NEW YORK, THURSDAY, DEC. 10, 1874. 



For For??* and Stream. 

 HERALDS OF WINTER. 



WINTER'S dread heralds come again, 

 AB southward sinks the pale, Bhorn sun; 

 From frowning clouds pours the chill rain, 



The latest harvest task is done; 

 The winds grow keen and high, and lond. 



And whirl on high the rustling leaves; 



The proud old forest, chafed and bowed. 



The vanished pomp of Summer grieves. 



O'er the lone woodland path no more 



Hangs light and cool the graceful screen, 

 But dark, and stained, and blistered o'er, 



Tendril, and vine, and trunk are seen. 

 E'en the shy rill, whose Summer song 



Was ftdnter than the pine's low sigh, 

 Now swollen suddenly and strong, 



With stormy voice goes foaming by. 



Nor herd nor scattered flock Is seen 



Dotting the pastures far and wide, 

 But grouping by the high bank's screen, 



Or crouching by the forest's side, 

 With plaintive bleat and lowing call 



They beg the husbandman prepare 

 The littered sheds and sheltering stall, 



'Gainst the chill sleet and sharp'uing air. 



The wild goose by the North's broad lakes 



With prescience keen the warning heeds, 

 And with her well reared young forsakes 



Her Summer haunts of whispering veeds: 

 The monarch's signal note is given, 



A thousand throats respond theory, 

 And instant up the darkened heavens, 



Southward the marshalled columns fly. 



No birds befil such cheerless time, 



Save 



the hoa 



•seer 





r shrill, pert iuy ; 



Their 



rings 1). 





il-;k 



a sunnier clime, 



Thei 



r Willie 



glad 



song 



is faraway," 



The ha 



■dier fe 



v whi 



chda 



re to bido 



Win 



<r\- dr< 



ad re 



go, 1 



ow venture near 



The ha 







with 



humbled pride 



And 



stealth;, 





and 



mien of fear. 



And thus have vanished, one by one, 



Along our pathway, bird and flower; 

 The solemn wood is drear and lone, 



And frosts have ravished held and bower; 

 But shall the stern invader's threat 



Cause us to other climes to roam— 

 His silent seal of ice be set 



Upon our pleasant Summer home? 



Xo! Though the storm is wild without, 



Tha genial fire within is bright, 

 And light, young hearts shall crowd about 



Our warm and cheerful hearths to-night; 

 And friendly converse, tale and song, 



Which makes the charmed sitting late, 

 Shall bind all hearts and make them strong 



To brave or bear each adverse fate. 



And dear old books that torpid sleep 



On bookcase shelves through Summer hours, 

 Shall yield new meaning, clear and deep, 



And hearts long cold commune with ours; 

 The great, the good, the shrined of yore, 



Crowned mouarchs of the realm of thonght, 

 At bidding shall reveal the lore, 



With which their matchless minds were fraught. 



And mightiest bards, whose words of lire 



Blaze on undimmed through countless years, 

 Shall strike once more the slumbering lyre 



From their high thrones amid the spheres. 

 Such are my friends, although no lords 



Of vassals, lands, or storied halls, 

 They come like guests around my board, 



Familiars of my hnmble walls. 



Can Spring, with all its boasted green, 



And birds andjlowers and mumiunsg bees, 

 Or Summer, with its glare and sheen, 



Yield to the soul such joys as these? 

 No! They but. lure the eye and ear, 



And tempt the restless foot to roam, 

 While Winter, when her skies are drear 



Sends to the heart aheaven at home, Keuka. 



November, 1874. 



— Live oak is fast disappearing from our forests, owing 

 to the large quantity exported. The total destruction of 

 (bis valuable tree should be checked by an act of Congress, 



For Fores! and Stream. 



$hree ffechs m\ the ^Hqt\tUwHt{. 



NUMBER TWO-WOLVES AT NIGHT. 



