406 



FOEEST AND STREAM. 



[Dbobmbke 83, 1881 



Btirely join my friend before then. I can perhaps get a 

 wagon to transport my canoe overland to h.s house, and 

 with my waterproofs I can walk the distance without incon- 

 venience." 



" I beg you will not leave during such weather," said Mrs. 

 Gardinier. "It may be further than you think to your 

 friend's house, and this steady pour has doubtless caused a 

 flood that may have carried away bridges and inundated 

 roads, as is olten the case in this low country. Believe me, 

 you had better stay." 



Barry wondered not a little at such urging to him, and an 

 ut ti r si ranger up to a day or two before. Had he noticed 

 the suppressed smile of ttie mother, aud the mischief dancing 

 in the eyes of the daughter, 1t might have set him thinking,' 

 perhaps. But our young gentleman had quite an allowance 

 of vanity in his composiiion, and wilh the simple thought 

 that any one ought to be pleased with the company of so 

 agreeable a person as Mr. Barry Newton, he dismissed all 

 further consideration of the matter. 



Toward night the wind changtd and the storm subsided ; 

 and the next day (Sunday) the sun shone pleasantly. The 

 country parson was at "camp meeting" that week, and 

 Here was no service in the little church, so toward noontime 

 Mamma Gardicier dropped into a quiet doze in the great arm- 

 chair, and Miss Fanny and Barry went out for a walk by the 

 river. The more Barry saw of the little ludy the stronger 

 grew his attachment for her, and he suspected, too, that he 

 was not by any mtans disagreeable to her. Sundry»little 

 actions aud half -suppressed advances, while of little moment 

 in themselves, »eer±je<t to indicate a growing tenderness for 

 him that was highly flattering. A sudden sparkle of mis- 

 chief in 'he speaking brown eyes, however, often confused 

 him in his attemps to guess the feelings that agitated the 

 heart of the young woman, and he became more and more 

 entangled in the meshee of her unfathomable ways. 



They walked a long way that delightful Sunday by the 

 river, and through the cedar grove ; and at last sat down to 

 rest on a grassy hillock, beneath a huge oak, whose branches 

 were festooned with the twining shoots of a wild grape-vine. 

 Barry had fashioned a rude chaplet of wild roses and oak 

 leaves, bound with tendrils from the vine above them, with 

 Which ie insist.'; d upon crowning the jet locks of the pretty 

 round head beside him. Very charming was the blush that 

 diffused itself over the little lady's face as the young man 

 leant over her, his li | s almost touching her forehead as he 

 bent to cole the conirast between the green of the leaves 

 and the hue black of the splet.did hair. 



" Is it Iji coming P" a-ked she. 



"It is lovely," answered the young man, looking, not at 

 the garland, but stiaight at. the eyes beneath, and with an 

 ardent expression that could not be mistaken. 



" It is late, and mamma will expect us," said Miss Fanny, 

 Buddenly rising. And the two wended their way toward the 

 atone mansion. 



"One thing is plain," soliloquized Barry that night, "I 

 must either leave to morrow, or else—" the young man 

 pulled his blonde whiskers without completing his sentence. 

 "1 think the little creature loves me— perhaps without know- 

 ing it, she is so innocent and child-like— and I ought not to 

 remain here to entrap her young heart. She is a dear little 

 body, though, and I might look a deal further and not— 

 Hang it! I don't believe I know my own feeling3. To- 

 morrow — well, we will see." 



The morrow dawned pleasantly, and promised a glorious 

 day. Barry said nothing of leaving until alone with Fanny 

 after breakfast, when he ..nnounced his intention of taking 

 steps for an immediate departure. 



"But you surely won't chsat me of my promised canoe 

 ride?" 



" Are you in earnest about wishiDg to try my canoe?'' 



''Of course." 



" It is late," thought Barry, as he assented to the lady's 

 wishes. 



