490 



FOREST AND STREAM: 



[DbC. 9, 18»3. 



as one of the jurors on machinery, at the original "Crystal 

 Palace" in Hyde Park, and after his return he arranged 

 the interior of the one on Eesei-voir Square in New York, 

 afterward destroyed by fire. He was one of the judges at 

 the Centennial in Philadelphia in 1876, serving on four 

 groups; judge at Atlanta in 1880, and laid out Machinery 

 Hall in New Orleans in 1884, and arranged the engines 

 and shafting. The title of Colonel, by which "Von W." 

 is commonly known, was earned by service as aide-de- 

 camp to the Governor of New Hampshire in '61-2-3, 

 in charge of camp grounds for new regiments. 



A subscriber in early life to the old Spirit of the Times, 

 "Von W." was well acquainted with many of the "Spirit 

 Crowd," Wm. T. Porter, "Frank Forester," Phil Anthon, 

 cum multis aliis, of the old sporting writers. His pro- 

 fessional duties have carried him into every State in the 

 Union east of the Mississippi, and he has been over most 

 of the country from Nova Scotia to New Orleans, though 

 his fishing and shooting have been confined to New Eng- 

 land, taking in Maine, New Hampshire, Vermont and 

 Massachusetts, with whose waters he is pretty familiar. 



Though fast approaching the allotted period of three 

 score and ten, "Von W.'s" love for the woods and the 

 waters, the fields and the flowers, and "all that dwell 

 therein" are undiminished, and though he can not discern 

 the sights of a rifle as well as of yore, he can stiU cast a 

 fly or wield a paddle, though he prefers a mountain 

 stream to the cramped confinement of a boat or canoe. 



DANVIS FOLKS.-XVI. 



Going Fishing. 



At an early horn- the two anglers were behind the 

 woodshed.Pelatiah turning the moist soil, dotted with green 

 tufts of young motherwort and catnip, while Uncle Lisha 

 stooped before him, turning the clods with his fingers end 

 picking up the lusty worms as they were disclosed. 



"The 's sati'f action in fishin' from the fust start," he 

 said as he dropped a worm into the battered teapot be- 

 tween his feet. "More 'n there is in huntin'. You don't 

 see nothin' afore you when you're puttin' paowder int' 

 your horn an' shot int' your bag. But when you grab 

 holt of a worm's head an' feel him a lettin' go of the airth,, 

 slow an' reluctan', you c'n eenamost feel a traout snatcbr- 

 in' at him. An' there bein' worms goes to show the' must 

 he fish, bein' that they was made for one'nother. There, 

 Peltier, I b'lieve we've got 'nough," and he arose, straight- 

 ening his spine with the backs of both grimy hands which 

 he then brushed on his trousers, and the two set forth, 



A dappled sky, filtering soft streams of sunshine, and a 

 constant waft of south wind invited them; the long 

 whistle of meadowlarks called them, and a highhole on 

 a dry stub drummed a rapid, ringing roll to accelerate 

 their steps. 



Presently they came to a thicket that hordered the 

 brook, where gray stumps of departed trees stood half 

 disclosed among the misty ramage of saphngs and the 

 dark pyramids of young evergreens, and where yellow 

 beds of adder tongue mimicked sunlight, while spears of 

 bloodroot pierced their own green shields and the first 

 moose flowers splashed the shadows with their white 

 blossoms. 



As they entered it a partridge uttered a note of alarm 

 and went hurtling away out of a flurry of dead leaves, 

 and a woodchuck smothered his own querulous whistle 

 as he retreated into his newly opened hole. 



Uncle Lisha, feeling in his pocket for his knife, slowly 

 searched for a proper rod. 



"An' the's consid'able enj'yment gittin' a pole," he con- 

 tinued, as if his discourse had suffered no interruption. 

