306 FOREST AND STREAM. 
first question with which they accost the servant who brings 
up their shaving water in the morning, is touching.the 
prospects of the day, and should there be nothing cheering 
to communicate, the domestic had better answer warily^ 
for if his information be not in accordance with his master’s 
wish, it is ten to one on the latter’s dismissing him with a 
voluble malediction, and the discharge of a boot, or the 
first object he can lay his hand On, after his retreating 
figure. Nothing seems to damp the ardor of these Nim- 
rods of the Chase. They will ride for hours with the rain 
beating pitilessly upon them—their scarlet coats and glossy 
hats soaked and dripping -with wet, imparting to the 
wearers a woe-begone draggled appearance—content to fol¬ 
low so long as the hounds can find, and there is a chance 
of its clearing up, and only reluctantly turning homewards 
'when at last in despair the huntsman draws his pack off. 
Should they come to grief, and get an ugly spill to-day, the 
mishap, instead of slackening, adds fresh fuel to their zeal, 
and provided no bones are broken, they are ready to risk 
their own necks and those of their horses with the same 
fearlessness as ever on the morrow. 
Foreigners are often struck at the zest with which Eng¬ 
lishmen enter into all their out-door sports, but in none is 
the enthusiasm so widespread, in none does it reach so high 
a pitch as in hunting. The causes for this enthusiasm, 
were it confined to the few that hunt, it would be easy to 
assign, but when we find it shared by the far larger propor¬ 
tion who take no active part in the sport, it is, at first sight, 
rather difficult to account for. In the case of the first- 
mentioned class of persons, the reasons are obvious. The 
ride to cover—the meet—the momentary delay while the 
hounds are being thrown off—the chorus of short, quick 
yelps, the sweetest music to a fox-hunter’s ear, that pro¬ 
claims Master Reynard is “at home”—the “break”—the 
sharp “spin” that follows as an old dog-fox takes to the 
open—and the “check,” when for a time both hounds and 
men are at fault, and the chances of a “kill” grow smaller 
and smaller—these are a few of the attractions that hunting 
holds out to its votaries, and yet they are only the prelimi¬ 
naries, which dwindle into nothingness, when contrasted 
with the closing and far more exciting scenes of a fox-hunt. 
Presently some staunch old hound, keen of nose, and clever 
in picking up the scent when lost, “gives tongue,” the 
huntsman’s horn rings out, summoning the scattered pack, 
who quickly confirm with loud and joyous voice the wel¬ 
come discovery. And now ensues I hat wild, mad burst 
’cross the country, when the fox, baffled in all his attempts 
to get to “ground,” and resolved to die game, leads the 
way at a break-neck pace, that quickly thins the field. 
Away they go, the hounds in “full cry,”' closely followed 
by the huntsman and some half dozen fearless riders, who, 
reckless with excitement, and confident alike of their 
horses’ mettle and capabilities, dash heedlessly forward. 
Fences are boldly taken, hedgebanks cleverly topped, and 
stone-walls flanked by ugly ditches bravely cle ared, ai horse 
and rider, impelled by a common sympathy, strain every 
muscle to gain the foremost place. On, on, they hold, 
sweeping with the rapidity of lightning across smooth 
green meadows, and through .deep-ploughed fields, breast¬ 
ing steep inclines, covered with heath and rock, and dash¬ 
ing down sloping hill-sides, bright with the yellow gorse 
just bursting into bloom. Little time is there, however, to 
admire the natural beauties of the picture, as with hands 
low, seats firm and close, the horsemen with difficulty re¬ 
strain their fiery hunters, and seldom have occasion to use 
either whin or spur to press them forward, or to urge them 
to further exertion. Such furious going neither man nor 
beast can stand for any length of time; both begin to show 
si^ns of failing, and could the fox hold out for a few brief 
minutes he might yet escape. But while the pace has told 
heavily on the pursuers, it has been fatal to the pursued. 
