FOREST AND STREAM. 
[July 23, 1894. 
A QUERY. 
I wonder why I sit all day and dream 
On moss-grown rock, down by the sunlit stream? 
Why now I idly drop a baited hook 
Into the stillest pool along the brook? 
Why is it that the droning of the bees, 
The softest whisperings of the summer breeze, 
Are sweeter music now than once I found 
In the deep baying of a clear-tongued hound? 
Why do I leave the newly-budded rose, 
The shady dell where fragrant violet grows, 
The meadows green, with daisies overcast, 
To tread the withered rowen of the past? 
And when the still stars twinkle o'er the earth 
I leave the flrelit circle and its mirth, 
To pass in silence like a tale twice told, 
I wonder if I, too, am growing cold. Shoshone. 
THE PRESCRIPTION. 
It was not an unpleasant dose to take. The most that 
could be said of it was that it was inconvenient just at 
this time. But as the matter depended upon my doing 
as the doctor directed there was nothing left but for me 
to comply. He said he would not be responsible for my 
life if 1 did not. 
He wrote the prescription as he sat by my side the day 
after I was confined to the bed. He had been sitting 
there for some time listening to my complaints of a " want 
of sleep," "palpitation of the heart," "a gone feeling," 
and I do not know how many other ailments, when he said, 
"I guess I can cure you." At the same time he put his 
hand in his pocket and took out a physician's pad. On 
this he wrote the "prescription," as he called it, and fold- 
ing it carefully, handed to my wife saying as he did so: 
"Let him take this; it will do him good." He then 
reached for his hat and hurried from the room, my wife 
following him to the door as he went out. 
"Now, dearie," said she, returning and unfolding the 
paper, "I guess we have something that will do you good. 
The doctor says you will be all right before long. We 
will have it made up at once. Brand will be in from 
school directly and we will send him to the druggist." 
Meanwhile she was adjusting her eyeglasses, while I 
was watching her with all the anxiety of a sick and nervous 
man. As I saw a smile of mingled disappointment and 
pleasure pass over her face I was led to say, "What is it? 
More expensive drugs, I suppose. I am sick of their stuff." 
"Why, no," said she, "but the funniest prescription I 
ever heard of. It says: 
Go to the Adirondacks or the woods of 
Maine at the earliest possible moment 
and remain there for two weeks. 
"Why, I cannot do that," said I; "and especially since 
we have increased our business. Who will do the buying 
if I leave, and what will become of the new depart- 
ment?" 
"Well," replied Sarah, "who takes care of it now? And 
who has been doing the buying for the past ten days? 
Aid if you had to be here for three months, how would 
they get along then?" 
There was no resisting the force of this argument. I 
saw at once that my wife had made up her mind. Brand 
came in just at this moment; and she said to him, "Brand, 
the doctor has ordered your father to go to the Adiron ■ 
dacks or the woods of Maine. Don't you wan't to so with 
him?" 
"I just do," replied my son. "I want to try my new 
rod. And I will take Samuels's book with me and study 
the birds. I tell you, pap, we will have a good time. Let 
u ? camp out. Come, what do you say?" 
"Well, we will see," said I. "Let me try and think a 
little while." 
And as I thought the thing seemed feasible. Scarcely 
an hour had passed before I found myself making plans; 
and by bedtime I had determined to go when I could. In 
my mind I saw a little island of not more than an acre in 
extent and in a retired lake. I knew the place. I had 
b^en there. It was accessible — only six hours from half- 
CxVilized life, and by boat at that. Yes, we would go there 
at the beginning of the week if I could travel. 
I slept better that night than I had for some time, and 
the next morning I felt better still. During the day I had 
my rod and my book of flies brought to me. How good 
tiey looked 1 Then before Brand went to school he came 
ia, and with all the enthusiasm of youth wanted me to 
make out a list of what we would require. He seemed to 
t ike it for granted that I would go. And to my objec- 
tions about care, he said he would be seventeen next 
month, and if a fellow as old as that could not take care 
of his father, he was not good for much. 
All this seemed to make me feel better; and when the 
the boy returned at noon, much to my own astonishment, 
and his too, I think, I had the list made out. 
It was now the second week in May. The spring had 
been early and vegetation of every kind was advanced. 
