Feb. 3, 1894] 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



91 



tu be a candid sort o' man, but it beats all natur haowhe's 

 borryin' of ev'ybody." 



"N'yum, n'yum, n'yurn," mumbled his full-mouthed 

 comrade with assenting nods. 



"Yis, borryin' of ev'b >'dv" continued the other. "Why 

 they say 't he's borryed $300 of the Buttles gals 'at they'd 

 laid up a tailorin', without a mit» o' security. Poor ol' 

 critters, fifty year ol' the youngest on 'em is. All they'd 

 got saved up. Hope they won't lose it, but I d' know." 



Sam overhearing them, raised his eyes from the 

 smoked herring he was pealing, to study the face of his 

 friend Bascom, a genial, beaming face, with restful eyes 

 that met another's but for an instant, but surely there 

 was no guile in it. 



During the nooning, the village street so nearly re- 

 sumed its ordinary peaceful aspect that Joel Bartlett, 

 clad in his Quaker garb, appeared in it as a not incongru- 

 ous figure, mounted on a wagon load of grain and driving 

 I sedately toward the mill. Millers being exempt from 

 I military duty, and but few grists being likely to come to 

 the mill on this day, it seemed a propitious one for Joel. 

 He was suspected by some of possessing a worldly, un- 

 confessed love for music, embracing even the martial 

 strains of the fife and drum. 



As he slowly turned the corner, holding an attentive 

 ear, and casting a wistful, furtive glance up the main 

 street, he attracted the notice of Beri Burton, whom fre- 

 quent calls at Hamner' s bar had made pot-valiant and 

 more than usually aggressive. 



"See that aire dumb sneakin' Quaker," he mumbled, 

 with one-half a doughnut in his mouth while he pointed 

 at Joel with the other half. "Goldumb Quaker, ridin' 

 roun' comf'ble, when better men 's sarvin' the country. 

 | Goldumb ef I don't make him git daown off'm his waggin 

 an' shoulder my muskit." And starting up from the group 

 with which he was lunching, with long, shambling 

 strides, he advanced rapidly toward Joel, snouting vocif- 

 erously, "Hoi' on thar, you Bartlett, I got some'pn fer 

 tu tel ye." 



When Joel became aware that he was addressed, he 

 drew rein and awaited Beri's approach, asking quietly as 

 the other came beside the wagon: 



"Was thee a-wishin' to speak to me, friend Burton?" 



"Yis, I be," growled Beri, "but I haint none o' your 

 'friend Burtons'. I want you tu git ri' daown here." 



"No, I thank thee, I don't feel drawn to get down," 

 Joel answered. "I can converse quite freely where I be." 



"Goldumb ye, you will feel drawed down 'f ye don't 

 pile off'm thar. What business you got a-ridin' raoun wi 

 your dumb drab broad brim clos' when decent folks is 

 a-duin' thar dooty. You gotter git ri' daown here an' 

 shoulder a muskit like a hones' man oncte in yer sneakin' 

 life." 



His brawny hand grasped one of Joel's butternut-dyed 

 stockings and Joel drew the other close under his haunch. 



"I'm a man of peace," he said, "and hev no call tu 

 handle carnal weepons." 



"You come daown er I'll pull ye daown, I will." 



"Oh, you'd better let him be, Beri," mildly expostulated 

 a militiaman who had drawn near. "He haint 'bliged to 

 train, ye know, an' if we wan't we wouldn't." 



Beri's answer was a more vigorous jerk of the en- 

 thralled member. 



"If thee yanks me so hard, friend Beri," said Joel calmly, 

 ' 'my t'other foot is lierble to slip, an' if it should hit thee 

 in the face an' hurt thee I should feel grieved." 



Beri pulled more savagely, roaring, "Come off'm thar." 



Joel, as he slid a little from his lofty seat, let fly his 

 loose foot full in the face of his uncouth adversary, who, 

 staggering backward with his hand to his battered nose, 

 howled with pain and rage. 



"Dumb ye," he roared, glowering darkly up over his 

 bruised features, and making feeble demonstrations in 

 the same direction, "I've a good minter break yer 

 neck." 