Right gallantly he has fought for his life, but his cunning 
and fleetness of foot no longer avail him, and in vain he 
strives to shake off his cruel foes. Steadily and swiftly the 
hounds gain on his flagging footsteps—but a ditch separates 
them, and that is quickly passed—a few yards more and 
they are close upon him. Their cries ring horribly in his 
affrighted ears, and already he can feel their hot breath 
streaming upon his flanks. Maddened at the awful sounds, 
and fired with the energy of despair, he again storings for¬ 
ward with a portion of his old vigor—one last desperate 
struggle—a few convulsive bounds—and all is over; as 
gamely as he lived he dies, and not a cry escapes to tell his 
ao-ony. What wonder then that men ride hard, regardless 
of life or limb, to be up at such a death! What wonder 
that fox-hunting numbers so many ardent champions, when 
its lists engender such manly courage, awaken such blood- 
quickening emotions, and offer such soul-stirring scenes to 
all who enter! 
Having thus briefly pointed out the pleasures that exist 
for the followers of the hunt, the privileged few who lack 
neither leisure or means—the two primary essentials let 
us glance at those which belong to the many—equally to 
the poor as to the rich—and which have served to render 
the sport so popular with our lower orders. From the 
earliest days of the Norman Conquest, the chase has been 
preeminently a national pastime. Poets have sung its 
praises in such thrilling language, and painters depicted its 
o-lories in such glowing colors, as not only have brought the 
subject vividly to every home, but have also sufficed to 
keep alive, and when necessary to rekindle the popular feel- 
inf in its favor. Moreover, while nearly all our other 
fie!d sports have undergone changes so frequent and start- 
li n o'_the dictates of modern ingenuity and invention—as 
to retain little of their originality, hunting, from its very 
nature incapable of any great alterations, has come down 
to us with much of its ancient form and ceremony intact, 
and scarcely modified by the lapse of time. Though the 
pomp and splendor with which our Norman nobles con¬ 
ducted all the operations of the chase—from the long train 
of richly-dressed squires, gaily-caparisoned horses, and at¬ 
tendant serfs, that issued from under the massive portcullis 
of some feudal castle on a hunting morn in the olden time, 
to the lavish hospitality that marked the evening feast 
awaiting their return in the banquet-hall—have disap¬ 
peared, there is still more show and more display connected 
with the hunt of the present day, than can be found in any 
other of our pastimes. In this fact lies the main-spring for 
that affection with which it is everywhere regarded by the 
country people, and this it is that in their estimation entitles 
it to take precedence of all others. The lot that debars the 
laborer or the plougliboy from sharing the dangers and 
fascinations of a “run,” does not deny them the pleasure of 
witnessing the meet, or of being spectators of the opening 
scenes of "the drama that so often ends fatally for the crafty 
“varmint” that robs their hen-roosts, and plays such havoc 
with their chickens. That the pleasure is not an imaginary 
one the crowds that flock to some of our more noted meets 
bear witness to. This is truer perhaps of Ireland than Eng¬ 
land. John Bull partakes too much of his neighbor the 
canny Scotchman’s thrift and prudence to waste his time 
in racing over the country to see a pack of fox-hounds; 
whilst Pat, too fond of any excuse wherewuth he may salve 
his conscience, willingly leaves his work and starts off “jist, 
to have a sight of the quality.” Pat, too, being of a more 
excitable temperament th'an" the phlegmatic Englishman, 
enters largely into a sport where there is so much to attract 
the eye and warm the blood. For him the meet, with its 
well-groomed, neatly appointed horses—strong of limb and 
stout of chest—its ladies in the trimmest of habits and dain¬ 
tiest of hats—looking as if they meant business, and seldom 
