136 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



RAVINE PEVERIES. 



DkyotbdtoFibld and Aquatic Spobts, P>aoticalNatttbalHistort, 



JJ.TSHOt IiTDRifi, THB PBOTKCTION OF UaJO:, PRESERVATION OF FORESTS, 



Ltiii rHE Inculcation en Men and Women of a healthy interest 

 ra Out-door Becreation and Study : 



PUBLISHED BY 



£erest mtd ^trtm\ §ubUshing %om$m® t 



17 CHATHAM STREET, (CITY HALL SQUARE) NEW YORK, 



[Post Office Box 3832.] 



♦ 



fwms, Pour Dollars a Year. Strictly In Advance. 



. 4 



Twenty-five per cent, off f < r Clubs of Three or more. 



. « M t» 



Advertising Kates. 



" Inside pages, nonpariel type. 20 cents per line: outside page, 30 cents. 

 Special rates <*or thrwe. six, and twelve months. Notices in editorial 

 columns. 50 cents per line 



N>V VOKB, T1IUKS.MA\, OCTOBER 5, J*76. 



To Correspondents. 



All comm^inicatlOna whatever, whether relating to ouslness or literary 

 Correspondence, must be addressed to The Forest and Stream Pub- 

 lishing Company. Personal or private letters of course excepted. 



All communications intended for publication must be accompanied with 

 real name, as a guaranty of good faith. Names will not be published if 

 Objection be made. No anonymous contributions will be regaraed. 



Articles relating to any topic within the scope of this paper are solicited. 



We cannot promise to return rejected manuscripts. 



Secretaries of Clubs and Associations are urged to favor us with brief 

 notes of their movements and transactions, as it is the aim of this paper 

 to become a medium of useful and reliable information between gentle- 

 men sportsmen from one end of the country to the other ; and they will 

 find our columns a desirable medium for advertising announcements. 



The Publishers of Forest and Stream aim to merit and secure the 

 patronage and countenance of that portion of the community whose re- 

 fined intelligence enables them to properly appreciate and enjoy all that 

 Is beautiful in Nature. It will pander to no depraved tastes, nor pervert 

 the legitimate sports of land and water to those base uses which alv&ya 

 tend to make them unpopular with the virtuous and good. No advertise- 

 ment or business notice of an immoral character will be received on any 

 terms ; and nothing will be admitted to' any department of the paper that 

 may not be read with propriety in the home circle. 



We cannot oe responsible for the dereliction of the mail service, if 

 money remitted to us is lost. 



Aflwertiaeme.tit?" should he sent in by Saturday of each week, if possible. 



Pf p " Trade supplied by American News Company. 

 CHARLES H4LLOCR, 



Edito* and Business Manager. 



CAl aNbAR OF EVENTS FOB THE COM- 

 ING WEEK. 



Thursday October 6th —Racing: Jerome Park: Ottawa, Canada. 

 Tr-uUug: vianville, Mo.; Piqua and Cincinnati, Ohio; Galesburg. ill.; 

 ■Jamestown, N. , Y. ; Pottsville, Pa Minnesota State Fair, Minneapolis. 

 Pla-nfill N J., Athletic Club meeing. Reyatta (postponed) Long 

 Island Y c' ' Ohio. Bench Show of Dogs , St. Louis. Base Ball: Lou 

 isvjjle vs. H <tf>rdat Louisville; Our Boys vs. Witoka at Brooklyn; 

 Qr< ge vs. Enterprise, at Orange. N.J.; Mimticellocf Je-sey City, vs. 

 Alplia'at Siaten Islands Mancbe-ter vs. Cooper at Manchester, N. H. ; 

 Olympic vs Cuelsea at Brooklyn. 



Friday O tober 6th.— Racing: Ottawa, Canada. Trotting as above. 

 Meering of A nerican tflah Oulturistb' Association, "Philadelphia. Re- 

 gatta Greenwood Lake, N Y Bench Show of Dogs, St. LoHis. Base 

 Bali: Jefferson vs Alpine at Stapleton, S. I ; Harlem vs. Volunteer at 

 Pouglikeepsie, N Y.; Quickstep vs. Flyaway at vtelrose, N Y. 



Saturday. October 7 h— Racing: Jerome Park. Trotting: Qales- 

 bnrg. 111. Fish Culturiets' Association, Philadelphia Regatta, Green- 

 wood Lake, N. Y. Union Athletic Club meeting. Boston. Spirit of the 

 Times badse, Creedmoor. Bai-eBall: Olympic vs. Resolute at Brook- 

 lyn; Elizabeth vs. Alpha at Elizabeth, N. J.; Orange vs. Enterprise at 

 Orange, N.J. 