The little canoe had never been intended for more than 

 one passenger, but by a little manceuvering Miss Fanny was 

 found a place in the " well," facing her instructor, and the 

 lesson in paddling was begun. After much splashing aud 

 sprinkling of sva-er, and a good deal of laughter, the fair 

 pupil declared herself proficient in the art, and to prove it 

 essayed to guide the canoe alone. Success did not attei d her 

 efforts, however, for she drove the boat in such a zigzag 

 c jurse that it finally ran under an arch formed by the over- 

 hanging boughs of a large willow growing on the bank, and 

 its tiny flag-pole became entangled in the branches. 



" Tou h.ive made yourself a prisoner," laughed Barry. 



" And a willing oiie for a lime," said the lady; "for the 

 sun cannot look through this leafy shelter, let him try ever 

 so hard." 



" 1 trust, he will restrain his wrath to-morrow, when I am 

 on my journey." 



"Are you quite surp you will resume your journey to- 

 morrow, Mr. Newton ?" ask> ri Fanny, with just the faintest 

 twinkle of mischief in the brown eyes. 



"I surely ought to," answered the unsuspecting Barry. 



" You must be very anxious to see your old-fashioned 

 friend and his old-mat' ush wife, that nobody else would have 

 ever thought of inan-ying." 



" I fear I shall find their company very dull after the de- 

 lightful days I have spent here." 



"I opine that your visit to them will prove just as de- 

 lightful as your short stay with us," said Fanny, with an in- 

 credulous smile. 



" That would be impossible," said Barry, earnestly. "Miss 

 Fanny, relieve me when I tell ynu that these few dayslhat I 

 have passed in yourcompauy have been the happiest, the sweet- 

 est of my whole life. . In this short time I have learned to 

 appreciate one little, simple, innocent heart at its full worth. 

 FanDy," continued the young man, not noting the look of 

 utter amazement depicted in his companion's face. " I have 

 learned what it is to love. And, dear Fanny, my heart tells 

 me that you " 



At that moment a sudden step was heard on the bank over 

 their heads, and Miss Fanny, looking up, cried out joyously, 

 "John ! oh John!" 



"Hello! here you are at last," and a tall figure came 

 bounding down the slope, and wading knee-deep into the 

 water, lifted the little woman out of the canoe, and adminis- 

 tered one, two, th i ee hearty kisses ou the rosy mouth. "And 

 you Barry, my boy, Mother Gar jini-r told me I would find 

 you and my wife sailing on the river somewhere. How do 

 you like my country-place, old chum ?" 



" My wife !" John Sanders' wife ! Barry was too dumb- 

 founded to reply. 



" What's the matter, my boy? Haven't lost your voice, 

 have you ? I told you smoking cigarettes would ruin your 

 lungs." 



I ' John," said the little woman, " we have played a shame- 



ful trick on Mr. Newton. But, really, I couldn't help it 

 when he told me how often he had made yon the subject of 

 practical jokes at college. And he had the effrontery, John, 

 tosay that your wife must be an ' old maid, that no one but you 

 would ever have thought of choosing,' " and the little lady 

 broke out in a peal of silvery laushter. 



Explanations followed, and Barry gradually recovered 

 from the shock the unexpected denouement had caused him. 

 His hearty gcod nature enabled him to take kindly a practi- 

 cal joke played on himself, and he appeared to laugh and 

 chat wdih his old college chum as if the occurrence were an 

 everyday affair, already forgotten. One thing only concerned 

 him ; the fear that Fanny would tell her husband of his con- 

 fession of love for herself. That would make him appear ridi- 

 culous in John Sanders' eyes. That night Barry met her 

 alone in the hall. 



" Mrs. Sanders," said he, " can you keep a secret ?" 

 " I can, a=d will," said the little woman. And that ended 

 it. Sknboa. 



A TALE OF WACOAMAW LAKE. 



ON the line of the railroad leading from Wilmington, N. 

