222 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



(.Sept. 15, 1892. 



IN MEMORIAM-JOHN G. WHITTIER. 



StjptEMBeb 8, 1893. 

 Poet of freedom I on thy grave 



I lay this modest wreath; 

 In tribute to the fearless, brave. 



True heart that sleeps beneath. 



Nurtured amongst New Engrland's hills, 



Thou felt their influence strong. 

 Her granite cliffs, her mountain rills, 



Still sparkle in thy song. 



Still through thy verse shall Bearcamp flow, 



Or grim Ohocorua rise, 

 "While Agiochook's* crown of snow 



Bhall pierce the northern skies. 



Well hadst thou Nature's secrets scanued. 



Explored her every nook 

 Who gleaned from mountain, lake and stream 



The "Feast of Penacook." 



Thy "Barefoot Boy" goes whistling on, 



As lightsome as the day. 

 While clad in simple homespun gown, 



"Maud Muller" rakes the hay. 



"Snowbound" with thee we hug the fire. 



Gaze on the Tented Bay; 

 Awake with Barbara Freitcbie's ire. 



Hear Lueknovv's bagpipes play! 



Still "Cobbler Kezar's" lapstone roils 



Adown the hills of time; 

 Still faintly sound the evening tolls 



Of Norumbegas' chime. 



Yet through, above, and over all. 



Sounds Freedom's clarion clear; 

 Knight-like, thou answered to her call 



Without reproach or fear! 



For Freedom's caixse, with steadfast toil, 



Thy voice and song thou gave, 

 Nor ceased, till on Columbia's soil 



There trod no netrro slave. 



Come to thy rest I O seer and sage. 



At last "Our Master" calls. 

 And. from thy shoulders, bent with age. 



The prophet's mantle falls. 



Oh! that some younger bard may spring, 



To seize thy fallen lyre, 

 And touch again eacli sounding string 



With Truth's Eternal fire! 



Gone to thy rest! Thy own eweet "Psalm" 



Points out the hidden way! 

 "The Eternal Goodness,'" from its calm. 



Unfolds Eternal day! VON W. 



*Agiochook, the Indian name tor Mt. Washington. 



THE OLD CAMP. 



The following lines written by an old Adirondacker, 

 when camping out was not, as now, seemingly camping, 

 but a matter of fact and real pleasure and solid comfort; 

 when one rpcalls the Brick Club, the Walton Club, the 

 Black Bye Club, when Martin's (on the Lower Saranac) 

 and Bartlett'8 (on the Upper Saranac) entertained Silas 

 Arnold, I. G. Baldwin, Mr. Krum, P. McLean, Jidius 

 Catlin, M. Solomon, J. G. Wilson, L. Starbuck, Dr. J. R. 

 Romevu, Mr. McGregor, J. P. Willard, Col. T. J. Hoyt, 

 S. F. Hoyt, Wm, A. Wheeler, .John Ware, M. 8, Colburn, 

 A. B. Street, .John A. Griswold, Geo. E. Hart, H. J. Lowe 

 L. B. Reed, Rev. Drs. Van Itvke, Sr., and Jr., Wm. J. 

 Stillman, John H. Reynolds, M. A. Morrison and many 

 other trus and worthy sportsmen, and as guides. Lute 

 Evans, S, Martin. Geo. Ring, Scott Peck, Tom Haley, 

 John King, Dug Kingman, Jesse Corey, the Moodys — not 

 omitting Cortez Moody especially. Oh, those were glori- 

 ous days. Bat, alas ! now with railroads, fashion and 

 folly and mascalonge and pickerel, how changed, never 

 a^ain to return. There only remain to those who sur- 

 vive and can recall the old camp, so graphically described 

 by L. S., the recollections of our pleasant ways together 

 and joyous companionship, I might write much more of 

 the good old times but will not now trespass more on 

 your columns, but may some other time if agreeable to 

 you. S. S. N. 



The Old Camp. 



We landed once more at the old camp after many 

 years' absence, and looked around at its familiar yet 

 strange appearance. Many that camped with us there 

 are not living; others from various circumstances have 

 drifted out of our daily lives. 



