NEW YORK, THURSDAY, NOV. 19,1874. 



WINTER 



HAIL I monarch of the leafless crown, 

 Hare seen save wlib a gloomy frown, 

 Willi ice for sceptre, robes of snow, 

 Thy throne, the stream's arrested flow; 

 Stern tyrant', whom the hastening sun 

 Dolh loathe to serve, ,by vapors dan 

 Begirt, a melancholy train, 

 O'er nature holdiim siddest reign. 

 Lo! of thy rigor birda make plaint. 

 And all things 'neath thy h' rden faint; 

 Sot cheered are they by message cold. 

 In answer by the north wind told, 

 The envoy of thy grievous sway, 

 When thou wonldstdrive all hope away 

 From nature, yearning to restore 

 To earth the bliss it knew before, 

 When Summer ruled with empire mild. 

 And Autumn, still a ruddy child, 

 Lay cradled 'neath the greenery 

 Of whispering grove and laden tree. 

 The brooK that prattled lo the air 

 Of golden harvests, scenes as fair 

 As poet wrapt in fancy's maze 

 Could scarce enshrine in mortal lays, 

 Now rude and angry, hurls along 

 The hearers of his Summer song— 

 The branch and leaf that once repaid 

 His mnsic with their tender shade— 

 And catching zephyr's honeyed tone, 

 To hia sweet tuning joined their own. 

 Or bound, perchance, in durance slow, 

 Fall faint he wends, and moaning low, 

 Fit dirge he makes o'er freedom lost. 

 In Joy of wiiich he wanton tossed 

 Tiio falling blossoms on hia wavo, 

 The water-nymphs to catch and save. 

 Now stript of his green bravery, 

 In piteous plight the weary tree 

 Is b'own.upon by mocking winds, 

 Whom changed now lie sighing finds 

 Front those gay playmates welcomed erst 

 In glee by his young leaves when first 

 They wove their merry breeze-tanght dance, 

 And broke their feathered lodger's trance, 

 What, time the eastern wave did gleam 

 'Neath fore-feet of the golden team. 

 Not busy now with tender care, 

 For coming brood the birds prepare 

 Their airy cradle, rocked unseen 

 By Dryad hands behind the screen 

 Of leafy curtain*', where no eyo 

 Of mischief curious may pry. 

 The thrush that erst witli welling voice 

 Made all the tangled brake rejoice 

 In echoes of hia mellowed strain, 

 To mope in silence no.v is fain; 

 Nor ever pipes from straining throat 

 The varied wonders of hisnoto. 

 So bleak the scene, so sad the day. 

 Too harsh, Winter, Is Ihy sway! 



For Forest and Stream. 



for galmott h\ Jp//= 

 fonpn. 



k 



SOME months since I read in your most excellent paper 

 a splendidly written article on salmon risking at 

 Humboldt Bay, by a gentleman of the army, whom I thiuk 

 I met here about those days, being myself, at the lime, 

 "one of the boys iu blue." Had 1 known that he was a 

 fisherman, T should have cultivated a closer inliroacy, on 

 the ground of a "fellow feeling," for fishing is one of my 

 weaknesses. I might add shooting as another, and, my 

 greatest of all, yachting. They are all of a kidney, and 

 hinge together so harmoniously that either afford that en- 

 joymeut that only a true sportsman can fully appreciate. 

 I am sorry for those who have no liking for either. As the 

 song runneth — 



Some people wo in thio world discover, 



Far too frigid for friend or for lover. 



To think that there are many who neither shoot, fish, or 

 Bail! Such, certainly, don't get their share of the enjoy- 

 ment this world affords, and have just cause to quarrel 

 with fate that so shaped them. They Slave as good grounds 

 for complaint as the chap who met with little else but dis- 



appointment and such geueral wretchedness as to make 

 life a burthen, and sued the old man for damages for hav- 

 ing begat him. 



