Terms, Five Dollars a Year. 
Ten Cents a Copy. 
NEW YORK, THURSDAY, APRIL 9, 1874, 
j Volume 2, Number 9. 
1 103 Fulton Street. 
For-Forest and Stream. 
THE BUFFALO HACKMAN. 
A LEGEND OP NIAGARA. 
T HE Hackman stood by Ms empty coach, 
The Hackman spake no word, 
But, with eyes cast down and a moody frown, 
Whispered an oath unheard. 
That sullen man was Zack, 
Who drove the “whirlpool” hack 
Prom the Whirlpool House to the train and back, 
And took the *str anger in. 
Noisier man than he, 
Bolder to charge his fee, 
Quicker to lie or cheat, would be 
A miracle of sin. g 
For Zack was the chief of all 
The ruffians who used to brawl 
And bawl and haul and maul 
The traveling public chancing to fall 
Into their ruthless claws— 
Used to , yes, for happily now 
The wise authorities don’t allow,; 
The rowdy crew to annoy you, laws 
Being passed, I suppose, to that effect, 
And the vile career of the rascals checked. 
For the law, and its penalty must be dread, 
Has silenced each noisy Jehu’s head, 
And developed the use of his hand instead; 
He points to his coach, he points at you, 
You enter the carriage et voila tout! 
So Zack, to-night, stands gruff and glum, 
And to all intent is utterly dumb. 
When the train arrives, with its terrible rum — 
—ble and creak and jar, 
And a stranger alights, with a flavor ol tar 
On his person; unpleasant, but less by far 
Than the odor of whiskey, proclaiming strong 
That he to the Templars don’t belong. 
Figure embonpoint, tuo-like, squat, 
In sea-boots, jacket and naval hat, 
Voiced like a cracked, discordant gong— 
Pen picture of Captain Stormalong, 
Gent of the merchant naval school 
Who wants “to be druv to the ‘Whirlpool.’ ” 
Is “druv,” and sleeps, 
While Zachary keeps 
Watch at the door till daylight peeps, 
And catches the captain exeundem. 
Wroth, I ween, was that simple guest, 
By touters, hackmen and guides distressed, 
Whose noisy clamoring almost stunned him. 
Worried he turns to Zack, to know 
“How much to investigate the show?” 
“Seven dollars” (whereat he smiles) 
“An hour.” adds Zack; “its eleven miles 
By the shortest cut.” “Wa’l, go ahead, 
Jest charge what you like,” tne victim said 
With a smile serene. As the carriage rolls 
On its way, says Zack: “You pays the tolls.” 
“Pay ’em yourself: I’ll make it right 
When I settle for all with you to-night. 
And, see here, you may buy some little traps, 
Jest for souveneers, from them Injun chaps. 
And mind! I must see the hull thing too, 
Drive everywhere! Neow, put her through.” 
They drove to Goat Island, to the brink 
And into a myriad dewdropB break, 
Falling like snow’s ethereal flake 
Or the gentle summer rain, 
Till the sun, beguiled by the phantom bright, 
Gems its glory with prism’d light, 
And they smile in their dying pain. 
Where feathery spray is upward cast, 
And lost in the rain drops falling fast, 
Like showers of pearls from on high 
Thrown by some willful cherub boy. 
“BELLE”—IN ACTION. 
THE CHAMPION FIELD TRIaL DOG OF THE WORLD. 
Winner op the One Hundred Guineas Stakes at Balas Grouse Trials, 1873; beating Mr. Llewellen’s “Count¬ 
ess,” Mr. Slatter’s “ Rob Rot,” Mr. Macdonna’s “ Ranger,” and all Setters and Pointers in England. 
Belle, the champion pointer of England, is a liver and white hitch, pupped June 28th, 1870, by- 
Lord Henry Bentick’s Ranger out of his dog Grouse, and is the champion field trial dog of her 
day. Winner with Sudy (No. 3) of the Bangor Stakes for Pointer Braces, and of the Country 
Stakes for all aged bitches at Vaynol’Field Trials, 1872; and with Grecian Bend (No. 4), of the 
Acton Reynold Stakes for Pointer Braces, and of the County Stakes for aged Pointer bitches, at 
the National Pointers and Setters Field Trials held at Combermere, near Shrewsbury, April 29th, 
1873. Also at the Grouse Field Trials, 1873. Second with Roman Fall (No. 5)in the Penllyn Stakes 
for Braces, August 13th, 1873. She was first in the Rhiwlas Stakes for all aged Pointers and Set¬ 
ters, beating Mr. Macdonna’s Ranger, Mr. Llewellen’s Countess and Flax, Mr. Slattor’s Rob Roy, 
and other celebrated perform ers. 
