is brownish-green, with a some- what metallic or bronzed luster, and numerous lines, arrow-heads, and spots of brownish-black, also lustrous ; the under parts, and a line over the eye, white, with numerous circular and oval spots of brownish-black, largest on the abdomen ; wings greenish-brown, crossed by a narrow bar of white ; outer feathers of the tail tipped with THE BIEDS OF THE BEOOKSIDE. 65 -white, and barred Avitli black. Its systematic name is Tringoides macularius. Following- the windings of the growing stream down below the meadows to the woods, where it prowls about the bare roots of old trees, and plunges over a rocky bottom between banks cov- ered to the water's edge with thickets and fern- brakes, we are pretty sure to find one or two little birds that rarely leave such sequestered spots. These are the two cousins of the oven- bird— THE WATEE-TIIRUSHES OR WAGTAILS. Very pleasant little folks to know are both of them, although it is not at all easy to make their acquaintance, since they are shy of being watched, and hide themselves in the most out-of-the-way places, but always in the close vicinity of the water. The small-billed or New York wagtail — for water-thrusli is an incorrect and, conse- quently, a bad name — is not uncommon in the northern parts of the United States through the summer, while it slowly moves in the winter to the Gulf coast and the West Indies. The large- billed, or Louisiana wagtail, on the contrary, is best known at the South, where in summer it extends noi-thward to southern Illinois in the West and to Connecticut in the East. Each finds its food in the insects and their young which live among the wet leaves and rank weeds flourishing along river-banks, and in those aquat- ic species that cling to stones in the bottom of the stream. On land they have a graceful, glid- ing walk, not hopping, as do most woodland birds. Both are very fine singers — the finest of all the warblers. The small-billed does not seem to liave its full share of credit as a vocalist on account of its modesty, and the fact that its songs are all of love to its mate, seeming never to be wasted on any other occasion than wooing, although then often continued into a moonlit serenade. An enthusiastic writer describes this song as beginning with a startling outburst of melody, clear and ringing, as if surprised by a sudden joy, after which it keeps falling until you can hardly hear it; the strong tones are yet very sweet. But, if you want to see the little min- strel, you must go carefully in a boat to near the place where he secretes himself with his mate. The large-billed is more prodigal of liis music and not quite so cautious about listeners. In the picturesque little "runs" — ''trout-brooks" in New England — that find their way down the tangled ravines between the lofty hills of West Virginia, I used often to come upon them, and, by ordinary caution, could easily watch them at work or play or when singing. They seemed to choose to loiter about the pebbly shallows just a,bove the cataract, where they could jump from 5 stone to stone, or run along the drifted logs, rather than to retreat to the dark brakes beloved of the small-billed wagtail. They were never still a minute. Even when standing they seemed to stand unsteadily on their legs, as if their thin, transparent tarsi were too weak to hold them, and were incessantly jerking and " wagging " their tails, not depressing them as the pevvees do, but flirting them in a nervous way. The large-bill's song is uttered while the bird stands on some log or stone — for it rarely alights upon a branch — and is full of fire and bright melody, yet it is hardly so accomplished a musical per- formance as that of his brother. If he gets the idea that he is wanted to grace your cabinet, he vents his indignation in a little chich like the noise made '' by striking two pebbles together," and is off to some secure retreat in a twinkling. "Come upon him suddenly, however, as he is running nimbly along the margin of some great pool or rippling eddy, and at times he will seem to pay little 'regard to your presence, and you may have a fine chance to observe his motions and sandpiper-like ways as he wades knee-deep into the water, or splashes through it in hot pur- suit of some aquatic insect." Thus pleasantly writes AVilliam Brewster, with whom it was ray privilege to climb those rugged W^est Virginia hills and thread those charming valleys in search of feathered friends. All three members of this genus are aptly called oven-birds, because of the covered, oven- like nests which they build upon the ground. That of the common golden-crowned wagtail is well known to all of us. The northern home of the small-billed is very similar, except that it usually builds beneath a pile of drift or some such object, and so saves itself the trouble of putting a roof over its nest. In the dense cedar- swamps of Maine an excavation is often made under a decaying log, and a warm bed of firmly woven mosses and soft fibrous materials is tucked into it. Could one imagine a snugger resting- place for the red-spotted eggs ? Although the Louisiana wagtails were so com- mon in West Virginia, we never found one of their