Terras, Five Dollars a Year. | 

 Ten Cent9 a Copy. j 



NEW YORK, THURSDAY, JAN. 1, 1874. 



j Volume I, JYumber 21. 

 | 103 Fulton Street. 



For Forest, and Stream . 

 FROST WORK. 



THE beautiful foliage, the crown of the year, 

 Had been stoi-rn strewn and scattered withered and sere, 

 And the rains of the autumn were shed as a tear, 



Where the withered garlands were lying. 

 Naked and bare to the wintry sky, 

 Moving their arms to the bleak winds' sigh, 

 Sad to the heart and drear to the eye 



Were the trees, as the year was dying. 



A cloud came drifting from out of the west, 

 Darksome and weird were billow and crest, 

 And the fltf ul gale spoke little of rest, 



As the day went on to the gloaming. 

 No vesper of bird met the deepening shade, 

 No lowing of herds as they homeward strayed, 

 No carol of peasant or song of maid, 



No sound but the breakers foaming. 



A night came heavily, darksome and drear, 

 A morning broke beautiful, frosty and clear, 

 All sadness was gone, a wonderful cheer 



Came like a caress to humanity. 

 The clouds that haunted the winter night, 

 Yielded their breath to the Ice king's might, 

 And woven in beauty by elf and sprite, 



Made nature a scene of vanity. 



Light as the beautiful veil of a bride, 

 Pure as the lilies that woodlands hide, 

 Fairyland visions far and wide, 



Enchanting the New Year morning. 

 No loom e'er wove such a silver sheen, 

 Light never gilded a daintier scene 

 In marble hall or in forest green, 



Than the wonderful frost's adorning. 



Crested and fringed on coppice and spray, 

 Catching the light of a cloudless day, 

 Casting the hues of a diamond's ray, 



Lay the snow in virgin whiteness. 

 Clothing anew the beech long dead, 

 Clinging in beads on the spider's thread, 

 Frosting like age the pine tree's head, 



In forms of fanciful lightness. 



Giving a bloom to the swaying vine, 

 Roses of white where the briers twine, 

 Bending the larch in a snowy line, 



Making grove oaks fantastic, 

 Flinging beauty on every form, 

 Wayward spirit of cold and storm, 

 Showing a fancy weird and warm, 



And art so endlessly plastic. 



Child of the night, of unseen birth, 

 One thing pure on the face of the earth, 

 Whiter than foam from the ocean surf, 



Fair work of a mystical power, 

 Telling our hearts that the darkest sky 

 And the saddest hours may oft go by, 

 When stilled like the storm; our evening sigh, 



May be joy in a brighter hour. 



L W. L. 



^he j§*ch %*ktn off $amifa. 



— * 



AS was their custom, several young men of the town 

 of Cobourg (a Canadian frontier town) met one even- 

 ing in Frank Stalwart's rooms at the "North American." 

 This was in the latter days of August four years ago — yes, 

 it must be four years ago, and yet how fresh in my mem- 

 ory, in spite of the many changes, some so gladly wel- 

 comed and others so ruthlessly bitter, which have since 

 then transpired. On this particular evening the usual gos- 

 sip was almost exhausted, when Ned Benton, a young, but 

 not briefless, barrister, proposed we should settle upon the 

 manner in which to take a couple of weeks' recreation. 

 Placing his pipe carefully against a book on the table, 

 which I remember was Longfellow's Poems, my friend, 

 Frank Stalwart, suggested a trip up the Back Lakes. Said 

 he, "we can have a little deer hunting, a good deal of duck 

 shooting, no end of fishing, and altogether a splendid out- 

 ln g." "Some prefer to 'ball it' at a watering place; what 

 say you, Bob Bertram?" addressing myself, "and put down 

 that novel and order in some claret and ice." "Well," I 

 said, "I know not whether the claret will change my mind, 

 hut now I am for the Lakes. I have heard so much about 

 iheir romantic scenery that I greatly desire to see them." 



So it was settled that we should start on the following Mon- 

 day, after having taken another evening to arrange the 

 route and the requirements of our outfit. 



