NEW YORK, THURSDAY, MARCH 15, 1877. 



I Volume 8, Number 6. J 



1 1T Vhslbfim St. {City Hall Hqr. fc. 



\ 



For forest and Stream. 

 COG INCH AUG*. 



SEAEKLING, rippling, glancing along, 

 Hiding thy face the sweet grasses among. 

 Foaming o'er pebbles halting thy sweep 

 In darkling pellncidnees softly to sleep, 

 Purling through meadows, 'mid alder and bog— 

 What are thy treasures? O fair Coginchaugl 

 Dost bid me reveal them? Alack thou'rt unkind, 

 Thoa ever wer't fickle and mem'rv do»t mind 

 That tho' thou hast jewels resplendent and rare, 

 Thoa giv'st them not forth to all v. ho would dare. 

 Yet fain would I test thee thou miserly elf, 

 And pluck from thy bosom such portion of pelf 

 As well would bedeck me, yet leave In thy store 

 Enough— and enough is plenty, no more. 

 So will I try thee, and tbou, placid pool, 

 \ Leld mo first answer in depths clear and cool. 

 Dost trifle? Pray where from thy matchless parure 

 Such a bubble did'st pluck; a rare Kohinoor 

 Thou'st sent to my cast in yon sad-eyed lout, 

 Bespeckled? I grant thee; belegged all about, 

 With a hou^e on his back and a sneer on his fuce, 

 Bewrinkled and sallow, beieft or all grace, 

 A beggar in armor— but ne'er with the myrtle 

 Dost thou crown as King the vagabond turtle I 

 Tauntingly ripples thy current along, 

 Telling the birches in thy song, 

 Whisp'ring low to chestnut and pine, 

 Bathing the fallen oak tree's chine; 



mocking river well dost thou prove 

 faithful to treasures thou truly dost love. 

 Yet will I try thee with more patient skill 

 Nor minnow nor red-tin can conquer the will 

 Thou testest so sorely; each obstacle bends 

 But more strongly intent thou rankest ameuds. 



1 know that the years since thou last met my eyes 

 Have robbed thee of many a coveted prize; 

 Have taken perchance all thy gold, and in place 

 Left nothing but farthing like turtles and dace; 

 Rethink me, yon low-bendiug willow, whose crest 

 Dost dip thee a curt'sy more deep than the rest. 

 Whose roots and whose brow thou dost softly embrace, 

 Whose leafletu thou waltzed away in a race 



As merry as shallops a-sailing the sea, 

 But giitn, grizzled wurder of thine inay'st be! 

 Curve til. e thy supple arms closer to hide 

 Th' embubbled depths thou hast made thy bride; 

 Bravely willow I thou seek'st to ensua-e 

 My bonny brown hackle so dainty and rare; 

 tienlly it lloats on thy bosom, O streaml 

 Softly— a rush, and a dart, and a gleam, 

 One moment of spectrum-like hues all attain, 

 A tug which electrifies sinew and brain; 

 A whirr from the drowsing reel awakened from sleep, 

 Ha, hal I have hooked thee from out the dim keep 

 Where thou bid'st thy royally sternly apart; 

 Sob on thou streaml for thy very heart 

 Doth seem to be pulsing along the staunch line, 

 The supple rod answering each throb of thine. 

 Quivering aud beautiful, crimson and gold, 

 Like molten silver tbou yieldest thy hold 

 From the cool sparkling waters, and gently dost lie 

 Exhausted at last 'mid the daisies, to die. 

 Moaning, weeping, sighing along, 

 Hiding thy face the sweet grasses among, 

 Fragrant spring violets driukiug thy tears, 

 Clover and maiden- hair soothing thy fears, 

 Wearied thou sinkest to sleep 'neath yon log, 

 And I have thy treasured, O fair Coginchaugl 

 mm York, Feb. Voth, 1877. Wkdwobiii Wads-worth. 



§ml ghaating in ^im^l 



For Forest and Stream. 



WE commenced the new year on a clean page. The 

 snow lay white and untrodden as far as the eye 

 could reach— a shroud lor the old year, a robe for the new. 

 In fact, there were four snows on the ground at once, the 

 accumulated depth being full fourteen inches. This is the 

 deepest snow-fall, in this region, within the memory of the 

 oldest inhabitant — or any other man, As we can't find the 

 way to the north pole, it is working its way towards us. 

 Sleighs were improvised, and for the first time the merry 

 bells were heard in Corinthian streets. While it brought 

 gladness to the hearts of the girls and boys, it saddened 

 the sportsman's heart to see the destruction wrought on all 

 kinds of game. Quails were trapped by the hundred, and 

 were tracked up in the snow, and shot huddled together in 

 fence corners and by the sides of logs, by the merciless pot- 

 hunters. Their accustomed food was huried so deeply 

 that they could not reach it, and many perished from 

 starvation. How any survived, through three weeks of 

 cold and hunger, only He knows who cares for the young 

 raven. 



