Ihs. n, i§c)0.] 
"It was very hard for nie to control myself, the whole 
thing was so very ridiculous; but I valued the Doctor's 
friendship very highly, and it was evidently too serious a 
matter with him to be laughed off. 
" Where is your gun, Doctor?' I finally asked. 
'I don't know," was the reply. "I remember taking 
it by the muzzle and looking around for something to 
break it over, and not finding anything convenient I 
threw it away, threw it as far as I "could, and don't re- 
member in which direction it was.' 
" 'Well,' said I, turning aside to hide the laughter I 
could no longer control, 'come and I will help you find 
it.' 
" 'No, thank you, Colonel,' said he; 'I appreciate your 
kindness, but I don't want the gun. Anybody that does 
is welcome to it, if they know enough to use it, I don't, 
and I'm done hunting. This is the last time you need 
trouble to count in the. prize fool' when getting up your 
hunts.' 
"He kept his word too, and I have his gun now at my 
house, where I carried it after I found it nearly soft, 
from where he threw it from him in his rage." 
The Colonel had paused occasionally during the telling 
of the story to sound his horn for the guidance of the 
returning dogs. Finally they straggled in travel-stained 
and exhausted, and were pronounced unfit for further 
active service without a good long rest. 
By well-known horn signals the hunters were gathered 
in and informed that the hunt for that day was about over. 
Thereupon one of them suggested that, as we were nearly 
all going the same direction home, we might accomplish 
something with a line drive. 
The Colonel explained to me that a line drive was 
simply forming the . entire company in a line 25yds. 
apart and riding across the country abreast, with the 
hope of jumping deer. 
Quite a number fell in line tor the drive, making a 
line nearly half-mile long. The Colonel, with his dogs, 
was in the center, and I was on his right; on his left 
rode a little wiry fellow, on a mule, carrying a big lo-bore 
shotgun. 
We had ridden two or three miles without starting any- 
thing larger than rabbits, when the dogs in passing 
through a brush and brier thicket ran right on a fine 
buck, and before he could get a good start were all around 
him on every side. 
He was not more than .soft, from the little man on 
the mule, and none of the others were near enough for a 
shot without endangering the dogs. It was a great sur- 
prise to all, as, confused by the dogs, he came sailing 
out in tremendous buck-jumps. But the small gentle- 
man's mule, to judge from his actions, was the most 
genuinely astonished of all. 
Before his rider could bring his ro-bore gun to bear 
on the deer, the mule began to imitate its jumps, apparent- 
ly determined to see it and go it several better. I have 
seen mules do almost everything except what was ex- 
pected of them, but never before, nor since, have I seen 
one jump and biick as did that ambitious enthusiast, which 
looked like he would like to bet his last he-haw that he 
could outjump any buck in Virginia. The hunter was 
game, and stuck to the mule, trying to control him 
until, finding that his efforts were accomplishing nothing, 
he dropped the bridle and took a snap shot at the deer, 
but without effect. 
The mule's performance up to the time that the big 
gun, loaded with 4 to sdrs. of black powder, was fired be- 
tween his ears, was but preliminary, judging from what 
then occurred. He seemed to take leave of terra firma 
for a while and take the role of aerial contortionist, and 
finally, when an ordinary horseman would have been 
dizzy, sick and half-dead, he dropped down to the ground 
long enough to get a good brace for his feet, and shot his 
little rider into the air to such a height that I felt 
sure the fall must dash out his life. 
All of fhis had happened very suddenly, and the big 
buck was still jumping among the dogs, while the nearest 
hunters had but turned to ride down on him. 
And now I was treated to an exhibition of the staying 
qualities of Virginia sporting blood. The Httle hunter, 
thrown from his mule, was still hanging to his gun, and 
while in mid-air, so to speak, he fired, whether voluntarily 
or involuntarily I don't know, and tumbled the buck 
among the dogs as dead as ever the Hector of the 
translations; but it was a half-hour before he revived 
sufficiently to realize the fact. • Lewis Hopkins. 
The Linnean Society of New York. 
/ Regular meetings of the Society will be held in the 
American Museum of Natural History on Tuesday even- 
ings, Feb. 14 and 28, at 8 o'clock. 
Feb. 14. — ^Jonathan Dwiglit, Jr. "The Plumages and 
Moults of a Few Local Species of Our Birds." 
