OOT. 20, 1892.] 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



387 



TJie iH^fb LciAvs of the XTnited States and Canada, in the 

 "Game La/Wa i7i Brief, ^' 35 emts. In the ^-Book of the 

 Crame Laws" {full text), 50 cents. 



THE LOST CHORD. 



It was not Mi'. James Yan Dorn's fault that he stood 

 there up to the waist in the middle of the creek. It cer- 

 tainly was not his fault that in hastily taking up this cool 

 position he had slipped and fallen completely under 

 water. It certainly was not his fault that the bosom of 

 the tide had borne his fish-basket far beyond mortal ken, 

 or that the same unruffled bosom — it had acquired that 

 evidence of perfect self-control— concealed his new $13 

 split-bamboo. 



Yes, I really agree with Mr. James in thinking himself 

 entirely blameless for looking like a drowned crazy quilt, 

 where the color of that sonorous cap and blazer had run 

 down over his usually bright, but now brighter, face and 

 soft white hands. Yes, I could pardon him for these 

 plausible excuses, considering his unusual condition and 

 his uneuTiable and uncertain social footing— there were 

 Tippery stones and snakes in that stream — also when I 

 'Oiasidered the tiJect his appearance would have on Mrs. 

 Van Dorn, who prided herself on the general nattiness in 

 'ihe presentation of her charge. 



But I feel you are anxious to know why he stood there 

 n the water. 

 Why did he not go ashore? 



To tell the truth, he could not swim, and on three sides 

 }t him the water was too deep for wad- 

 ng, and on the fourth— well, you see, 

 '7'an Dorn had always entertained a 

 horror of being joked over by a coroner 

 and his jury; naturally a trifle sensi- 

 tive regarding jokes; practical jokes, 

 anyway. 



It was one of those glorious mornings 

 in late autumn when all nature seems 

 trying to throw cfC the firm grasp of 

 approaching dissolutioH ; like an hectic 

 flush was the morning sunlight charm- 

 ing the ashen fields into a smile, and 

 making doubly bright the beauteous 

 flaming wildwoodon either hand, where 

 gayer and more joyous colors were still 

 heightened by the .seeming frown of 

 tall and somber evergreens there inter- 

 spersed as if to chaperone the giddier 

 maple, chfstnut and birch, around 

 which clung the vine's voluptuous rich- 

 ness whose beauty could only be brought 

 out as upheld to view by the fostermg 

 strength of their gay protectors. 



It was a morning when unseen bands 

 from beyond the shimmering mist of 

 the distance seemed beckoning one out 

 to partake of the last feast, where 

 nothing would be spared to immortalize 

 the sublime magnificence of the de- 

 clining year. Feeling the resistless 

 power of those imseen hands, that 

 morning we, four of us, started out from 

 our retreat at the apj)ropriately-named 

 "Woodbine," and wandering through 

 field and woods, at high noon struck 

 the path which led us homeward by the 

 side of the brook, in tho soft shadows of 

 whose tree-lined banks we would long 

 have rested had not mortal desires, ne- 

 cessities, held sway. 



As we walked a silence fell upon us 

 all — silence only broken by two or three 

 unnoticed shouts in the distance ahead 

 — and, in the lapse from the preceding 

 light conversation, it was only natural, 

 on that misleadingly glorious morn, 

 that we one and all should be thinking of the evanescence 

 of life and earthly glory— perhaps we were a trifle tired 

 with our long walk. 



As we had proceeded thus for several moments, one 

 of the young ladies, in starting the sleeping echoes from 

 the hill at our right, echoed also the thought of each by 

 commencing to sing in a clear, sweet soprano that beau- 

 tiful little song, "It is not Always May." She had sung 

 only to the fixst two bars when tenor, alto and bass filled 

 out the delightful harmony. 



The absorbing charm of the song, in its beautiful har- 

 monic resolutions, seemed but to drown the shouts, 

 which were nearer than before, and to banish them from 

 our thoughts in the sentiment of the poet. 



The cjuartette sang on, while the thought of the one in 

 need of help ran along too, but not in unison— 



The sun is bright, the air is clear— 

 ("But a trifle chilly to one in the water"— this' with 

 chattering teeth.) 



The darting swallows soar and sing— 



("Why don't the blanked fools sing or pray, 'Oh, That 

 I had Wings' — they'll be sore enough if they continue 

 coming in this direction.") 



And from the stately elms I hear— 

 ("Well, that's a trifle better— snakes can't climb trees.") 

 The blue biid prophesying spring— 



("You can imagine she aint a prophesying anything 

 like spring, unless her name is Wiggins er Beebe.") 

 So blue yon winding river tlows— 



("Yes, blue an' cold as b-b-blazes. Hey you there! but 

 it's no use, they're deafer than adders when they're sing- 

 ing that idiotic song,") 



It seems an outlet from the sky— 



("That's about my only outlet, I guess" — this with the 

 resignation of despair.) 