Heow muck mout it be?” 
“There’s the kerridge and me, 
That’s seven apiece by the hour—let’s see, 
Five is a Jive —and the tolls is three— 
And a baby’s shawl 
And a rubber ball, 
And a Injun fan—is nine in all— 
And a petrified rock from the Turpin Tower 
And a kerridge at seven dollars an hour— 
And thirty is seventy-eight —and me 
Is ninety-four —and the tolls iB three 
A hundred and one , and a bark canoe 
Is a hundred and Jive—and. a shell is two— 
A pin-cushiou’s one —and a cane is ten — 
And a cap is—is a hundred and twenty-one. 
(Here Zachary stole a furtive look, 
To see how his victim the schedule took)— 
And a kerridge at seven doll—” but stopped, 
As the slate from his nerveless Angers dropped, 
And his too prophetic tongue exclaimed, 
“Well I’ll be d-d!” and then “I’m blamed! 
If this ain’t a go! 
I want to know!” 
He looked before him, he looked behind, 
But, for aught he saw, had as well been blind. 
He examined the coach with a critical eye, 
He examined the Custom House standing nigh, 
He cross-examined the customs man 1 
Then up to the Clifton Hotel ran. 
He peered from the top of the Table cliff 
With a half-expectant eager “If!” 
He took off his boots with an insane doubt, 
He turned his pockets inside out; 
But look where he would, he looked in vain. 
His customer was rum est, ’twasplain, 
And a “non est customer,” though it sound 
To the ear all square, isn’t ever round. 
Never did keen hotel man’s eye 
A trace of the vanished captain spy; 
But a legend dimly floats around 
That a stranded maskalonge was found 
Hard by.Ontario’s western gate, 
And that stranded fish, strange to relate, 
With a naval jacket was wrapped around; 
While a story, stranger, wilder still, 
Proclaims that “Baggage Smashing Bill,” 
The courteous guide, 
On the Canada side, 
In the morning’s fitful'light espied 
The captain’s glittering, glazed hat, 
Surmounting the head of a monster cat, 
Of the American Falls, where the captain, inc— 
Autiously stooping to take a drink, 
Was almost whirled over. 
For a beautiful, treacherous place is there, 
Where the tide is shallow and calm and clear; 
Where the half-reluctant waves delay 
On the abyss brink, in idle play, 
Tempting the careless rover, 
With wanton eddy and laugMng wave 
The might of the water fiend to brave; 
Where their final leap into death they take, 
Where the rain and spray in frolic meet, 
And the rainbow dances beneath the feet, 
’Tis a picture of beauty wild and sweet; 
And forgotten ail in the siren’s thrall, 
Is the hidden strength of the mighty fall. 
Well, the captain “Towed it was very nice, 
Majestick and pooty, for the price,” 
And glanced at its thousand glories twice, 
Indulging the while in a pensive “chaw,” 
Then strolled to the Terrapin, whence he saw 
The mighty torrent surge and sway, 
Ere it threw its giant life away 
To rise transfigured in jewelled spray, 
Like the soul unprison’d from human clay; 
And remarked with a rather critical air, 
“Consid’ble water-peower there!” 
So, to cut it short, he saw, in fine, 
All the regular sights, then struck a line 
By the fairy bridge for the Canada side, 
Whereat be dismissed the trusty guide, 
Explaining, “You know 
I’ve concluded to go 
- By myself to examine this part of the show.” 
Assenting, said Zack, “Before you goes 
For to leave me, you’ll pay, if you please, what you owes; 
Said the captain, “That’s only square, I s’poss. 
Or catfish, to be precise—but then, 
Bill wasn’t the truthfullest of men. 
And somewhat conflicting with Kis tale 
Was a letter that came by the evening mail 
Addressed to Zack at the “Whirlpool,” 
Denouncing said Zack as a “lubberly fool” 
And “poor lime juicer,”'and stating how 
The writer was clear of land sharks now, 
With a friendly shore on his weather bow; 
And detailing in nautical'phrase the way 
He had slipped his cable in Swindler’s Bay; 
With a general moral, “Afore you makes 
Out your bill of charges, be sure you takes 
Sekoority for your dooes. The same 
For Captain Stormalong is my name.” 
THE DYING CHILD. 
J. J. Roche. 
H c 
(prom the german.) 
"OW quietly on thy sad heart 
Sleeps thy child I 
Knows not its mother’s griefs 
Are so wild! 
From lips and cheek and brow 
Have faded now 
Color so mild! 
And yet how saintly 
Smiles it faintly— 
Faintly * * * 
Kisses pale death! 
T. C. G 