belying their looks—its members, from the master down¬ 
wards, resplendent in “pink,” its carriages, with tlieir fair 
occupants, (for Pat is a great admirer of female beauty,) 
and its handsome well-bred pack of hounds, makes up a 
picture which fascinates and absorbs his attention. Except 
to climb a tree, or gain some new point of vantage, whence 
he can command a wider and more extended view,, he will 
not move till the hounds are out of sight and the last car¬ 
riage lias left the ground, and then he slowly, half-sorrow- 
fully wends his way home to talk and dream over the bright 
vision that lias passed before him. It is strange to observe 
the excitement that prevails in an Irish cottage when it is 
heard that the hunt is coming in their direction. From the 
commotion that ensues one might, suppose the “Shall,” qr 
“Emperor of all the Russias,” (a better “draw” just. now,) 
was about to pass, instead of a score or so of ladies and 
gentlemen out for a day’s amusement. The “boys” at work 
in the field throw down their spades and hasten off to mount 
the nearest ditch or stone-wall, over which the chase will 
lead; running as fast as, her legs can carry her, and three or 
four ragged, bare-footed “childer” hanging on to her skirts 
will permit, the “ould woman” may be seen hurrying up, 
determined if possible to get a look at the “fine ladies and 
iligant gentlemen on horseback.” She has probably left 
the potatoes for the dinner boiling on the turf fire, and by 
the time she gets back the pot will most likely be upset, 
and the pig hard at work on its contents, but such a con¬ 
tingency she neither dreams of, or if she does, it troubles 
her bu’t little. No people are so fond of sport or so easily 
pleased as the Irish. It is well that it is so. The bright 
spots in their life arc few and far between; it is fortunate 
if when a stray gleam of sunshine—though it be only in the 
form of a passing fox-hunt—comes to lighten up their ex¬ 
istence, they lack neither the power nor the will to appre¬ 
ciate it accordingly. 
Lieut. W. Hutchison Poe. 
For Forest and Stream . 
LANDING A NINE-POUNDER. 
P ERMIT me, with a pardonable degree of vanity, to 
give vou an account of an exploit of mine last July 
in the Adirondacks. The Adirondacks! What a host of 
delightful associations the words conjure up. Oh! how 
fresh and pure the air! how charming the freedom enjoyed 
in those beautiful woods! 
My party consisted of our matron, a young friend of 
hers, two guides and myself. How picturesque the ladies 
looked in their mountain costumes, with their luxuriant 
hair falling in rich profusion over their shoulders, and their 
jaunty hats shading their sun-browned faces, made browner 
still by the horrid tar they used to keep off the flies and 
punki.es, until they fairly rivalled the dusky hue of the 
Indian maidens who laughed and danced under these same 
old trees in days of yore! 
It was on the 3d of July, 1873, that I heard the call for 
breakfast, and slowly conning over our previously planned 
ex; edition.I dressed myself hastily; i. e. put on my hat, 
and started for the stream near by to wash the cobwebs 
from my eyes. A souse into the water over eyes, nose and 
ears, a shake of the head like a spaniel, throwing the fresh 
drops high in the air, completed my toilet. The sunlight 
was breaking through the fog, and coloring it with rosy 
light. A distant mountain peak with a listless fleecy cloud 
half way up, looked majestically upon our camp. Birds 
were striving for sovereignty in their songs in aright earnest 
way; conspicuous among which were the beautiful jays, 
that I recall with pleasure only as they serve to give life to 
my thoughts of the woods. The smoke rose perpendicularly 
like a tiny cloud from the camp fire, half hidden in the 
trees. The tents and camp kit carelessly strewn about, the 
bark table, with its picturesque covering to keep off the 
sun and rain; the odor of broiling venison and steaming 
coffee, added a charm and zest to the enjoyment, which, 
go where you will, can never be found out of the woods. 