"Wh^re ^falling till the west wind blows— 

 f^eorge! that Wp^'f it§ after sunset.'") 

 Tbe frelgl^t^a at anchor UO'- 



("I'm anchored, fast enough," and with this effort, the 

 mind seemed to lapse into coma through several lines.) 



All things are new, the buds, the leaves, 

 That gild the elm tree's nodding crest, 



And e'en the nest beneath the eaves; 

 There are no birds in last year's neel I 

 ("Huhl last year's bird's nest, every head in that gang!") 



All things'rejoiee in youth and love,. 



The fullness of their first delight, 

 And learn from the heavens above 



The melting tenderness of night. 



Maiden that hear'sfc this simple rhyme- 



("You're way off this time, No maidens listenin' to 

 your simple rhyme : Hey! Hi! Help! Murder! But what's 

 the use o' shouting.") 



Enjoy thy youth it will not stay- 

 Enjoy the fragrance of thy prime, 

 For O, it is not always Maj ! 



("Sometimes January er can er— it's already mussed 

 with me.") 



Enjoy the spring of love and youth, 

 ("Help! Hey! Snakes! Fire! Thieves!") 

 To some good angel leave the rest, 

 For— 



Here our quartette had advanced around a sharp bend 

 in the creek which the path followed, and the next chord 

 was lost in a piercing shriek, for our ladies beheld, at no 

 great distance, an angry animal pawing the dirt over his 

 back, and then for the first time we heard his muffled 

 roars mingled with the now intelligible yells for help 

 which came from below the bank. 



A BIT OF THE COLUMBUS PARADE. 

 As seen from the Forest and Stream office. 

 Amateur photo by H. W. Lauy. 



Fortunately the animal was too engrossed with his 

 prisoner to take any notice of us regardless of a red par- 

 asol carried by one of the ladies, so we were able to beat 

 a dignified and safe retreat. The ladies with one escort 

 hurried home, and I hunted up the farmer, who with the 

 aid of a large bulldog, removed the angry sentinel to an- 

 other field; and then 1 went over and found our almost 

 exhausted, fainting fellow boarder, Yan .Dorn, who tried 

 to excuse his position and appearance as in the oi^ening 

 of this brief tale. 



It did not take the acumen of a funeral director to un- 

 derstand that Mr. James felt very bad over the affair, 

 which feeling seemed to grow on him as we drew nearer 

 and nearer home. He rather hung back at the thought 

 of meeting his guardian, Mrs. Van: and as the thought 

 drizzled down deeper and deeper, and seemed to dry on 

 in the color of that blazer, there dropped a tear or two 

 into the dusty roadway. 



As we turned in at the Woodbine gate, it was not regret 

 that :his stay in the country was drawing to a close, or 

 that this was doubtless the last fine day of the season, 

 which prompted him to look all round at the gorgeous 

 landscape; one last long look, before he should be ushered 

 into — the presence of bis better half. 



The boarders could scarce repress a smile as they be- 

 held the wat?r-logged wreck of what that morning had 

 been the daintiest of little men ; yet there was naught but 

 pity in their hearts as they saw and understood his ner- 

 vous hesitation. 



We heard his door on the corridor open, and a not alto- 

 gether friendly roice remark, "You're a pretty looking 

 specimen!'' and then the door gave a tremendous punctu- 

 ating bang, and all was still — save a sigh of the autumn 

 breeze in the leaves of the woodbine draping the veranda. 



Eandall N. Saunders. 



A Bad Case of ' Steal. 



A BAD case of literary thieving will be exposed in these 

 columns next .week. The exposure will be of special 

 jiuterest to our readers in Boston, 



Pffarniingly flTMstrated — "GAUt^ Ij4WS JN BRIEF,' 



"DRUMMING" IN NORTH CAROLINA. 



The silvery salmon of our northern rivers, the speckled 

 beauty of our mountain streams, the majestic tarpon of 

 our southern waters, and many others of the finny tribe 

 have each their admirers, and the praises of all have been 

 evenly sounded. Nor do I object to the adulation be- 

 stowed; from experience I know it is well merited in 

 many instances, but I wish to add one more to the Icng 

 list of candidates for piscatorial honors, nor should he 

 take rank very far down the list. 



Up to the latter part of August of this year the drum 

 was to me an unknown fish. Since -then I have made his 

 acquaintance on several occasions; sometimes to my 

 sorrow and loss, sometimes to my intense gratification. 



The piles of the bridges spanning the sound, interpos- 

 ing between the mainland and the ocean, the wrecks 

 scattered here and there along the beaches, but more 

 especially the Jong stone dam separating the Cape Fear 

 River on one side from the ocean, all form excellent feed- 

 ing grounds for the handsome and toothsome sheepshead, 

 and it was while fishing for that hard-pulling gentleman 

 last August that I first met the drum. Four times in one 

 day was my bait seized by something mtich too powerful 

 for my tackle to hold, and four times did I mourn the 

 loss of hooks and lines. On relating the sad experience 

 of the day to one of the "knowing ones,'" the information 

 was given that the drum had struck in and were biting. 

