446 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[May 25, 



REMINISCENCES OF A VETERAN. 



BY ISAAC M'LELLAN. 



Pleasant it is for a traveler after a long da-y's jom-ney 

 to pause at some elevated hilltop for rest and retrospec- 

 tion, and to take a comprehensive view of the route lately 

 traversed. Far as eye may reach, even to the horizon's 

 misty edge, he sees beneath him outspread like a map, 

 each lovely spot he has visited. Far oft' in distant ob- 

 scurity shines out the starting point of his career; and 

 even so can one recall the scenes and events of his early 

 time of youth. Through the haze of vanished years he 

 can recognize the play grounds of his boyhood. There 

 again bubbles and sparkles the little brook where he had 

 cast his primitive tackle for the small, springing trout, the 

 yellow sunfish and bream and the silver-sided perch. 

 There, too, runs and rolls the ample river, by whose em- 

 bowering banks he loved to roam, to plunge for refreshing 

 swim or to angle for tlie pickerel and black bass by lily- 

 pads or dark abyss. Then, too, he remembers the swampy 

 rivulet where he sought for snipe and woodcock; the way- 

 side hedges and the tussock swales where he started the 

 quail flock; the hickory groves and the piny woods 

 where he found squirrel and partridge; the upland forests 

 haunted by deer; the open prairies alive with grouse 

 flocks; the rough seacoast where from his little boat he 

 shot at the j)assing squadrons of the coot, old squaws and 

 shelldrake; the ample bay where he had sucli rare sport 

 with the redhead, widgeon, black duck and teal, and the 

 reedy marshes where he lay in ambush-blind for the 

 whistling pinions of the curlew, willet, yellowleg and 

 dowitcher. 



All these regions of resort still survive freshly in the 

 memory of the veteran sportsman, even as the scenes of 

 the traveler's adventure are present to his eye and mind 

 as he surveys the featm-es of the natural world, through 

 which he has lately journeyed. Now brightly are photo- 

 graphed in memory the names, forms and features of 

 those old friends, who were the associates of the thought- 

 ful sportsman and scholar ^iu the years departed. I well 

 remember such school-boy friends as Charles Sumner, 

 Horatio Greenough, Lothrop Motley, Wendell Phillips, 

 the Sturgies and Sargents; such Phillips Academy com- 

 rades as Willis, Holmes, Quincy, Rantoul and Grew. Such 

 college associates as Longfellow, G. B, (Jheever, J. S. C. 

 Abbot, Hawthorne and S. S. Prentiss; such lovers of the 

 rod and gun as Webster, Forester, Porter, G. C. Scott, 

 Hallock, Pictou, Wilkes, Skinner, Carl Benson, S. C. 

 Clarke and many others, well known in the field and in 

 the sanctum of the old Sjnrit of the Times. 



Then how pleasant to recall again the various places one 

 has frequented with rod and gun; such as the rocky coasts 

 of Maine and Massachusetts, Boarshead, Coliassett, Sci- 

 tuate, Marshfield, Manumet, Pa., Montauk and the wide 

 bays of Long Island, Barnegat and Chesapeake Bays, 

 Currituck Sound, the great prairies of Illinois, and the 

 woods and waters of western New York. 



For many years these were the places of my f re<[uent 

 re'-'ort, and it is pleasing now to inspect them in the magic 

 glass of memory. These scenes pa.ss before me in long 

 procession, the features of the long absent and the dead 

 still fresh and unfading, the woods as green, the waters 

 as brilliant, the skies as bright as in the days of old. The 

 mutations of life do not efface the recollection of kind 

 faces, happy days and fair landscapes. 



Ah, of those friends how few remain ; 



Few links of the long-sunder'd chain; 



Few of that group that lov'd to pass 



O'er the old Common's sacred grass, 



Or muster where the Old Elm stood, 



The latest patriarch of the wood; 



Who down the Beacon Mall would ride 



On snow sled, or on skates would glide, 



Or gather where tlie Kope "Walk gave 



Its welcome to the Backbay wave, 



Just where the Public Garden now 



Spreads flowery bloom and leafy bough-- 



The few of them that linger here 



Still hold their names and memories dear. 



In boyhood my earliest use of rod and gun was in com- 

 pany of my good cousin, S. C. Clarke (author of "Fishes 

 of the Atlantic Coast"), when we together frequented the 

 woods and followed the brook on the estate of our beloved 

 grandsire. Gen. Wm. Hull, at Newton, Mass. We two 

 often in boyhood fished at the old Cambridge Bridge or 

 at the Boston wharves for smelt, pollock, tomcod and 

 flounders. 