Feb. 14. — By members. "The Warblers of North Amer- 
ica." Exhibition of specimens, with discussion of dis- 
tribution, habits, etc., of magnolia, cerulean, chestnut- 
sided, bay-breasted, black-poll and blackburnian warblers. 
Feb. 28. — ^J. L. Workman. "An Exploration for Ex- 
tinct Reptiles in the Rocky. Mountain Plateau." Illus- 
trated by lantern slides. 
Feb. 28. — By members. "The Warblers of North Amer- 
ica." Exhibition of specimens, with discussion of dis- 
\ tribution, habits, etc., of yellow-throated, sycamore, 
I Grace's, black-throated gray, golden-cheeked, black- 
throated green, Townsend's and hermit warblers. 
Walter W. Granger, Sec'y. 
American Mijseum of Natural History. 
The Passengfer Pigeon, 
Baltimore, Md., Feb. 2. — Editor 'Forest and Stream: 
Noting your editorial in this week's issue, "The Wild 
Pigeon," will you kindly say why you call it "passenger 
pigeon"? It seems to me that other birds are as much 
passengers from one district to another district as were 
the pigeons referred to, and why you should call them pas- 
sengers I would like you to explain. I can bear witness 
to their nesting in large numbers in Virginia when I was 
a boy — long time ago — but I also know that a species of 
bird — long bill — ^woodcock, snipe and rail were as much 
or muehly passengers as were the pigeon. Won't you please 
turn on the light as to "passenger pigeon," and oblige 
E. S. YouKG. 
FO^^EST AND STREAM. 
The Rainbow Country. 
We tarried several days at the cabin, exploring the lake 
shores and the surrounding country. 
The lake itself is a great basm of limpid spring water, 
on which we never tired of floating. So translucent is 
it that the bottom may be seen through 25 or 30ft. of 
Water. Rugged mountains, clothed with unbroken green, 
rise all about and are duplicated in its marvelous re- 
flections. The shores are rocky, in places great ledges and 
cliffs rising perpendicularly from the water; and a num- 
ber of picturesque, circular islands have i-ims of white 
boulders placed so evenly that one is reminded of country 
flower beds bordered with pebbles. The whole bed of 
the lake is strewn with great rocks,- some of enormous 
size, which in places rise above the surface or lay in 
wait for the unwary canoeman just below. 
It was startling as the canoe passed swiftly along to 
suddenly see the loom of a great dark mass, apparently 
shooting up from the shadowy depths, like some great 
submarine monster darting upon its prey. At one place 
where the water is very deep the lake is dotted with many 
of these rocks, looking at a distance like a fleet of boats 
at'anchor. Some jut several feet above the surface, while 
others expose a tip no larger than a dinner plate, but un- 
der water they are of huge proportions. There is an 
old dam at the outlet, built some forty years ago, but 
now pretty well rotted out. Standing on it and looking 
back up the lake, a magnificent view was presented. 
The silver waters stretched away before us, dotted with 
rock rimmed islands, and guarded by the eternal moun- 
tains. Here and there on their rugged slopes great ledges 
and cliffs of bare granite, old and gray with the storms 
of centuries, showed among the green of the endless 
forests, and clumps of great pines rose black and grim 
above their lesser brethren. To the eastward, towering 
above the intervening ridges, Katahdin, the abode of 
Pomola, and the home of the thunder and the lightning, 
rose in solitary grandeur into the blue Katahdin, from 
whose granite brow we had first beheld the gleaming 
water, in whose rainbow depths the mountain's mighty 
bulk was now mirrored. 
Below the dam was a pool, 6 or 8ft, deep, but so clear 
and colorless that every grain of sand on the bottom was 
seen as distinctly as through ciystal. 
We found that it was useless to fish except just at day- 
light or at sundown. In that clear element the trout 
could be lured to the surface at no other time. 
We had some excellent fishing in two small ponds 
known as First and Second Rainbow Deadwater, which 
are expansions, or, in Down East parlance, "bulges," of 
Rainbow Stream. To reach them we carried the canoes 
around the dam and down stream to a point where there 
was water enough to float them, for the outlet is but a 
small brook, and unnavigable. 
The outlet of the second deadwater was completely filled 
with a dense, tangled mass of dead timber and driftwood. 
One night we fished till it was so dark we could not 
see our flies, but struck at the splash made by the trout. 
They had been rising well since sundown, taking the 
Parmachcnee-belle and red-ibis, but as the twilight 
deepened we changed our casts to white-miller and 
coachman. William and Nick had returned to camp 
early, but Harry and I continued to cast. The fish ranged 
from 54 to 341b. in weight, and were full of fight and vigor. 
