Deo. 22, 1894.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
653 
THE ANSWER TO THE CHARADE 
In our issue of Dec, $3. 
Your T-Eail Charade I happened to see, 
And I hereby invite its author to Tea; 
That is, if he's likely to be so inclined. 
Ill have a few Rail served just to his mind. 
The Trail to my camp is no myth, nor a dream, 
And he'll be just as welcome as Forest and Stream. 
Cleveland, O. " R. c. 
BR1STOWS CHRISTMAS GIFT. 
Smith being habitually a brisk walker and well known, 
is exposed to reasonable inquiry when he comes limping 
on a crutch down town of a certain morning. Jones 
catches sight of him, and two rods off, sends out a hail: 
"Hello, old man, caught you at last, has it! High liv- 
ing, eh! It'll do it every time," and Jones advances, talk- 
ing and increasing his hilarity at each step. 
"It's not gout," remonstrates Smith, halting and reluct- 
antly surrendering a hand. 
"Oh, no," retorts Jones in a tone that pronounces Smith 
a liar. "But, say, old fellow, the best thing in the world 
for it is — " 
And after Jones has delivered himself of his prescription 
and given directions for general treatment, Smith catch- 
ing his breath declares, "a sprained ankle," fortifying 
the contention by referring to a window curtain and "a 
rickety step-ladder." 
By the time Smith has unburdened himself to six or 
eight effusive sympatizers he is ready to faint or return 
home without accomplishing his down town mission. 
"The situation, is amusing rather than irritating," 
remonstrates my friend Bristow, "and indicates an up- 
ward tendency in our social evolution. A few thousand 
years ago Jones would not have troubled himself concern- 
ing Smith's affliction in any circumstances; he would 
have abandoned Smith to his fate, if indeed he had not 
put him out of the way, after the manner of wild animals 
who encounter a wounded companion." 
Bristow is one of those happily constituted mortals 
who finds something to approve of in a common 
pebble picked up by the wayside — its polish is bright, or 
its symmetry perfect, or it possesses some other quality 
commending it to his favorable consideration; the thorns 
never trouble his fingers in June when" the roses are in 
bloom, and the bushes, even hid in their straw shelters, 
have a beneficent influence. I have known him to admire 
a black baby, and shall never forget the delighted surprise 
he once exhibited on touching a pickaniny's cheek and 
discovering how dainty the dark skin felt — "as delicate as 
any white baby's," and "You never saw a white baby with 
such beautiful eyes." 
When Bristow built his cottage he selected an east and 
south exposure. His friends remonstrated. 
"Don't you know, Bristow, how hot the sun beats 
down on summer days in Colorado? Why, man. you'll 
melt." 
"Don't you know," says Bristow in exchange, "that on 
the warmest day all you have to do is to get into the shade 
and you will be cool?" 
"But how the sun will glare in at those south win- 
dows." 
"Yes, and its glare is invariably tempered by the soft 
south wind. In the winter, when the sun is welcome, one 
has less ice and snow on the sidewalk. Our beautiful 
mother gives us always compensations." 
From cellar to garret Bristow contended and felt obliged 
to give reasons — what a queer house it would have been 
had he followed the fraternal and diverse suggestions! 
Onu would have no cellar because cellars are unhealthy, 
another insisted upon a cellar under the entire structure. 
One was opposed to garrets because garrets are places for 
refuse and are sanctuaries for rats and mice. Another 
liked a garret because it was pleasantly associated in his 
mind with damp days, while still another deprecated gar' 
rets because of youthful tribulations yet lingering in his 
memory— Bristow's garret is immense. Open fireplaces 
and grates were dirty, said one, and a source of misery to 
the light of the house. One man's wife, insisted the 
protestant, had applied for a divorce because of grates; 
Steam heat, another insisted, threatened leaks and was 
not Uniform; hot air, declared another, was conducive to 
drafts and pneumonia. Bristow has grates and the sun- 
shine lingers about the house on cloudy days. 