"Frienrl Beri, I hope my foot won't slip agin, but if it 

 does I haint answerable." 



"Goldum ye, I won't dirty my fingers wi' yer Quaker 

 carkiss. I've hed a wolf's foot in my maouth, an' a 

 Quaker's hoof in my face, an' I do' want no wus dis- 

 grace." 



Joel's contracted brow and closely puckered lips relaxed 

 and his face assumed its usual placidity as he resumed his 

 seat, and chirruping to his horses they moved sedately 

 onward, while Beri shambled away, as much abashed as 

 it was in his nature to be. 



Joel had the miller and mill to himself for half the 

 afternoon, but it was noticeable that when the company 

 paraded for afternoon drill and fife and drum struck up 

 "The White Cockade," "Yankee Doodle" and their one 

 other tune, "The Road to Boston," he took himself out of 

 the noise of the mill clack and rushing water, and with 

 his back resolutely turned to the music gazed into space in 

 abstracted meditation. 



At about 1 o'clock the drum resumed its monotonous 

 iteration of "Uncle Dan," and "the siners of war," as their 

 commander flatteringly styled them, wandered again into 

 crooked alignment, shouldered arms, marched and coun- 

 termarched, wheeled right and left like a wave-tossed 

 seine, "charged bay'net" to the affright of the scurrying 

 host of boys, and at last, at 4 o'clock, "p'ised arms" and 

 disbanded; and the farce of "June Trainin' " was ended. 



After buzzing about for a while with as little purpose as 

 a swarm of flies, the greater part of the militiamen and 

 spectators departed, while some lingered to do forgotten 

 errands or regale themselves with the seductive sweets of 

 gossip and strong waters at Hamner's. 



Bevies of boys trudged homeward shrilly recounting the 

 events of the day. Old Beedle went jolting over the high- 

 way, his empty cask rumbling and his well-filled shotbag 

 chinking a tune very pleasant to his ears. 



Sam, Pelatiah and Antoine bore each other company 

 homeward. 



"By the gret horn spoon!" the first exclaimed, "I'll stay 

 tu hum an' pay my fine afore I'll jine sech foolin' agin. 

 It gits wus an' wus every year, a-pomponadin' back an' 

 tu like a passel o' sheep, every man dutn' jest as he's a 

 mind tu, an' larnin' nothin'. I'd ruther stay tu hum an' 

 du nothin' er work in Huldy's posey bed." 



"I'd ruther go a-fishin'" said Pelatiah, regretfully, as 

 his wistful eyes followed the winding copses and strag- 

 gling ranks of elms that marked the courses of his favorite 

 streams. "An' what's the use o' trainin'. anyway? The' 

 won't never be no more fightin'. It 's gone aout o' 

 fashion, seems, 'ough." 



"It won't, never, I'm afeard, till folks gits tu be angels 

 Br geese, which they're gittin' mighty nigh. Fust ye 



know, the' '11 come a war, kerslap, an' nob'dy ready 

 'mongst all the stuff, we've got tu make sogers on, jest as 

 good sogers as fit in the Revolution an' eighteen-hunderd- 

 an'-twelve. But I s'pose it don't take long tu lam tu kill 

 folks, a,n' it's hopesin' we won't haf tu." 



"Ah '11 goin' tole you de trut', sah, Sam," said Antoine, 

 who had been a cordial and interested spectator, "it was 

 mos' look wus as de Papineau war, on de Patrick side of 

 it. De British he look pooty bonly he '11 gat too much 

 gaun an' shoot it too much. He can leek more as honded 

 tousan' you feller. Why, seh, he '11 leek me, mahsef." 



Just relieved of his holiday coat and hat, Uncle Lisha 

 sat sweating in his shirt sleeves when Sam entered his 

 kitchen. Joseph Hill, who had come a mile from home 

 to rest himself, lounged in an easy chair. 



"I seen one man tu-day," said Uncle Lisha, looking at 

 Huldah, '"at looked julluk sech sojers as we hed tu 

 Plattsburgh, an' the fust letters of his name is Samwil 

 Lovel." 



