124 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
Feb. 16, 1895 
underwear. Look at the relief! Look at the simplicity 
of the thing! 
Such was the line of argument that benighted Mangier 
burled at us. 
He attempted to lure us on by promising reduced rates 
to introduce the thing, and even went so far as to offer 
stock in the company which was to keep this aggravated 
case of general country depository and pill works; for this 
was a combination scheme, they furnished your medi- 
cines, quinine, niagneda, Jamaica ginger, rheumatism 
remedy, and anything else your doctor ordered, or they 
would send their own physician to examine and prescribe 
for you. 
We argued gently with him at first, and tried by kind- 
ness and mild treatment to bring him round. But he 
would have none of it, and injudiciously got his back up. 
That Mangier is a wonder at ingenious epithet, the 
curious part of his performance being that he keeps his 
condemning discourse entirely free of profanity. 
In four minutes by the watch, four years of dissatis- 
faction and disa.ppointnie.nt were seen flying through the 
air in all directions. 
It was impossible to be on the field, even as an innocent 
reporter, and not be hit by from one to a dozen sarcastic 
charges of duck loads. 
In the midst of the fracas the door opened. The door, 
through which none Jess hardy than a Mangier ever 
passed, and the absent member entered. 
He asked what the trouble was in the pleasant voice of 
an expectant peacemaker. In his band he had a book. 
It was a small book. It didn't appear to be a particularly 
remarkable book. It was sort of light mud colored. 
Some gilt lettering was stamped on the outside. To the 
casual observance of the Manglers it resembled an elabo- 
rate tent catalogue. 
The temporarily insane member said he needn't bring 
in any more of his infernal tent lies, the tent was decided 
on. 
Thereupon the struggle, which had lulled for a mo- 
ment began afresh. The new-comer made an unsuccess- 
ful attempt to escape, was cornered by above member 
and instinctively put up the book to shield himself from 
the wrath of the irate Mangier. He gave it one glance, 
and backed off. "We had gavhered for the rescue. Now 
we wanted to know what had forestalled us. We looked! 
No! We could not doubt it. In a drove of ten thousand 
moose, we could not mistake the remarkable features of 
the Forest and Stream representative fossil! Shades of 
Arabian Nightsl That talisman would shield any holder. 
Then, the Manglers coming to their senses, also came to 
order, and the new-comer told a tale of a mighty combat 
with an advertisement, and described how he had capt- 
ured what we had been pleased to call a tent catalogue, 
from the same. He proceeded to tell us that the book 
was the one we had been looking for, and we believed 
him, although we had not previously known that we had 
been looking for any book, and told us it was "Wood- 
craft," by Nessmuk. 
The Manglers called seven extra sessions, discussed 
"Woodcraft," also digested it, and as a natural sequence 
to this, when the time came they went, had a royal time, 
and will positively appear next season with the original 
cast. Toren Thurstenson, Secretary. 
THE SUNNY SOUTH. -I. 
Ibn Haiifcal's Geography. 
Chicago, 111., Jan. 21. — There are many kinds of phi- 
losophers, each of whom has his own brand of philoso- 
phy, and personally I take pleasure in sampling a little of 
one or other sort, along about the middle of the night, 
before the hour for splitting kindling wood has arrived. 
The trouble about most folks is that they think they have 
to accept all the philosophy they read as true, or else they 
have to get violently angry with it. Now, that ain't 
right. The way to do is to let every fellow have his own 
philosophy to suit himself. If you do this, you will find 
it more fun to read philosophy. Personally, I don't al- 
ways agree that Ralph Waldo Emerson was a great man, 
because he lived in New England and ate oatmeal and 
wrote almighty bad poetry, and a pretty tough class of 
prose, but I let it go at that, and take pleasure in finding 
his egotisms, of which all men have a plenty, the most 
pretentiously modest man usually having more than any- 
body else. As I have said before, Ralph Waldo Emerson 
was named after me, and I like him pretty well on that 
account. Anyhow, proceeding on the above basis, I 
sometimes read Ralph Waldo, and once in a good while 
find something of what an editor would call good stuff. 
He was a great fellow to like things a thousand years old, 
and anything Greek, or Egyptian, or Arabian was nuts 
to him. This is how he happened to know about Ibn 
Hankal, whom most of us have never met. I was inter- 
ested in reading what he said about Ibn, which was as 
follows: 
"Ibn Hankal, the Arabian geographer, describes a 
heroic extreme in the hospitality of Sogd, in Bukharia. 