We had the prospect for the best year for quail shooting 

 since 1870 j but about the middle of December the weather 



suddenly grew extremely cold, and at Christmas the snow 

 commenced falling, and has just now disappeared; the 

 birds are so poor that they can scarcely fly, and it would 

 be murder in the first degree to shoot them. But we have 

 had some glorious days in the field, for which we thank 

 the good Saint Hubert. Of one of these days I shall tell 

 you. My friend W. and I started early with Don, Kate 

 and Lou, old Nora having maternal duties to attend to 

 could not go. 



It was just such a day as you would choose to go to a 

 fie'd. A light rain had fallen the evening before, followed 

 by a clear night and a glorious sunrise. It was not so cold 

 as to keep the birds from stirring early; the air was damp 

 enough to hold the scent, and there was a ghost of a breeze, 

 just sufficient to carry it to the dogs noses. How gayly 

 they romped and gamboled until we got to the first field, 

 and they tettled down to work. W. took one side with 

 Lou; I the other with the pointers. "Hie away good 

 dogs," and over the fence they go, while I ride along out- 

 side. The field was full of peas, and two full coveys 

 raised in it. As Kate was going at full speed across the 

 rows she got the wind from a covey turned at a right angle 

 from her course, galloped slowly a few yards, came down 

 to a crouching trot, and I then stopped rigid and motion- 

 less. Don saw and backed her. Dismounting, I ap- 

 proached them from the side next the wood, in order to 

 make the birds fly in the opposite direction; but they were 

 too sharp for that. When I got to within twenty yards 

 they rose in a bunch, and came square at me. I fired 

 "into the browu of 'em" as they came on, and never 

 touched a bird; one rose high on the right. I tried to 

 follow and cover him, but he swerved swiftly to the right, 

 and I missed him full two feet. They went down in the 

 woods among the black jack saplings, where only Jeem's, 

 the pious, could have made any headway shooting them. 

 After shooting off brush enough to make a small fire with- 

 out killing a bird, I blew my whistle and retired in disgust. 

 Meanwhile W. had struck a covey at the other side of the 

 field, and was skiirnishiug away quite lively, and when we 

 met he had bagged six birds. "How many have you got?" 

 he asked. "Narry quail." "What the deuce were you 

 shooting at then V" "My dear boy, I have got so rattled 

 that I could not hit an elephant with a inilraikvse." "You 

 had better go home then." "You be hanged, if I don't 

 beat you to-day I'll pay for the champagne." The next 

 field, we went in a-foot, and passed through without find- 

 infi a bird. Just outside the dogs all came to a stand. 

 We went up, and the birds rose; four or five crowded to- 

 gether in flying through a hole in the hedge. I cut away 

 at the bunch, and I dropped two; turned and winged 

 another with the other barrel. Part of the covey rising 

 high, flew back over W. ; he put in both barrels without 

 getting a bird. 



W. went back into the field after part of the covey, aud 

 I followed those that went down in the wood; they lay 

 well in the leaves, and I got two more. A man in a field 

 beyond, called to me, that he had flushed a large covey 

 that went into a swale nearby; there in the thick grass 

 they lay like stones, and seven more were added to my bag. 

 I made three consecutive double shots, bagging both birds 

 each time. One that was winged got away, and one I 

 mused— a plain shot — by being to confident, and conse- 

 quently careless. W. bagged three from the part of the 

 covey he followed. The dogs worked well together on 

 coveys— but did not do so well on single birds— so we 

 shot apart as much as possible. At the next field the 

 setter ran two close on a covey and flushed. W., wishing 

 to mark them down, ran at top speed to see them over a 

 hi!; while going at a two-twenty gait his foot was caught 

 in a forked limb, and he got the highest, longest, aud 

 hardest fall on record. His gun went boomerangiug 

 ahead of him, and a hal full of shells were dumped lrom 

 his rear pocket. 



Now, W., is a sort of pious man, and reads the Bible 

 before Balzac and Boccaccio, but when he rose up and 

 saw me leaning against a tree to keep from falling, and 

 ready to burst with suppressed laughter, he indulged in 

 some remarks that may have been what some fellows 

 calls "Nervous Saxon," but it sounded to mo powerfully 

 "cussin 1 ." This covey took refuge in a four-acre briar 

 patch, and we did not score a bird. 