IT was the second week of my stay at the lovely Bfc.fr- 

 sheep Lake. We had trolled its different shallows and 

 deep waters, respect ivel}', from the rocky bluffs of East 

 Island, under which the bass lay in multitudes, seeking the 

 small shrimps along the stony bottom, to the extreme upper 

 end of the lake, where the river flows in amid long lines of 

 pickerel weeds and lily pads; here it is shallow and still, 

 except directly where the channel cuts in, and among the 

 tangled mass and ou the border of the deep water, the im- 

 mense pickerel, that fresh water shark, lies in wait, or 

 prowls up and down his "beat" like the grim sentinel that 

 he is. It required no skill to take those fish. With Jenkins 

 at the paddle and a common spoon troll, I have dragged 

 them up to the canoe by simple main force until wearied 

 with the sport, always taking care to return at once to the 

 water what were not wanted. We had been taking things 

 easy all day, and after our early but hearty supper had been 

 discussed and Ned and I were, as usual after meals, lying 

 outside the shanty on our blankets, reducing our stock of 

 "tobac," I felt strongly inclined towards an excursion by 

 moonlight up the lake for a deer. Jack hunting was not 

 new T to me, but never having killed a deer by moonlight, I 

 was tempted to try. 



"What say you Ned," said I. "Would there be much 

 show to-night along the marsh for a buck; we want meat." 

 "Yas," drawled he. "We'll keep wanting until to-mor- 

 row, I reckon; j-ou'll git no deers when the moon blazes 

 like it will by nine o'clock; you see there's nary cloud, and 

 it was too light last night, you know; we might have had 

 one to-day if we tried a leetle harder," (a dig at me.) 



"Well, I suppose so," replied I, "but we had enough 

 for two or three good cuts left, and won't starve now,Ihope, 



but we saw four or five last night, and " 



"Got nary one," broke in he. "Them deers 'ill see quick 

 as you do them when we move around, but we can run up 

 to that point and lay in the shade of the big pine and meb- 

 be git a whack at the fellow we seen night before last." 



"Why, you don't expect to see the same oue, Ned, do 

 you?" exclaimed I. "That deer may be miles off to-night." 

 "No, sir-ee," said he. "If that buck drinks to-night 

 he'll come in just around the point and come about the 

 same time we seed him then; deers are pretty regular both 

 in time and place, and he'll come there all Summer, unless 

 lie's skeart away, and we didn't do that, you recollect." 

 "That's so, but when shall we go; about nine?" asked I. 

 "No, I guess we had better paddle in just after sundown 

 and lay there; it'll be dark at half past eight and the moon 

 'ill be out so quick that we'll be seen if we wait; he may 

 go in to wet himself, and we must he ready when he comes." 

 The sun was near an hour high, and before the time 

 came to start I lay on my blanket, watching the sunset, 

 sweet digestion stealing over mo, enjoying my pipe, and 

 drinking in the glorious tranquil scene around. The Sum- 

 mer heat of midday had gradually tempered down to a re- 

 freshing coolness, but.no air stirring, the clear, beautiful 

 water, as far as could be seen, was still as glass— not a swell 

 or motion, and hardly a perceptible ripple on the pebbles at 

 my feet; the dense foliage of maple and oak, or the darker 

 green of the pine, that seemed to touch the water, were 

 photographed in the depths beneath with an effect almost 

 startling; every shrub on the shore of an island, the cloud- 

 less sky above, the occasional bird flying overhead, wero all 

 reproduced in the mirror below. 



It reminded me of Coleridge's weird story, and I won- 

 dered at the strange sight of the Ancient Mariner no 

 longer, for when the clear, fresh Shesheep water, with its 

 beautiful surroundings, seemed to reflect such wonderful 

 sights I could understand how the ban of awful silence for 

 weeks and weeks made his brain grow weak and dizzy 

 when he lingered there alone on the wide, wide sea. 

 Isaac Walton was right when he designated fishing as a 



contemplative man's recreation, although I am passionately 

 fond of the sport for its own sake. I follow with equal 

 zest the various trains of thought and imagination that are 

 certain to be aroused when I am following the trout stream 

 or lying idle in my boat on salt water waiting for a nibble. 