But what could have moved Bristow to introduce such 
an odd window in the west gable, a window at least 6ft. 
long horizontally, and 18in. high! One single light of 
absolutely perfect French plate; it marred the appear- 
ance of that entire end of the. house. They concluded 
that Bristow was a man of odd fancies and he was 
allowed the window under protest. This window served 
as one of the outlooks of the owner's den; the south win- 
dow, of an ordinary pattern, commanded a view of the 
electric light swinging at the intersection of the streets, 
and afforded opportunities for the study of the shadows 
from the foliage of the elms on summer night and of the 
ghostly limbs in winter. This den was 20ft. long, 
perhaps by 12 in width, had a low ceiling, a mantel and 
a grate, and the walls were done in terra cotta. There 
was a flat top desk at the end furthest from the odd-look- 
ing window, where Bristow was wont to work upon 
occasion or read with the desk for a foot rest. Along 
one side were book cases, conveniently low and well- 
filled, while above an engraving or two relieved the 
plainness of the walls. Over the mantel was a broken 
trout rod, preserved,^ a memento, and above it a por- 
trait, m oil— the portrait of a beautiful woman with a 
wealth of love in the brown eyes for the little four-year- 
old on the same canvas, who looked up into the brown 
depths confidently, yet with a ripple of mischief on his 
rosy face. A variety of pipes lying on the mantel and a 
Japanese jar hinted of delightful solace of winter nights, 
when it stormed outside and the grate was indeed grate- 
ful in warmth and invited one to dreams. And dreaming 
was a weakness of Bristow's. 
He stood at the south window for a half hour one 
evening, leaning against the side, watching the snow- 
flakes silently falling aslant between him and the arc 
light. Then he drew down the curtain, turned out the 
lamp on his desk, possessed himself of a great easy chair 
in front of the grate and with his head comfortably rest- 
ing, gave himself up to the contemplation of the faces 
above him. The glow from the fire seemed always to 
him to deaden the accessories of gown and headdress and 
to intensify the warmth of those faces, to give them an 
air of life looking out of the shadows and down at him, 
for no matter what position he took or what angle, the 
dark eyes seemed to follow him always with the same 
smile of loving tenderness. There crept into his soul a 
longing that was welcome, more earnest because in a 
sense unattainable and that expressed itself in the prayer: 
"Backward, turn backward, oh Time in your flight, 
Make me a child again just for to-night." 
Bristow uttered the appeal fervently, but still with a 
smile on his lips, such as the little one on the canvas 
might have worn in putting up a child's supplication, 
hardly fearing a denial, yet not certain of concession. 
The old trout rod caught his eye for an instant and 
served as a connecting link, resolving itself into a rude 
pole with a crook at the end and a bunch of worms 
dangling, that had in it a promise of fatal results to any 
stray eel inhabiting the brook that skirted abroad meadow. 
He saw the alder bushes with a wealth of berries, a grand 
old sycamore on the verge of the water, slightly turbid 
from a recent shower, and the little pool under the roots 
of the old tree. He saw the bait sink below the surface, 
felt the pole's point touch the bottom, and in a few mo- 
ments the unmistakable seizure of the lure. Then he 
remembered the sudden elevation of the pole, a writhing 
eel in mid-air, and the shriek of a woman. A woman in 
a summer dress of white, dainty, clinging stuff, that en- 
hanced the grace of every movement of the shrinking 
figure; her hands were extended to ward off the impend- 
ing horror, and from one wrist dangled a broad-brimmed 
straw hat. And the face! a beautiful face! the forehead 
framed in a cluster of short dark curls, the red lips parted 
disclosing the white, even teeth, and the brown eyes 
magnificent in their expression of abhorrence. All this he 
caught as he turned at the shriek. When the captured 
fish loosened its precarious hold and dropped to the ground 
there was another half -suppressed cry of fear, a half turn 
and a hasty retreat of a few steps — the alarm was honest; 
she dared not stand still, or run away or come to him. 
Bristow often laughed as he went to her,; and sighed 
now, with a smile on his lips, at the remembrance. 
And again that face, always the same, was turned up to 
him as he clung with one hand, like a young monkey, to 
a swinging vine where the fox grapes hung beautiful and 
lush, and dropped into the extended pink palms a tempt- 
ing cluster; the skins of some were broken by the fall, 
and the rich j uice offered a contrast to the hands whose 
toUch was Unlike any other he had ever known. He 
could see the colors, the pink and white tinged with the 
delicate purple. He could see the broad meadow with its 
waving grass ripe for the harvest, and above all the sweet 
monitor happy as himself, standing there — the chief light 
in all the joys of that summer afternoon! 
And again, after the lapse of years, the autumn leaves 
were falling and there was a weary head softly pillowed, 
with threads of silver here and there about the temples, 
yet to him there was no change in the beautiful face. 
The quail were calling to each other out of the brush 
and tangle skirting the meadow as he stood in the midst. 
The dainty hues of the autumn twilight were giving way 
to darkness when he heard the familiar sound of wings. 