The next field was. a famous place for quail, and we 

 had gone but a short distance into it, the dogs all going 

 close together at top speed. All at once they were struck 

 stiff by 



"A potent gale, delicious as the breath 



Qt maid, to the lore-alck sBeppordcsa 



On violets diffused, while soft she hears 

 Her panting shepherd stealing to het arms." 



They move grouped in a manner that seems splendid, 

 and would have made a picture worthy the canvas of 

 any painter. We admired the graceful attitudes of the 

 dogs a few moments, and then walked up the birds. They 

 were "huddled," and whirr-r-r, they flew, in every direc- 

 tion, like fragments of a bursting shell. One old cock — ' 

 after trying to fly into my gun muzzles — rocketed square 

 up about twenty feet, and then went off behind me, down 

 wind, as if he had been shot from a cannon by the time I 

 followed him up, and over and down, and straight away 

 he was nearly out of gun shot, but I cut away at him, and 

 the force of the ehot, together with the impetus of his 

 flight, dashed him against a tree as if he had been thrown 

 at it. By the time I recovered and began to look around 

 for another bird, they weie all clean gone. W. got in 

 two barrels aud scored one bird. The others must have 

 flown clear out of the township, as we saw them "never 

 more." 



It being now noon, we sat down by a brook to rest and 

 refresh ourselves. After slaking our thirst with a drink 

 from the brook, we took a small pull at our flask of "Mel- 

 wood," and spread our lunch— some bread and pickles, 

 hard boiled eggs, cold fo"fi, and a couple of cylinders of 

 deviled ham— none of the minced abominations from a 

 tin can with a red "Bad Man" on it, with a harpoon tail — 

 but the genuine home-made. After satisfying our appe- 

 tites, we threw the remains of the lunch to the dogs, lit 

 our pipes, and proceeded to spread ourselves in the thick 

 sedge-grass. As we lay there, in all the jolly insonciance of 

 the true sportsman, with ihe blight sunlight streaming 

 over us — our dogs at our feet— and the prospect of a glori- 

 ous afternoon sport in store lor us. What cared we for 

 high taxes, or short ciops, or low prices, or bankrupt no- 

 tices, or returning boards or bulidozeis? 



But our pipes are out, and mounting we ride for the 

 fields at Farmington. Quail love those field, full of corn 

 and peas, and sorghum, with splendid cover all around, 

 and soon we had three coveys scattered, and marked down 

 in the swale, below the old grave yard— but the briars and 

 grass are very high and dense, and the dogs are not much 

 service except to retrieve the dead and wounded — and we 

 have to put into service Guido's favorite single-bird dog. 

 A nurobet nine boot, albeit ours is not quite up to his 

 standard in point of size. However, we made it hot for 

 -Robert for a while, and secured a fair average of shots. 

 We had about exhausted the birds, and I was standing 

 waist deep in the grass, looking at the tall oaks above the 

 old grave yards, thinking of the time when I hud heard 

 the shot aud shell hissing over them when Blue aud 

 Gray met here in fratricidal conflict. My musings were 

 cut short by "Mark Crane," ftom W. Now I will not 

 say that he don't know a "Heron from a Hernshaw," but 

 1 will say that he did not know a heron from a crane — for 

 it was a heron — and he came slowly flying on high in air, 

 his broad wings lazily flapping, and his long bill standing- 

 out in front like the bowsprit of a schooner. Ho was 

 coming directly over me, and I concluded to try aud rattle 

 a few shot against his wings. Drawing ahead of him 1 

 fired; he veeied off slightly, and went on without alteriug 

 his motions in the least. He flew on a hundred yards, 

 wavered, beat the air rapidly, then bending down his 

 wings, holding them perfectly rigid, he sailed slowly ou 

 lower aud lower, aud came to the ground three hundred 

 yards away. It waj a remarkably long shot, one leg 

 broken, and several shots in the body. 



What a blight, eagie-like eye they have; what beautifully 

 mottled wings; what a preposterously long ueck and short 

 tail, and how admirably is that long bill suited to the pur- 

 pose for which it was made. This was the first dead heron 

 I ever saw, though I have seen their breeding places — 

 rookeiies — on White river, where thousandsof young were 

 i eared. 



It would consume too much space to tell you of all the 

 reBtof the afternoon's sport; of how Don and Kate, coming 

 together through an opening in the old earth works, run 

 up so close on a covey that the hot scent curled Kale up 

 like a capital C, and knocked Don square on to his 

 haunches; of how many coveys we scattered in the sedge- 

 grass, where not a bush obstructed the hissing shot. 



Just before sunset the dogs found the last covey, but it 

 was in a rough place. The last shot I fired, an old cock 

 got up between me and the sun. I tried to hold on him, 

 but he looked as big as a turkey gobbler. I shot any way, 

 aud the last I saw of him he waB steering like the Indian 



