March 17, tgoo.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
203 
Atwood centerboard shuts and disappears in its trunk. 
There is a lovely brute here, not infrequently en- 
countered by the fisher with hand line in shallower 
waters — the wolf fish, they call it, and when a luckless 
fisher gets it he is in Jjjce case with the senator with the 
billy goat — ^his only anxiety is to let go. The proper 
course is to welt the life out of him with a club, but he 
is as agile as an eel, and twines his body around the 
line above his head every time a blow is struck. He is 
disgusting^ slimy, has teeth that will crush a clam shell 
and the appetite and temper of a wolf. The rest of the 
fish is just commonplace and good to eat apparently. 
The runs along the shore in the launches are some- 
thing to remember. There is vei-y little surf on this 
the leeward side of the island; just enough to make a 
pleasant murmur on the beaches of clean gravel. The 
.shores are bold and the water deep, a blue of the purest, 
deepest sapphire, until close up to the land, where it 
changes to an exquisitely luminous pale green. Many 
of the points terminate in rocky clusters, through which 
the surf gently surges. Some of these are tenanted by 
seals tame enough to allow you to take their picture, 
while others assume fantastic and changing shapes as the 
launch coughs herself along. 
Almost no rain falls in this country, and as a conse- 
quence the water at Avalon is not of the best for a 
beverage, although certified to contain nothing injurious 
to health, and the verdure of the island is not on a par 
with its other attractions; in fact it is a good deal desert- 
like in its characteristics. Wherever we turn to look 
shoreward from the sea the 
land is mottled in patches of 
brilliant green and red, 
which have the appearance 
of verdure, it is true, but are 
really prickly pear (cactus) 
for the green and something 
in the shape of a shrub for 
the red. There is apparent- 
ly no grass, but the trails 
are not \ery dustj^, despite 
the lack of rain, and the air 
is never so hot as to make 
walking uncomfortable. On 
the other hand, it is never 
so cool at night that a deli- 
cate person must needs put 
on an overcoat, yet it is 
cool enough to make sleep- 
ing a luxury and a cer- 
tainty. 
There is a stage ride con- 
nected with this show which 
to my mind "lays a little 
over" any other stage ride 
going. I think I know 
something of stage riding 
myself, for, though I can't 
drive one, I have ridden be- 
hind or beside some famous 
whips over some roads not 
to be sneezed at by the be- 
nighted dweller in flat 
countries. Some people, I 
have heard, think we have 
the worst roads in the world 
in this State, and I don't 
know but Ave have, but it 
insures us the best drivers. 
Any ordinary driver would 
tip the whole contraption ' ' ' 
of six horses and eleven 
passengers in hundreds of 
places I've seen taken at a 
smart trot or even on the rim. But this road I speak 
of is the ver3'^ jim dandy of hair curlers. It begins prac- 
tically at the hotel door. A six-horse stage of the "mud 
wagon" variety, designed for eleven passengers and the 
driver — they call it a tally-ho, but it isn't any more tally- 
ho than I am; Jehu, the son of Nimshi himself, wouldn't 
dare to drive a top-heavy tally-ho or even a Concord 
around some of the curves we are going to adventure — 
but it is a good, honest California mud wagon, set as 
low as may be on its stout leather thoroughbraces, and 
has only a light canopy top. Then you set out, and 
about 100 yards from the hotel you begin to climb, and 
winding and twisting about, with eacli turn the beach, 
the sea, the world, spreading gradually out in panoramas 
more and more extended; now leaving the sea, now^ 
coniing back again; occasionally going down a little, 
but generally climb, climb, up, until in the first three 
miles of your ride you have risen i,6ix) feet or so. The 
road is smooth and good, but narrow, just wide enough 
for the stage, and for a considerable distance not even 
pedestrians are allowed on it, for coming suddenly 
around a curve a horse might shy, and then — good-by. 
So the ride is relieved only by the sinking feeling you 
have as the whole affair, like a snapping whip lash, winds 
and twists around the shoulders of the hills. I must 
admit that here my paradise is a little lacking — there are 
no trees, there are no birds, there are no animals, wild 
or domestic — it is about as solitary as they make things. 
There are sheep somewhere, but you never see them. 
There are wild goats by the thousand, but they have been 
driven to take refuge in the hidden fastnesses of the dis- 
tant canons, and must be stalked and brought down 
with the rifle at long range. 
