230 
FOREST AND STREAM, 
[SlEPt. 19, 1866. 
brought him that rabbit in the bag he never would have 
killed it. It's sixteen to one that he would have done 
just as I did. 
If Garry had read Sterne he might have quoted the re- 
mark of Uncle Toby when he released the fly, but his 
reading had not included "The Life and Opinions of 
Tristram Shandy," and consequently he did not know of 
the incident, but Garry's heart was kind and true, His 
few intimat-e friends he held fast and he followed the ad- 
vice of Polonius to his son: 
"The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, 
Grapple them to thy soul with hooks of steel; 
But do not duU thy palm with entertainment 
Of each new-hatch'd, unfledg'd comrade." 
In after life I have fished with men of all conditions in 
life, men of high character and men of no character to 
speak of, mpn of education and intelligence and those 
who bad neither, but among them all I have a warm spot 
in my memory for simple, honest Garry Van Hoesen, 
Fred Mathkr. 
Editor Forest and Stream: 
In your issue of Sept, 5, following my ai'ticle on Capt. 
Ira Wood, is a little note from Mr. O. H. Hampton 
which under a complimentaiy disguise invites those whom 
1 have fished with to write me up, Now, my dear Mr. 
Hampton, I appreciate your kind intentions. You mean 
well; but don't you see that the men whom I have written 
up are all dead with the exception of Col. Charles H. 
Raymond, in sketch No. VIII.? When I gave him warn- 
ing that I would write him up as one who had sat on a 
log while I did the fishing, he replied: "Go ahead if you 
have no fear of retribution; I know more bad things about 
you than you know of me," and he declined to give me a 
photo, or at least "regretted" that he had none, From 
relatives I got a picture and some facts of his life and 
wrote him up. He cannot do this to me, because I left 
Albany and went vagabondizing in the West as soon as I 
was old enough, and the only "facts" that are accessible 
are those musty ones in Fish Commission reports, which 
no one would read. 
No, Mr. Hampton! I will quote Robert Etnmet: "Let 
no man write my epitaph," not even the tombstone man 
with his chisel, because if he lies, as tombstones generally 
do, the readers of Forest and Stream will be deceived, 
and if he tells the truth my surviving relatives will be 
shocked. 
I thank Mr. Hampton very much for the implied com- 
pliment, but must decline to yield the floor, until I get 
through, to any of the ''Men I Have Fished With." 
F. M, 
A MONTH AT LAKE WINNEPISEOGEE. 
Boston, Sept. 10,— Editor Forest and Stream: "Report 
your luck," says the editor. But suppose a fellow didn't 
have any luck worth reporting. Report anyway how you 
tried and how the fish wouldn't bite, and all about it. So 
here is a brief story of our outing on the shores of New 
Hampshire's beautiful lake. 
S iturday, July 22, at 4.30 P. M., saw our party unload 
at the little station of Spring Haven in the town of Alton, 
and on the west shore of Winnepiseogee, midway be- 
tween Alton Bay and Lakeport, There were Mr, and 
Mrs. Wm. F. Seaver, of Eist Boston; Mrs. Smart, our 
Annie and Seaver-'s intelligent shepherd dog Jack. 
Temple cottage, the summer home of the Seaver fam- 
ilr, is situated on high land overlooking the broadest part 
of the lake, and is as snug and cozy as one could wish. 
Oar bageage once there, it didn't take long to get the 
snutters oflf and things straightened c ut for four weeks of 
^ood solid comfort, away from the noisy city and free 
from all business cares. Next day the cedar boat Hen- 
rietta was taken out, the fishing tackle put aboard and a 
good, honest endeavor made for bass, But there were 
no bass for us either on that trip or the next. We fished 
and fished — we had all kinds of tempting lures — but a re- 
gard for plain facts compels me to say that I didn't 
catch but two bass while I was there, and those were 
under lib, in weight. When we wanted a mess of fish, 
we were obliged to content ourselves with perch and 
horn pouts, and they were both good eating. There were 
Elenty of bass near the gravelly bottom, but take the bait 
eld out to them they would not. I rigged up a minnow 
net and got a good supply of very lively young whiting — 
so lively were they that they frequently took the slack 
line through the guides in such a fashion that I thought 
sure I had a bass on, but on striking I was soon unde- 
ceived. I was by no means alone in my ill luck, for 
campers all about had poor fishing so far as bass were 
concerned. 
