FOREST AND STREAM. 
[Feb. 22, 1896 
Proposed New Jersey Seasons. 
The Board op Fish and Game Commissioners oe New 
Jersey.— Mt. Arlington, N. J., Feb. 14.— Editor Forest 
and Stream: I take the liberty of inclosing for your con- 
sideration a schedule of open seasons for fish and game in 
New Jersey as suggested by the Board of Fish and Game 
Commissioners: 
For the Northern Game District — Woodcock, Oct. 1 to 
Dec. 10; partridge (commonly called ruffed grouse), Oct. 
1 to Dec. 10; gray, black and fox squirrels, Oct. 1 to Dec. 
10; hare and quail, Oct. 25 to Dec. 10; European pheasant, 
European partridge, European grouse, Oct. 25 to Dec. 10. 
For the Southern Game District— Hare and quail, Nov. 
15 to Jan. 1; partridge, Nov. 15 to Jan. 1; gray, black 
and fox squirrels, Nov. 15 to Jan. 1; European pheasant, 
European partridge and European grouse, Nov. 15 to Jan. 
1; woodcock, Nov. 15 to Jan. 1. 
For the whole State — Gray snipe (commonly called 
English or "Wilson snipe), months of March and April, 
and also between Aug. 31 and Dec. 10; grass or upland 
plover and dove, Aug. 10 to Sept. 10; reed bird, rail bird 
or marsh hen, Aug. 25 to Dec. 10. 
Black bass, May 30 to Dec. 1; trout, April 1 to July 
15; pickerel, May 1 to Feb. 25; Eel pots and baskets for 
the catching of eels allowed all the year. Birds, game 
and fish may be removed from the State in possession of 
the persons who may have lawfully captured the same 
during the open season. H. P. Frothingham, Sec'y. 
Long-Distance Telephone. 
A good many stories are told of the strange uses of the 
long-distance telephone. The day the line was opened to 
Merrill, Wis., a Chicago man, hunting in the northern 
woods, came into town and learned of the innovation. 
He went into one of the "sound-proof" booths and had 
himself put into communication with his family. As they 
had a telephone in the house, the task was a small one. 
He chatted with his wife, told her a fish story at which 
she might smile without embarrassing him, since he could 
not see the sign of incredulity; talked with his boy and 
girl, and then called for "Gyp." 
"Gyp" was a setter, a great family pet, which had been 
left behind because of an accident which rendered him 
lame. "Gyp" was called to the telephone, and he stood 
on a chair, his forefeet on the back, and his mistress held 
the transmitter to his ear. 
"Hello, Gyp!" called the master from Merrill. And the 
dog in Chicago picked up his ears and whined. The mas- 
ter whistled cheerily, and the setter barked directly into 
the receiver. He knew his master's voice, and the whistle 
as well; and the master cheered him by ready laughter at 
the prompt and eager reply. 
It was worth the $2.50 it cost.— Taeoma Ledger: 
The .38cal. Revolver. 
Rockvale, Col., Jan. 26.— Editor Forest and Stream: I 
notice in your issue of Jan. 25 an account by E. H. R. of 
a ,38cal. pistol bullet being flattened against a darky's 
skull. 
In the western portion of this State, which is still at 
times a trifle fuzzy, white men are sometimes the victims 
of gun play, but I have never heard of a fatal wound 
being made with a .38cal. six-shooter. The bullet from 
such calibers nearly always glances from the skull or 
ribs. 
I once killed a calf with a .38cal., but will never do so 
again. The first shot struck just behind the ear, ranging 
slightly forward, but the only effect was to make the poor 
animal shake its head. The second shot was equare in the 
forehead and produced about as much effect as a pebble 
from a boy's catapult. The third shot struck right inside 
the ear and ended the trouble. Next day I traded the .38 
for a .44. Edw. F. Ball. 
Chittenden's Yellowstone Park. 
OOR review last week of Capt. Hiram M. Chittenden's 
Yellowstone Park failed to mention the price of the work, 
which is $1.50. The full title of the volume is: Ihe 
Yellowstone National Park, Historical and Descriptive. 
