measured the spread. With the foot rule Ave inade it 64 
inches. A. tape measure at the taxidefmist's makes it 
65. Both horns were broken off at the points; other- 
wise they would have scaled close to 70 inches. 
I regret that we had no tape to take his measurements. 
I think it would have been worth while. From former 
experience, however, I judge he stood quite 7 feet at the 
shoulder — perhaps a little more. He was not apparently 
a heavy moose — that is, heavy in appearance. He 
■seemed to run to bone. But one hindquarter stripped 
from the saddle, and with the shank off, weighed 86 
pounds. We estimated that his weight in life would be 
close upon a thousand pounds, a guess verilicd by the 
statement of my New York butcher. He says from the 
size of the moose that it would dress fully 750 pounds. 
I have never yet seen a moose weighed, but I am doubt- 
ful about the tales of 1,200-pound and 1,400-pound 
bulls. One moose I saw in Maine was estimated in the 
woods to weigh 1,100 pounds. On the railroad scales 
it weighed 650, 
When George and I tried to turn over the bull we 
had our hands full. We tugged and strained for ten 
minutes before we succeeded in dragging its forefeet 
from under the windfall so that we could roll it over. 
After it was all done, and the excitement gone, the re- 
action brought a pang. I looked upon my bull and I 
confess a regret that this great creature, once so strong 
and eager, so mighty and unswerving in power among its 
kind, had fallen because of me. I said as much to 
George. 
"Huhl" he scoffed. "He was a derned old bully 
rascal. Look at those ears of his. He was just always 
looking for trouble." 
I passed with my regrets. 
We found the Hon, Chauncey at camp. He had seen 
his usual moose. 
"Drat!" sniffed George, throwing his axe into a corner 
with an assumption of disgust. "It's enough to make you 
lick. Drat this country, anyhow." 
Then he hid his face in the woodpile and I saw his 
shoulders heave. 
"Well, anyhow," said the Hon. Chauncey, "I think 
some one got a shot. I heard the dickens of a banging 
south of us." 
"Bob's been shooting, mebbe," said George. 
The robust Robert entered, 
"Who was that shooting?" he demanded. 
George tittered. 
"I'll bust in a moment," said he, appealing to me. 
The cat was out of the bag. They sat with open 
mouths till our tale was done. The Hon Chauncey, ever 
cheerful in the face of diversity, offered congratulation; 
the robust Robert looked dazed. He knew moose, and 
the size of this overwhelmed him. As for George, he 
clattered about, upset th^ dishes, fell upon the stove and 
enjoyed himself thoroughly. 
Then we talked over the fortunes of the Hon. Chauncey 
and the robust Robert. 
Theirs was hard luck indeed. Together they had come 
upon a big bull lying down, utterly unmindful of their 
presence. When they were within twenty-five paces the 
Hon. Chauncey fired. The bull got up and fell down. 
He arose, and the Hon. Chauncey knocked him down 
again. The third time the bull arose for the third time 
he was fired upon by both hunters, and for the third 
time he fell. But when he arose he scuttled into the bush 
and the two took up the chase. 
There were many discussions as to the propriety of 
this. George and I, from our elevated positions, con- 
tended that they should never have followed so soon. 
We were pooh-poohed, and in a tiff we retired into our 
shells. They followed the moose for four miles, and in 
that time he stampeded three other bulls and a cow. Two 
of the bulls joined with him, and when he came .to bare 
ground, they tracking the entire distance by the blood 
upon the snow and leaves, he had stopped bleeding, 
There they lost him, : 
The Hon. Chauncey afterward got a moose with a small 
head. When we skinned the big bull we found his in- 
terior economy a dreadful disorder. Both shoulders 
were broken, both hips fractured, his heart was cut in 
two, there was a bullet through his brisket, another 
through his paunch, and six of his ribs were cut in twain: 
Three of the bullets we found; the others went through 
him or were pulverized against the big bones. In odd 
places we found scraps of metal jackets and fragments, 
of lead. 