"I doan' know but what I'd jest abaout as lives train as 

 not tu, an' abaout as lives not tu as tu," said Joseph, 

 serenely unenvious of the compliment that reddened 

 Sam's cheek, "on'y it makes father swearin' mad 'cause I 

 can't git the right foot forrid fust, which it 's allers the 

 left, he says, an' I don't see haow on airth you're goin' tu, 

 erless ve take kinder of a half hitch, hipperty hop." 



"Wal," said Uncle Lisha, "there's Bubby, an' the 

 womern folks, an' me an' Drive haint got tu train, hev 

 we, Bubby? Ah! seee here, daddy's man, le's go fin' aout 

 what 's in Uncle Lisher's cut tail pocket. It felt julluk a 

 sugar plum a-tunkin' agin' the calf o' my laig all the way 

 hum." 



With the little boy holding on to his tan-stained fore- 

 finger with one dimpled fist and leading the sad-faced 

 hound by the ear with the other, he went over to where 

 the blue coat was hanging on the wall. 



Rowland E. Robinson. 



UNCLE ISIAH ON THE HAMMERLESS. 



He was seated on a box in front of one of the little 

 cabins that "befoh de wah" served as quarters for the 

 field hands employed on the plantation. 



A solitary chicken of doubtful sex and very nondescript 

 breed was pecking in the gravel at his feet, and a delicate 

 wreath of blue smoke circling from his corncob pipe 

 formed a halo around his shining black pate. The warm 

 sunshine, for although it was near Christmas the rigor of 

 winter had not yet reached Virginia, poured its yellow 

 rays over him and glistened on the barrels of an old- 

 fashioned fowling piece, which he was busy oiling and 

 putting in order. 



My new Parker hammerless had arrived that morning 

 and I was naturally anxious to test its shooting quahties, 

 so I called around to get Uncle Isiah to accompany me. 

 Hearing my footsteps on the gravel walk as I turned the 

 corner of the smoke-house, he hastily removed his black- 

 ened pipe from between his lips, and, half shuffling to his 

 feet greeted me with: "Good mohnin, howdy, howdy 

 Marster Ned? I done been a hearin' de quail pipin' all de 

 mohnin down yon'er by de ribber, an' I was just a cog- 

 itatin' wedder I'd better go up to de house an' call you, 

 case I know you all couldn't miss no such mohnin as dis; 

 jess listen to dem quail, 'peahs like dey jes pipin' ter be 

 shot! 



"What you got dere honey? Dat yo' new gun? Lemme 

 look. Laws-a-mussy, you done broke it all raidy! My! 

 Yo' pa sholy will be mad? 'Tain't broke! Yes it is, look 

 yeah, an' yeah, don't tell me dis gun ain' broke, whar's de 

 hammers? 



"Hammerless gun — cose it is, jess like I said; made dat 

 way — go way — don't pester me wid no sich foolishness! 

 what good am a gun what haint got no hammers? How 

 you gwine to shoot hit off? 



"Law me! Well, dat do beat me, for a fac'! Dey's 

 inside! Well, dat am de mos' curiousness gun I ebber did 

 see. Lemme look again. Umph! What fo' dey put 'em 

 on de inside? What's dat? Jess you hark heah. De 

 pusson what climbs a fence an' den done turns roun' an' 

 pulls de gun through after him, jes' 'serves to be shot, an' 

 he's sure ter do it some way if you done gib him de bestis 

 and safes' gun in de worl'. 



"Dis yeah sutney does s'prise me, 'deed it does! 



"Didn't I done teach you all how to handle a gun? 

 Didn't I tote dat big duck gun ob yo' pa's down to de 

 corn-fiel', so as you could shoot yo' fust rabbit? Didn't I 

 go along wid you de day after Chris'mus fo' yeahs ergo 

 come nex' Chris'mus, when you got yo' new breechloader? 

 Didn't I teach you how ter climb de fences — huh? An' 

 now you ain't know enough to han'le a gun wid hammers 

 on it; — I'se powerful ashamed ob you, suh — yes, suh, I 

 cert'n'y is! 