Illustrated with Maps, Views and Portraits. By Hiram 
Martin Chittenden, Captain Corps of Engineers, United 
States Army. Cincinnati: The Robert Clarke Company. 
1895. 
TWO ANCIENT ANGLERS. 
Ninety Years Old and Still Fishing. ' 
RECOLLECTIONS OE DANIEL WEBSTER, GENIO C. SCOTT, 
ARTHUR W. BENSON AND OTHER ANGLING 
WORTHIES. 
It has become an axiom in physiology that "as long as 
a man can do anything he can fish," and there is record 
of quite a few superannuated anglers like F. E. Spinner, 
of U. S. Treasury fame, and Arthur W. Benson, late of 
Brooklyn, who actually died in their skiffs of old age, f ast 
to their lines. But although the lives of these good men 
were long and phenomenal and well on in the eighties, 
there are others living whose years have exceeded theirs! 
We have in mind two eminent anglers, now verging on 
ninety, who have long been known in literary and scien- 
tific circles, and whose usefulness, virtues and genial bon 
hommie have held the regard of their fellows for three 
generations. They are: Samuel C. Clarke, now of 
Marietta, Ga., and Isaac McLellan, of Greenport, L. I., 
own cousins, and both natives of Newton, Mass., born in 
the selfsame year of 1806. Clarke is 90 years old in this 
February and "old Isaac" 90 in the May following. Mr. 
McLellan has written renvoi in verse for nearly every 
leading sportsman's journal that has been started since 
1873, and within the nineties has issued a volume of 
"Poems of the Rod and Gun," which includes most of his 
effusions of the last half century. Many earlier verses 
appeared in the New York Journal of Commerce previous 
to the war. Mr. Clarke was foremost in the ichthyology 
of the South Atlantic waters up to 1878, following up 
assiduously the work begun by Bartram and continued by 
Holbrook until 1862, and his notes on fishes have occupied 
prominent place in all treatises official and unofficial up 
to and including the crowning work of Prof, G. Brown 
Goode, of the Smithsonian, entitled "North American 
Fishes," which was published in 1891. Year after year he 
used to winter on the east coast of Florida, until at last 
the growing crowd drove him out in 1887, when he re- 
treated to the bills of north Georgia, "where," he says, in 
a letter dated in February of that year, "I can at least 
have solitude and quiet, the best comforts for an old 
man." Mr. Clarke'B youDgeBt brother, T. C. Clarke, aged 
68, is president of Jekyl Island Club, and a famous bridge 
builder known throughout the United States and Canada. 
Both of these venerable men are bearing their great 
weight of years with grace and cheerfulness, and with 
apparent vital headway enough to carry them to the end 
of the century, if not to the round period of 100 years of 
life. Writing on Jan. 3, 1896, with a nervous energy little 
impaired by time, the ancient angler of Greenport writes 
as follows: 
"Greenport, Suffolk County, L. I., Jan. 3, 1896.— Dear 
friend Hallock: I have just received your good letter of 
30th Dec. I am right glad to hear from you. My health 
is quite good, though on the 21st next May I shall reach 
90 years, if the good God so permits. The weight of so 
many years presses very lightly upon me. I have laid 
aside forever my guns (and my pen also), but eD joy some 
fishing in Long Island Sound. I inclose my latest pho- 
tograph. Ever yours truly, Isaac McLellan." 
Two years earlier, under date of Jan. 24, 1894, he writes, 
still defiant of Time, the Reaper: "I am quite strong and 
hearty yet, and could walk, row or handle a gun and rod 
about as well as ever." 
Mr. Clarke does not hold up as well, but he drives a 
vigorous quill with firm hands. Writing on recent date 
he says: 
"Marietta, Ga., Dec. 19, 1895.— As for myself, I have 
been confined to my room for many months with rheu- 
ISAAC MOLELLAN. 
matism and other maladies incident to old age, the worst 
being failing eyesight." 
But he adds: 
"I would like to have a good fish talk with you." 
The ruling spirit is invincible. 