I knew what this meant. It meant black flies and 
mosquitoes in abundance. But we are not apt to think 
of these pests in all their venom and the discomfort they 
can cause us, after a year's freedom from their bites and 
stings. And hence we are so ready to go a second or a 
third time into a neighborhood we had almost vowed we 
never would visit again. 
So Tuesday found us off with all our traps; and Wed- 
nesday morning's sun looked down on two boats with two 
guides, making their way across a lake, and then up a 
narrow stream into a smaller lake. The guides were to 
build a bark shanty and then return in one of the boats, 
leaving the other with us. The arrangement was that 
one of the guides should come every other day to see how 
we fared, and bring us letters and a loaf of fresh 
bread. 
What a lovely morning that was. It seemed to me I 
enjoyed it as I never had enjoyed a morning in my life, 
i had nothing to do but to sit quietly tucked up in the 
bow of the boat and delight myself in the fragrance of 
the hemlocks and the singing of the birds. Never had 
the hemlocks smelled so sweet, nor the trees looked so 
green, nor the water so clear. Then the melancholy note 
of the loon appeared to have melody in it, and the hermit 
thrush and white-throated sparrows seemed to surpass 
themselves in song. 
I had nothing to do but to look, and look I did. We 
had hardly left the landing before I caught sight of a 
loon. Half way across the Jake two ducks flew past us. 
Then an eagle winged his slow flight far overhead, and 
as we entered the stream a kingfisher sprung his rattte 
upon us as he jumped from a dead branch and skirted 
the shores of the lake with wings almost touching the 
surface. We could hear partridges drumming as we 
made our way up, and varieties of fly- catchers and 
warblers were continually flitting from side to side of 
the stream. 
But after we had crossed the lake we skirted the shore 
for some distance, then threaded our way up stream 
(giving the black flies that swarmed in thousands a 
chance to feast), then passed over a short carry, then the 
lake, and before noon I found myself reclining in a bed 
of hemlock twigs beneath a spreading beach, while the 
guides were preparing a dinner that made me feel hungry 
before it was cooked. 
After dinner the guides passed over to the mainland, 
and while they were peeling bark to cover the shanty 
Brand cleared the place where it was to stand and broke 
hemlock twigs to make a soft and fragrant flooring. 
Before 3 o'clock the whole thing was finished and a sup- 
ply of wood piled up alongside that seemed to me suffi- 
cient to last for a fortnight. 
This home was built with its front toward the east, 
and in such a position as not only to secure a good view 
of the mountains, but also so as to catch any stray breeze 
that might blow up or down the lakes. This was very 
necessary, as the smoke of our smudges would pass in 
front of our home and thus help to keep off the mosquitoes 
and black-flies. However, we never suffered much from 
these pests while we were on the island or in the boat. 
It was only when we landed on the mainland that we 
seemed enveloped in them. 
Before 4 o'clock the guides left us. When they had 
gone, Brand said "it was lonesome." Perhaps he felt his 
responsibility more than he did before, for now he had 
his father on his hands and no one to help him. However, 
had he known it, every moment this responsibility was 
lessening as his father drew in the air of health and felt 
new life coming into his veins. 
We now busied ourselves in arranging our mosquito 
nets. One was on my side and the other on Brand's. Our 
boxes of provisions were placed in the center, close 
against the back of the shanty. They hid our faces from 
each other while we slept. 
By 5 o'clock the shadows began to lengthen on the lake, 
and before 6 the hermit thrushes and white-throats com- 
menced their evening song, though they sang occasion- 
ally—some of them — nearly all the day long. The loons 
also began to call and some large birds on the other side 
that we could not make out. Later the night hawks 
came swooping around and calling to each other, and far 
and near we could hear their booming sound as they 
came with a rush to the earth. Still later we noticed 
several bats dodging around in front of the shanty; and 
when the daylight had almost fled the owls commenced 
their hooting. 
But before all this there was a tea to get and smudges 
to be renewed and "light wood to have handy." It was 
all done, though, and that cheerfully. To be sure I was 
not able to do much, but I could direct Brand; and no 
man ever had a more willing pupil. 