The approach was swift, whirring over the open; the 
little 12-gauge was quickly brought to the shoulder and 
directed at a bevy of a dozen or more flying close together; 
half the flock would come to grief, no doubt; they passed, 
the trigger was pressed, the hammer fell — it was the only 
response ! 
"It is the first time the caps have failed me," murmured 
Bristow. "It is not your fault, little gun — we have five — 
perhaps that is enough — 3he will need only one, maybe 
not that," he repeated with a sigh, just as he had spoken 
to himself a dozen or more years before. 
And yet again, not after the lapse of years, but only 
after a little while, there came a change. The beautiful 
face was white and still, and there was no responsive light 
for a moment in the loving eyes, but only for a moment; 
and then, the shock passing, the face was the same as it 
had always been to him. With his own still upturned to 
it, he thought of the snow falling outside, and of one 
mound that was being covered, the one among many that 
claimed an interest for him, and he thought, with a little 
shiver, of the cold, the desolateness and the dreadful 
quiet, and the cry escaped him; 
"Oh, mother, come back from the echoless shore, 
Take me again to your heart as of yore." 
And then he was conscious of a noise outside his door, 
a fumbling at the knob,, and then, brushing his hand 
across his eyes, and then of another looking over the first 
one's flaxen head. 
"Come, Governor; come, Belle," and the apparitions in 
white responded by climbing into his lap and stretching 
out four pink feet that became transparent in the light of 
the glowing coal. "You have brought your stockings, I 
see," continues Bristow, adjusting himself and his pretty 
burdens to the situation. 
"Is he sure to come?" inquires the Governor. 
"Sure to come," Bristow affirms, and the sad weight in 
the aching heart flitted just as she wished that it should. 
"Tell U3 a story, papa," pleads the Governor. 
"Yes, tell us a story," echoes Belle, 
Later, when the mythical visitor — no, when the mid- 
winter visitor — had accomplished his mission, his aides de 
camp lingered. The fire had burned low in the grate, 
and Bristow Btood by the desk, one hand upon the lamp, 
taking a final survey of the offering that knows no sac- 
rifice. 
"Everything seems in place," he says "gently , his arm 
finding its way around the figure at his side. 
"How happy they will be," she answers, looking up. 
"It will be a love day— it has stopped snowing and the 
moon is shining brightly. Look!" 
Bristow had extinguished the lamp, the room was 
quite dark, and they stood facing the odd window in the 
western gable. Thirty mile3 away Monte Rosa reflected 
the moon's rays, as she stood towering and white, gar- 
mented in her fresh Christmas robe; her summit was as 
clearly defined against the azure as it would be at mid- 
day, the deep gorge in her breast lying in shadow and 
marked by the glittering apaxof a less pretentious moun- 
tain in front; the foot hills rising tier upon tier, to the 
grand range visible for miles, and yet seeming only rods 
to the enraptured onlookers. The magnificent picture 
was framed by the casing of the odd window. 
Bristow is not averse to light exercise before breakfast, 
and in the crisp air of the morning he amuses himself 
sweeping the snow from the sidewalk. While so engaged 
he is hailed by Katie— Katie is the elder of four belonging 
to a widow neighbor who goes choring— she has put 
behind her barely ten summers, she has dark hair, blue 
eyes with freckles under them, a bit of a nose that seems 
a suggestion merely, teeth slightly prominent, an air 
beyond her years, and a cheery voice: 
"A Merry Christmas, Mr, Bristow." 
Bristow pauses in his work, straightens himself and 
pushes his hat back from his flushed forehead before he 
answers. When he does the smile on Katie's face 
brightens, if that is possible. 
"A Merry Christmas, Katie, and many of them to you. 
Did Santa Claus call?" 
"Didn't he, though, and you should see the turkey," 
as if the turkey were the crowning effort of the munifi- 
cent visitor, "God bless Santa Claus, Mr. Bristow." 
"Amen," says the other reverently , lifting his hat, and 
Katie retraces her steps, Bristow watching with head 
uncovered until she disappeared at the corner. 
Denver, Colorado. LEWIS B. FRANCE. 
CAMERAS FOR STALKING GAME. 