 0., to Columbia, and just thirty-four miles from the 

 former, there is a lake covering about twenty-five square miles, 

 which is a favorite resort of the anglers of that section of 

 country. It is nowhere more than fifteen feet deep, and 

 geueraily its waters are as placid as the features of a sleeping 

 beauty. Black bass, chinquepin-perch, warmouth, white 

 perch, bream, grindles and other fish common to tha'. lati- 

 tude, abound in the lake and its tributary. 



The writer has often had rare sport taking most of these 

 varieties, and in enjoying them upon the sh ire after they had 

 had the culinary attention of his old friend Kinchen K. — 

 one of the salt of the earth — whose art in fishing was only 

 excelled by his capacity for preparing the fruits of his line 

 for the delectation of his palate. 



Artificial flies and joiuted rods and reels, were, in my time, 

 unknown to the simple people who lived near the lake, and 

 the common red worm, the grub, a hair line and a long light 

 rod of native reed answered fully all their wants. Of course 

 a "dug-out" or canoe made of cypress, was a necessary ad- 

 dition to the equipment. In the open water among the bon- 

 nets and grass, which crew upou the margin, and in ihe little 

 creeks which discharge their waters into the lovely lake, the 

 disciples of " the gentle art" whiled away many a pleasant 

 hour drawing the fish from the dark water, and looking for- 

 ward to the lime when they should return home. 



" The expectant, wee tilings todrllln' stacher thro' 

 To meet their dad In flltclierln' noise and glee." 



The name of this beautiful sheet o' water is Lake Wacca- 

 maw, pronounced Walk-a-maw, and at Flemington, a station 

 about five hundred yards from its northern bank, is a well- 

 kept hotel presided over by Mrs. Nick Carroll, who succeeded 

 her mother, Mrs. Brothers, well-known to the traveling 

 public as the keeper of one of the best eating-houses in the 

 South. Here ample accommodations can be had, and Nick 

 himself is often willing to pilot his friends around and show 

 them the best places in which to fish. 



A few miles northeast of the Lake there lived, several 

 years ago, a fisherman named John Aways, who had the 

 hanpy laoulty of narrating his piscatorial exploits by giving 

 full flow to a vivid imagination, and who sometimes indulged 

 in such extravagant tales, that the falsity of them was 

 patent on the face of the statement. He had a brother 

 named George who was his equal in these peculiarities, and 

 when the two set their heads, they could invent stories of 

 their sport in Waccamaw Lake which required the most 

 thorough credulity to believe them. That man was indeed 

 unfortunate who al tempted to describe his remarkable suc- 

 cess with the fishing tribe when either was present, for he 

 soon had to hang his head in very shame. A clerical friend 

 of the writer was on one occasion, several years ago, the un- 

 happy victim who was immo.ated upon the sharp racks of 

 John Away's satire, when, in sincere joy, he was telling of 

 the great number of fish he had taken a few days before in 

 the dark but clear waters of Lake Waccamaw and its feeders. 

 But lo our tale. 



The clergyman, whose, name was Duffrey, lived about 

 eighty miles from the Lake, and being fond of fishing (and 

 what good man is not ? Old Iziak Walton said that the Lord 

 had never made a bi tter or more innocent diversion) had 

 visited it, and indulged in the quiet and contemplative 

 pastime. He had been quite successful, and loved to tell of 

 the joyful sport he had found. He may have followed, some- 

 times, the angler's Liberty, and given a roseate hue to his per- 

 formances ; but he was full of the pleasures he had had, and 

 loved to sing his joys aloud. On his way home he had to 

 travel a fewmiles by steamer on the Cape Fear River, and 

 while sitting in the cabin dilating on the glories of Wac- 

 camaw, the aforesaid John Aways happened to be one of his 

 auditors. Old Kinchen K. was present also, and being a 

 man of much humor, and desiring to see what Jobn could 

 say, he quietly whispered to him and told him who our hero 

 was, requesting that as soon as there was a hiatus, he would 

 tell the preacher something that he bad seen and done at the 

 Lake. The idea "jumped with the humor" of John, and he 

 watched for an opportunity to enter into the conversation. 