At a little brook trickling down and across the road- 
way we stop to water the horses, and just before we get 
there we see one of the features of this road. There are 
several places where the turns in the road are fairly 
short for such a long rig as ours, but there are two 
where the road, if following the natural bent of things, 
would turn at an acute angle, impossible for our stage — 
and here is a bit of road making unique in its way. I 
think, yet I scarcely known how to describe it. The 
Toad, instead of turning the corner, heads apparently 
straight out into space, then sweeping round a knoll 
left standing on the shoulder of the mountain, it describes 
a graceful curve, crosses its own track at the -same level 
and continues on^at an angle of about 30 degr-ees, having 
in its course described almost a complete^fi^ure 8. When 
during this little episode you see the leaders disappearing 
at a gallop around the knoll, there is a scertain feeling of 
uncertainty as to whether the stage will follow properly 
or fly at a tangent off down the side of the hill for a few 
hundred feet. That is decidedly exhilarating, but is not 
soothing to the nerves of very timid people, but then one 
needs to be a little scared to get the full flavor of the ride. 
After climbing to the summit of the island, the road 
dips a little, and then bowls along a comparatively level 
country until it reaches Eagle Nest. Now this part of 
the programme I must admit didn't quite come up to 
sample. There was rather more pride than was actually 
called for displayed in a waterfall of diminutive propor- 
tions, and a sycamore of very ordinary proportions was 
pointed out as the "largest tree on the island." But 
under the circumstances, and to people who have lived 
there long enough to forget how some of the rest of the 
world looks, the pride is perhaps pardonable. I have 
come to the conclusion that we have so many trees in 
this part of the countiy that we are apt to underrate them. 
Nothing less than a diameter of 10 feet seems worthy of 
notice. At Eagle Nest, which takes it name, so the stage 
driver paid, and he was a regular G. W., from a nest in 
this before-mentioned sycamore, which might be an 
eagle's or a crow's. We partook of the staple dish of the 
country, wild goat. I have read of shipwrecked mar- 
iners living on wild goat, like R. Crusoe, Esq., and en- 
joying it. and I fancy that if T were shipwrecked and 
starving I mi,ght like it. but under no other circumstances. 
One of these days the road will be continued from its 
present terminus until it reaches a road built up from 
Catalina Harbor on the seaward side of the island, and 
Flatbush, 
A DEN OF MAINE CUBS. 
when this is done it will be a glorious trip to go by sea 
from Avalon to Catalina and come back by stage, or 
vice ver-sa. Unfortunately the road is a frightfully ex- 
pensive one to build, and there is a stretch remaining 
in the unbuilt part as bad as anything alreadv accom- 
plished. 
We stay two or three hours at Eagle Nest, and one of 
the party borrows a rifle and sets out in pursuit of the 
elusive Capricorn. The rest of us industriously do noth- 
ing until iri course of time the hunter returns without any 
trophies of the chase, and the driver announces his readi- 
ness to depart. It is much easier sliding down hill than 
it is climbing up; therefore when w'e draw up before the 
hotel we have a dim recollection of the driver putting 
rosin on his gloves, of a succession of airy sweeps, as 
we trail like the tail of- a comet far behind a pair of 
leaders and other horses given to mysterious disappear- 
ances round sharp corners, of ever changing and enlarg- 
ing views of our temporary home, until at length we 
rattle helter-skelter down through a narrow street, where 
sober-minded and serious summer boarders gaze at our 
erratic flight in mingled wonder and consternation; the 
driver makes endless repetition of promises of curios or 
information, which he has made to various and sundry 
of the female passengers, and with a crack of his whip 
he. the team and all recollection of his promises, are 
gone together, and the ride of a life time has come to an 
end. * * * 
P. S. — Go in June, July or August. 
Waltzing: Mke, 
The Japanese have a queer little domestic animal — a 
black and white mouse with pink eyes. The peculiarity 
of this breed of mice is that when other baby mice are 
just beginning to walk these are beginning to waltz, and 
they keep up their waltzing the greater part of their wak- 
ing hours all their lives. If several mice are put to- 
gether they often waltz in couples; sometimes even more 
than two join in the mad whirls which are so rapid that it 
is impossible to tell heads from tails. If the floor of 
their cage is not smooth they actually wear out their feet, 
leaving only stumps to whirl upon. These remarkable 
whirls seem to be as necessary to the waltzing mouse as 
mid-air somersaults to the tumbling pigeons. — Evening 
W^isconsin. 
The FoR,EST AND Stream is put to press each week on Tuesday. 
Correspondence Intended for 'publication should reach us at the 
latest by Monday and as mucti^ earlier as practicable. 
The Horns of the American Boer. 