Monday, October 9th.— Handicap Athletic meeting, N. Y. A. Club 

 Grounds, Mott Haven 



Tuk8day, October 10th. — Racing: Jerome Park. Trotting: Brooklyn 

 Driving Park, Lowell, Mass ; Poin. Breeze Park. Philadelphia; Wateeka, 

 111.; White Plains, N. Y. ; Ftederiek, Md. Pigeon Shooting Tourna- 

 ment. Louisville, Ky. Rifle Tournameut, Sarat- ga Springs. 



Wednesday, October Uth —Racing: Kingston, Canada. Trotting as 

 above. Rifle Tournament. Saraioga Springs. Pigeon Shooting Tour- 

 naments. Loui-ville, Ky., and Da- ton, Ohio. 



8I3P~ The subscription price of Forest and Stream has 

 been reduced to $4. Twenty-five per cent, off for Clubs 

 of Three or more. 



—Tiffany & Co., silversmiths, jewelers, and importers, 

 have always a large stock of silver articles for prizes for 

 shooiing, yachting, racing, and other sports, and on request 

 they prepare special designs for similar purposes. Their 

 timing watches are guaranteed for accuracy, and are now 

 very generally used for sporting and scientific requirements. 

 Tiffany & Co. are also the agent in America for Messrs. 

 Patek, Philippe & Co., of Geneva, of whose celebrated 

 watches they have a full lkie. Their stock of diamonds 

 and other precious stones, general jewelry, bronzes, and 

 artistic pottery is the largest in the world, and the public 

 are invited to visit their establishment without feeling the 

 slighot obligation to purchase. Union-Square, New York. 



—'Any friend of Forest and Stream, wishing to send a 

 sample copy of the paper to his friend, to induce his subscrip- 

 tion, can have it by dropping a postal card to the editor. 



FROM THE HUNTER'S CAMP. 



THE musical murmur of the cascade, the monotonous 

 purling of the water as it glides over the stones and 

 gently washes the shelving banks in front of our camp, 

 conduce to reveries. Tall trees shade the glen; catalpas, 

 with broad leaves; maples, whose leaves have not yet as- 

 sumed the autumn tints; walnuts, which drop their fruit- 

 age of a season at our feet; oaks, with their gnarled limbs 

 aloft strive to shut out the sky, but strive in vain. The 

 blue ether, across which sails, anon, a fleecy cloud; the 

 bridge which spans the ravine — a graceful architectural 

 device of man's contrivance; these we can see aloft. Be- 

 neath the trees glides the stream, soon lost to view 'neath 

 overhanging, vine-laaen trees; paths lead upward and dis- 

 appear. Were it not for the busy crowds that come down 

 the paths and along the banks of the foaming brook to 

 gaze in upon us we would soon forget the near proximity 

 of a noisy city and of restless thousands, and imagine 

 ourselves in the leafy forests, in the haunts of deer and 

 trout, so much has Nature done to make the camp a part 

 of the sylvan scene. The rough hewn logs, up-bearing a 

 roof of hemlock and bark, seem but an outgrowth of the 

 hillside. Inside are trophies gathered from widely sepa- 

 rated fields; along the eastern wall is stretched a skin 

 which once enclosed the frame of a grizzly bear — he from 

 the rocky mountains; close by, a pair of snow shoes, which 

 oft glided over Canada's snew drills; from the centre of 

 the camp frowns down a panther's head, from West Vir 

 ginia; beneath this hangs a bow once grasped by hands 

 of wary Seminole, no less a personage than noted "Tiger 

 Tail;" moccasins from Labrador; buckskin suits from 

 Texas and Dakota are mingled with hunting suits of more 

 modern type of manulacture. Jack lamps from the wilds 

 of Connecticut, and camp lounges from modern Troy, sup- 

 ply light and comfort at night, when darkness closes around 

 and all is still. Outside, the walls are garnished with ant- 

 lers of elk, deer, antelope, and caribou, which flank the 

 horns of a Rocky mountain sheep. There lack not tro- 

 phies, but dreadful dearth is there of game. 