It was the best fishing we had had, and when we had 
enough for supper and breakfast and finally unjointed our 
rods the night was upon us. It was commencing to 
rain, and no moon or stars pierced the dark canopy of 
the sky. The mountains were jet black walls, but there 
was a dim glow on the water. We found the landing, 
and leaving one canoe and the rods behind, plunged into 
the dense gloom of the woods. We could only follow the 
narrow trail by feeling the way with our feet and iDy 
watching an occasional rift in the foliage overhead. Jean 
carried his canoe, and I the trout, sagging heavily on the 
end of the stringer. I fell twice, and Jean said afterward 
that he was on his knees half the time. 
So we blundered on over bogs and through mud holes 
till we could proceed no further. We seemed to be in 
a sort of pocket, from which there was no egress, and 
it was evident that we were off the carry. Dennis left us 
to find the right path, and we stood waiting in the black, 
silent woods. Bits of phosphorescent wood made strange 
luminous spots at our feet, but otherwise the land was 
given over to darkness and silence. After a while we 
heard a hoot from the direction of the camp, and knew 
that Nick and William were anxioiisly awaiting us. Then 
a light appeared, dodging among the trees, and Dennis 
came, finding his way back to us with an improvised 
torch of birch bark. We found ourselves in a narrow 
space between two large fallen trees and confronted by 
a perpendicular ledge, breast high, over which they lay. 
We lifted the canoe and Dennis took it on his head, 
while Jean went ahead with the torch. We found our 
way back to the dam, and saw across the lake a fire on- 
the shore, which was Nick's beacon to guide us to the 
camp. Owls were hooting on the mountains, and as we 
paddled over Jean answered them, bringing a chorus of 
responses from every direction, the calls echoing weirdly 
back and forth across the water. The owls by night and 
the loons during the day kept the echoes awakened. 
There were several pairs of the latter on the lake, and 
their wild laughter mingled with the screams of the gulls 
that circled on tireless wings above them. Both species 
raise their young on these northern waters; we once 
found a loon's nest on Lobster Lake. One day we be- 
came suddenly aware that a pair of gulls were much dis- 
turbed by our presence. With shrill cries they followed 
the canoes, now dipping down close over our heads, then 
rising high in the air, only to I'eturn again. Some one re- 
marked that they acted like birds whose nest is ap- 
proached, but we were far out from shore. At that mo- 
ment their excitement increased, and with louder screams 
they flew closer than before. Then, looking about, we 
saw the cause of their solicitude, for swimming ahead of 
us, making frantic endeavors to escape, were two young 
ones not long out of their shells. They could not fly, but 
how they could swim. 
The little ones made no sound, but their heads were in 
constant motion, as they looked from side to side for 
the danger of which their parents were warning them, 
and their webbed feet were propeUing them at a pro- 
digious rate. As long as we attended to our own affairs 
ICS 
they swam in a straight course, but when wc pursued 
them they proved that if they Could not fly they could 
dodge as well as swim. Paddle as hard as we could, it 
was all we could do to OA'ertake them, and just as wc 
thought they were in our grasp they would dodge to one 
side and the canoe would shoot by. Before we could turn 
they would have a good gain on the tangent; but finally 
one was captured and tenderly passed from hand to hand 
till all had seen him. The old birds screamed louder than 
aver, and the chick pecked at our finger, but had not 
strength to hurt. Pie was a forlorn-looking object, with 
a big head and bill, and a small body covered with down. 
His wings were nothing but pin feathers, but the legs 
seemed muscular and strong. We returned him carefully 
to the water, uninjured except as to his feelings, and he 
swam swiftly away, the old ones coming down to him to 
see if he was all right after his thrilling adventure. 
We were on our way to a small beaver pond that lay 
back in the woods. The industrious rodents had a dam 
across the brook that drains it into the lake, and two of 
their houses lifted their domes above the water. Their 
cuttings were everywhere; one poplar iBin. in diameter 
had been felled, and another fully as large was cut partly 
through. Caribou tracks were plentiful around the boggy 
shore, ''■ ' 
Leaving this pond, we climbed over a hardwood ridge, 
marking our path by breaking twigs from the bushes as 
we went to another pond, one of the Debsconeag chain. 