The camp shows a larger area of ''clearing," telling 

 that many a tall tree has been felled with its peculiar 

 echoing fall, to make bright fires which have been 

 lighted, burned out, and those who sat around the cheer- 

 ful blaze departed. Raspberry bushes breast high, loaded 

 with ripe fruit, occupy the plaee we remember was cov- 

 ered by large trees. Dead and brown hemlock boughs, 

 once green and fragrant, lie on the ground, showing 

 where the tents have stood. An old birch bark jack with 

 its burnt out candle leans against a tree stump. On the 

 top of the stump is a forgotten piece of soap and a trout- 

 fly with the gut chafed off at the top. telling that the 

 owner had good sport. On another stump are broken 

 bottles and rifle balls beneath them. There are empty 

 bottles on the ground bearing familiar labels. The spring 

 with its cold water where we kept our butter is un- 

 changed. The river, though man may come and man 

 may go, flows on forever. It is like a thing of life; the 

 same rocks are there where we stood and cast our iiies for 

 trout. There are not so many trout in the river as in our 

 younger days, or as much of anything, unless it be mem- 

 ories. The marsh in front} that the guide would insist 

 upon calling a "slew" is unchanged in its green surface. 

 When we watch it at nightfall we expect again to see the 

 deer creep cautiotisly out to feed. 



There are but two sounds that break the stillness of the 

 old camp— the buzf.ing of the bluebottle fly, alxiut whom 

 we wonder what he finds to live on when no one is there, 

 and the weird but beautiful song of the hermit thrush. 



Mr. Street called it the "Saranac nightingale," doubtless 

 because he may first have heard it on the river below 

 Harrietstown. Nothing in the woods illustrates its cheer- 

 ful solitude equal to its song. Like the cry of the sea 

 gull amid the roar of the ocean, the hermit thrush speaks 

 the language of its surroundings. For years, I was told, 

 no one ever saw it. Subsequently I saw it in the old 

 camp every day. It sang from the top of a stump while 

 I was lighting my fire at the bottom. It may have been 

 friendly with me, recognizing an ungifted brother — the 

 hermit without the song. 



We take our seat in the boat from the shore of the old 

 camp - for the last time. We shall not see it again, but 

 when in after years in far off lands we think of the love 

 of the beautiful women and good men who sat with us 

 around the camp-fire, we can at least say the hanpiness 

 was eYen greater than we then knew. L. S. 



A CAMPER'S DIARY.— II. 



Aug. Stateroom, 10:30 P. M. We got delayed 

 about starting so it was not till to-night we found our- 

 selves aboard steamer in Boston harbor. Sam and I ar- 

 rived first and by and bv came Mack and Valentine 

 marching up the plank. Valentine wore a soft hat and 

 carried all the luggage, so his long length was slightly 

 sprung. He had an awful big extension bag. No doubt 

 Mack's things were in there, too. Mack came after, Less 

 of stature and lightly encumbered, he looked the gentle- 

 man all over. I said, "What you got there Mack, in the 

 gun bag ?" 



Mack looked suspiciously all around and then reprov- 

 ingly at me and shook his head and changed the subject. 

 He said, "Sssh ! Where you been Sam?" "Been look- 

 ing up luggage. Got it all located— tent bag, provisions, 

 camp freight and all, so now we're ready for this canoe 

 to start." 



By and by we got up on the high deck among the 

 walking beams and smoke stacks and looked off and 

 told each other what a good start it was, and denied that 

 we were in a slightly boyish, exalted state of mind, and 

 argued about the distant lights appearing in the gloom, 

 and applauded softly the singing, and got sleepy watch- 

 ing the suds floating down the wake toward the moon, 

 and turned in. I'm bunking with Sam, He says, "Oh, 

 come to bed, Jeff." 



^wg. iC— Portland. A restaurant. Waiting for break- 

 fast. All smiling but Valentine. Rings under his eyes. 

 His room was too near the engine. He says he tossed 

 and tumbled and finally dreamed he was tied all night to 

 the wheel and every paddle stroke took him in the back. 

 Sam and I looked sympathetic, but Mack said, "Marine 

 Mazepps — sort of." 



Aug. 17. — Lakeside Inn. 5:30 P. M. Just got here. 

 The view slopes down through the fields to the lake and 

 there lies the little Bteamer we shall take in the morning. 

 Left Bethel this morning at 8:80. Ah! that was a ride, 

 a thirty-mile ride on a buckboard stage with a canopy 

 top, and mud on the wheels, and baggage strapped on 

 like a peddler's pack. The road lay along the course of 

 a headstrong stream, justneai' enough to watch its ad- 

 venturous carreer and in a measure to share its vicissi- 

 tudes. There were clouds at first, but they went off and 

 left the sun to make a view of mottled mountain sides 

 and dazzling water and green intervals and warm clumps 

 of raspberry and golden rod beside us, crunching along 

 through the Bear River valley. Half way through we 

 stopped at the Blacksmith's house for dinner. The re- 

 turning stage was already there, unhitched, and its 

 passengers, two young men, were going in, so we all sat 

 down at table to size each other up. They were nice- 

 looking fellows, but their creased clothes and mopquito 

 ravages on wrist and forehead stamped them. They 

 were campers. So they told all about their trio up 

 Cupsiiptic and down Magalloway and all over. There 

 were three of them, and had beeri out four weeks, but 

 the third fellow had refused to tramp ten miles to catch 

 the steamer, so they left him at his leisure. 