 "You don't wanter be tu fast, er you'll be lierble tu run 

 awoy f'm good ims an' git desput an' take up wi' a mean 

 un, jest as lots o' folks du in this world, 'goin' through the 

 woods an' takin' up wi' a crooked stick,' at last. Then 

 agin, you don't want tu be tew slow an' perticlar er you 

 won't never git tu fisliin'. An' arter all there will be dis- 

 app'intments, Peltier," he went on, bending down a sap- 

 Ung and slashing it from the stump. "You pick you aout 

 one 'at looks all right, but when you come to trim it, it's 

 crookeder 'an a snarled waxed eend, eriess it's top-heavy, 

 er suthtn', an' that's the way o' the world agin. But you 

 don't want tu give uj) f er that, an' say the' haint no decent 

 gals — ^fishpoles, I mean, an' say you'll be dumned if you 

 try tu go a-flshin', fer the's just as good fishpoles stan'in' 

 as ever was cut, an' the's lots o' fun waitin' for you, tu git 

 your sheer," 



"When you've got a holt o' the best lookin' one the' is 

 an' it turns out tu be brittler'n dry popple, what's the use 

 o' tryin' to pick aout another?" Pelatiah asked as he care- 

 lessly trimmed a young birch. 



"It wan't nothin' hut dry popple an' you misjudged," 

 Uncle Lisha answered as he neatly trimmed the branches 

 and knots from his pole, * 'an' you wanter try agin, not 

 seddaown an' mump." 



He put the finishing touches to his work, snapped his 

 knife shut against his hip and began to tie on his line. 



"I don' cal'late the' 's as much fun gittin' ready for 

 huntin' as the' is fishin'. You buy your gun er borry it an' 

 you do' know what it's goin' t' du, maybe kick you Uke 

 all possess' an' kill nothin'. If it's one you've hed you 

 know aU abaout it, an' haint no expectations one way ner 

 t'other. An' you don' make it er fin' it, o'ny feed it so 

 much paowder an' tow an' shot. I don' cal'late these fel- 

 lers 'at has 'em a j'inted pole, wi' a leetle brass windlass 

 on 't, gits half the enjyment we du. They must feel al- 

 lers afeered o' breakin' on 'em er suthin' an' they must 

 feel almighty mean to be a f oolin' fish wi' them feather 

 contraptions. Fishes' feelin's orter be considered some. 

 We give 'em the chance o' gettin' suthin' good. They 

 offer 'em nothin' more 'n dry hus's. But le's we git tu 

 fishin'." 



The trout were as plenty and as hungry as they had 

 been the day before and gave these simple anglers aU the 

 sport they desired, wherein, if no fine art of the craft was 



exercised, much good judgment and knowledge of the 

 habits of the shy trout were displayed. 



Making their slow way down the stream, they crept 

 stealthily up to every promising place, taking here a 

 wary old trout from his log-roofed stronghold or root- 

 netted hiding place, and there, three or four from be- 

 neath a circling raft of foam bells that slowly wheeled 

 and undulated at the foot of a tiny waterfall, reinforced 

 with new bubbles as others burst and keeping ever the 

 same. 



They came to an alder-arched bit of water that looked 

 promising, but there was no chance to make a cast. 

 Uncle Lisha hunted the bank for a chip, which being 

 found, he coiled his line upon it and set it afloat. It went 

 tossing and whirling down stream among the shadows and 

 the sparkle of rapids, uncoiUng the line as it went, till it 

 was aU out and the baited hook was drawn overboard, and 

 with a wavering plunge went out of sight. 



There was a sharp tug, responded to by a too vigorous 

 strike, and a fine trout came flying out of the water with 

 a long, upward curve that hung him on an alder bush 6ft. 

 above the brook. 



Uncle Lisha waded down stream to secm-e him, begin- 

 ning to discourse again as he splashed cautiously along 

 the slippery bottom. 



"As I was sayin', I cal'late fishin' is better'n huntin' 

 most any way you take it. You're more sartain o' gittin' 

 suthin' as a gin'l thing, an' ef you don't you don't feel no 

 wuss ner nigh so tired. An' what you git, you git, an' 

 what you waound, goes off an' gits well, stiddy a hngerin' 

 an' suff'rin' an' dyin' mis'able. Then agin — " 



He was reaching up for the danghng fish, rising on his 

 toes, "it's soothiner," both feet slipped, and with a great 

 splash he sat down, half damming the current that swirled 

 and gurgled about his hips. 



"Yes," he reiterated stoutly as Pelatiah helped him to 

 arise and regain the bank, "It's soothiner, but I won't 

 say I like it quite so dumbed soothin'. But I don't keer 

 a dam, I've got the fish." 



His clothes were rung out and they fared forward, the 



A SNAP-SHOT ON "ton TV." 



old man stiU enjoying the sport while his -trousers slowly 

 dried in the genial air. 