We were all through by half past seven, and a little 
later were sitting in the moonlight where we could see the 
lake for nearly half its length. We saw several fish break 
water, or at least thought we did, but two or three loons 
kept up such a diving and coming up that it was im- 
possible to tell. And then a muskrat or a mink came 
swimming along the shore only a few rods in front of us 
to disturb the quiet waters. Brand — boy-like — wanted to 
shoot at him with his pistol, but I persuaded him not to. 
I told him we would have more birds and animals around 
us if they thought we had no firearms. And so it proved. 
I imagine that the wild company we had on and around 
our island was very much owing to this. There was one 
morning when we saw a doe deer on the mainland, that 
we were sure would wade across to our home. She 
walked down to the water twice and wet her feet, stretch- 
ing out her neck to us and moving her ears. The wind 
was blowing at the time toward her. When she turned 
we concluded that she must have smelled the smoke of 
our camp-fire or the trout we were frying. But more of 
our wild neighbors bye and bye. 
A soon as it got damp we returned to the shanty. A 
good fire was warming this inside, and it looked bright 
and cheerful in there, as Brand said. It was so. And he 
found it so comfortable that before many minutes he was 
fast asleep. As for myself, I soon followed him, and 
knew nothing until some time past midnight. Then I 
felt cold, and called to Brand to make up the fire. It was 
almost out. I could just see a few red coals as an occa- 
sional breath of air fanned the ashes. He was awake in 
a moment. His first exclamation was, "Why, father, it 
is not daylight yet," and then, "Yes, pap. How are you 
feeling?" 
The boy seemed much relieved when I told him I had 
slept well, and when the fire burned up would take an- 
other nap. I did so, and so did he. Had it not been for 
one of our loon friends, that came along just before sun- 
rise, I do not know but I would have slept nearly half the 
morning. His doleful howls (1 can compare it to nothing 
else) awoke me and I called Brand at once. 
The birds were now in full chorus — hermit thrushes, 
with their soft, varied and flute-like notes answering 
each other far and near; then white-throats, now pitch- 
ing their song in a high key and now in a low one. 
Occasionally we could hear the wild and varied notes of 
the winter wren, and wood pewees and fly-catchers, and 
several sandpipers that ran along the shore or made 
their circling and stiffened flight as they passed from 
one place to another. 
Brand listened for some time to all this bird music. He 
had never heard it before in just such a wild place. He said 
he missed the robins and brown thrashers, and orioles 
and ' wood robins, and I do not know how many more, 
that prefer civilization to a Northern wilderness. 
While we were listening a partridge drummed just in 
the rear of our shanty. "Why, that beats all," said he, 
"I know the very old log he is standing on; there must 
be a nest around here." And no doubt there was, but 
Brand never found it, nor nad he yet learned how fond 
Bonasa umbellus is of raising a brood in retirement and in 
a place he can call his own. 
But now the slanting beams of the rising sun are shin- 
ing into our home. I feel better than I did yesterday 
and even want some breakfast. I want some trout, but 
I cannot have them yet, only because I cannot go for 
them. I solace myself by saying, "Keep on with your 
improvement and you will be all right before long." 
We had a good breakfast and I enjoyed it. I even felt 
able to make the coffee, while Brand boiled me two of 
the fresh eggs we had brought along. Before noon we 
went out for a row; I thought it best to wait until the air 
had become pretty well warmed before we tried that. 
Bi-and did the rowing and I took my rod . For some dis- 
tance we skirted the shore and from time to time I cast 
the fly. I was not quite equal to this yet, and a few casts 
were sufficient to satisfy me. Had we caught anything, 
or had I had a rise the case might have been different, 
but we saw no signs of trout. However, the air was in- 
vigorating, and the scenery beautiful, and the birds de- 
lightful. It seemed to me that nothing on earth could be 
finer. 
Brand landed several times to look after nests that he 
saw, or some very pink laurel, but he was always driven 
off by the black flies. The only place that we seemed 
able to escape tnese pests was either in our boat on the 
lake or at our island home. 
Noon found us at the shanty again without a fish, and 
me hungry as usual. Two more eggs with bread and tea 
and canned tongue satisfied me. Then a good sleep, and 
by 3 o'clock we were ready for another excursion. This 
time we took another way up toward the head of the lake. 