nests ; but it was my good luck to discover its home near Norwich, Connecticut, where it is very rare, and very much farther northeast than it had ever before been known to breed. I was walking up the bed of the Yantic Kiver one day in the latter part of June, stepping from stone to stone, and searching the overhanging branches for nests, when a little bird I did not at once recognize darted from under the roots of a beech-tree growing on the sheer edge of the steep bank, and flew straight away, uttering alarmed chirrups. Feeling interested, I concealed myself near by and patiently waited, confident that the 66 APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. strange bird would, return. In twenty minutes I was rewarded by its reappearance, and then I saw, with delight, that it was a female large-billed wagtail, and that she had her home under the roots of the beech ; but she seemed to have for- gotten all about the disturbance, and to be in no haste whatever to resume her sitting. By these signs I concluded that her eggs were fresh, for when she is driven off during the latter days of incubation she rolls and tumbles about, uttering piteous cries to attract your pursuit. When at length she disclosed its position, I found the nest sunk behind a cushion of moss and into the rot- ten wood among the roots in such a manner that it was covered over completely. It was rather loosely and carelessly construct- ed of fine grass and some dead, fibrous moss ; but, beneath and about the outside, particularly in front, many dead leaves were put as a sort of breastwork, the more thoroughly to conceal the sitting bird. It was a typical nest, except that often it is more conspicuously placed. The four eggs were of a beautiful rosy tint (becoming pure white after being blown), and were profusely spotted all over with dots, specks, and obscure zigzaggings, of two tints of reddish-brown and faint lilac, the spots being most crowded at the large end. The female is said to sit fourteen days, and when ten days old the young leave the nest and follow the mother about until they are able to fly. In order to distinguish these two species apart, and from the golden-crown (Seiurus auro- ca2nllus), a somewhat minute description of each will be necessary. The small-billed wagtail (Semrus noveboracen- sis) is six and one fifth inches in length, with the bill about as long as the skull. The plumage above is olive-brown, with a shade of green ; be- neath, sulplmr-yellow, brightest on the abdomen. There is a brownish-yellow line over the eye, a dusky line from the biU through it, and the throat and chin are finely spotted. All the re- maining under parts, except the abdomen and sides of the body, are thickly streaked with oli- vaceous brown, almost black on the breast. The large-billed wagtail (Seiurus ludoviei- anus) is slightly larger than the other, and its bill is longer than the skull. The upper parts are olive-brown, with a greenish shade ; under parts white, with a very faint tinge of pale buff behind. There is a conspicuous white line over the eye, a brown one though widening behind, and a dusky line backward from the mouth along the side of the throat ; the fore part of the breast and sides of the body are covered with brownish arrow-shaped streaks, but the chin, throat, belly, and vent are unspotted. VACATIONS IN COLORADO. By William H. Rideing. WE can feel for him who has but one vaca- tion in a whole year, and who has that spoiled by inclemency of weather or the iniquity of hotel-keepers and guides. But the vacation tourist is usually egotistically exacting, and is dissatisfied if his choice of a resort is not most felicitous, or the time which he chooses does not prove the very best of the year. If he should hap- pen to strike continuous cold or rain, never after- ward is he willing to believe that the climate is not persistently wet or bleak. He may not flatly contradict you if you describe a different expe- rience, but there is a dubiousness in the smile with which he listens that is more provokingly negative than any explicit denial. There are some who will tell you. supposing that you have not been there, that, in order to conceive the sensations of life in Colorado, you must rub yourself and your clothing with brick- dust; that you must imagine your lips cracked and hands blistered and teeth for ever on edge ; that, if you are susceptible to the despondent moods of nature, you must be in heart-breaking gloom from the unspeakable influence of the vast gray peaks; that, if you associate with coal- heavers and oyster-openers, and never take a bath, and never feel cheerful, you will have the usual " first impressions " of a tourist in Colorado. But, though all this is so obviously extrava- gant, it is entertained by some who are not or- dinarily violent, and whose prejudices are based on the discrepancy between too brilliant antici- pations and imperfect fruition. Let us confess ourselves. We believe in Colorado — in the sa- lubrity of its air and the ennobling expansiveness of its influence, in the wonderful beauty of its mountains and the healing balsam of its pines. But we can understand the inimical position of one who at the end of twenty-four hours on the plains between Omaha and Cheyenne finds him- self deposited in that arid little offspring of civil- ization while a searching wind is shrieking from the mountains, which are concealed in a whirling dust; who, as he travels southward to Denver and gazes disconsolately upon the fallow undula- tions of land without verdure, is told that this VACATIONS IN COLORADO. 