"Look yeah, you see dis ole gun? Don't you turn up 

 yo' nose— dere haint no style about it— I knows; dis yeah 

 piece ob string am wrapped eround de place where it 

 broke de time yo' pa fell down wid a big wounded buck 

 on top of him. He done gib me de ole gun for killin' de 

 deer jess in time. 'Tain' no breechloader, an' you jess 

 hab to pour de powder into de top end, but she's a mighty 

 pow'ful shooter jess de same, an' when Mister Cottontail 

 see me a-comin', he jus' 'low he gotter git up an' move 

 mighty quick, an' keep er-movin', or he done fin' hisself 

 dead. When I see ole Bob White line up plumb between 

 de hammers I know Bob White done gwine to sizzle in 

 my skillet befoh night. No, suh — you keep yo' hammer- 

 less gun; dis yeah nigger's done got used ter de ole times, 

 an' he's like de ole mule what hab done trabbled in de 

 furrow all his life — you can't make no bob-tailed fancy 

 circus horse outen him, no mattah how hard you try." 



The General. 



Canadian Folks Are Not Cockneys. 



Sorel, P. Q., Jan. 2i. — Editor Forest and Stream: In 

 your issue of 20th hist. I regret to notice a curious inac- 

 curacy in "Kelpie's" interesting letter — I refer to the 

 cockney dialect which he puts into Canadian mouths. 



I know eastern Canada pretty well from Halifax to 

 Winnipeg, and can assure "Kelpie" that a misuse of the 

 aspirate is not a characteristic of Canadians. The last 

 paragraph of his letter plainly infers that it is. 



During a residence of several years in the United States 

 I have met at odd times people who apparently believed 

 Canada to be a pocket edition of England, and thought 

 all Englishmen were cockneys, I should have expected a 

 man of "Kelpie's" attainments to be better informed. 



Pint ail. 



THE VARYING HARE. 



This animal, the Northern bare (Lepus americanus) 

 abounds in northern Maine, New Hampshire and Canada. 

 It is pure white in winter, cinnamon brown in summer. 

 Weight about 61bs. ; ears, length of head; hind feet very 

 large; small forward; a very swift runner, outstripping 

 the fastest dog. They feed on grasses in summer and 

 tender twigs of birch, hemlock and spruce in winter. 

 Live entirely above ground, making forms of dried grass 

 or leaves on which they lie, under thick cover of shrubs 

 and evergreen bushes. Chiefly nocturnal, choosing a dry, 

 sunny knoll in daytime, where they quietly ruminate in 

 daylight, commencing their travels about sunset, and on 

 moonlight nights roaming continuously, otherwise start- 

 ing out at daybreak for a morning frolic. This hare does 

 not occur in the Western States. 



The Northern hare is a beautiful animal in its winter 

 dress, and appears very much larger than it is, having 

 long ears and legs which deceive the eye, and making 

 immense bounds when started, giving it the appearance 

 of a flying creature, These hares have been sent into 

 many of the States of the Union to stock preserves. A 

 curious fact in regard to this animal is, that it cannot be 

 baited in the summer season, when the herbage of nature 

 is green and fresh. Only when the earth is covered with 

 snow will they enter the boxes set for their capture. For 

 the last ten years I have sent perhaps thousands into 

 many of the States, several hundred each year; more to 

 New York perhaps, and Pennsylvania, also Virginia, 

 Maryland, New Jersey, Connecticut, Rhode Island, Massa- 

 chusetts, Michigan, and even to Florida and to islands in 

 the sea. 



The beagle is the best dog for hunting them, and they 

 give great sport ahead of these dogs, circling in large 

 circuits sometimes a mile away. I have known two 

 hunters to start out without a dog, one with a gun, the 

 other acting as dog, following and barking in imitation of 

 a dog, and in due time bringing the hare around, to his 

 partner with the gun. They will thrive equally well on 

 mountains or in swamps, and are great breeders. They 

 always circle when started by man or beast. I once saw 

 one come out of the woods on tQ Mollychunkemunk Lake, 

 and start off down the lake on the ice. A few minutes 

 later a fisher cat came on to the lake on the hare's track 

 and spun dnwn the lake in pursuit. As soon as the hare 

 perceived that he was followed, he commenced to circle, 

 the fisher keeping the inside ring, and the circuit growing 

 smaller in each round until finally the fisher made a game 

 dinner of bis prey. 