I did not attempt to fish until we came to a place where 
we had caught trout in my well days. It was at the 
mouth of a small stream that ran into the lake through a 
thicket of alders. The water was shallow in front of 
these and it occurred to me that just at this season of the 
year the fish might be lying there where they had been 
sunning themselves during the warmer hours of the day. 
"Noav, Brand," said I, "don't go too near those alders, 
but swing the boat around and I will make a cast." For 
one of his age Brand was quite an expert in handling a 
boat. I had taught him much myself and he had learned 
more at school. So around I came and away went my 
flies to within a few feet of the alders. I had a rise at 
the first cast, and then the next moment was fast to a 
fish. He was no small one either. I knew this by the 
effort he made to rum under the alders and then, when I 
turned him, by the wide circle that followed the line as 
he made his way into the lake. And this without so 
much as showing us his back fin or his tail. Of course 
Brand was all excitement, and I must say his father 
shared in it. 
"Don't lose him, pap," said Brand, "I want some trout 
to-night." 
"And you are going to have some, too, if I know any- 
thing about it." 
Several times the fish made his way toward the boat, 
as though he meant to run under it, but a skillful stroke 
of the oar sent her round and he found himself swim- 
ming very wide of his mark. But this oould not con- 
tinue very long. My game was tiring, and if it was not, 
I was, I don't know that I have ever felt more weary 
when I had landed a fish (not even a salmon) than I did 
when that trout was in the boat. He was not so very 
large either, only 14in. I had caught them larger in this 
very place. 
But I was tired now and only too glad to let Brand try 
his hand. He could cast a fly, and for a boy do it very 
well too. On his third cast he hooked a fish — not so large 
as mine, but nearly 12in. — and this was followed by four 
that would weigh nearly Alb. each. Then our luck ceased. 
I tried again and so did Brand, but with no more rises. 
We were ready for home now. The sight of the 
fish helped, to make me hungry. For tea we had my large 
fish and one of the smaller ones. I cooked them myself. 
There was none left of them when we were through, and 
Brand insisted upon it that he could have eaten more. 
The others were dressed and laid aside for breakfast. 
And now the shadows had long since lengthened on the 
lakes and the birds had sung their vespers. The night 
hawks had been through their evolutions and the last 
prolonged note of the loon had died away on the distant 
hills. It only remained for the bats to come around and 
the owls to get through their hooting and then the day 
would be over. But I must confess the owls did a. good 
deal of hooting all night, and occasionally a white- 
throated sparrow would be heard lisping his wooing song. 
May be this was because we were approaching the time 
of the moon's third quarter, when there was light almost 
until the morning. 
When night had settled down and stillness reigned 
supreme, Brand made up the fire and we crawled under 
our nets. I was feeling better. . Yes, I was improving. 
There was no doubt about it. I could eat and I could 
sleep, and I could do these without either "drops" or 
"tonic." And more than this, I could plan what we would 
do on the morrow. We would get up early and start for 
our fishing place, and see if we could not get some more 
trout. This was our plan when we said good-night to 
each other. But the best plans sometimes fail, and espe- 
cially with fishermen. 
What time of night it was when I woke up I could not 
tell. I only knew that it was unusually dark. There was 
no moon shining, and only the barest glimmer of fire 
appeared where there had been such a bright blaze when 
we went to sleep. Then the stillness seemed unusual. I 
could not understand it, and thought at first that I must 
be dreaming. But no. Here was the net over me; and I 
could hear Brand breathing only a few feet away. I 
called him. It was such a relief to feel that he was there, 
and when he answered so promptly. "What is it, father?" 
I was sure of my present existence. 
He soon had the fire blazing up again. By its light my 
watch told me it was half -past 3. But there was no sign 
of moon or stars to be seen in the heavens, We heard 
something splash in the water as the fire blazed up, and a 
loon from far away saluted us with his dismal note. When 
we lay down again I told my son that I thought we would 
have rain before morning. The air had a heavy feeling 
and there was that peculiar stillness that seemed to pre- 
dict a storm. 
I was not surprised then, when waking some two hours 
later, I heard no birds singing. Some of otir island 
thrushes did attempt it, and so did a white-throat, but 
they seemed to stop very far short of their full song. 
And then a flycatcher made a feeble attempt, but he was 