The ridge was covered with immense boulders, and the 
trail led through narrow passages and defiles between 
them. They only stopped at the shore of the pond, and 
climbing to the top of one whose base was washed by the 
waves, we looked out from the arching foliage above us 
at a picture of utter solitude. The pond, one of Nature's 
gems, in a setting of mountains covered with waving 
green, lay dimpling and flashing in the sunlight. On the 
ring-hand shore was a little white sand beach, and there 
stood a good-sized buck looking out over the water. 
The wavelets lapped against the rocks and a breath of 
wind stirred the leaves; but except for these soothing 
sounds silence reigned supreme. It was a scene, all too 
rare nowadays, of Nature pure and undefiled; uncontam- 
inated by so-called improvements, and restful to the soul 
as well aa to the body and the mind. 
Such are the places I like to seek out on my excur- 
sions — the out-of-the-way nooks, whose hidden beauties 
have a charm all their own— and whether it be Chesun- 
cook Pond, black and sullen under a , frowning sky, or 
this one of the Debsconeag. Avith its sun-kissed waters 
reflecting the blue above, Nature is never disappointing. 
There is always something to study and think of in her 
varying moods, and she gives us what loss of wealth or 
poEiticn can never take away, but which remains a con- 
stant pleasure, treasured in memory while life lasts. 
On our trips up and down the lake we used to stop 
at a great spring in a grove of shaggy old cedar trees. It 
was loft. in diameter and of marvelous purity. Cold as 
ice, it welled up sparkling and clear between the roots of 
the big trees, a fountain for the wild dwellers of the wil- 
derness. Further up the hillside were some old-growth 
spruces that furnished us some excellent gum, and be- 
neath them stood a bark lean-to, where some hunter, 
overtaken by night, had slept. 
In that northern land, though the days may be hot, it 
is cool after sundown, and one night there was quite a 
heavy frost, though the month was August. Many of 
the more tender weeds were black and dead in the morn- 
ing. The guides spent one day blazing 'but a trail to 
Nahmakanta Lake and clearing it of brush, that we might 
lose no time on the carry. It was well they did so, for 
the path was very blind, and the old spots nearly oblit- 
erated. As it was, they followed a line of spots that took 
them four miles out of their way, and proved to one of 
old Louis' trap lines. 
Our last day at Rainbow was a peaceful Sabbath. We 
spent it quietly about the camp, but as the sun sank 
low in the west we drifted out on the lake in the big 
canoe. The calm sky above and the peaceful lake below 
both were tinted with rainbow hues that changed and 
blended and faded, as the golden ball sank behind the 
mountains. Then from behind Katahdin the full moon 
rose serenely into the sky, and her pale beams shed a 
soft, mysterious light over sleeping lake and silent forest. 
The faint tinkle of the outlet purling over its pebbles, 
the distant hoot of an owl, the splash of a leaping trout, 
alone broke in upon the witchery of the night; and these 
sounds, far from being false notes in the harmony, only 
added to the charm of the place and time. Once there 
came a distant crash, far away in the woods, and after 
it the silence seemed more intense. Some tree back on 
the mountain side had been added to the fallen timber, 
to lie and decay where it fell. 
So ended our sojourn in the Rainbow Country. The 
following morning we carried to the first deadwater, pad- 
dled through it and the second, and made another carry 
to the third, where we surprised a buck at his breakfast. 
Then commenced the long three-mile portage over the 
trail the guides had blazed out. After getting up the 
ridge, the country became more level, but the mountain 
sloped up on our right. We seemed to be traveling in 
the old bed of a stream. After a mile or more we began 
to descend, going down through a narrow, steep defile, 
where great mossy rocks walled in each side. We kept 
on, going down through woods of old growth — pines, 
spruces, hemlocks and yellow birches — whose huge 
trunks seemed as ancient and enduring as the old gray 
rocks from whose crevices they sprang. We had dinner 
by a cold spring and then took up the trail again, till 
we struck a logging road that took us out to Mahma- 
kanta. 
At the junction of Bear Brook and Pollywog Stream 
there are two graves beside the carry. A rough stone 
found on the spot marks them, and there for over forty 
years the men have slept since the day when they were 
drowned. 
ROBERTS and I. DEMING. 
Drowned May 2, i8s6. 
Such is the simple inscription scratched on the stone, 
an on Pollywog Stream are the graves of seventeen 
other men, who went down to death in the raging waters 
of spring freshets while engaged in the hazardous Vvork 
of the lumber drives. Two stones from the forest and a 
rude post carved with their names show where they lie. 
Pollywog Pond lies high up on Ansunlabunt Mountain, 