Many carnivorous birds feed on this animal, especially 

 hawks and owls, and also the beasts of the forest. The 

 bear, fox, mink, m-irtin, fisher, lynx and many others, 

 and it seems a wise provision of nature that the hare 

 should breed so prolifically to supply the needs of such a 

 horde of meat eaters, and can it be any worse for the 

 hare to be killed by a dog than by the lynx or fisher, or 

 picked to pieces by an owl? After all, it is the survival 

 of the fittest law. J. G. Rich. 



Bethel, Maine. 



Another Grouse in Town. 



Albany, N. Y.— On Sunday afternoon, Jan. 14, a ruffed 

 grouse was discovered in the poultry yard of the Olcott 

 mansion, on the heights east of Greenbush, across the 

 Hudson from this city. The bird seemed to have dropped 

 in to feed, and three gentlemen, Douglass Olcott, H. A. 

 Vanderpoel and H. H. Valentine, watched it from the 

 windows of the tool house. Presently the bird became 

 alarmed at the appearance of a cat and it rose to clear the 

 picket fence, but apparently did not see the wire screen- 

 ing above the pickets, in the meshes of which it became 

 entangled and finally fluttered down into the space 

 between the wire and the pickets, where it was easily 

 caught by Mr. Valentine. Upon examination it was 

 found that the foot and shank of one leg were missing, 

 but there was a perfectly healed "stump," and the grouse 

 (a hen) seemed to be in otherwise excellent condition, 

 being fat, clean-feathered and of first-class wing power 

 as was shown later. The bird was examined with great 

 interest by the gentlemen and by two setters and a 

 pointer who were present; then Mr. Valentine took it out 

 to the eastern edge of the hill, the side of which is 

 wooded, and offered it liberty. It rested quietly upon the 

 man's outstretched hand for a moment, not seeming to 

 realize its release Suddenly it raised its head and with a 

 mighty rush tore through the trees, down the hillside, 

 and disappeared on the opposite side of the wide valley. 



Horace B. Derby. 



Big Tracks and a Large Yell. 



Ashland, Wis. — I am in the woods a great deal of my 

 time, as my business is surveying and looking up lands 

 for different lumber companies. Last fall I had a fifty- 

 five days' trip, and my attention was drawn several times 

 to a certain animal's track always in the largest swamp 

 and roughest country. The track is about 3-Jin, in diam- 

 eter and generally there are two together. The steps are 

 very regular and about 32in. apart and in a direct line. 

 The beast travels over a great deal of country. The track 

 is • round and shows three toes and a center very plainly. 

 I should judge the animal is as heavy as a good-sized dog 

 from the appearance of the signs. I have been very close 

 to it. One night about 9:30 I went out of the canip and 

 very near the camp, say 50yds., the same animal gave 

 the most terrifying yell I ever heard in the woods. I 

 have heard wolves a great many times and have shot and 

 trapped them; but this is no wolf. I am told it is a 

 panther; some say it is a jaguar, others a cougar, some a 

 Rocky Mountain lion. I believe all these names to apply 

 to the one animal. If you would be so kind as to give 

 me some information in regard to this animal through 

 your valuable paper or otherwise I will be verv much 

 obliged. J. A. G. 



Foreign Travel. 



Attention ot travelers is called to the advertisement on page vi of 

 the Credit Lyonnai--, of Paris. This is one of the largest banking 

 establishments in the world, having a capital of forty million dollars. 

 I It occupies a magnificent marble building in Paris, and has branches 



1 in most European cities. Letters of credit may be procured of the 

 leading banks and bankers in the United States, and cords admitting 

 to the reading and writing rooms will be furnished by their New YorS 

 representative. Charles Einseldler, 15 Wall street — Adv, 