The second week was devoted to building a boat house 
for the Henrietta, and as my friend . Seaver is a very 
handy man with tools, and I can drive nails reasonably 
well, we put up a very good-looking structure 16 ft. long, 
6ft. wide and same in height. Indeed, we flatter our- 
selves that it will compare favorably with others along 
shore both in architectural design and construction. Al- 
though I hadn't any particular use for them, I set up sev- 
eral rods complete, j ust to see how they would look on 
the brackets: not wooden pegs, mind you, as in some 
boat houses, but good solid iron brackets. Among them 
was my favorite — a hornbeam fly- rod made by the famous 
Amasa Ward, who many years ago built the first camps 
at Hell Gate Falls on the Dead Diamond River. 
A handsome series of views of the camp — the big pool, 
the old roll dam at the head of the causeway, the falls 
and the starting point just above the forks — hangs over 
the desk at which I write this screed. Honest, faithful 
old rod, after ten years' service it is as good as new. Not 
a season has passed since my first trip up the Diamond in 
1884 that I haven't used that piece of handiwork on the 
Diamond, the Magallaway, the Perham stream and 
S indy River at Phillips, or the Auberton stream at Red- 
iagton, and always with a feeling of intense satisfaction. 
But I have got off considerable distance from Lake Win- 
nepiseogee. Of course, we kept on fishing, and when 
not fishing we went through the fields and pastures for 
berries, both blue and black, and we picked quantities. 
Strolls through the woods were frequent, especially dur- 
ing that terribly hot week, when we had a chance to find 
out where there cannot fail to be good shooting this fall; 
for, go whichever way we would, partridges were sure to 
scurry out from our vicinity. We heard an occasional 
gun too, and I am very much afraid there were poachers 
abroad. 
But now before closing I want to propound this query to 
those of your readers — and there are many that I person- 
ally know — who fish at various seasons in this lake, and 
that is. Why is not black bass fishing better? And of 
course there wiU he various reasons advanced, one of 
which may be that I am not much of a fisherman, or that 
I don't know where to look for them. The first may be 
true, perhaps it is as to bass; but the second can't be, be- 
cause I didn't go out after bass that I didn't see big fel- 
lows in plenty, I am inclined to the belief that the true 
reason is that there is so much natural food in the lake 
that they have no interest in anything that looks to them 
out of the usual course. The lake is literally full of small 
fish — smelt, shiners, whiting, etc. — and when the bass 
wants a meal all he has to do is to go into the shoal 
water and get it. Frequently we saw big red perch, pick- 
erel and bass driving the little ones so hard that they 
threw themselves out on to the sandy beach to escape 
their voracious pursuers. 
I would really like to hear from others on th'-S subject. 
Last year, referring to my poor success, G, L. G. W. told 
of his excellent fishing, ana I trust he repeated thid year; 
but all 1 know is that they were not for me. However, 
we had a most fenjoyable fom- weeks, and were really 
sorry to be obliged to house the boat, close the cottage 
and return to the city. Wm. B. Smart. 
THE LAKE CLAIR. 
Editor Forest and Stream: 
Our season is drawmg to a close. Only about three 
weeks of fishing i em tin, and already the birches and 
maples begin to show some red and yellow leaves and the 
cedar cones are tUrn.ng brown. We have discontinued 
fishing in some wateis, but in Lake Clair the trout spawn 
so very late that we do not scruple as yet to take all we 
want to eat, which in fact is all we ever do take. Trout 
are never wasted at our camp. 
The fishing has been good all the season except for a 
few days in the unparalleled hot weather of July and 
August. Our fish never run large, as I have often told 
you. "Herring size" is our pattern, but this year we 
think they average decidedly larger than usual. 
A few days ago one ouananiche of about 21bs. weight 
was taken, a result of our hatching in 1893 or 1893. Its 
presence in this lake was accidental, as we did not pur- 
Eosely put any fry into it. The waters of this hatchery, 
owever, discharge into it and some eggs were spilled 
from the troughs. We have accordingly reason to ex- 
pect good results from the waters where fry was placed, 
though we so seldom visit them that so far we really 
know little about them. My catch last year of one of 
|lb. and one of Hlbs. would indicate that the fish were 
thriving. 