Hastily devouring our breakfast, Marshall and George 
made a hurried good bye to the ladies; instructing them 
for the hundredth time at least, what to do when that 
much feared and thus far mythical panther should appear, 
a “wagging his tail behind him!” I picked up my rod 
and gun, pocketed a couple of biscuits and about a half 
pound of maple sugar, and joined the guides who were 
awaiting me somewhat impatiently by the bank of the 
stream. Our “carry” to the adjoining chain of ponds was 
accomplished without event, save the starting of a few 
grouse, and provoking the scrutiny of a few chipmuneks, 
made tame by the very wildness of the place. We adjusted 
our table, caught our minifies, and then began our morn- 
in^ sport. The strictly orthodox sportsman must by no 
means classify us with the much maligned bait fishermen; 
lor, know ye, that he whose exploit is about to be chronicled 
had only the day before, with the aid of his, split bamboo 
and brown hackles, successfully landed two two-pound 
trout, both hooked at a single cast, one in the usual man¬ 
ner, and the other just forward the caudal* fin, thereby 
giving him full power to circulate to his heart’s content. 
We must confess, however, upon this particular occasion 
we were not so strictly orthodox as to forego our morning 
troll. A few small trout, none weighing more than three 
fourths of a pound, were our only trophies for the first 
hour. While thinking seriously of changing our pond, I 
felt a jerk on my line that sent the blood first to my heart 
and tlien through my tingling veins at a furious rate. “I 
guess you have got Hie father of all trout at last by the way 
he pulls,” said George. “I feel him on the oars!” “Pull 
slowly Mr. -, give him plenty of time.” A moment of 
quiet was followed by a series of jerks that one would sup¬ 
pose came from the strong arm of a man. A jump from 
the water next revealed the size of my game. Down again 
he shot, lashing the water as he disappeared. “Pull slow 
and steady,” said Marshall, “I’ve been a guiding for twenty 
years and never saw the mate to that fish, though there are 
.some in here as big as him; but I never seen one catched 
I hooked one once and he bit my gang in two like so much 
thread! If you land Mvi it will go from one end of these 
woods to the other, yes! quicker than if you had shot a 
moose, for that’s been done, but no such speckled trout has 
ever been landed in my time!” After aboutfifleen minutes 
fight with that fish, to fight which over again would I 
walk fifty miles, I successfully landed him in the stern of 
the boat amid the congratulations of my guides. “I would’nt 
have had you lose that trout,” exclaimed George, “for fifty 
dollars; nor missed seeing him for fifty more!” ’ I fear the 
Divine command against pride and vain-glory was utterlv 
ignored by me when I triumphantly marched into camn 
and placed my beauty at the feet of my “fair Dulcipea!” ^ 
He weighed nine pounds and a quarter ; measured twentv- 
seven inches in length and seventeen inches around the 
waist if my unscientific reader will excuse the use of a tech¬ 
nical term, and was in every and all respects a perfect 
specimen of the ‘ ‘Snhno fontinalis. ’’ 
Where did you say you caught him? Oh yes! I neglected 
to mention that specifically. If my inquiring friend will 
join me on a trip to the first of tnat chain of ponds flowing 
towards the St. Lawrence, in the very heart of the forest 
away from the beaten path of the summer tourists who 
frighten the denizens of the forest with tlieir opera glasses 
striped pants, hat box, sun umbrella, and brace of 
breech-loading shot guns—Well! about two hundred yards 
from the bank of the middle pond he will see the ruins of 
our camp, yes, ruins! Time passes on, and on; the past is 
left only as an association_, the camp ground, our sweet 
“Dreamland” only in memory, those made dear by our 
camp life scattered, and tender reminiscences all that clus¬ 
ter around the ruins of our forest home! The blue jay 
fearlessly perches upon our broken table, and cocks his 
head triumphantly; the little squirrel rustles among the 
dried twigs that formed our bed, the owl sits above it and 
winks and blinks and nightly hoots out his complaints to the 
moon. Looking closely to the left of our camp our friend 
will find a blazed tree upon which is somewhat elaborately 
painted: “Camp Nymphse Odorata.” Then follow the 
names of our party and guides, together with the casual an¬ 
nouncement that the above party were the killers and eaters 
of no less than eleven deer, and approximately the sum of 
two hundred pounds of trout, in the space of eight weeks; 
much to the. edification of the flesh and of no possible 
detriment to the spirit.” Come with me to that tree and I 
will show you the w T ay accross the “Carry.” Smilek. 