There are intervals of quiet — when the thronging people 

 are absent in other portions of the grounds. Then the 

 quiet is dreamy, sleep provoking. The stream murmurs 

 soothing airs; the din of the outside world comes in muffled 

 by the trees to a distant hum; the sun glances down and 

 paints upon the earth soft shadows, imprints of the lifeless 

 leaves and twigs above. 



Our pet squirrel darts out from his haunt in the old 

 stump, seizes a walnut lying on the brink of the pond — 

 our stream is dammed— lilts it aloft to test its soundness, 

 sits for a moment poised on his haunches, whisks his tail, 

 dart 8 at us a glance from his bright eye, then is off. This 

 he repeats so long as quiet reigns. There is a rustle in 

 the logs behind me; a whiskered nose is thrust out, a little 

 paw follows, and, seeing the coast is clear, a mouse glhles 

 across the rough table, tears a mouthful from the morning's 

 paper and runs away with it to his nest. No ruder noise 

 disturbs, and I relapse into castle building in dreamland. 

 Suddenly I am awakened: "Say, Mister, where's the bar?" 



Then I collect my wandering senses, and inform my 

 questioner that the bear is gone. Being further importuned 

 as to why he left, and what leason I could give for deceiv- 

 ing a confiding public into the belief that there was a bear 

 here, I launch forth into a history of the bear's arrival, 

 his stay, and bis escape. First, we never advertised to 

 keep a bear; he was brought here merely as an additional 

 attraction to ihe camp When he arrived he was, as bears 

 go, veiy mild. Multitudes flocked to see him; said multi- 

 tudes carried parasols and canes, and with sundry and 

 divers pokes and punches o' said parasols and canes said 

 multitudes provoked the ire of said bear to such an extent 

 that it was only necessary to point in the direction of said 

 bear 1o see said bear aforesaid rise up and perform sundry 

 gyrations and evolutions wiih his forepaws — all of which 

 greatly delighted and amused said multitude. 



At last there came a man from the Rocky mountains* 

 He was a man past middle age, and had passed the fore- 

 part of his life among grizzlies, as it were. He begged the 

 privilege of patting bruin's head, which was granted, with 

 an injunction to be careful. The old man approached to 

 pat urxus on the head and call him pet names; but bruin 

 didn't take to this man irom the Rocky mountains worth 

 a cent, but arose with his usual demonstrations of wel- 

 come — upon which the old man sounded a retreat. As he 

 turned to flee, that gentle bear reached forth and gathered 

 to himself that portion of his raiment the old man usually 

 sat upon. The demand for pins that ensued impoverished 

 the camp, and caused bruin's banishment forthwith. 



Across the rude bridge that spans the stream now come 

 fresh arrivals from the train. The motives that impel 

 them to visit us are manifold. Some, perhaps the most, 

 come because they must see all there is to be seen on the 

 grounds. These stare into the camp, bestow upon the 

 hunters a hurried glance, and then depart. Many come 

 from a real curiosity to see what a hunter's camp looks 

 like. They are sage in their questionings, accept all infor- 

 mation as gospel truth, and gaze at the hunters as they do 

 at the animals in a menagerie. 



Then there is the class who have camped, or who have 

 relatives or friends who once did. This class may be sub- 

 divided into those who come from a hearty interest in the 

 matter, and those who come to find fault. The number of the 

 latter, I am happy to say, is comparatively small. They 

 will be recognized at once by the desire they manifest to 



impart information. They will point at the grizzly skin 

 and tell their frieDds 'tis a buffalo, and a mean one at that 

 They call the snow-shoes dip nets, and will inquire, with a 

 knowing air, for the hunter. If that representative so far 

 commits himself as to acknowledge Hint he is guilty of 

 following that occupation they accept his information with 

 a stare of densicn or half concealed remark upon his ap- 

 pearance. ^* 



But the gods are just! There are the canoes! This party 

 generally wends his way to the water, launches the canoe 

 without permission and steps in to show his profieiencv 

 with the paddle. Tne n the hunter knows he is about to. 

 be avenged. If the knowing party succeeds in getting 

 seated it is by a miracle; he makes a mis-stroke, loses his; 

 balance, and is next seen floundering ashore on the other 

 side, his arms at right angles to his body, his pantaloons; 

 clinging to him desperately, and his feet making lime for 

 ihe train. He will probably denounce the camp as au im- 

 position, and the hunters' as frauds. 