My earliest experience with the gun was in wild pigeon 

 shooting, more than fifty years since. Those beautiful 

 birds were then very plentiful in New England and I have 

 shot them within a few miles of Boston; but of late years 

 they have abandoned their ancient haunts, migrating to 

 the abundant harvest fields of the West. In New England 

 they were then shot by the concealed gunner as they col- 

 lected on a tall pole, like the old fashioned well-sweep. It 

 was usual to bait with grain the ground beneath, and the 

 flock would gather there for food, first alighting on the 

 pole and then settling to the feast. This bird has great 

 strength of wing and is capable of long-sustained flights. 

 It is said to travel at the rate of a mile a minute and it re- 

 quires a good marksman to stop them. Pigeon shootmg 

 in those distant days was a favorite sport with the gui> 

 ners, though quail, partridge, woodcock, jacksnipe and 

 wild ducks, especially coot, were abundant in the woods 

 and by the shore. 



During my college days in Brunswick, Me., the wild 

 pigeons were innumerable in the surrounding pine woods, 

 and they made good sport for the students. My chief 

 companions in such sport were Stephen LongfeUow, elder 

 brother of the poet Henry W., and Sergeant S. Prentiss, 

 so very famous in later years as the most eloquent lawyer 

 and statesmen of the Southwestern States. Prentiss was 

 a small person and quite lame, still he would tramp the 

 woods and roads at my side, gun on shoulder, unconscious 

 of fatigue in his ardor for game. 



Along the Massachusetts coast extend numerous salt 

 marshes resorted to by all varieties of bay snipe, and fur- 

 nishing rare sport to the gunner. Chief of these were 

 Ipswich and Marshfield marshes, and close at hand stands 

 the little village of Marshfield— famous as the sporting 

 home of Daniel Webster. Some forty or more yeail 

 since the immense salt meadows overflowed at times by 



tidal creeks, were alive with the swift-winged birds, and 

 there Mr. Webster found great recreation. He owned 

 and farmed some 1.700 acres, which were bounded on one 

 side by the bea,utiful Green Eiver, which emptied out this 

 place into the sea. There he kept at a,nchor, opposite his 

 boat house, his little sloop, in which he delighted to sail 

 out into the open waters, to angle for the various salt 

 water fish, so abundant on that coast. For some years he 

 amused himself with bird shooting over the marshes, 

 and also in coot shooting from a small dory boat oil Brant 

 Rock, a fine shooting point near the mouth of Green 

 River. But as years advanced he gave up the marsh 

 bird shooting, and then the coot shooting, saying he was 

 too clumsy to shoot in a small boat, but devoted himself 

 to the sea fishing. It was my good f ortime through his 

 kindness to occupy for more than two seasons one of his 

 adjacent farm houses, and so I had daily opportunity to 

 witness his enjoyment of life, in inspecting the farm 

 labors— and ti-ying for cod, haddock, bluefish and black- 

 fish (tautog) in the surrounding waters. 



On a lovely autumn day, Oct. 24, 1853, the remains of 

 the great statesman were committed to the earth on. a 

 pleasant grassy slope of the hill that overlooked the 

 meadows, the woods, the river, and the sea; and by his 

 side repose the bodies of his two beloved sons, Fletcher 

 and Edward, the former killed on a battlefield of Virginia 

 and the latter a victim of the Mexican war. 



In removmg to New York I made many literary and 

 sporting acquaintances, chief of whom was Genio C. Scott, 

 author of ''Fishing in American Waters," in the prepara- 

 tion of which I gave him some little aid. With him I 

 enjoyed many pleasant fishing excursions, especially in 

 the ponds and creeks of South Oyster Bay and at Sodus 



ISAAC m'i;ellan. 



Bay, on Lake Ontario. StiU another close friend was 

 Mr. Jerome Thompson, the artist, who had a studio in the 

 upper part of the Appleton building, on Broadway, corner 

 Leonard street. I visited him often, and then would drop 

 into the ofiice of the old Spirit of the Times and that of 

 the Eniclcerhocker Magazine, occupying a lower floor. 

 To both of these famous journals I was a frequent con- 

 tributor and there often conferred with Editor Clarke and 

 Messrs. Porter, Wilkes, Frank Forrester and others. 