When I was in Sogd I saw a great building like a palace, 
the gates of which were open and fixed back to the wall 
with large nails. I asked the reason, and was told that 
the house had not been shut, night or day, for a hundred 
years. Strangers may present themselves at any hour 
and in whatever number; the master has amply provided 
for the reception of the men and their animals and is 
never happier than when they tarry for some time. Noth- 
ing of the kind have I seen in any other country." 
KNOWS THE COUNTRY. 
Now, what I was trying to get at is, that though I 
never met Ibn, he has got none the best of me, for I have 
been in that same country and know it well, But Ralph 
Waldo is wrong about the locality. It isn't in Arabia. 
It's in the sunny south of the United States of America, 
a country not jet known to old Americans. For three 
winters I have visited the country, and have written of 
it, and now I shall please at least myself by writing more 
of it. 
HOW IT HAPPENED. 
One clay last summer, as I have earlier stated in these 
columns, I was sitting in my office grappling with large 
questions, when there appeared a nice looking gentle- 
man, accompanied by a slim lad. At firsf.,1 distrusted an 
agent of some sort, as a great many nice" looking people 
come in city office buildings who are disguised agents for 
insurance, books, and that'sort of thing. I have had a 
nice-looking young woman come into mv office and sell 
me a "Life of the Patriarchs" before 1 knew what had 
happened. Yet I do not need a "Life of the Patriarchs" 
in my business. This, you see, is why I have come to 
distrust all nice-looking people, and why I looked with 
suspicion on this gentleman, though I could not under- 
stand the boy, who I supposed was going to turn out 
after a while as the only survivor of a horrible railroad 
wreck, or something of that sort. 
My visitors, as I had said, turned out to be Dr. W. D, 
Taylor and son, of Brownsville, Tenn. Dr. Taylor had 
never met me, but had read the last year's articles in 
Forest and Stream on "Dixie Land." All he wanted to 
do was to get me to sign a contract to come down and 
visit him at his home when the quail season was on. And 
after he was gone I began to get ashamed of myself, re- 
flecting that probably he was alone in the city on a visit 
and unacquainted. This is the North of it — for which the 
necessities of city business life have much to say in ex- 
planation. But the South of it I am going to tell later. 
Not long after this Mr. T. A. Divine, of Memphis, 
whom also I had never met, wrote up, and said he 
thought I must be a nice man, and would I join him as 
his guest on a camping trip in the fall, down at the 
mouth of the Mississippi River? And about the same 
time Mr. W. W. Peabody, Jr., of Cincinnati, who also 
had never met me, wrote and said he thought I must be 
a nice man, or I couldn't stay on Forest and Stream, and 
how would I bke to travel in a private car with vassals 
and serfs at my side, away down in Texas once more? 
Things were evidently coming my way. In a great Sj>Mt 
of self-denial I accepted all three of the invitations. 
OPENING DAY. 
It was just on the evening of ■ opening day on email in 
Tennessee when I stepped off the Illinois Central train at 
Memphis, feeling the keen zest which comes with the 
prospect of a long rest and a good shooting trip com- 
bined. I had worried Toby Bennett, the Winchester 
man, whom I knew, to meet me at the train, not wishing 
to trouble Mr. Divine, whom I did not know. But Toby 
was in New York, and his telegram was read by Mr. 
Divine in some way or other. Down in Memphis the 
boys all read each other's telegrams and letters, and 
often get on to good things that way. Anyhow, as I got 
off the train I heard some one calling my name, and at 
once Mr. Divine, whom I had never met before, intro- 
duced himself, also his friends, Mr. Lee J. Lockwood, of 
Memphis, and Mr. R. W. Foster, of New Orleans, both 
of whom, it seemed, were to be of the camping party at 
the mouth of the river. These all thought a dinner up 
at the club would be about right, and long before that 
was over we were all very well acquainted, in the swift 
fashion of men who love the same pastimes. 
It now was made plain that the Louisiana party was all 
to meet at New Orleaus. on Nov. 8. Meantime, as I had 
promised to visit Dr. Taylor at Brownsville, and as Tom 
Divine wantsd me to stop off for a day in Mississippi, 
"just long enough to kill a bear," as he expressed it, it 
was evident I would have to hurry, much to everybody's 
regret. Brownsville is about fifty miles east of Mem- 
phis, on the L. and N. Road, and I found I could make 
the eleven o'clock train that night after dinner, so pretty 
soon I bade my Memphis friends a temporary farewell, 
and was rolling out toward the hill country. I did not 
see Mr. Lockwood again at all, and Mr. Foster I did not 
see until, after a great many adventures, we met away 
down at the mouth of the Mississippi. 