George says the way the .30-40 shot was a marvel. It 
had rained just enough before we saw the moose to 
moisten all the boughs. He knew I was hitting, because 
every time the gun fired the tremendous vacuum set up 
by the_ bullet drew all the moisture in its train. The 
water in the air and from the bushes, he said, just fell 
in behind the bullet, forming long ropes, that reached 
from the barrel to the bulIJs flank. It looked like shooting 
with a squirtgun, he declared.- I offer no substantiation 
of this. All I could see was the moose. 
I might say in conclusion that George recovered the 
stone he dropped during the excitement. But he never 
got his partridge. Still, I don't think he cared. 
Maximilian Foster. 
[The measurements of Mr. Foster's record trophy are: 
Spread 65 inches, circumference of beam 12 inches exact, 
breadth of each shovel Ii34 inches, right antler (inside 
measurement) 38% inches, left antler 37% inches ; weight 
no pounds,] 
New Jersey Wardens Active. 
Toms River, N. J., Dec. 14. — On Saturday last Fish 
Wardens A. J. Rider and Howard Mathis arrested R. 
M. Darrack and G. R. Newbold, both of Atlantic City, 
for shooting ducks from a sailing vessel anchored at 
Main Marsh thoroughfare. The prisoners were taken 
before Esquire Burton, at Tuckerton, who fined them 
$20 each with costs. 
On the Saturday before, Nov. 25, Bennett and Parker, 
of Forked River, were arrested for gunning iii illegal 
blinds. They were brought here and fined $25 each 
with costs, by Justice Low. 
Wardens Mathis and Rider arrested three men for 
sailing after and shooting at ducks on Great Bay last 
Tuesday. They were fined $20 each and costs. 
Parva Domus; Magna Quies* 
Brooklyn, N. Y., Dec. 7.— Editor Forest and Stream: 
I inclose herewith one of the results of publishing that 
beautiful bit of nature, "A Country Road." Framed in 
pine boughs, on which the native growth of cones still 
adheres, and sent to an appreciative friend, it brought 
back by way of response, in part, this, which so truly 
describes a part of the charm of camp life that I could 
not be selfish enough to keep it all to myself, but ask 
that you send it to the multitude of nature lovers, who 
will feel the truth of the "peace," and, as I believe, thank 
you for giving tiiem the opportunity of seeing some of 
their own thought vei'y thoroughly expressed in these 
verses. Not alone "Beneath the huge Ben More," but 
in forest nooks and by woodland lakesides far away from 
the "madding crowd" these verses might be framed for 
answer to the questions which beset such as love for a 
time to dwell alone, "Don't 3'ou get lonesome?" "What 
do you find to do?" "I should think it would be dread- 
ful," etc. Of course, no one can tell all the charm, but 
Prof. Blackie comes as near to the heart of it as any 
person I have ever heard talk, or whose description I 
have read. D. A. Jordan, 
Dr. Jordan's inclosure is a copy of Prof. Blackie's poem, 
Parva Domus; Magna Quies — "little dwelling; great 
peace," — which so admirably expresses the charm of retire- 
ment in a woodland camp. The poem is taken from the 
New York Times Saturday Review, to which it was 
sent the other day by C. F. Laurie, of Erie, Pa., with this 
note: 
" 'Parva Domus; Magna Quies,' which the Rev. W. N. 
Harris inquires for in the Times Saturday Review, was 
written by John Stuart Blackie, Professor of Greek in 
the University of Edinburgh. The manuscript, soiled by 
the fingers of the compositor, was the gift of a friend, and 
had lain forgotten for years until rediscovered some few 
weeks ago. The poem, I think, first appeared in the 
Scotsman, Edinburgh. It is. dated from Loch Baa, 
Mull." 
Parva Domas; Magna Quies. 
On a little grassy knoll 
Beneath the huge Ben More, 
Where the loch's clear amber waters 
Lave the white and pretty shore, 
I have built a little dwelling 
Without pomp or state. 
For smallness quite excelling. 
But oh ! the peace is great. 