I had a great regard for Herbert, as the most prominent 

 of our sporting writers, and liked to confer with him on 

 rod and gun, though I did not quite agree with him on 

 certain special topics. For instance, he did not seem to 

 care very much for the sports of duck and bay snipe shoot- 

 ing, nor even for deer hunting, preferring the sports with 

 dog and gun for the Western grouse and quail and wood- 

 cock shooting. He was ever most genial, generous and a 

 very agreeable eomi:)anion. 



It has been said of him that he was not always kind 

 and considerate in the treatment of his first wife, but I 

 wish to correct such statement. Miss Sarah Barker, of 

 Bangor, Me. , h^s first wife, was a most charming and in- 

 telligent girl, and was first cousin to my brother-in-law, 

 Mr. W. H. P., and his sister, Mre. Col. W. A. H., was 

 ever the most intimate friend of Sarah Herbert and had 

 constant intercourse with her when subsequently they 

 were residing in New York. I have questioned my rela- 

 tive, Mrs. Col. H., as to the domestic relations of Herbert 

 and Sarah, and she assures me that they were most 

 friendly. While Mrs. H. and her husband were living at 

 the Astor House they had frequent visits from Herbert 

 and Sarah, and on several occasions, when Sarah was 

 troubled with a little lameness, Herbert would lift her 

 from the carriage a,t the door and bear her in his arms up 

 stairs to the apartments of Mrs. H. Herberts mother, in 

 England, was ever kind to Sarah, sending her handsome 

 gifts and urging her to visit the family in England. 

 Herbert and Sarah had but two children, the first a boy, 

 the other a girl baby that died in Philadelphia. The son 

 is now living at Folkestone, England, and in a letter 

 lately received from him he speaks in grateful terms of 

 the literary reception of his father in this comitiy, whose 

 memory he holds in most alfectionate regard. 



I have had extensive experience in sport in various 

 parts of the country, but time and space will not allow 

 me further to extend these reminiscences. 



A Robin's Farm Bell Nest. 



For the fourth tune the supposed same robin has buUt 

 lier nest, laid her eggs and reared her young on top 

 of the farm bell of W, H. Weimer, in Donegal town- 

 ship, the bell being in daily use. During the ling- 

 ing of the bell she wiU remain on the nest, swinging to 

 and fro, apparently as tmconcerned as though she were 

 hatcMng in some secluded spot. — Gh'eensburg {Pa.) Press. 



ANGLERS' EDEN. 



The Pleasures and Benefits of a Great Forest - 

 Pleasant Notes and Observations. 



The season for trout-fishing in the Adirondacka has 

 come again, and thither hundreds of men who at liovMi 

 are engaged in the arts and sciences and business pursu r:; 

 have gone particularly for recreation, and incidentally io 

 cast the fly as bread is cast upon the water, in the hope of 

 some return. W. C. Prime, in his "I Go a-Fishing," says: 

 "There is a distinction to be kept in mind between goiug 

 to get fish and going a-fishing," fnd then adds; "The 

 young angler — that is, yoimg in experience — counts mucli 

 on fulness of basket, on the rivalry with companions, on 

 the glitter of his catch when spread out in the evening. 

 So do we all. But as we grow older we learn more and 

 more to appreciate the immeasurable joy which dwells 

 on the banks and in the waters of the rivers and lakes, 

 and which are surely to be taken whenever one goes 

 a-fishing, and therefore the old angler has always a suc- 

 cessful day, catching that which he went out to catch 

 with great certainty, and coming home with a load of 

 beauty in his heart, and beauty to talk and tell about, 

 though there be not a fish in his creel." These are the 

 sentiments of a true angler. 



No region in this part of the country offers such pleas- 

 ures to nature's lovers and anglers as tlie Adirondacks, 

 even if much of the territory has been usurped by clubs 

 and millionaires. There are stfll two million acres over 

 which an orderly individual may roam, among mountains, 

 lakes and streams. He will not find fish and game so 

 plentiful as they were a quarter of a centuiy ago, before 

 great masses of people began to make summer homes- 

 there, but natm-e's panorama is the same, except for the 

 devastation wrought by spoliation. 



What stories our old fly-books tell us as we take them 

 from their winter's rest and look them through! A large 

 printed vohniie would not contain their secrets revealed 

 only to tlieir possessors. They tell of camps and tramps, 

 of pleasure with hardships intermingled, of pools ana 

 brooks and lakes, where solitude protected myriads of 

 trout; of camps where now thei-e are great hotels, of. 

 guides then young and active, now okl and incapable. 