 Our clerical friend had to stop momentarily to get rid of an 

 accumulation of tobacco juice, and John lost no time in 

 avading himself of the chance. With a drawling voice he 

 said. 



" And you'se been to the Lake, stranger, has ye?" 



" Was there yesterday," said the preacher. 



" And did ye kelch many?" said John. 



This started the preacher again, and he had proceeded for 

 several minutes in his descriptions of the charms of the lake 

 when he ventured to ask John if he had ever been there. 



" Me been thar ?" says John; " why, stranger, I helped 

 make that Lake, and there ain't narry square foot in it that 

 I bavn't wet my line in." 



This whopper somewhat took our preacher off his high 

 horse, and he thereafter became only a questioner, John hav- 

 ing the right to the floor. 



■' What fish do you like the best, Mr. Aways ?" 



' Wall, for frying, when they are a leetle corned, give me 

 the blackfish (grindle), but for biling I'd ruther have the 

 trout." 



" What do you think of the white perch ?" 



" Wall, they'se tolebule good, if you could just get 'em to 

 the pun soon enough, but they'se rotten before you can get 

 'em off the hook." 



" Are there any large trout in the Lake, Mr. Aways." 



' ' Large trout, did you say ? Why, stranger,whar do you 

 live ?" 



'Hive in Stoniogham." 

 And do you know Sam McGethan?" (Old Bam once 



lived on the banks of the Lake, where'he was well known. 

 He had removed years before it to the vicinity of Stoning- 

 hatn.) 



"I have seen him but have little acquaintance with him." 



" Wall, I saved his life onest," 



"You did. How did that happen ?" 



"Has ye ever been at the Big Creek, just about where it 

 runs in the Lake?" 



"Yes, I was there yesterday." 



" Wall, it happened this way. Brother George and me, 

 we heered that there was some famous big blackfish in thar, 

 that was a breaking folk's hooks and lines; so we was in 

 Wilmington and got the blacksmith Polley to make us a 

 hook 'bout Ihe size of your finger, and we bought from Daw- 

 son some plow lines and a bar or two of lead for a sinker. 

 We g' it some dry tupelo-gum roots for corks, and, as we 

 had just killed a mutton, we took some of that for bait. 

 A'ter we got thar, we cut a black-gum saplin' for a pole, and 

 cut some forks to hold it up. About a hundred yards from 

 the mouth we flung the hook in and I staid thar' a watch in' 

 while brother George went f urder up to McGethan's house. 

 A'ter a little while I begun to see a nibble, and 'twan't long 

 before the cork went under. I just let him have it long 

 enough to git it full in his mouth, when I got hold of the 

 pole and fotch a fillup when the hook stuck. I tugged and 

 tugged, but couldn't budge it. I hollered to brother George 

 to come to me, for I had ketched the great.-grand-riaddy Of 

 all the blackfish. When he come and cotch hold wi' me, it 

 began to give a little, and ater a while as we backed out on 

 the shore, hit come to the top of the water wilh- its mouth 

 open. And I swar, I seed two big toes sticking out, aud by 

 'em I knowed it was Sam McGethan. We drug the fish out 

 as quick as we could, and I told brother George to git out 

 his knife, for old Sam was in a bad fix. He ripped the fish 

 open, and shore enough out come old Sam a-smilin', and say- 

 in g he was much obleeged to us, for he was pretty near gone. 

 He told us he slipped off a log about a hour before, and 

 something swallowed him. bays I, ' Brother George, old 

 Sam's mighty good bait, spose we try him again?' So we 

 hooked him on, and in an hour or so we had ketched two 

 cart loads of the biggest blackfish and trout you ever seed. 

 Now, stranger, didn't I save his life?" 