Aug. 18.— Oa the* Lake. This is a little steamer. One 

 man tor captain and one for crew. 1 judge her average 

 load is about one man and a gun, so we foiu- with our 

 baggage are a sort of Coney Island excur.t^ion. Valentine 

 sits bHck in the shade with a college text book. Mack 

 and Sam are lolling on bags of meal in the Iidw. Sara's 

 eyes are steadfast on the distant peak, Aziscohos, from 

 which we shall view the promised land. Mack's sleeves 

 are rolled up and he's idly watching his arms grow red. 

 He looks around and says, "What you doing Jeff V" I 

 say, "Taking your picture, Mack." 



This is later' — By and by Mack felt his chin and says, 

 "By George, Sam, I'm not going to shave this trip," 



"Why not?" 



"Why not! I guess you didn't see that fellow at the 

 house last night; looked fine. Somebody drove him up 

 about nine o'clock. All tanned up black; hadn't shaved 

 at all. Had a paddle and a rifle and things, too. By 

 George, I hope my corduroys '11 look as bad as his when I 

 come out." 



"Yes," says Valentine, "Mack was stuck on liim. You 

 know that fellow sat there dangling his legs and telling 

 the landlord about his trip when Mack came along and 

 happened to hear something about 'Magalloway' and 

 'Cupsuptic' and he broke right in and stuck out his hand 

 and says, 'Oh,' he says, 'we know you,' he says, 'we 

 know you: you're the Third Fellow.' " 



"Maybe I did," says Mack, "but I notice you've got a 

 couple of flies twisted around your hat to-day, and that's 

 a wrinkle you got from him." 



Scmie date. 9 P. If.— At Flint's. Well, the little 

 steamer paddled out of the lake and down the Andros- 

 coggin and into the Magalloway a little way, to the end 

 of her journey at Upper Settlement. The settlement 

 was not visible and we landed on a gras.sy bank. The 

 wharf consisted of a couple of floating logs over which 

 an active fellow with a bag of meal on his shoulder went 

 with much rocking but quick and sure recovery. Then 

 the men turned to, to "wood up," and we disappeared 

 down the road toward Flint's. At 2 o'clock we found 

 ourselves here with the long-sought mountain looming 

 before us. At 3, in climbing rig, we filed across the 

 pasture and disappeared in the woods at the base. Then 

 it was up, up, up, for an hour or more, till we felt our- 

 selves growing smaller and more insignificant, and the 

 trees dwindled to scrub, and then to huckleberries, and 

 then to moss as we merged on top and craned our necks 

 for the first grand vi&w, the vision the eagle gets, E'or 

 just a moment we steadied against the wmd and held 



our breath at the immensity of the view, and that was 

 the last. The storm that had been on the horizon 

 flanked us after we started and now closed in and the 

 rain descended. Mack held his coat collar and made him- 

 self a profile on the highest roct. Sam stood dejectedly 

 on the sitp of the old cairn. A vandal had been there. 

 The little flag was gone, the pile torn down and scattered 

 and the box of records taken. The clouds grew blacker. 

 The sky was filled with rain. The drops sparkled on the 

 rocks and on us, and every drop was a cold pint. Sam 

 says, "This is a sad and sorrowful moment. Let's go 

 down." So we went- A mountain torrent had appro- 

 priated the pathway, so we went down in company. 



Well, our clothes are all down in the kitchen now dry- 

 ing around the stove. To-morrow morning we breakfast 

 early, don our camping rig complete, leave our city 

 clothes behind and take wagon across a spur of the 

 mountain, down to the river again at the head of the 

 falls. I expect there's a couple of canoes there hauled 

 up on the bank in waiting. Jefferson Sckibb, 



"LIFE HISTORIES OF N. A. BIRDS." 



All ornithologists and most sportsmen are aware that 

 Capt. Bend ire has for some time been engaged on a work 

 on North American birds, with special reference to their 

 breeding habits, nests and eggs. Last winter we an- 

 nounced the completion of the author's labor on the first 

 volume of the work, and said that only the manufactur- 

 ing remained to be done. This has now been completed 

 and the first edition of Part I. of the work has been issued 

 by the IT. S. National Museum. 