From the hot and dusty tumult 
Of the men that rule the land, 
From the pageant of the Park 
And the rattle of the Strand, 
,i From the weariness and worry 
Of contention and debate, 
I am sheltered, I am hidden, 
4 And the peace is very great. 
From the knocking and the ringing 
Of the beggar with the sore, 
Where every man is bringing 
Every business to my door. 
From saying yes or no 
To seas of sullen fate, 
I am sheltered, I am hidden, 
£ And the peace is very great. 
5_ From the doctrine and the dogma 
Of each lofty-fancied fool. 
Who could take the great Creator 
(If Creator he) to school. 
From a thousand maggots swarming 
K In each quick and eager pate, 
I I am sheltered, I am hidden, 
I And the peace is very great. 
s . From the carping and the grumbling 
Of the spiteful and the small. 
Who when mighty things are tumbling 
Love to see the mighty fall ; 
From the lust of hot Reforming 
In the Church and in the State, 
I am sheltered, I am hidden, 
And the peace is very great. 
Then fare thee well, great city's din, 
The tumult and the throng, 
For a moment, and a moment. 
To myself I will belong ;_ 
In my little mountain dwelling. 
With no pomp to guard my gate, 
I am hidden, I am happy, 
And the peace is very great. 
And right pat with this is a little note in the Philadel- 
phia Press, which tells of the gunning cure for the blues: 
He had his gun case in one hand and a grip in the 
other, and was making his aay to the Broad Street Sta- 
tion. "I'm going away to get rid of the blues," he 
said. . , 
"You see," he went on, "this is my unvarymg cure, 
and he nodded toward the gun case. "Don't often get 
the blues-— blamed seldom, in fact. But when I do get 
them — well, I get 'em for keeps — take right hold of me 
and unfit me for business, pleasure, intercourse with my 
fellow men — everything! And the only thing that cures 
me is a week's gunning. I go off somewhere and tramp 
around in old clothes with a gun and a couple of dogs 
for my companions. And after I've gotten away from 
cramped-up cities and have roamed around among hills 
and in thickets, and scrambled over rocks and sat me 
down by little streams— well, I forget the little things 
of life— little troubles, little vexations, little men, little 
women, little aims, little everything. For everything 
around me is on such a big, broad scale — mountains, hills, 
valleys, trees, sky — that my vision gets big — and I see 
more and see differently. 
"And in a week's time I'm a different man-made all 
over in nature's big workshop." 
In Old^Vlf giflla. -VI. 
.' AIan want to see you, snh," said Governor one moto 
ing as we lingered around the breakfast table planning 
for the day's pleasure. I was not expecting a visitor, but 
there could be no doubt who the message was intended 
for, as the little fellow stood erect and soldierly in the 
door looking me straight in the eye. 
"Who is it?" I askea. 
"Bin, suh," he replied. 
"Who?" 
"Bin, suh." 
I looked at my hostess for enlightenment, but she shook 
her head negatively, so I resumed the conversation with 
the little messenger. 
"Bin who. Governor?" 
"Dunno, suh; dis Bin; he black man, suh." 
And then I understood that a man of the genus Afri- 
cauus, whose cognomen was Ben, desired an audience. 
" Do you know what Ben wants?" I asked. 
"He say he know where dey a gang of tuckeys, suh." 
This interested me at once and I quickly followed mv 
small boy to the back yard, where I found Bin, a tall, slen-, 
der, yellow darky, accompanied by a tall, slender, yellow 
dog. 
The man's voice was musical and low pitched, and the 
dog moved about in a quiet yet alert way. They im- 
pressed me at once as a pair of typical woods hunters that 
thoroughly understood their business and each other. 
After a respectful salutation, Ben proceeded in a low, 
sweet voice to tell me that having heard that I was visit- 
ing on the plantation and was fond of hunting, he had 
come to ask me if I would like a turkey hunt, as he gave 
that branch of the sport his entire attention and knew 
about every gang of turkeys in the neighborhood and 
would be glad to take me out; that if I cared to go he 
would hunt in the afternoon until he roosted a gang and 
then take me to the blind early in the morning for a shot. 