Mr. McLellan has always been an enthusiastic fowler 
and gunner, and kept up his duck shooting until he was 
87 years old! Did Emperor Wilhelm of Germany bear 
arms more bravely? But it was not for lack of vigor that 
he quit shooting, but because there was no game to shoot, 
for, referring to the circumstances, he says, apologetically, 
in his letter of January, 1894: "Three years since I gave 
away my old muzzleloaders, which I had used more than 
thii'ty years constantly, thinking I should have no further 
use for them. Indeed, the shooting in this region is al- 
most worthless— only some quail on land and coots on 
waters of Peconic Bay and Long Island Sound." And in 
respect to fishing he adds: "Nor in some years has there 
been any good fishing here. Still, if at any time you 
would like to try it, I should be very glad to see you. I 
would prefer to be by some lake, river or big pond, where 
I could daily catch a few fish, even without the use of 
boat." 
This is business! 
Again, in April of the same year he wrote with a con 
amore which showed what ardor animated him: "We 
hope for better fortune when June comes in, and if the 
fish should reach these shores at that time, I shall enjoy 
the sport, and would then be delighted to have you for 
company." 
Lapsing into reminiscence, he writes: "The best snipe 
shooting I ever had was at my friends', the Taylors', 
plantation on the eastern coast of Virginia (peninsula), 
near the water, and not far from Eastvilleand the Cherry- 
stone Landing. I often think of old days and former old 
friends, remembering our interviews in your dear father's 
building, whence the Journal of Commerce issued, and 
also remember our deer hunt at the Blooming Grove Park 
Association. I deplore the loss of my kind old friend, 
Genio C. Scott, at all times. I never can replace him. I 
recollect I introduced you to him when you wished to 
join the New York Sportsmen's Club in 1857. I declined 
it myself, but my late brother, Dr. F. M. McLellan, did 
join it, and often gave me an account of it. I was a 
member years ago of the Boston Sportsmen's Club, the 
first, I think, that ever was formed there. We had nice 
rooms in Boston and a club house on Scarboro River, near 
Portland, Me." 
Dropping back to the year 1887, he writes on April 27: 
"I am happy to say that my health is perfectly good. 
I have never had any serious ailment except some mala- 
rious troubles. I pass my winters here, and then migrate 
to some quiet spat by woods and waters. * * * My 
cousin, Sam. C. Clarke, and I began our fishing life to- 
gether when boys, first fishing in a brook which ran 
through our grandfather's meadows (Gen. Wm. Hull) at 
Newton, Mass. We also fished together off the bridges 
and wharves of Boston for flounders, eels and smelt. 
Then Sam had great and various experience at many 
places, such as in Massachusetts waters, in Canada for 
salmon and trout, and in Illinois for black and rock bass, 
etc., near Chicago, and in the Fox and Lake rivers. In 
later years he fished for many seasons in Florida waters, 
taking sheepshead, bass, pompaho, etc., and trying for 
the big tarpon. He wrote me lately that he had no fish- 
ing in Georgia, the nearest stream being twelve miles 
distant. I fished often with G. C. Scott in waters near 
New York for striped bass, etc. We also fished together 
at South Hempstead, L. I., in the creeks and trout ponds 
of that region. His favorite place for trout there was at 
Massapequa Pond. He fished with fly and I with bait, 
and the catch was about equal. I went with him on a 
fishing tour to Sodus Bay, in north part of New York 
State, fishing for pickerel and muscalonge, and his suc- 
cess with the former was very good. Scott had success- 
ful experience in salmon fishing in the rivers of Canada, 
but I did not accompany him there. I helped him in 
preparing his 'Fishing in American Waters,' and passed 
one day and night with him at his home in Williamsburg 
while the book was in progress. We read over the manu- 
script and proofs together each evening. I wrote for him 
the poetical pieces. The book was very successful, and 
after his death the copyright was sold to the American 
News Company, who issued a third and cheaper edition 
of it. 
"I may also mention Daniel Webster, whom I met almost 
daily, as I lived at Marshfield, Mass., his summer home, 
for two or three years. He had a little sloop which he 
kept in Green's River, near his house, and in this he en- 
joyed many days of good fishing, which consisted chiefly 
of cod, haddock, mackerel and blackfish (tautog). His 
two sons, Fletcher and Edward, often went with him. 