California has ever been the paradise of the sportsman, and 

 although by no means equal to what it was iu earlier days, 

 consequent upon an increased population and the march of 

 improvement, it still affords a most faithful field for him. I 

 am at the present writing sitting at my desk in a brick 

 building of vast proportions, built upon ground that in 

 1855 was a favorite spot for English snipe. I have sunk to 

 my boot tops in the marsh that was then a waste, but which 

 to-day would sell at $300 per front foot. The one hundred 

 vara lot on which the building stands was then worth per- 

 haps $200— to-day it would sell for two hundred thousand. 

 It is no place for a snipe now, certainly. We must go 

 farther away to get good shooting; but still, I can reach 

 ground in two hours that gives a good day's sport— quail, 

 and perhaps a deer. Wild fowl are still abundant within 

 an hour's sail, and many a mallard and canvass back I have 

 bagged latterly within five miles of town. 



Speaking of shooting, let me quote here a letter received 

 by an acquaintance from a friend of his who had borrowed 

 his rifle, going to prove that a man may be enthusiastic on 

 the question of guns and shooting, even if he can't spell. 

 My frieud sent for his rifle, which came with the letter 

 aforesaid, as follows; — 



"Deaii Oeoboe:— I received your leter wonshing me to send down 

 our mutnle Friend, the Bifle. George, I must tell you, for fearo you 

 won't flnde it ou te, as I beleave you are beter to blld cars and Rale Rodes 

 than yon are to hunte or shute. I em in dont, or yonr going a huniun at 

 all, Now abonte the Gnn— it is one of the finest peases I ever fired. 1 

 cen cill 6 grows out of 7, 100 yardes of band, sarten . While I ware out on 

 my last hunte I cilled 63 grows, and all over 50 yardes. Tied or no 

 Burde. I astonished the Ble Standers. to sea mo shute. I have taken 

 meny a lied of Squerels from 50 to 75 yardes, and a Black Burde can't git 

 too hie for me with that Gnn. Don't yo.i parte with this Gun, and send 

 it bac, fori want too take a tripe in the mountings, and I can't stir a 

 inch without that ar Gun, george. No monr from yours truely. 

 "P. S.— Send the gnn back, george, sarten shure." »***#* 



This is certainly a good account of the gun, and the 

 parly seems to shoot better than he can spell. 



It may not be generally known that the salmon fishing on 

 our coast is magnificent, although it was for years generally 

 conceded that they would not bite at the hook, and the 

 belief passed to a proverb. My official duties so absorbed 

 my time that it was not until about six years ago that I was 

 able to accept the repeated invitation of a friend, owning 

 large lumber mills on the coast above, to accompany him 

 on his usual October trip to his property. Wo drove our 

 own teams, and a most delightful drive it was along the 

 coast, and over the coast range of mountains, occupying a 

 day and a half. As we approached the mills, our road for 

 a, mile lay along the banks of the river. I observed some 

 fish, breaking with the unmistakable swirl of the trout 

 family. 



I said, "Hello, Harry, do you see that; are they large 

 trout?" 



He replied, "No; they are salmon." 



"The deuce you say; you never told me that you had 

 salmon in the river, and here I am unprepared, with no 

 tackle but my little eight ounce rod and light trout gear.'' 



"Well, you don't want any other, for you can't catch 

 theso fellows; they won't bite." 



"Won't bite; did you ever try them?" 



"Oh, yes, I have, and never got a raise." 



"Did you try ally?" 



"No." 



"Well, old boy, I will show you that they will bite be- 

 fore you are an hour older." 



"You will fool away your time on those fellows. You 

 can catch plenty of half pound trout, but naTy salmon." 



"A box of cigars that I land a salmon within an hour." 



"Done. Firstly, they won't bite, and secondly, what 

 would you do with one of those chaps with your tackle?" 



"You shall see." 