Assuring him that a wild turkey hunt was exactly what 
I was longing for, we arranged to go the first morning 
after he had succeeded in roosting a flock, this being the 
method of hunting that wary bird. 
"Roosting" turkeys consists in finding a flock late in 
the evening, after they have gone to roost, and scatter- 
ing them as much as possible in all directions, then build- 
ing a blind of brush and limbs near the spot from which 
they scattered. 
In this blind the hunter must be at daylight the next 
morning with a turkey call, and if a skillful caller he 
can call one or more turkeys within range as they seek tO' 
get together again. This is about the only way to outwit 
this wary bird, that can see, smell and hear better thaa 
anything that lives in the woods, be it fur or feathers. 
Ben had the expected good luck, finding his turkeys the 
first afternoon out, and came to the house about an hour 
after dark of the same day to say that he had scattered ai- 
good flock, built his blind and would come for me about 
two hours before day next morning. Arrangements were 
made for an early breakfast, and the stars were shining" 
brightly when I made my way down to the stable, where 
Ben was assisting a sleepy boy to saddle my horse, next 
morning, it was about 3 o'clock and day would not break- 
before 5, so Ben assured me that we would be in our blind 
by the first streaks of dawn. The horse saddled, we set 
forth down through the woods, Ben leading the way on 
foot. It was so dark I could not see my horse's head, and 
laying the rein on his neck 1 trusted him to follow the 
guide, while I smoked and enjoyed the novelty of the sit->. 
nation. 
It was a crisp, clear, frosty morning that made the blood 
tingle. I found my man the qiiiet woodsman expected, 
with none of the usual garrnlousness characteristic of his 
race. An occasional low- spoken suggestion regarding 
obstacles in the road was all he vouchsafed, as : "Log in de- 
road, suh; pull to de ief," or "Limb, suh; ben' low."' 
When the first faint gray appeared in the East, indicat- 
ing the approach of day, I proceeded to get acquainted. 
"Have you killed any turkeys this season, Ben?" 
"Yaas, suh: three." _ i 7 
"How many times have you been out this season?" 
"Foah times, suh; killed one one time an 'two de 
othah." 
"Did you kill many last year?" 
"No, suh; didn't himt none las' year." 
I wished afterwards that I had stopped there; bug 
knowing nothing of my man's past history and wondering 
that such a born sportsman should let an entire season 
pass without going out once, I questioned further: 
"You did not go hunting once last season? Why was 
that?" 
"I was in jail, suh;" he said quietly. 
I was sorry that I had asked the question, but it could 
not be helped now, and I concluded to risk further ques- 
tioning for m.y personal satisfaction, 
"What were you convicted of, Ben?" I asked. 
"Stealin' meat, suh." 
"Did you steal the meat?" 
"No, suh, I did not; but dey proved I did." 
And I believed then that they had convicted the wrong 
man, for Ben had none of the earmarks or characteristics 
of a meat thief — he was a sportsman. A few moments 
later he announced that we were as near the hunting 
grounds as we could go with the horse, and if I would dis- 
mount he would put the horse in thie stable of his 
brother-in-law, whose cabin was near, and we would pro-'' 
ceed on foot. The horse disposed of, we started down 
through a piece of fine timber, and I now observed for 
the first time that we were accompanied by the tall yellow 
dog I had seen with my companion the day before. 
"Won't your dog scare the turkeys and interfere with 
our hunting?" I asked. 
"Oh, no, suh; he will be as quiet an' keerful as we is, 
an' help us a heap. He is de bes' tuckey dog in all dis 
country an' always goes wid me. When we git in de blin' 
he lie still twel we shoot, an' den if de tuckey is only 
winged he will run him down fo' us. We can't talk none 
aftah we git little furda 'long, an' you mus' 'sense me, suh. 
if -I des make you sign wid my han'." 
Just before reaching the blind we came on one of th 
scattered turkeys; but the rush of its wings as it pitcheC 
out of the tree and flew off was all the evidence we haa. 
as no glimpse of him was possible in the faint gray light 
of approaching dawn. 
As quietly as possible we slipped on down through the 