 There have been so many fine intellects, who were conver- 

 sant with Nature before my time, and have left the rich 

 treasures of their lives-for me to improve my poor faculties 

 with, that whenever the fitting time arrives I can always 

 feel by recalling their beautiful ideas that other senses than 

 mine have been and are being thrilled by the grand and 

 beautiful, and whereyer I may be I am never less alone 

 than when alone. 



As I lay there musing, the stars came out one bv one, the 

 bird ceased his flight and song, the beautiful reflection in 

 the water died away and Summer twilight stole over lako 

 and hill, deepening the shadows of the forest and bringing 

 quantities of bats from its depths. My castles tumbled as 

 Ned arose to his feet, and stepping down to the beach, 

 lifted the light canoe from its resting place and laid it 

 gently on the water. He never left it in the lake when not 

 in use, even for half an hour. Cautiously stepping to the 

 bow I drew my overcoat closely around me, and kneeling 

 down in my old position, laid my back against the front bar 

 or cross piece, facing ahead, and prepared for the run up 

 the lake. We were soon near the marsh, and as the tall 

 pines stood out clearer as we neared them, caught a glimpse 

 of a fiery red ball between the trunks that told me that the 

 moon was up, and we were none too soon. Silently gliding 

 on through the pads and weeds, wo rapidly neared the 

 shore, and in a momeut, the checked speed of the canoe 

 signified caution on Ned's part, and well he did his work. 

 Nearer the shore we drew, until only ten feet intervened 

 and we lay under the shadow of an immense pine; then 

 thrusting the blade of his paddle into the mud Ned turned 

 the canoe "bow on" to the bank, and tapped with his finger 

 on the side. Upon my turning around at the signal, he 

 whispered to me as if we were on an Indian scout; — 



"There's nothing in, but will be soon; when deers come 

 shoot as soon as you can; I'll see whatever you do, so don't 

 waitfor me to speak, butkeep quiet whateveryou see or do." 



Minutes passed as we lay there until half an hour slipped 

 by; the moon was lessening the shadow of the pine every 

 minute, and slightly turning my head, I could see that the 

 lake behind was flooded with the cold, white light, and 

 away in the distance shone our camp fire, a flickering red 

 speck in the universal silver; up came the moon until our 

 protective shadow faded away and wo, too, were sur- 

 rounded with light as almost that of day. Kneeling, as 

 both of us were, our heads and body to the hips only 

 showing above the side of the canoe, we looked like some 

 old log, and still had a show of not being detected, pro. 

 vided we kept perfectly still. I had heard two deer plunge 

 into the marsh away oil on my right hand, and turning' a 

 little, could fancy I distinguished their forms in the 

 water, but it would be almost impossible to steal down 

 upon them with that great calcium light full upon us, so I 

 knelt still and worshipped the beautiful night; the only 

 noise was the faint splash of the doer across the rnarsh, the 

 nearer plunge of the muskrat and the "boom" of the frogs; 

 the wonderful photographing that I had witnessed but a 

 few hours ago, as the sun was setting, was now being re- 

 peated still more impressively by the full July moon, and 

 as the dark forest gradually appeared so distinctly in the 

 water below, the effect wa3 beyond description. 



My companion knelt in the stern as if a statue, not a 

 muscle stirring, and as I looked ahead into the woods and 

 across the silent water, it seemed as it I was there alone in 

 the wilderness — alone with that beautiful night. Reclin- 

 ing against the cross piece, with the rifle resting from side 

 to side of the canoe, ready at any grasp, all that was fam- 

 iliarly connected with such a situation eame to me then, 

 and as the light streamed down through the gigantic 

 branches of the pines, fair Melrose Aboey was standing 

 there with its grand old relics of the past, and through the 

 gaps of the trunks I could swear that William of Deloraine 

 and the Monk of St. Mary's Aisle were digging there in 

 search of the forbidden book, and involuntarily! repeated— 



"The Ladye of Branksome greets thee by me, 

 Says that the fated hour Is come 

 And that to-night I shall watch with thw. 

 To win the treasure of the tomb," 