For Forest and Stream. 
SOMETHING N EW (?) A BOUT SPIDERS. 
L AST summer upon returning from a six weeks angling 
tour in Canada, we found the ceiling and posts of a 
portico opening upon the flower garden, filled with spider 
webs. In nearly eveiy web the spider was to be seen 
snugly ensconsed in the least conspicious place. Selecting 
the most perfect web, and the one containing the largest 
spider we spared it from the general destruction at once 
commenced by the servant . We have read many curious 
things about spiders, and hoped to be amused as well as in¬ 
structed by carefully watching the habits of this one, 
which my little girl named Nero, from the rapacity and 
cruelty he exercised towards the many flies captured each 
day. One morning we noticed Nero running rapidly over 
the continuous thread which formed the filling, so D speak,, 
of the warp made up of the various radii extending from: 
the centre of the web. As the web was in perfect condi¬ 
tion, needing no repairs, this unusual movement attracted! 
our careful attention. After going several times aroundi 
and gathering quite a little ball of the line he carefuly 
crammed it down his throat; this action was repeated until 
in a few moments all the filling and finally the radial lines 
were swallowed, with the exception of a few with the long- 
guys attached. 
boon the sky darkened, and in a half hour the rain was 
pouring down and sweeping away all the webs in the 
vicinity of Nero’s corner. In another half hour the sun 
was shining, and as soon as the water had dried up Nero 
was rapidly renewing his web. 
Lest there should be any optical illusion or spiderly 
legerdemain, upon the following afternoon a newspaper 
was carefully placed under the web to catch anything that 
might fall. Nero was also carefully watched to see that lie 
did not stow away his web upon tlie extension of his body. 
Surely enough the coiled up web all ivent down his throat 
at the approach of the next shower. Mrs. W-was 
called and without any leading questions at once described 
the spider as taking in and swallowing the web. The next 
opportunity that occurred the same test was applied to my 
little girl, who unhesitatingly cried out. “Why papa! 
Nero is swallowing all his web.” Soon we discovered that 
long before we saw tlie faintest signs of the coming storm, 
the web had been carefully stowed away. 
Making as accurate a description of the spider as possible 
my friend Dr Schaeffer, the then librarian of tlie Patent 
Office, who was a man of marked attainments in natural 
history, at once determined the species, and turning to 
some standard work upon the Arachnidae showed me 
a very good likeness of my pet Nero. Dr. Schaeffer lias 
since died leaving a place not easily filled among our 
workers on science and natural history, and as the work 
above cannot be found, the name of the species cannot be 
given. As nearly as can be remembered it was what is 
generally known as the common garden spider. After a care¬ 
ful search through whatever works and articles on the Arach¬ 
nids I have at my command, I fail to find any mention 
of any such habit of the spider. Several naturalists of this 
city have also declared their entire ignorance of any such 
habits of any of the Arachnids. Inasmuch as three per¬ 
sons separately observed and reported the same in sub¬ 
stance, it must be accepted as trtie. Other spiders with 
webs in less exposed places did not take them in, but there 
was no necessity for it as they were never much damaged 
by tlie rain, while those webs placed near Nero’s were 
usually entirely ruined. NoW and then when Nero had 
been overfed lie would omit his usual economical labors. 
Is it not highly probable that this pet of mine was a 
rigid economist—and was not the swallowed web quite 
soon dissolved or assimilated and stored away for future 
use, so as to avoid that much drain upon his nutriment? 
Was this an Idiosyncric spider, or do all spiders of a cer¬ 
tain species do the same when tlieir webs are in exposed 
situations? Have any others noticed the same thing? ft 
is not really supposed that the stability of our government 
or the best good of the race will be substantialy affected by 
this trick of the spider, but it is certainly amusing and in¬ 
teresting . - 