They also enjoyed the drop-line, and also used the rod 
and reel for tautog. Mr. Webster greatly enjoyed the 
sport, but was an impatient angler, and if the cod did not 
begin to bite soon he would say to his skipper (Nat Delano, 
with whom I boarded), 'Up killick, Captain Nat, and try 
another place.' When he returned to shore he had his 
wagon waiting for him, into which he put his fish in a 
big box prepared for it. There would be perhaps forty 
or fifty fish which he used on his own table; but most of 
them he distributed among his many tenants of his farm- 
houses. Mr. Webster was also an earnest trouter, fishing 
in company with Mr. Harding, the artist, and others. 
Sometimes he would go for trout on Long Island and at 
Sandwich, head of Cape Cod, and various other places, 
where he was a welcome guest. I know of no good trout 
brooks at Marshfield." 
At the age of 86 McLellan was still versifying, although 
he says, in 1890: "I have almost wholly laid aside my 
pen." Nevertheless in the spring of the following year 
he penned the following stanzas, the last of any length 
he ever wrote, "suggested," he said, "by a recent work 
admirably descriptive of the pleasures of salmon fishing," 
thus far surpassing Tennyson in years and keeping pace 
with the indefatigable Gladstone in his literary work. 
The lines have never been published: 
SALMON FISHING. 
A veteran angler I None so skill'd 
To cast the fly in limpid brook, 
To lure the starry-spangled trout, 
Quick-springing to the feather'd hook; 
Skill'd in the ocean surf to cast 
The humming line in seething foam, 
Skill'd the swift blueflsh to secure, 
Or sea bass where the billows comb; 
But nobler task was thine to take 
The lordly salmon as they break. 
Ah, few so Bkillful to relate 
The joys that on the angler wait. 
The angler hath his glorious fight 
With tarpurn where the surges roar, 
And vast his triumph, vanquishing 
The striped bass by rocky shore. 
But ah, what paaans bard may sing 
In capture of the salmon kingl 
Our angling author far hath roam'd, 
Lov'd well o'er nature's charms to muse, 
Where pure, refined delights enchant, 
Where nature opes her loveliest views; 
With transport 'mid sublimities 
Of mountain steeps his way hath been, 
Rejoicing where great rivers swept, 
And where green valleys smil'd serene. 
By Florida's undimpled stream 
Or where St. Lawrence pours its tide; 
And by the sandy Labrador, 
By Minnesota's prairies wide, 
He roam'd, enamored by the spell 
That nature on each scene bestow'd; 
There pausing oft to cast the line 
Where brooks or ocean currents flowed; 
Skillful to seal the salmon's fate, 
Skillful with pen to celebrate t 
Isaac McLellan. 
Isaac McLellan has strong religious convictions and a 
comfortable hope in the decline of life. Writing on April 
5, 1894, he says: "I anticipate the future with little fear, 
hoping for a happy hereafter in the eternal world. If 
one has a fairly clear conscience I think such a person 
need not apprehend future pains and miseries. 1 think 
each person in the future will be judged and rewarded or 
punished according to the deeds done in the body. The 
good and faultless will continue to be good and faultless, 
and the evil ones will suffer pains in reflecting on past 
evil deeds, and it is to be hoped that in course of time they 
will improve in spiritual things, in mind and feeling." 
Mr. Clarke's reminiscences are quite as interesting as his 
cousin Isaac McLellan's. "There were three of us cousins," 
he says, "of about the same age — Isaac McLellan, John 
McKesson, of New York, and myself, all born about the 
year 1806, when Jefferson was president. [McKesson died 
about a year since.] I was born that year in February 
under sign pisces. What says Lowell? 'Born beneath 
the fishy sign, of constellations happiest!' I am the oldest 
of the three by a few months. Of all my old angling 
friends I think cousin Isaac is the only one left. Judge 
S. P. P. Fay, of Boston, was a prominent man and angler 