 Trails have been converted into thoroughfares, and loco-; 

 motives now plough through fa.stnessts once known only 

 to wild beasts. Time's changes have been stamped upon 

 this great wilderness no less plainly than upon the outer 

 world. But there is liope now that tl le new f oresti-y law will 

 check the ravages of late years aJid throttle him who in 

 his greed for money would outrage nature. 



Fishing time begins when the ice breaks up and the 

 snow water is nearly gone. Then it is that the water is 

 so cold that truut go everywhere in search of food, not 

 confining themselves as during the heat of summer, to 

 spring-holes and otht J- contractea places where the water 

 is cool, for trout can scarcely live in water of a temi^er- 

 ature much above (id . Very :<oon the lisli will begin to; 

 gather at the loot of rapids, on theii- way to the highest 

 water they can liiid, and a day or two tliereaftei' they willi 

 be most plentiful among the rocks and stones which' 

 create foain-covcrcil cildics in the running water. A, 

 little later and tiiey will linger for awhile at the head of; 

 such rapids, and when they leave such tai rying places au 

 angler who would be "luclsy" must know tlieir habits andi 

 resorts. 



About this time, as the old almanacs used to read, when 

 the fish are "on the rapids," look out for black flies. The' 

 temperature of the atmosphere will be high, and the little 

 pests will come by millions in a single night. Henry 

 Guy Carleton once studied these little insects and arrivecl' 

 at this conclusion: "The black fly is not as large as a bull- 

 dog, but he can bite with both ends. He earns his livingi 

 by raising lumps like the eggs of a speckled hen on thei 

 forehead and behind the ears of a man, who will simul- 

 taneously wish that he could die and be out of his miseryji 

 One hundred and seventy-five black flies can feed com- 

 fortably on a square inch of a man's car, but the experi- 

 enced angler does not seem to mind them until thej^ settle) 

 down nine deep." Later will come the ptmkies, which; 

 give a sensation as of poison from prickly ash, and still 

 later the deer flies, which will make a man howl from' 

 pain every time they remove a patch of epidermis. The 

 innocent little mosquito is the only songster among all the' 

 insects which seem to be in conspiracy to drive unseasoned 

 piscatorialists from their midst. These insects, strangely 

 enough, seem to have particular fondness for the novice.: 



He who would find nature at its best and trout plenti- 

 ful, must not lurk where there are luxurious hotels. He: 

 must rather seek the seclusion of unpretentious hostelries,, 

 where comfortable beds and Av^holesome food are dis- 

 pensed at moderate price; places which have not yet been, 

 overrun by the multitude. Take witli you few equip-j 

 ments, and those of the best. Of flies you need but a 

 smaU variety. Your rods and fines must be well chosen; 

 if of the best material they may be light and easy to 

 handle. Cast-ofl' winter clothing, with rubber coat and 

 waterproof hat are better than any suit of buckram. You. 

 can judge with almost unfaltering accuracy of the experi- 

 ence and skill of an angler by his outfit. When you see 

 one with all of the paraphernalia which money can pur- 

 chase, you may rest assured that his creel will but very 

 seldom need cleaning. 



A true angler prefers to fish with flies rather than with 

 bait, not because he does not consider bait-fishing good 

 angling, but rather for the reason that he is quite as suc- 

 cessful with flies, and prefers their cleanliness. But he 

 will not hesitate to substitute grubs or worms if occasion 

 makes it necessary. As has already been said, none but 

 the young aspirant and the market-fisherman so devote 

 themselves to the killing of fish as to cause them to resort 

 to other allmements than flies to satisfy their ambition. • 

 There is really little real enjoyment in "yanking a chalk 

 line" for him who angles for recreation as well as for 

 trout. And for such, too, it is doubtful if trout fishing 

 carries with it the same zest which is realized in taking 

 bass. The surroundings where trout live are more con- 

 genial to the naturalist than those of the resorts of bass; 

 and the gamesomeness of the fishes is reversely different. 

 Compared with a bass, a trout is a feeble fighter, sending 

 fewer thrills through line and rod. 



It is a grand sight to see the great forest burst into 

 spring attire. The buds rapidly expand into the densest 

 foliage and countless numbei-s of wild flowers in infinite 

 variety appear as if to welcome the springtime. Ever- 

 greens no longer monopolize the sight, but are almost 

 lost among the towering branches awakened from a 

 winter's sleep. The underbrush revivifies, and dogwood, , 