THE SOUTH OF IT. 
In the north I had, of course, left winter, but at 
Brownsville I found it mild and pleasant when I stepped 
out from the hotel in the morning. I made an early 
morning call on Dr. Taylor, whom I found living in a 
great big southern house, which straightway I envied of 
him. Mrs. Taylor with all the easy friendliness of the true 
Southern lady put the stranger at home at once, and I 
was soon acquainted with all the youngsters of the fam- 
ily, including the lad I had seen in Chicago. Next we saw 
all the horses and dogs which are part of every South- 
erner's establishment, and by this time my baggage had 
been brought over from the hotel, and I was one of the 
family. 
This was the south of it. 
I had- only two days to spend with my friends at 
Brownsville, though I sincerely regretted it was not a 
week. We had two days of quail shooting, such as one 
can have nowhere in the country north of Mason and 
Dixon's line. Dr. Taylor had two fine young dogs of his 
own, one impressed Mr. Moore's old setter Joe, one of the 
best meat dogs I ever shot over. I always fall in with a 
meat dog wherever I go. and this suits me to a nicety, 
for if there is anything I do detest it is a field trial win- 
enr, and if there is anything I love it is a regular meat 
dog, that knows his business and knows what he is out to 
do. Our dogs left us nothing to ask, and surely pleas- 
anter shooting companions than Dr. Taylor and his 
friend, Dr. T. D. Cooper, no one ever did have, having a 
habit of too great courtesy on their part, which wanted 
me to do all the shooting. 
On our first day with the quail we rode on horseback- 
all the hunting in that section is done on horseback— un- 
til we were two or three miles from town, and then 
worked around over the open fields. It came on to rain, 
and the birds did not move— or as the keeper at whose 
cabin we stopped to get water for our luncheon, said: 
"They wuzn't very free jumped up," so we did not have 
much shooting. At this Dr. Taylor was disgusted beyond 
measure, and tried to make me promise to stay a week, 
till he could show me what his country could do by way 
of quail. 
A CHARMING DAY. 
We needed only one day more to learn about that. The 
morrow dawned bright and fair, an ideal day for sport. 
We took another road out of town, and by ten o'clock 
were busy with our first bevy, Dr. Taylor's son holding 
our horses for us while we shot. I never saw better 
sport than we had. We shot all day on a little strip of 
ground, not over three-fourths of a mile square, and the 
birds just seemed to bubble up out of the ground. The 
dogs did their part nobly, and, all in all, we had a charm- 
ing day. We bagged forty-seven birds to the three guns, 
by which it may be seen we did not want the last bird 
there was. Both my friends] proved to be excellent field 
shots, as indeed nearly all Southern shooters are. Dr, 
Taylor used a 16-gauge, a Lefever, and he is the only 
man I ever knew to shoot wood powder in brass shells. 
He uses the American Wood, and if his load was not 
effective none of us could discover the fact, for he killed 
his birds as far and as clean as any of us. 
When we returned from our shooting that evening we 
found that Mrs. Taylor had arranged a surprise for us, in 
the form of a dinner party, in preparation for which we 
were urged to hurry out of our shooting clothes. I spent 
no evening in the South more pleasantly than this. Be- 
side the ladies, we had with us Dr. Cooper, Dr. Sevier, 
Mr. Mann, Mr. Kiethley, Mr. Chapman, Mr. Moses, and 
Mr. Dan Miles. It was just cool enough to make the fire 
in the fire-place of the big drawing-room seem pleasant, 
and around this — the only kind of a fire on earth to have 
— we sat in a ring and told stories in a symposium, which 
I wish I could repi - oduce. Mr. Miles especially proved to 
be a raconteur of natural talent, and often kept us either 
attentive or convulsed. Mr. Miles is a snake-story artist, 
and I could wish he were known to the circle of Forest 
and Stream readers in this capacity. 
THE HORN SNAKE ESTABLISHED. 