By this time the audience was in a yell and our poor 

 preacher found a man who could beat him at the game of 

 big talk and give him a long start. He has never been known 

 since to volunteer any stories in regard to Waccamaw Lake 

 in the section of country where John Aways' yam has been 

 heard. 



The news of his discomfiture reached Stoningham a few 

 days after the arrival of our hero, and just as he had finished 

 a glowing account of his trip, a gentleman who was listening 

 turned to another and said: "Aud do you know Sam 

 McGethan ?" When our hero heard that fatal inquiry, he 

 dropped his head, and timidly asked, " Where did you hear 

 that big lie ?" At this a shout of laughter went up from all 

 who had heard of the steamboat disaster, and our friend had 

 business in another locality. 



And so endeth this chapter. Bobb 



SPORT AS BRAIN FOOD— I. 



NONE but those who turn to forest and stream for re- 

 lief from the monotonous cares of life in the brail BBS 

 world can fully realize not only the physical strength to be 

 renewed by sports afield, but the reinvigoration of an ex- 

 hausted, weary brain. 



In 1858, '59 and '60, weary of city life, work, temptation 

 and the dissipation a man with many friends must face in 

 the great metropolis of our nation, I bought a tract of wild 

 land in the Adirondaeks, built me a rude hunter's home and 

 until the civil strife of 1861 called me to the defence of the 

 flag and Union, under which and in the service of which, I 

 gained my education, such as it is, I lived there happy as a 

 forest king. 



The nearest house to me was Wood's, on the Kaquette— 

 nine miles off — the nearest settlement worth the name, 

 twenty-eight miles, and my stores were hauled in eighty- 

 four miles from Glens Falls, then not more than one- third 

 its present size. 



Game and fish, speckled and salmon trout so abounded 

 that one man could have fed a hundred, if skilled in the art 

 of hunting and fishing, for a good hunter and a good 

 handler of the pliant rod, is an artist in that line. 



When I went into that wilderness I felt that my brain was 

 giving way. To write had become a distasteful labor. Be- 

 fore I had spent three months there, living almost solely on 

 the proceeds of my rod and gun, I felt physically and 

 mentally like a new man. Sweet rest at night, a constant 

 appetite for three square, hearty meals a day, showed that 

 physically I was a gainer in the life I led. As to the brain, 

 it was never before more fresh and strong, my very soul 

 seemed steeped in the poetry of the grand panorama of 

 Nature about me. 



It was then I wrote the words, set to music by my frien d 

 and guest Wm. H. Dutton, and published by Col. Win. A. 

 Pond, in New York, entitled 



MT HOMK. 

 Where the silvery gleam or the rushing stream 

 Is so brightly seen o'er the rocks' dark green, 

 Where the white pink grows by the wild red rose, 

 And the bluebird alngs till the welkin rings, 



There Is my home— my wild-wood home. 

 Where the red-deer leaps and the panther creeps 

 And the eagles scream over lake and stream, 

 Where the lilies bow their crests ot suow, 

 And the hemlocks tall throw n. shade o'er all- 

 There Is my home— my wild-wood home. 

 Where the rolling surf laves the emerald turf, 

 Where the trout leaps high for the hovering fly, 

 Where the sportive fawn crops the soft green lawn, 

 Where the crow's shrill cry boles a tempest nigh, 



There Is my home— my wild-wood home. 

 Where no step Intrudes In the dense, dark woods, 

 Where no sound Is heard but ot breeze and birds, 

 Where the world'B foul scum will not ever come, 

 Where fi lends are so few time all are true. 

 There Is my home— my wl'd-wood home. 

 I do not offer this as much of a specimen of brain work — 

 it was only one of many such ebullitions boiling over, iff. r- 

 vescing all the time. If this paper should be considered 

 readable, in another yet more descriptive of sport there, and 

 embodying a panther hunt, I will give the onlv link of verses 

 from my pen that I ever felt really proud of— a short poem 

 called "My Maple." 

 In the years I have named I had salt licks close around 