Some ladies have strangely preconceived ideas of what a 

 hunter should look like. I doubt if there is anything on 

 earth, or under the earth, that will meet a woman's ideal; 

 of a "real live hunter." As near as I can ascertain he 

 must be clad in the skin of wild beasts, must have an inch 

 thick coating of war paint on his face, a few scalps hung 

 at his belt, a ten-foot Kentucky rifle, and a huge Bowie, 

 knife. To be near perfection, he must have an Indian: 

 prii cess for a wife, and must talk of bar and painter and 

 the like in the classic language of Munro and Beadle. 



An Englishman is liktwise at sea — lhat is, the English- 

 man who has never hunted our plains or read extensively 

 of us. They have visited us, and, because your represent- 

 ative did not converse fluently in Choctaw or Sioux, one: 

 sententiously declared to another, in an undertone, U 'E'8, 

 a 'ell of a 'unter." 



Is it strange, then, that we hail with delight those who- 

 come from a real earnest love of camp life? They are 

 not few\ Some days they come by scores and by hundreds, 

 They have read the paper, and they have camped in just 

 such a manner as this. The sit down by us and spin yarns 

 — old hunters from California, from Canada, and from 

 Maine. One will relate a wonderful story of deer shooting, 

 another a tale of the border, in which Indiaus figure ororn- 

 inently. In listening to them your hunter forgets vexation, 

 and paddles off with them to that hunter's fairyland, the 

 land of delightful reminiscences. 



There are many ladies, also, who have camped, and they,. 

 of course, are delighted . They will chat of their trips, of 

 their adventures and escapades with zest that is both in- 

 fectious and charming. There was one who came with 

 her husband, who had met our editor-in-chief away up on 

 the Nepigon. "We did not have as good a shelter as this, 

 and I never enjoyed life as I did then," said she. And 

 then came the stoiies from her store of camp lore that pos- 

 sessed all the foice of masculine yarns, with brighter and 

 more vivid illustrations. 



"This is the place I've been looking for," said a beauti- 

 ful blonde from Kentucky, as she seated herself with a, 

 sigh of relief. "This is ihe only place where everything 

 seems in keeping with the delightful scenery. I can rest 

 here." 



The roughness of the place does not annoy them at all 

 It is a restful place when not crowded. The Iriends and 

 subscribers of the paper take a paternal interest in the; 

 camp, and even include the hunter as accessory. Now,, 

 there was the old gentleman from Weslchester, who said 

 he had a bottle of cider in his cellar forme. He was a 

 fine old man, and, well — somehow I wish that buttle of 

 cider was not in his cellar just now. 



Our camp is often confounded with the New England 

 cabin — contounded often— and finally it became necessary 

 for me to visit it, that I might intelligently direct inquir- 

 ing visitors. There was a crowd. A policeman guatded 

 the door, and admitted visitors in detachments. While 

 waiting I gazed. They had a garden in front, and it was 

 a garden, too. Why, they had regular hollyhocks and 

 marigolds, such as my grandmother used to raise up there 

 on Cape Ann. There was, I believe, a bunch of tansy, 

 which I hadn't seen before in a twelvemonth, and, I think, 

 some peppermint and spear mint. I oughtn't to forget 

 those herbs, for I remember that one of my annual duties, 

 when a small boy, was to carry a huge bundle of mint 

 down the road to old Aunt Souard to be distilled. Inside 

 the cabin were gathered things new and old — principally 

 old. Of course they had ail the articles of furniture and 

 so forth brought over on the Mayflower, as the Mayflower 

 was peculiarly a Massachusetts vessel, and wouldn't have 

 come over if it hadn't been for Massachusetts people. 

 What became of the Mayflower I don't know. If it had 

 come to Philadelphia, now, they would have had it cut 

 up into canes and selling at twenty-five cents apiece. There 

 were but two things, however, that interested me. One 

 was the fire on the hearth, the other a New England insti- 

 tution— baked beans. I sat down to the table and ordered 

 a plate of beans. For the first time in many a month 1 

 was at home. All about me were people devouring beans. 

 It was the only place on the grounds where a person coul 

 obtain that somewhat mythical article, a "good square 

 meal." Here, at last, was the long-sought haven, They 

 came; I gazed. My heart warmed — it burned. )t 



"Good heavens! is the man going to eat all them beans, 

 said a woman near by. I looked at her pityingly- She 

 evidently came not from New England. I did full credit 

 to my bringing up. But there was the fire. I returned to 

 the sitting-room and looked yearningly at that fire- 

 huge "settee" prevented a near approach, and said "thu. 