We have had about our usual number of visitors this 
year, with perhaps more than the usual amount of life 
and gaiety. More than once has our workshop been 
turned into dancing room and concert hall. Our camp 
register is rich in contributions and decorations, and our 
ladies' room in ornament of painting and wood carving, 
especially the latter. I inclose a copy of an ode written 
in the register, adapted to an air familiar to many of 
those of us whose years now run into the sixties, "The 
Lake of the Dismal Swamp." 
LAC CLAia. 
CAir, "The Lake of the Dismal Swamp.") 
Some glacier hollowed a winding bowl 
And furrowed its rocky rim, 
The springs welled up from each cranny and hole, 
And down from the hills the waters stole 
And filled it up to the brim. 
Then bush and tree from their burrs and cones 
Sent seeds on the moving air, 
To cover with forest its rugged stones, 
"With branches that utter the wind harp's tones, 
And thus was made Lac Glair. 
Then birds and beasts in its forest shades. 
Secure from peril or fear, 
A home for their tender nurslings made, 
No hunter or fisher near. 
But soon the hungry red man came 
And builded his hut on its shore; 
He fed his children and dusky dame 
With its swarming fish and wandering game. 
And furnished his meager store. 
The white man came with his stalwart arm 
And ransacked its forests through; 
Little he recked of its subtle charm. 
With fire and steel he wrought it harm 
And sullied its waters blue. 
Then soon the men of the city throng 
Would come to breathe its air, 
And fill its forest glades with song. 
And lo I a new Lac Clair. 
We have enjoyed more than usual the songs of the 
Canadians, of which we have had a great number and 
variety, and, as not always happens, people who could 
sing them. The many of your readers who have fished 
and hunted with Canadian guides know and appreciate 
the charm of these songs, sung around camp-fires or on 
canoeing trips. "En Roulant ma Boule," "A la Claire 
Fontaine" and many others will come to their recollec- 
tion at the mere mention, We had a score of those 
familiar and another score or two of less known airs. 
These songs are not especially Canadian, being mostly 
old French, with now and then some slight local adapta- 
tion. Some of them have been printed in Canada, but 
the majority are only known here traditionally. The 
Canadians have no distinctly national music. One version 
(I think not the best) of "A la Claire Fontaine" has been 
adopted as a sort of national air, and is played at con- 
certs and the like in connection with "God Save the 
Queen." 
At our festivities we close our entertainments with 
both of these and "The Star Spangled Banner" in addi- 
tion, as both my brother and I are American citizens. 
Both the Union Jack and Old Glory are raised and 
lowered morning and evening whenever either of us is 
present at the camp, either with or without guests. 
Our greatest "function" of the season was the formal 
naming of our new gondola, a craft built on the premises 
and combining some of the features of a canoe with the 
capacity of a steam launch, and withal decidedly Italian 
in general appearance when in the water. I send you a 
photo of her as she now lies, hauled out for nnother coat 
of paint. The ceremonies were jovial and original with- 
out being burlesque, and took place by torch light. The 
faithful Naziire was present by special invitation and 
naturally held a special place among the personnel of the 
camp, an honored guest. 
The following evening the work-people gave him a fete 
that he will remember as long as he lives. It was in lov- 
ing recognition of the qualities that kept him twenty 
years in our service and endeared him to everyone, 
though lately advancing years have shown him that he 
can no longer endure the fatigues and hardships insepa- 
rable from the duties of garde forestier. Dear old Na- 
zaire! The tears came into his eyes when the unlettered 
doyen of our present staff, with a dignity and grace that 
many an orator might envy, made him a little speech. 
So you see that at Lake Clair there are many pleasures 
besides those of catching trout. Your readers will per- 
haps have difficulty in locating our particular Lake Clair, 
for of lakes Clair, Long, Croche, Travers, a la Vase and 
the like there arc naturally very many in this province. 
Ours is ilie Lake Clair. G. db Montauban. 
QCJEBKC, September, '96. 
THE PHILOSOPHY OF REX. 
Editor Forest and St^^eam: 
In one of my hermitical moods, which tend to philo- 
sophical meditation, I pored over the contribution of Alice 
Demarest in Forest and Stream of Aug. 8. 
The article is so delightfully feminine that I should be 
glad to know more of the writer of it. Ordinarily I am 
not much interested in femininity, and have sojourned 
for some years a number of miles distant from any rep- 
resentative of that portion of my race. When in town 
at intervals I have noticed the undoubted better half of 
humanity on various occasions. I have seen it in the 
offices of lawyers manipulating typewriting machines, in 
the telegraph cages, some of it in bloomers and upon bi- 
cycles, and not long since I saw a portion of it in conven- 
tion endeavoring to arouse a hurrah for universal suffrage. 