The brook babbled its endless story to them. From dis- 

 tant meadows came the songs of meadowlarks, the cackle 

 of flickers and the long wail of a plover. On the soft 

 breath of the south wind were wafted past them in 

 wavering flight the first butterflies, purposeless of aught 

 but mere enjoyment. 



"It's soothiner," he repeated, "on accaount o' hunting 

 bein' excitiner. You git more time tu sit an' think abaout 

 nothin' an' look araound an' listen an' git tu feeUn' peace- 

 able, when the luck haint tu almighty bad. But that 

 don't make a f eUer so grumpy an' rantakerous as onlucky 

 huntin'. When I ben a humpin' over ol' boots and shoes 

 till I do' know myself by srneU or feelin' f'm a side o' so' 

 luther, the' haint nothin' 'at fetches me tu myself agin 

 like goin' a-fishin'. I'd livser git a mess 'an tu not, feelin' 

 better carryin' hum a respectible string an' hevin' more 

 pluck tu go agin female opposition nex' time the fit takes 

 me, but if I don't git enough tu raise a smell in the pan, 

 I've hed me my fishin'. I've seen the brook an' heard it 

 a-talkin' tu itself an' mebby to me, I do' know, an' like 

 'nough seen some odd capers o' birds er animals an' got 

 the kinks aouten my joints an' so don't caount I've lost 

 the day. 



"Ssh-h. See that pleggid mink." 



He pointed out the lithe, alert dusky form poised on 

 the verge of a brookside boulder, intently scanning the 

 eddying current beneath, and the two watched him make 

 a noiseless arrowy plunge, and emerge with his writhing 

 prey and bear it into the net-barred fastnesses of the 

 bank. 



" An' he's a hevin' his leetle fishin' tu, which I don't be- 

 gretch it tu him, seein' he does it so slick an' handy." 



"An' naow, Peltier, I guess we might as weU caU it 

 we've got enough. We might git more but we do' wanter 

 be hawgs. You've got a string o' fish 'at ought tu make a 

 man happy an' contented an' f ergit lots o' trouble, an' I 

 hope it does, better'n all Hamner's pizen, which it's hopesin' 

 you've forsook. Naow, whenever you git daown-hearted 

 go a-fishin'. You'd a leetle druther hev it a good day, but 

 go anyway if you can't make the weather an' you're 

 feelin' starve." 



So they took their way homeward in the gathering 

 twilight, with the vibrant purr of the toads ringing all 

 about them, and now and then a startled bird scurrying 

 out of the dead grass before them. 



"See the pooty pooties, bubby," said Uncle Lisha, 



dangling his string of fish before the dehghted eyes and 

 reaching hands of Sam's baby. "No, couldn't hev 'em 

 naow, bubby, but when he gete big an' wears trouses he 

 shell go 'long wi' LTncle Lisher an' ketch snags on 'em, an' 

 mammy'U cook 'em an' tell us tu go ag'in,' 



EOWLAND E. EOBINSON. 



OUR FORESTS AND STREAMS. 



Their Destruction and Necessary Preservation. 



Nest to and co-equal with food, wood and water are 

 the first necessities of life, whether savage or civilized; 

 nor can any food except fruit, be properly fitted for the 

 use of man, without the aid of both. The explorer, the 

 emigrant, the miner, and the sportsman, aU seek for 

 them at the end of the day, as essential needs for the 

 shelter and rest of the night, and the classes to which I 

 have referred, are all well a\\ are how essential to each 

 other are these two great factors of existence. 



The wood will not grow without the water, nor can the 

 water be so retained and preserved as to yield its full 

 share of blessings to man without the aid of the woods to 

 protect the soil from the burning rays of the sun, and 

 check the consequent evaporation in the heats of summer, 

 while the annual fall of the leaves in autumn, aided by 

 the mosses which have grown up under the shade, retain 

 the water of the winter's snows, when melted by the 

 coming spring, and yield them gently and slowly to the 

 streams, through thousands of hidden channels, to find 

 their way in due time to the sea, whence drawn up by 

 the sun, they return to the earth in rain, and perform 

 their annual and ceaseless round of beneficence. 



This is no new topic, and my words may seem hack- 

 neyed and tiresome, but the questions of forest preserva- 

 tion and water supply form one of the greatest engineer- 

 ing problems of the immediate future, and I write them 

 as one, because they are so intimately and inseparably 

 connected that it is impossible to divide them, and because 

 the water supply of New England, to speak of my own 

 knowledge, is already being perceptibly diminished by the 

 destruction of her forests. 