I made a hasty lunch, for I was eager for the fray, and 

 I soon had my rod put together, and my slight hair and 

 silk line ou the reel, and we started for the river, only a 

 hundred feet distant. A skiff was moored at a log, into 



which I stepped, and giving it a shove was soon in the 

 middle of the river, which, at this point was tide water, 

 and perhaps a quarter of a mile from its mouth, where it 

 emptied into the ocean. Selecting the largest fly I had, I 

 bent it on, and planting myself firmly in the frail skiff pre- 

 pared to cast. My heart boat violently, for although an 

 old stager at fishing, I felt that I had work before me. My 

 friend stood on a pile of lumber, smoking his cigar com- 

 placently, and several idlers gathered arouud, with sup- 

 pressed chuckles, to see the city chap "fool away his time" 

 in trying to catch a salmon with a hook, with a feather on 

 it, They had lived there years, and never knew of oue 

 being taken with anything but a seine. Overhauling a 

 good length of line, I made a cast. The fly lit lightly on 

 the water, and danced along the surface, with no results. 

 My friend smiled, and the standing committee guffawed. 

 Fuyiug no attention, I made a secoud cast at a good dis- 

 tance. My. fly had scarcely touched the water before there 

 was a flush, a swirl, and, as I threw up the point of my 

 rod, I felt a weight as if I had hooked a saw log; but it 

 was only for an instant; the next my little rod made an 

 obeisance that brought its tip to the water, and my little 

 reel fairly hummed as the line sped out at a fearful rate, 

 and up into the air six feet sprang the silver sided and as- 

 tonished fish! Away he dashed up the river, my line hiss- 

 ing as it cut the water. I vainly attempted to turn him, 

 but by bearing steadily and as hard as I dare with such 

 light tackle, I finally got his head around. When nearly 

 so, he made a shoot for the opposite bank, which was steep 

 and rocky. Bang! he wont, head first into the oank, which 

 seemed to stuu him a little; but he soon recovered, and 

 then down stream he went, taking all the line 1 had been 

 able to reel in. All this lime the skeptics ou the shore 

 were shouting:— "There ho goes; hold onto him!" I fell 

 that I required all the skill and coolness that was in me. 

 For cue hour and ten minutes did the fight last; but at the 

 end of that time I had him alongside the skiff on his side, 

 with just life enough apparently to wag his tail feebly. 

 Watching my chance, I reached down, slid my fingers into 

 his gills, and raised him, and held tip as handsome a fifteen 

 pound salmon as ever mistook a Couroy's imitation for a 

 genuine insect. I paddled ashore and laid him on the 

 bank, with the hook still in his month, while my audience 

 gathered around and expressed their astonishment as they 

 examined the thread of a line and single gut snell, my 

 frieud, as much astonished as any of them, exclaiming, 

 "Dog my cats, if I would have believed my own father if he 

 had told me you caught that fish with this tackle, if I had 

 not seen it myself!" 



During the two days that I remained there I landed 

 thirty-five more of the same sort, and had I been provided 

 with strong tackle the number would have been a huudred. 

 Of course I lost many, for my line got badly chafed with 

 such severe work, and, shall I confess it, I dodged the big 

 ones, jerking my fly away when I saw that the chap com- 

 ing for my fly was too much for me. This was, I be- 

 lieve, the first time a salmon had ever been caught on this 

 coast with a fly, and I think with a hook. I have taken 

 many a one since, and now everybody fishes with rod and 

 reel, generally using, however, the feather spoon and large, 

 strong hooks. Conroy sent me out a ten foot bamboo three 

 joint rod, a big reel, a Cutlyhunk bass line, and a dozen or 

 two large flics, with double gut snells, and the way I wulk 

 the twenty-five pounders with that tackle is a caution. 

 Last Fall I was up there with this rig, and a large, strong 

 landing net, and caught them until my arms ached. I 

 stripped down a thousand pounds, besides as many as I 

 could squeeze into my wagon. My Wend, who is up at 

 his mills, writes me, "The river is full of salmon; come 

 up." Alas! I cau'lgo. Inevitable business chains mo to 

 this spot. 



Why don't some of your gentlemen of elegant leisure come 

 outaud enjoy such fishing as they never had, and never will 

 have elsewhere? They should be here now. The river I 

 speak of— the Navara— is one of many that empty into the 

 Pacific along the coast, all teeming with salmon. The dis- 

 tance is about a hundred miles— fifty by rail, and the bal 