6Y A Glimpse of Denver. is Colorado, and that the deep wall of blue occa- sionally visible in the west is that range which he has heard of from childhood with the greatest veneration ; who lands in Denver when the streets are ribbed by sand like the seashore, and the air is so parched that a wet handkerchief flung in it becomes dry in a few moments ; who is sensitive to the brusqueness of some of the people with whom he has to deal, and whose pfirse is not so plethoric that he can endure every demand upon it without wincing; who limits his excursions to the foot-hills and Monument Park, without learn- ing the grandeur of the peaks, and who is pur- sued during all his sojourn by the dust. We can 68 APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. Monument Park. understand how, as the clovered pastures and waving corn-fields of Kansas and Iowa are being traversed in the homeward journey, he looks back in contrast to the ashy grasses and loose soil of Colorado, and proclaims that sand-paper and pul- verized bath-brick well applied to the clothing and skin will give a fair idea of what it feels like to be out there. Sometimes the wind and dust are unpleasant in Colorado; the air is bleak, and the whole eifect of the scenery is dispiriting. Such a " spell " of weather to one who has read of the country as a paradise — who is nervous, iras- cible, and unprei)ared to wait for a change — jus- tifies the expression of disap|)ointment if it does not sanction the inimical generalizations we have alluded to. We remember to have been in Den- ver when it has seemed that any place in the world, under any condition, would be preferable. But there are days in Colorado when the air is like wine in its exhilarativeness, and when all that is bitter in the world is lifted olf the mind by the pure exuberance of Na- ture — days wheB a quick gladness dances in the eyes of the ail- ing, and all beings re- spond to the vitalizing influence, and feel a strength that makes idleness insupportable. It is no dolcefar niente — the pleasure is in movement and exer- tion ; and he who would in other climates care little or nothing for pedestrianism feels a tremendous longing to stride out toward one of the distant and de- fiant peaks. There are days, also, of trailing mist which play hide- and - seek with the mountains, and which bring out upon them new wonders of shade and shine, and days of that marvelous lucidity which accentuates ev- ery notch in the out- lines and every knoll on the slopes. The nights are more spa- cious and luminous than any nights we know of elsewhere, and the sun- sets have a passion and a splendor that are on- ly rivaled by those of the mid-ocean. Let us not forget, either, the Alpine lakes in the re- gions of perpetual snow where the ice melts ev- ery morning in midsummer, and where flowers of the most delicate hue and form lift themselves out of the white and arctic imprisonment; or those still glens high above tiie plain, tlirough the arching branches of whose foliage dim glimpses are had of a deep country below, between which and us are insurmountable cliflfs; or the meUow- eolored thickets of cottonwoods whose every leaf seems dancing at the faintest breath of air. No ; Colorado is not a i)aradise, nor could it seem so even to a select party traveling in a spe- cial'director's car, with a commissary attached, and carte hlanche as to time and speed. It em- braces among its features absolute sterility and unloveliness ; the winds on the foot-hills and plains are apt to be mistaken for fogs from the quantity of dust they carry with them ; but we who have traveled beyond the beaten path know VACATIONS IN COLORADO. 69 that Colorado is not only a revelation to him who can enter into the subtiler moods of Nature, but that it has attractions in a bracing climate, and the simple charms of wood, valley, ravine, and mountain. Pleasure is to be commanded, and he who is defeated in his search for it may charge his discomfiture to his own lack of re- source. Come to Colorado prepared for wind, and well supplied with glycerine ; come, not ex- pecting the menu or attendance of a fashionable club ; come to be content, and then you shall not go away disappointed. We have already briefly indicated some of the specific charms, and we may now look at them in detail. First, there is the journey over the Plains by the Union Pacific Railway from Omaha, or by either the Atchison, Topeka and Sante Fe, or the Kansas Pacific from Kansas City. The merits of the three are about even, and we should advise the tourist to go by the Union and return by the Kansas Pacific or At- chison, though the scenery on each is singularly alike. To the traveler who has never been west of the Missouri before, the departure is quite a different thing from leaving Boston or New York for Chicago or St. Louis. He