Ned Benton and I, according to a previous understand- 

 ing, met our companion, Frank Stalwart, at Peterborough, 

 about thirty-five miles north of our starting point. This 

 was done so that our friend could go by way of Rice Lake 

 and bring over Thad. Fremont, an accomplished man in 

 the way of dogs, canoes, and camp life on the lakes and in 

 the woods. I may mention here that, besides his many 

 other admirable qualifications, in all things culinary Thad. 

 was a perfect success. 



During the afternoon of the day of our arrival at Peter- 

 borough we proceeded to get together such things as are 

 necessary for the hunter's outfit. Besides the tent, the 

 sportsman, for two weeks of camping, must have buffalo 

 skins and blankets, kettle, tin plates, cups, and such things, 

 together with bacon and bread to last a few days. After 

 that he should trust to his skill in killing to supply the 

 board. Also, he ■ requires a moderate quantity of tea. I 

 believe some carry with them a small keg of whiskey; in 

 fact, it is considered by many a necessary article on these 

 occasions, as it is impossible to drink the lake water on ac- 

 count of the profuse vegetable growth of rice, lilies, and 

 other plants and flowers, which are almost invariably pres- 

 ent in these small lakes, and certainly add to their pictur- 

 esque beauty. Having towards evening collected our nec- 

 essaries, we began to look for Mr. Thad. , who had, unno- 

 ticed, strayed from our path. We had in prospect that 

 night a drive of seven miles in a wagon to Bridgenorth, a 

 village consisting of one small tavern and a boat-building 

 shop. We wished to set out as early as possible, so as to 

 obtain a good night's rest and be prepared for a long pad- 

 dle the next day. Thaddeus, however, was not to be 

 found, and after a diligent search we went without him, 

 taking with us his rifle and cartridge box, and leaving word 

 to have him taken out early in the morning in a buggy. It 

 turned out that the young man could not refrain from vis- 

 iting an acquaintance of the fair persuasion, and once in 

 the charmer's fascinating presence he found, no doubt, it 

 was impossible to resist the spell of her enchantments, and 

 midnight had stolen in upon the happy lovers ere Thad. 

 awoke to the slightest degree of consciousness. Deter- 

 mined to start that evening, we loaded our wagon with two 

 canoes, ammunition, and other supplies, and ourselves, 

 three in number, besides the driver. The wagon that held 

 all this was very moderate in size, with easy springs, but 

 the canoes are cax-ried in a peculiar way. Two poles are 

 placed across the wagon above the box and nearly over the 

 axles. The poles extend about three feet on each side of 

 the wagon box. Across the poles the canoes are tied, one 

 on each side parallel with the conveyance. Thus the seats 

 are left free. Away we went, singing merry songs, and it 

 would, I am sure, be hard to find "three blyther lads" 

 than we. 



After breakfast the next morning at Bridgenorth, on Che- 

 mong Lake, having waited a short time for the delinquent 

 Thad. , and upon the arrival of the repentant youth, about 

 nine o'clock, we gaily proceeded to load and trim our ca- 

 noes. Having arranged to follow this chain of lakes about 

 forty or fifty miles before settling upon a permanent camp- 

 ing ground for our labors, we set out, Frank and I in a 

 birch bark canoe well laden with our guns, ammunition, 

 and camping utensils, besides the two hounds, Woodman 

 and Harry, in the bow at my knees. The wind was pretty 

 fresh, and blowing directly against us, making the paddling 

 rather hard work, and also making the water so rough that 

 a good deal of it was shipped over the bows. This dis- 

 turbed the dogs considerably, and I was obliged when they 

 would attempt to get up on the bow to keep them down by 

 dint of a few sharp blows on the head with the paddle. 

 The wise creatures, however, soon became accustomed to 

 it, and, as if they knew for what purpose we had em- 

 barked, behaved like noble martyrs. The roughness was 

 so great that Frank and I, as well as Benton and Thad., in 

 a broad canoe, were compelled to pull ahead as strongly as 

 we could from island to island, and from time to time un- 



load, empty out the water received over the sides of our 

 light crafts, load up and off again. Thus, about nightfall, 

 we got to the foot of the lake, where we pitched our tent 

 and tarried for the night. 