The King's Highway, Flatbush! 'Twas here I found 
myself lately on one of those fine open evenings in which 
the present winter has been so prolific. As I stood 
and. gazed around involuntarily my mind went back to 
the da}'s of the sturdy Dutch pioneer. I imagined him 
tracking laboriously from Fulton ferry — through the 
bush and boulder.s, Avhere now stands the city of Brook- 
lyn — and having reached the flatlands beyond, reminding 
him of his dear Holland, there pitching his tent. Soon 
the tent gave place to a comfortable farmhouse, with 
quaint curved roof to cast off the rain (we have some of 
them left yet), and soon the wilderness began to smile 
around. In the summer all went serenely.' I imagined 
the good man in the fields contentedly plodding through 
the long sunny day, while his vrow busied herself about 
the house or crooned over her baby on the veranda. 
They had plenty to eat and drink, and while lacking 
society, had a sense of proprietorship which must have 
been very consoling to them. 
But winter came, and the scene changed. The country 
became buried in snow, vast drifts forming around the 
house and barri; the bitter winds blew in from the salt 
marshes; the trees howled dismally or stood in somber 
.silence against the leaden slcy; all fresh waters were 
frozen up, and the .soil was locked in an iron grasp. 
(Ah, how different those 
winters from these of the 
present day!) Luckily for 
our pioneers, they did not 
possess much imagination, 
or this altered aspect of 
thin.gs might have weighed 
upon them heavily; but 
having still enough to eat 
(for you may be sure that 
plenty of pork had been 
salted down, and corn and 
potatoes and apples stowed 
away), they did not fret, or 
if they ever did, it was be- 
cause of their enforced inac- 
tivity. To be sure, there 
were the cattle to feed and 
some rude manufacturing or 
mending to do, but these 
were but a light substitute 
for the duties of the spring 
.•ind summer months. The 
good man especially, there- 
fore, had considerable spare 
time on his hands. This he 
employed usually in reading 
his Bible, If society was 
scarce in the smnmer it was 
almost unknown now, the 
exception being of a nature, 
as I trow, that Avould will- 
ingly have been dispensed 
with, viz., the visit of some 
prowling Canarsie Indian. 
While our Dutch friend did 
not fear this gentleman, it 
is easy enough to imagine 
his disagreeable sensations 
as he caught sight of him 
stealing over the snow in 
the moonlight, or peering, 
with sinister face through 
the window. 
Well, as I stood and gazed around, as I said, my mind 
was filled with thoughts or imaginings like these. Turn- 
mg from the past to the , present, I could not repress a 
sigh, as I observed the encroachments of the modern 
city lot man, levelling all,' assimilating all, "improving" 
beauty off the face of the earth. But I was out for a 
Vvalk, and so, arousing myself, I started down the Bay 
road. On either hand the land lay mostly fallow, and 
I looked in vain for a sign of life. The stillness was so 
intense that one could have imagined himseli hundreds 
of miles from New York. Only the occasional distant 
crowings of a cock or the faint rumble of a wagon was 
heard. Half-way down the road is a little stream, lined 
with reedy banks. Though desolate enough now, I re- 
called a day in the month of May two or three years 
ago when it was indeed a delightful spot. Having ridden 
out there on my bicycle, I dismounted and lay down to 
rest. The waters were purling over the stones, the reeds 
and grasses were springing up fresh and green, and the 
air was full of the subtle, intoxicating odors of spring. A 
robin, which had been piping amorously on a neighbor- 
ing tree, flew down and be.gan bathing his plumage, re- 
gardless of my presence. May flies glanced about, and 
a wandering bee every now and then flew past, his 
musical drone being audible for several seconds, so per- 
fect was the peace of the place. This stream may not 
be enchanted, but short of that it is the ideal one for the 
poet hereabouts, or, rather, I should have said, was, for 
alas, alack and well-a-day! what suppose you I observed 
during my recent walk? Why. that the modern villa- 
dwellers, the pioneers of civilization — save the mark- 
have begun to make' a dumping place of it. As my eyes 
fell on those tomato cans, broken bottles and what not 
I think I must have blushed; certainly I turned away 
with a feeling of indignation and disgust. 
Pursuing my walk, I passed one of the old Dutch 
homesteads, full of venerable interest, with its moss- 
grown roof over which some pigeons (doubtless de- 
scendants of a long line) flapped and cooed. In the yard 
was a flock of guinea fowl — a rare sight — clamoring for 
their supper, as I supposed. They seemed to be saying: 
"Five o'clock! five o'clock! five o'clock!" At a distance 
this fell on the ear almost exactly like the sound of a 
saw in action. I should mention that the Passer do- 
mesticus (that ubiquitous, aggressive little Britisher) 
abounded about the farmhouse. As I passed they were 
taking up their lodging for the night in some thick 
shrubbery by the roadside, making a tremendous chat- 
ter as they did so. Moved by a spirit of mischief, I 
threw a pebble among them, when they arose in such 