has an awe-inspiring sense of approaching the remote and un- known. There is only one through train each day, and the ultimate destination of that train is the misty shore of the Pacific, a point between which and Omaha there are one hundred and twenty hours of continuous travel. The -^^ train itself has an imposing large- S^~- ness and dignity — an extraordi- ;^ nary number of mail and express '~- - cars and sleepers. It is the busi- ness of the day to dispatch it. ^ ^^ The " overland," as it is called, is no common conveyance, and the old-fashioned sentiment of leave-taking is touched as it pon- derously sweeps out of the de- pot. Whether we travel by the Union Pacific through Nebraska or the Kansas Pacific through Kansas, the first few hundred miles out present the same fea- tures of a teeming and developing agricultural country, with a great- er activity of labor and luxuri- ance of woodland in the latter than in the former. There are a breeziness and an extent of ho- rizon, a massiveness of cloud- forms, and withal a brilliance of light, that in some indefinite way force upon us the recognition of an uncrowded, abundant land, and an atmosphere tor men to thrive in. But, before evening, the verdant farm- lands are succeeded by the Plains, which are the same whether seen from the Union Pacific, the Kansas Pacific, or the Atchison. Billow follows billow of land, the prevailing color of which is a yellowish-green, jeweled with patches of wild verbena. Occasionally the land sinks into a ba- sin surrounded by hogs' -backs, a form of rock which has a steep and rough escarpment on one side, and on the other side slopes off" by easy gradations to the level. But no great elevation is visible to convey an idea of space by contrast, and the impression received by the spectator is one of contraction rather than immensity. At intervals of between ten and twenty miles, a red tank, with a creaking windmill, marks a water- station, and, still farther apart, some white little towns, with names suggestive of frontier life, tell a story, to which the mendicant In- dians crowding the depots are a graphic anti- thesis. Between the towns the plains rise and fall, keeping the traveler's interest only half- awake by prairie-dog villages and small herds Tower of Babel, Garden of the Gods. 70 APPLETONS' SUMMER BOOK. of antelope. The buffaloes have entirely disap- peared. From the novel but tedious landscape we are glad to turn to our fellow passengers, who dis- card the formalities of conventional life, and are quick to make acquaintance with one another. Notes are compared and plans are broached. As the sun leaves the vast land " which few behold- ing understand," as a Western poet says, all out- er things are obliterated by what seems like utter darkness, while within the "sleeper" the crim- son upholstery, the yielding seats, and the soft lamps remind us of the sanctum of a friend who has learned how to make the most of home. In- dividual characteristics stand out with the broad relief they have on shipboard, and a feeling of intimacy springs up which vents itself in confi- dences as to whom we are, what we are, and whither we are bound. There is a good deal of euchre, whist, and casino playing, and, when the ladies have retired, there are several old travelers who bring forth odorous bottles, of which the odor is not the strongest nor the better part. The objects that have momentarily united us are as Major Domo, Glen Eyrie. dissimilar as the traits of the persons who enter- tain them. There is a young earl traveling for pleasure, with unlimited means ; a delicate man who is leaving the austere climate of New Eng- land for better things in southern California, and who, as we accidentally discover, is so poor that he depends for subsistence on the contents of an old raillinery-box ; a weather-beaten miner who has not yet exhausted a lucky " strike " ; a Jap- anese student from Yale, who is always bland and courteous, and thirsty for information; an animated little cockney who is bound for New South Wales; a brisk, fluent, anecdotal man from Ohio, who has abandoned the cares of a countrj newspaper oflice for the emoluments of a consu- lar appointment at Tahiti ; a star actress engaged to play an engagement in California ; a compla- cent millionaire of the Comstock lode ; and a frail, almost transparent, little woman, whose stren- uous breathing shows her suffering from asth- ma. There are travelers bound over this iron pathway across the continent to Vancouver's Island, to Chili, Peru, and Mexico, to the Sand- wich Islands, to Japan and China, to Alaska, and to Siberia ! The Golden Gate has become a door to nearly all quarters of the globe. But it is not for us to follow all of the passengers to their destinations. Our special interest is in the per- sons going to Colorado, among whom we discover that mild lit- tle invalid aforesaid, whose object is relief from her complaint; a substantial English squire and his wife who propose to " do " the country without leaving the beat- en path, and half a dozen young men and women from New York, who have come to rough it, to avoid hotels, and to camp out. If we follow those, we shall see what Colorado offers t