Once more I found occasion to disagree with our friends 
the naturalists, who seek to deprive us of some of our 
most cherished beliefs. Thus Forest and Stream, some 
years ago I believe, took great delight in proving that 
beyond a peradventure there never was nor could be such 
a thing as a horn snake (a snake with a horn in the end of 
its tail), because naturalists had not seen this sort of 
snake. Yet at our fireside council that evening there 
were three men— Dr. Taylor, Mr. Miles, and Mr. Kiethley 
— each of whom had personally seen and examined a 
specimen of this same horn snake. All agreed that the 
horn in the end of the tail closely resembled the spur of a 
rooster, being between one and two inches in length, and 
running down to a point. Legally, three affirmative 
witnesses outweigh a great many' witnesses who are 
merely negative by reason of not having seen the thing 
testified to. Therefore, while I respect Forest and 
Stream very much , I really must insist on the revival of 
the cherished popular belief in the horn snake. We 
should not be robbed of all our ideals in this materialistic 
age. 
THE EVER-OPEN DOOR. 
And then we talked of many things; of the negro prob- 
lem, which no Northern man is fitted to discuss who has I 
not lived or been much in the South; of the distinction of '. 
Northern from Southern customs in life and business 
pursuits. In Mr. Miles it was not hard to recognize a 
man of strong original thought. "I mean no offense to 
the North," said he, "when I say that we of the South do 
not need its 'progress. ' God prevent that the South shall 
ever have that spirit of progress! What is it but the 
chrysalis of anarchy?" And as I reflected on the cold- 
ness and emptiness of the life in the toiling, troubled city, 
where so recently the poor were arrayed in arms against 
the rich in that struggle whose beginning only is now 
and whose end no man can teU, except that the rich can 
never prevent the progress of the struggle— as I thought 
of the wide difference of life in such a center of progross 
and that in the pleasant and sincere social system here | 
about me, I could well add echo to the words I heard, I 
and in my own breast say: God forbid the South shall I 
ever change, its woods be felled, its birds be killed, its 
social system overthrown, its beautiful Americanism be 
destroyed! Progress! Is it not enough that the South 
has progressed to be the only American part of America,?. 
And so I shall not say anything more about this part of 
my visit in the South, except that when I left Browns-: 
ville I felt actually cut up over the heartiness and sin- 
cerity of my reception there, and fairly ashamed for my- 
self and for my country. In the North we have not the 
art of entertaining, and there is no use in making the 
claim. All the glory I claim of this is my right to ask 
the question, even before going further on in the story I 
shall tell whether I have not, equally with Ibn Hankal, 
found the land of the ever-open door? God bless the land, 
and may it never change! Change. 
909 Security Building, Chicago. 
FLORIDA FUN. — II. 
A half-mile from the camp lived a hunter and woods- 
man named Bolton, who volunteered to be a guide for 
the party, not for pay, but because he was glad to have 
company. He would have been insulted at an offer of 
pay in money for his services. Every morning he ap-i 
peared at camp, ready to pilot the party anywhere they' 
wished to go, and then they started for long tramps down 
one bay and up another, two man and the hounds keep- 
ing close to the bay, to drive out the deer, and one man 
on each side, a hundred yards out on the ridge on each 
side, and somewhat in advance of the men near the bay.* 
For five days they hunted in this way, but the dogs were: 
unmanageable, and generally made so much noise that 
the dper kept out of the way. Occasionally one was seen,^ 
and then the Winchesters awoke the echoes, but they 
failed to stop any of the swift-footed runners. By this 
time they were acquainted with the woods, and there 
being little danger of getting lost, they got to going out 
alone, and wandering all day in the beautiful woods, but 
failed to bring in any game, except some squirrels. 
H got tired of camp life witn no game, and began 
to long for the flesh pots of a hotel, so one day he strolled 
down to old Jordan's, to study a Florida "cracker," and 
see whether the old man could be induced to take his 
baggage to the railroad. At the end of a five mile stroll 
through the woods there appeared an old log-cabin, at 
one side of a fifteen-acre clearing. A man with a gun on 
his shoulder was approaching it from an opposite direc- 
tion, and an old woman sat on the porch, H intro- 
duced himself, whereupon they shook hands with him, 
said they were very glad to see him, asked if he kept! 
well, and said Mr. Jordan was down in the swamp killing 
some hog meat, but they reckoned he would be back 'fore 
long. Presently there came out of the cabin a woman oi 
thirty-five or thereabouts, with perfectly formed head 
and face, and of good form, but the snuff stick was in 
her mouth, and the face wore a dull, ignorant, and hope- 
less expression, or rather lack of expression. The idea) 
conveyed to H by her looks and movements was, that 
nature had laid the foundation for a woman of intellect 
and great personal beauty, but she had been hopelessly, 
dwarfed by the poverty-stricken soil in which she ha<i 