Chemong Lake is within the pale of civilization, the land 

 on either side being cultivated, and some comfortable look- 

 ing farm houses being within the view. The islands are 

 numerous, and are covered with shrubs and small trees. 

 Some of these islands are almost perfectly circular, and 

 seem to rise out of the water like mounds, with the trees 

 so thick and even that they often present the appearance of 

 a beautiful green cone of foliage floating on the surface of 

 the water. 



We rose in the morning a little before dawn, and the in- 

 dustrious and enthusiastic sportsman^ Ned Benton, sallied 

 out in a canoe to make war upon grey-backs and mallards, 

 while the rest of us remained to pack up and arrange for 

 the morning meal, and as, occasionally, we heard the report 

 of our companion's gun, the light hearted Thad. would ex- 

 claim that should he get two or three brace of ducks he 

 would give us a stew that would make us feel like princes. 

 In a couple of hours Ned came in with five beauties. 

 Thad. made good his boast, and as he danced around the 

 fire preparing the savory meal he seemed to us (unaccom- 

 plished in the art — I was almost going to say the divine 

 art — of cookery) clad in some mysterious power. 



During the night the water had become quite smooth 

 and we glide off. We send the canoes along w T ith ease. 

 Everything is calm and quiet. The sun bathes the woods 

 that line the shore in the mellow light of morning. Fresh 

 and soft and pure looks the foliage, as if it had sprung up 

 like magic. Nothing is heard save our chatting voices 

 and the musical ripple of the water, as the canoes shoot 

 through it. Truly we feel like princes; if not as rich at 

 least as independent. 



Soon we arrived at a mill-dam, at the outlet from Che- 

 mong to Buckhorn Lake, owing to which we have to make 

 a portage. Unloading, we carry our packs and canoes 

 nearly half a mile, and then embark in another water. We 

 did not go far before we came to the Buckhorn Rapids 

 down which we ran in beautiful style, Thad. giving us a 

 lead. Frank and I followed in the birch bark, and Benton 

 brought up the rear. On the right is a large mass of rock 

 which rises perpendicularly from the water about forty or 

 fifty feet, and extends along the shore as many yards, slop- 

 ing down like the roof of a house, and meeting smaller 

 rocks and a rich growth of woods; on the left the water is 

 full of boulders, and the shore thickly lined with youns; 

 trees and shrubbery close to the water's edge, and even an 

 pearing to extend into it. These rapids are comparatively 

 swift and full, but with scarcely any turns. I laid my pad- 

 dle across the bow and allowed my friend Frank to pilot us 

 through; and it certainly required no small skill in steering 

 and handling the paddle. The sensation was truly pleasu- 

 rable, and is difficult of description. At first the canoe 

 moves slowly and evenly along of its own accord, without 

 any assistance from the occupants, increasing in speed 

 through every foot of space; then entering the rough 

 waters of the rapids it shoots off like the rush of some liv- 

 ing creature let loose from its bonds; then, making a turn 

 between two impending rocks, it darts past within a few 

 inches of one of them, and then, in the deepest and strong- 

 est force of the current it bounds gracefully along on the 

 waves, as if glad that it requires not the hand of man to 

 give it motion; and, having acquired this magical indepen- 

 dence, it seems to leap from wave to wave, dancing in re- 

 joicing playfulness to tne tune of the singing stream till it 

 loses its joy and force and strength in the calm waters of 

 the rapid's foot. 



Once more we ply the paddles with some degree of force 

 and gracefully glide through the waters of Buckhorn Lake' 

 The advanced morning is splendid in the radiant beams of 

 the warming sun. The small bays that indent the right 

 shore, skirted sometimes on one side with large flat rocks 

 and on the other with heavy forest trees, are entered by 

 rivulets from the wilds and hills beyond, visited only by 

 Indians and adventurous sportsmen. Here all traces of 