I am writing from a quiet country village on the baixks 

 of the Connecticut Eiver, where I was born many years 

 ago, and to which I have returned withui a few years, 

 after a busy life, mostly spent among the great water- 

 powers which have grown up on our sister river of New 

 Hampshire, the Merrtmac, having commenced my ap- 

 prenticeship to mechanics and engineering in the then 

 new city of Lowell 52 years ago, and having seen the 

 first water%vheel put in motion in what is now the busy city 

 of Lawrence. I have seen these cities grow up until the 

 water power which brought them into existence was util- 

 ized to its full original capacity, and seen dams raised, 

 new canals dug and extra "flowage rights" purchased, 

 the channels from Wtnnesquam and Winnepesaukee 

 deepened, and every possible means employed and pre- 

 caution taken to save the greatest quantity of the annual 

 spring surplus of nature's precious fluid, and steam engines 

 added to keep the mills in steady operation during the 

 year, until the amount of steam power in Lowell equals, 

 if it does not exceed, the full provisions for water, and 

 doubles of itself the full scheme of the original pro- 

 jectors. 



After six years at Lowell and five years at Lawrence I 

 spent four years on the Chicopee Eiver, at Springfield, 

 Mass., and then returned to the Merrimac, at Manchester. 

 N, H., where beside some interregnums, I resided for 16 

 years. All this time I have seen the rivers shrink to lower 

 and lower levels in the summer droughts, as the forests 

 were gradually destroyed around their sources in the 

 White Mountain region, and the spring freshets become 

 more destructive to roads and bridges and arable land 

 along the meadows on their banks, and the steam engines 

 called into more constant use, until it is a question asked 

 by many people, although I must say I do not agree witn 

 them — Is water power w-orth having: 



It was not, however, my recollections of nay experiences 

 among the waterpowers, which have prompted this 

 article. It was the sight of a couple of loads of huge 

 oak logs, which I saw yesterday morning, on their way 

 to a sawmill just behind my residence. This mill was 

 built some thirty or more years ago, for a boot and shoe 

 factory, and was for some years quite successful, but the 

 death of one of the partners in the business, and the 

 greater economy of manufacture in the region of south- 

 ern New Hampshire and eastern Massachusetts, where the 

 business has concentrated, rendering an isolated factory 

 unprofitable, caused the abandonment of the enterprise, 

 and a larger steam engine was put into the building, and 

 its purposes diverted to stripping the neighboring bills of 

 their remaining forests. 



The manuf actm-e of pargetized kerosene cans, made of 

 sapling pine, and saturated with glue, was carried on for 

 some years, but was finally taken to another town, where 

 cheaper rents and a more abundant supply of second^ 

 growth pine was offered, and for three or four years past 

 the shop has been employed in getting out chair stock, 

 which is sawed out here in the rough and sent down into 

 Massachusetts to some of the large furniture factories, to 

 be put together and finished. A word or two will de- 

 scribe the situation. This is no new village just started 

 in the edge of the woods; it was settled nearly 150 years 

 ago, and was a frontier fort in the time of the old French 

 War, and an important shire-town at the beginning of 

 the century, and claimed among its inhabitants some of 

 the most jjrominent lawyei-s in the State, and had at one 

 time 1,800 population, now shrunk to barely 1,600. 



It stands on a gravelly terrace about 100ft. above the 

 beautiful meadows, or "intervale," as it used to be called, 

 of the Connecticut, just about midway between its sources 

 and its mouth. These meadows are here about a mile 

 wide, and are inclosed by parallel ranges of hills in New 

 Hampshire and Vermont rising from 35 to 5U0f t. above 

 the river in the first ranges, which are backed by success- 

 ively higher elevations, until they reach the Green Moun- 

 tains on the one side and, the backbone of New Hampshire 

 on the other. This gravelly terrace, jutting out from the 

 eastern hills, was probably once the bed of an old glacial 

 lake, the ice and the waters being held back by the bold 

 rocky cliffs which close in on the river at Bellows Falls, 

 eight miles below. It is permeated with veins of bog- 

 iron sand, which render the water derived from wells 

 t somewhat unpalatable for drinking, being decidedly 

 chalybeate, and entirely unsuitable for laundry purposes, 

 and the consequence is that the main sux^ply of water for 

 I the village has for many years been derived from copious 