 I thirsted for revenge and was soon equipped with the 

 tackle necessary for the capture of the enemy. 



A half hour's run on the steam cars and the glorious 

 sand beach of the North Carolina coast is reached. 

 Stretching along on either hand as far as the eye can 

 reach runs the white sand, wherein the merry sand- 

 fiddler digs his hole and rests after his labor. The long 

 line of rollers as they come in solid- 

 looking blues masses from the Atlantic 

 strike on the outlying line of beach, 

 from whence, "changed into dazzling 

 lines of foam, they rush up the sloping 

 sands. But these breakers possess a 

 new interest now, for in them sports 

 the drum, relieving the monotony of 

 existence by now and then chasing a, 

 school of juvenile . mullet and selecting 

 the fattest looking for his dinner. 



While supper is being prepared a 

 look at the outfit and tackle will be 

 necessary. 



The outfit is simple, a close-fitting 

 bathing suit, worsted stockings, heavy 

 boots and a broad-brimmed hat being 

 all that is necessary. Do not shiver, my 

 Northern friend, the water is warm and 

 the air too. 



For the tackle, a stout braided line 

 about 125ft. long will do, braided be- 

 cause it will run out the more easily. 

 At its further end is attached a lead 

 sinker (Ulbs. I find a nice weight); and 

 two, or it preferred three, ordinary cod 

 hooks, placing them about iSin. apart. 

 Nor must the bait be omitted, for we 

 make an early start up the beach, 

 but it can easily be procured. Ten or 

 fiteen cents will buy enough fresh mul- 

 let to supply two lines for one tide's 

 fishing. 



The romance of the beach is gone 

 and it assumes a grimmer aspect at 4. 

 A. M. The roar of the breakers is there, 

 with an occasional shimmer of white 

 showing through the blackness, but a 

 two-mile walk along the beach at that 

 hour would not be undertaken by any 

 one save an enthusiastic fisherman. 

 But if the drum is to be caught it must 

 be done, and with hopes running high 

 we start. The walk seems long, but 

 at last we reach a favorite spot. The 

 outer clothes are quickly thrown off, 

 the long line is carefully coiled in the 

 left hand, the baits are well fixed, and 

 grasping the line with ttie right hand aoout a foot above 

 the top hook the venture begins. 



It is an experience. The east is now showing signs of 

 returning day. The first "roseate blush of morn" heralds 

 the approach of Old Sol. but still it is dark. As you near 

 the line of surf the breakers look bigger and more threat- 

 ening. Ugh ! At first touch the water sends a shiver up 

 the spine, but no more. Watch the retreating wave, now 

 swing the line, and as you follow the receding water in- 

 crease the momentum. You have gone far enough; an- 

 other powerful swing and away flies the lead; keep the 

 coil on the left hand and let it run out gently. There, the 

 lead has reached its limit and the line is taut. 



The drum is not, so far as my experience goes, a quick 

 biter, but when once he does take hold, to use a vulgar- 

 ism, "he's all there."' While waiting the east has bright- 

 ened up. The light is stronger and &urrounding objects 

 are visible. How beautiful it seems now; how soft the 

 air, how warm the — hal he has struck, and a beauty, too. 

 No dead pull there, but a shock like an electric battery. 

 Out to sea he rushes; give what line you can. Now he 

 has slowed up, hand over hand comes the line; but again, 

 with a spurt worthy of a salmon, he's off. Again the 

 line slackens and again the gamy drum comes nearer 

 shore. A few more runs and he is played out, a ciuick 

 run up the beach, and by the increasing light you see 

 him, whiter than the foam, come safely ashore. 



This, then, is the method of bis capture, and to. such of 

 your readers as are not troubled with weak constitutions 

 and who love fishing, especially when there is a spice of 

 romance in it, I stronglyrecommend a day's drumming. 



The drum is a really handsome fish; his nice, full, round 

 body, small head and bright, silvery scales reminding one 

 somewhat of his noble kinsman the salmon. In weight 

 he varies from a few pounds to as much as 451b8.; but a 

 half dozen specimens of from 14 to 201bs. will well reward 

 any one for the trouble their capture has caused. 



As a table fish, served up in almost any style, the drum 

 is most excellent eating, and will, in that respect, outrank 

 many of the finny denizens of the ocean. 



All honor to him; he bites well, fights well and eats 

 well, and if the appetite of the fisherman after a few 

 hours' fishing may be produced in evidence, the sport is 

 not only an exciting but a most healthful one, H. J. P; 



■WrtMINGTON, N. 0. 