Capt. Bendire has long been known as standing in the 

 first rank among America's practical ornithologists and 

 oologists. His wide experience has given him a personal 

 knowledge of North American birds which is probably 

 not equalled by that of any other man in the world. Be- 

 sides this, his wide acquaintance among collectors gives 

 him the benefit of an unusually large circle of observers, 

 upon whose experience he can draw. Many writers on 

 birds, or indeed on other natural history subjects, when 

 they have exhausted their own knowledge of any species, 

 are satisfied to go to the books and quote from the obser- 

 vations of other writers what has been printed by them. 

 This has not been Capt. Bendire's method. By direct per- 

 sonal correspondence with a great number of men inter- 

 ested in our birds he has supplemented his own extended 

 knowledge by that of hundreds of others, and the result 

 is a mass of material which is very full, wholly fresh and 

 abounding in novel points. How extremely interesting 

 his "Life Histories" are is shown by the examples already 

 printed in Forest and Stream giving the account of the 

 bald eagle and Gambel's partridge. 



Little has been done in oology in this country since the 

 publication of the "History of North American Birds" in 

 1874, and even in that great work the breeding habits of 

 the birds were not treated with any great fullness of de- 

 tail. Since that time large collections of nests and eggs 

 have been brought together and great advances made ?n 

 our knowledge of this subject. It is high time, therefore, 

 that a work should be brought out in which the breeding 

 habit=i of our birds should receive especial attention. It 

 was Professor Baird's desire that Captain Bendire should 

 undertake this work, and this desire was shared by Pro- 

 fessor Langley and Dr. Goode. The wish was a natural 

 one when we consider Captain Bendire's standing in his 

 special field of science, and the further fact that no incon- 

 siderable portion of the Smithsonian collections were 

 made by him. 



Although the present work has "special reference to 

 their breeding habits and eggs," it is by no means con- 

 fined to this aspect of the life of our birds. The migra- 

 tory and breeding ranges, the food, habits, and generally 

 the' life history of each species is given very fully. Each 

 species and sub-.species is treated separately, and an 

 especial effort is made to accurately define the breeding 

 range of each. Only a naturalist can have any conceja- 

 tion of the painstaking industry and care involved in this 

 one branch of the work. 



The present volume treats only of the gallinaceous and 

 rapacious birds, species which may be supposed to have 

 an especial interest forthereadersof FoitEgT and Stream. 

 The grouse, partridges, turkeys, curassows and doves 

 occupy 156 of the large quarto pages, and the remainder 

 of the 414 are devoted to the vultures, hawks and owls. 



The twelve plates, representing the eggs of about 100 

 species, are beautiful specimens of the lithographer's 

 art, and we should imagine must satisfy even the critical 

 eye of the author. 



In his treatment of each species. Captain Bendire gives 

 first its number in this work, and its scientific name; then 

 follow two or three lines of synonymy, giving the first 

 name applied and the last, together with the numbers 

 which designate the species in the works of recent authors. 

 Geographical and breeding i-anges follow separately, and 

 then comes the life history of the species, the observa- 

 tions of the author and of other observers. The nest is 

 fully described and careful measurements given of eggs 

 from designated localities. 



In the account of almost every species may be found 

 some fact which is new, and the whole work is written 

 with a freshness and enthusiasm which can hardly fail to 

 charm the reader. 



To give anything like a just idea of the interesting 

 material contained in this volume is beyond the limits of 

 our space, but taking up some of the gallinaceous birds 

 we select a few paragraphs almost at random. Speaking 

 of the Texas Bob White, Capt, Bendire says: 



Mr. William Lloyd, of Marfa, Texas, informs me, "The Texan 

 Bob White is a bird of the lowlands, and is not found above an 

 altitaide of 2,000ft. Their food consists of small berries, acorns 

 grain, huds and leaves of aromatic herbs andsmall shrubs, varied 

 with occasional beetles, graashopp.'irs and snts, especially the 

 winged females, of which they seem to be very fond. They are 

 very \insuapicions, and their low notes, uttered while feeding, at- 

 tract a good many enemie'f. I have seen foxes on the watch, and 

 th« marsh harrier perched in a clump of grass on the lookout, 

 waiting for chem to pass. But the many large rattlesnakes found 

 here are their worst enemies. One killed in May had swallowed 

 five of these birds at one meal; another, a female evidently cau"ht 

 on her nest and a half dozen of her egga; a third, four Boh Whiles 

 andapcaled partridge. The young are also greatly affected and 

 many killed by heavy rains in June and July; numbers perish 

 then from cold and protracted wet weather. When alarmed by a 

 hawk galling overhead tbey run under the mother for procection, 

 U8 domestic chickens do," 



The confidence and familiarity shown by birds which 