Indeed I have noticed a fair proportion of it all over my 
nearest town. 
In these woods and mountains, however, women are 
never seen; therefore it is reasonable to presume that the 
fish here know nothing of them, and that they know 
nothing of the fish. But there are otherwheres and other 
fish, and there are other philosophers, such as Rex, who 
seems to have too much assurance. 
The fair contributor to these chronicles leaves us to con- 
jecture some several material matters. Among them the 
proper words to adopt in addressing her, the amount of 
familiarity we may venture in replying to her observa- 
tions, and finally her whereabouts and the variety or 
varieties of fish that her one particular fisherman. Rex, 
discourses about. However tbese things be, the latter 
individual is petuliarly fortunate in having the former 
individual quote L^m so gracefully, and rely so implicitly 
upon the science which he, ah! only he, can make ador- 
ably interesting. 
With all the deference allowable to her confidence and 
faith in Rex, in urbane language, with as much French 
in it as 1 can spare, I really must insinuate that in my 
opinion Rex at times articulates through his chapeau. 
This is really no disparagement to Rex, chiefly because 
most men when they speak about fish are inclined simi- 
larly. Yet they shouldn't do so. 
Now, Alice — begging pardon — ^but how can I adopt a 
prefix that I don't know is correct, unless I say madam — 
andl abhor madam— I say that Rex, with all his pro- 
fundity and scientific lore, knows no more about the feel- 
ings ot a fish than I do. And I differ with him, and hence 
I write. 
As to fish feeling pain, the topic has been discussed in 
this journal heretofore, and much has been said and 
much more might be said "on both sides." I think they 
do feel, and feel pain, and nobody knows. I will only 
object here to the arguments or logic of Rex, who makes 
me jealous by the way he has hypnotized — or that is, in- 
spired some folks. 
After admitting, forsooth,^ that fish are intelligent, and 
that they reason only from "facts and previous experi- 
ences" (by the way, that is a good start for them to reason 
from; 1 usually commence there), he hence infers that 
when a fish takas a fly his only idea is to get away with 
it. Permit me here to interpolate that it always appeared 
to me that when a flsh took the fly, and felt the hook, he 
always tried to get away from it. According to Rex, "in 
his joyous struggle" the fish is only anxious lest the fly 
should get away. Let me re-insinuate that it is usually 
apparent that in his frantic struggle the fish is only anx- 
ious to get away i rom the fly. Then, Rex says, no matter 
how much his mouth is torn, he is always ready to renew 
the struggle by taking a second fly. Verily, Rex has 
been catching starving fish with very, very callous 
mouths. 
After the fish that Rex catches is taken into the boat or 
"out of the swim," his struggles are only the result of 
"reflex action." The fish, according to the philosophy of 
Rex, feels no pain— merely an impulse to struggle, gasp, 
shiver and go through a series of physical contortions en- 
tirely independent of and exempt from pain or feeling. 
In this, as the court sometimes remarks, 1 fail to concur. 
Let Rex imagine himself going through the experience. 
Would he not, in all probability, be reflexibly actuated 
doubly automatically, with all the physical alacrity of a 
fish unless he got so full of water as to make him stupid 
and sulky? 
Illustrative of reflex action. Rex explains it very neatly. 
He says, Alice, that if the sole of your pretty little foot 
(by which I confidently assume you are not of Chicago) 
were tickled you would withdraw it immediately, not be- 
cause you felt anything, but because you couldn't help it. 
Hey, there. Rex — your logic will not connect unless you 
obliterate the word and definition of feeling entirely, 
substituting therefor your reflex action notion. If the 
pretty foot was tickled without warning or in the dark, 
would it not withdraw? What sense other than feeling 
would cause the effect? Like you, Alice, I adore science 
properly administered, but there is a kind of logic that 
fills the world with words— signifying nothing. 
The wisest of our counsellors doubt the possession of 
their fondest acquisitions of knowledge and hesitate to 
claim their particles of wisdom. Indeed, man can scarcely 
analyze his own feelings, sentiments and emotions. How 
may he then, by process of reasoning, analyze the feel- 