Forest and Stream's Amateur Photography Competi- 
tion brought out many interesting pictures of wild ani- 
mals and birds, most of them taken with ordinary 
cameras. The subject of stalking with a camera is one 
of especial interest to sportsmen, and several articles with 
reference to it have been published. In none of them 
was any special mention made of the kind of cameras 
best adapted for the purpose. Any one who gave the 
subject a moment's thought would realize that ordinary 
cameras are not well adapted for such work, and espe- 
cially the modern wide angle hand cameras popularly 
classed as Kodaks. With these it is essential that the 
subject be very near the camera, as otherwise if it appears 
on the plate at all, it will be microscopic in size and of no 
value whatever as a picture. Except under unusual cir- 
cumstances it is next to impossible to get near enough 
wild animals or birds to get a successful picture with such 
a camera, and of course this difficulty is more pronounced 
the smaller the animal or bird. It would be very inter- 
esting to know what kind of a camera Mr. and Mrs. 
Wallihan used in getting their remarkable pictures of 
American big game. The camera is not described in 
their book "Hoofs, Claws and Antlers," but it is shown 
in a picture of one of the authors. It is a tripod camera, 
and from the appearance of the photographs, together 
with the statement of distances at which they were 
taken, it is apparent that the lens is of very narrow angle. 
Elk at 200yds. show very distinctly in the photographs, 
and with almost as much detail as they would appear to 
the eye. Mr. and Mrs. Wallihan have been greatly 
favored by the perfectly clear air of the high Western 
plateau where the pictures were taken; and they seem 
to have also been favored by unusually unsuspicious 
game. 
Their plan of procedure, at least for the near-by shost, 
seems to have been to lie in wait ambuscaded near some 
spring or game trail with the camera aimed and f ocussed 
on some likely spot and wait till the game walked into 
their trap. Such a method takes for granted both great 
patience on the part of the photographers and a great 
abundance of subjects. Lacking either it would be im- 
practical. 
An English writer in the Photogram, who has done 
very creditable work in photographing birds and small 
animals in their native haunts, found the tele-photo lens 
b3st adapted for his purpose. His subjects were too small 
for even the best long focus lens; and he found the great 
magnifying power of the tele-photo necessary for success. 
The size of the image with this lens is for all practical 
purposes only limited by the length of the camera. It is 
really a telescopic lens, and enlarges the game before the 
image is impressed on the sensitive plate, thus reversing 
Mr. and Mrs. Wallihan's process of enlarging from the 
negative. Increased magnitudes are secured by racking 
out the camera, and focussing is effected by a rackwork 
attachment on the lens itself. Magnification, however, 
is secured at the expense of rapidity. This is one of the 
greatest objections to this lens. As the writer remarks: 
"But while increasing the length of camera increases also 
the length of focus of the lens, the aperture necessarily 
remains the same; hence the full aperture, which, with a 
length of camera of 6iin. is equivalent to/9, becomes'at a 
distance of 40in. equivalent to /49 — not a very promising 
aperture for instantaneous work on an exceptionally 
badly lighted class of subject, especially when, to obtain 
the necessary definition, a stop may have to be inserted, 
reducing the size of aperture still further." 
He gives the following details with reference to his 
camera: 
"My first attempts were made with a whole plate 
camera, strengthened with a solid baseboard 24m. long, 
and with an extra rigid front. A connecting bellows was 
made to slide into tha original front of the camera and the 
extra front (which was added in order to get the length re- 
quired). A drop shutter was fixed on the hood of the lens; 
but, even with this solid baseboard and front, the jar of 
the shutter was too much on such a length of lens, and I 
had to replace it with a Thornton-Pickard shutter fixed 
behind the lens. This was an immense improvement 
and enabled me to obtain some good results, but I soon 
found that I could not make use of the full extension 
owing to the lengthened exposure necessary. In addition 
to thif<, the labor and waste of strength in dragging about 
such a heavy camera and stand, together with bag of 
spare plates, slides, extra lens, etc., etc., was so intolerable, 
and hampered me so much in getting over the ground \ 
that I was perforce compelled to discard it and have a 
smaller and lighter camera specially made. This is a 
half plate extending to 13in., and closing to lin,; very 
rigid, taking quarter-plates in Edwards' metal slides, and 
half -plate films in single cardboard slides. The Thornton- 
Pickard shutter was given up owing to the click in setting 
and releasing being objectionable sometimes at close 
quarters. Out of all the hundreds of shutters on the 
market I could find none which would give a true and 
moderately quick exposure at will, and yet be perfectly 
noiseless. I was consequently obliged to invent one for 
myself, and find it very useful. This is a vulcanite drop 
shutter, which does not project either above or below the 
camera front, working on a pivot and always set. The 
tripod must be perfectly firm, and adjustable for various 
heights," 
