see 
which he found dead there, and threw. down to me. There 
were other favorite shooting grounds across the river, in 
Vermont, but they have nearly all been cleared now, and 
r.heir green coverings converted into furniture — cup- 
boards and matches. 
But I am getting garrulous, and will close with the 
memory of one more shoot, which is more distinct, as 
it was a short one. About a mile from the village, in' a 
a bee line, a rocky knoll of a dozen acres or so rises 
abruptly from the side or the highway, with a narrow 
strip of grassy pasture between. There is a cold spring 
under a rock, by the wayside, shaded by butternut trees, 
and the side of the knoll next the road is steep and 
grassy, with rocks and trees scattered over it, with 
stunted oaks on top, and sloping away more gently on 
the other side to a broad fringe of old pines and hem- 
Tocks around the base. 
Starting one morning at daylight, I entered the pas- 
ture at the spring, and was soon climbing the slope. I 
had not gone very far when a sqiiirrel started to run 
across a bit of a gully in front of me on a fallen tree, but 
stopped to look around, and was soon in my pocket. 
Half way up the hill T found another one scampering 
across the grass, and he followed the first one. Reach- 
ing the top, I dropped one from the top of an oak, but 
did not kill him, and he got into the hollow butt of the 
tree; laying down my gun, I found a dead branch for a 
club, and soon had a smudge of leaves and twigs burn- 
ing in the hollow, into which he quickly dropped, and 
was secured, somewhat singed, by a blow of the club. 
Waiting a little while, till all was quiet, I went down 
the knoll by another path, and bagged a fourth one, from 
the top of a tall oak, where he was breakfasting, and, on 
reaching the pasture level, struck a path round the knoll, 
by which I started for home; but I had not gone far, be- 
fore a fifth squirrel came down from the top through 
some young white birches, on his way from breakfast to 
his home in the pines, and he was soon added to the 
contents of my pockets, and I reached home to a late 
breakfast, with the material for a- squirrel pie for the next 
day's dinner, very quickly and easily secured. 
The skins of that autumn's shooting made ray mother 
a winter cape and muff. Von W. 
The Changing Years. 
Tempora mutantur et nos mutamur in illis. 
How many of the readers of this paper, now in middle 
life, can look back thirty or forty years ago, raise up 
their hands and honestly affirm that they never shot a 
blackbird, a robin or a flicker, alias claep and highholder: 
For one, I plead guilty. I may to-day watch the robms on 
my lawn and admire the undulating flight of the flicker 
among the oaks, and wonder to myself how, as a boy, I 
could have done it, yet I certainly did do it, and I confess 
to taking very keen eniojmient in the sport, if I can so 
term it. Long Island was not in those days a goodly 
part of Greater New York. The trolley car was m the 
distance, and what are now thriving streets were then 
country lanes, along which the robins found shelter, as the 
winter blasts approached, in the warm cedars. 
I must plead guilty to ensconcing myself under the 
ipepperidge or dogwood trees and, with my single gun, 
bringing many a robin redbreast to bag. How often have 
I lain along a recently cut oat field, and, awaitmg the 
coming of the flocking blackbirds, got one shot into them 
upon the stubble, and another as they arose. 
And as to the flickers, they were the big game of the 
boy hunter, a robin or a blackbird counting small as com- 
pared with a highholder. They made a great mark on 
the wing, but were preferably shot at when perched upon 
the apex of some blasted tree. I have even naded long 
bean poles to the topmost branches of an oak and been 
repaid for my trouble by having its tempting prominence 
well patronized by the flickers in their flight south. There 
were always two or three days in October when the flight 
was on, when the birds were plentiful, and after which 
but a stray laggard could be picked up here and there. 
I certainly to-day would think this kind of shooting 
out of place, because it is against the law. and the birds 
in question are not certainly game birds in any sense of 
the word. For these same reasons I should lay strong 
injunctions upon my boy against harming a robin or a 
flicker, although, if my boy killed it, he could with great 
truth say, "Why, when you were a boy you shot them 
by the hundred." 
I plead guilty to spending, even to-day, a few moments 
when passing, watching the robins feeding in the mountain 
ash trees along the street, and thinking how, as a boy, I 
would creep up within gun shot and lay them low, doing 
my best to get two or. three into line. 
All very wrong as I look at things now, but as a boy I 
simply commenced on such "game." At nightfall, when 
I returned home with my pockets bulging with flickers, I 
was as proud as a man with a score of partridge or wood- 
cock would be to-day. 
But the days of the .single-barrel gun passed, and then 
came the double gun, and then the hunting of woodcock 
from July 4 on — when they allowed summer woodcock 
shooting— and English snipe and quail, and partridge in 
the fall, and although the shooting of robins and high- 
holders was not against the law, they ceased to be game 
to me any more. 
But before that time I confess to have hunted them 
from dawn to dark, and never thought of them being 
anything but legitimate game. I not only shot them, but 
I confess to enjoying the potpies that were made with 
them. It was a case of four and twenty black (and other) 
birds baked in a pie. And while I am about it, I must 
confess to slaying innumerable cherry pickers, commonly 
so called, alias waxwings or yellowtails. In September 
they flocked and patronized the wild cherry trees in dense 
flocks, into which charges of No. 10 shot made great 
gaps. These birds were as fat as butter, and much about 
the size of a small sand snipe. I see a_ few of these same 
birds to-day feeding upon the mountain ash berries, and 
as I watch their movements close by, for they are quite 
tame, I look back and wonder how and why I did it. 
But the fact stands that I did do it, and that I enjoyed my- 
self in so doing, much as I would to-day in knocking three 
or four teal or mallards out of a swiftly passing flock. 
Certainly times have changed, and we have changed 
with them. Charles Cristadoro. 
FOHEST AND STREAM. 
When Hazels Hum to Rttsset Brown. 
When hazels turn to russet' bfo'sWi, 
And hick'ries lose their hoarded gold. 
When autumn leaves in shining sliowci,') 
Are falling from the maples old; 
When through the valley's purple haze 
The silver birches softly shine, 
And over gray and mossy rocks 
The woodbine pours its crirason wine; 
When, like the burning bu.'ih of oh\, 
The sumac iiames along the glen, 
And autjUmn weaves her cloth of gold 
By reedy stream and- lonely ten; 
'Tis then that fancy stirs the heart 
With memories of other days, 
When boyhood strolled with dog and gun 
Along the sunny woodland ways. 
1 see once more the ancient oaks 
Where pigeons sat in lines of blue; 
The tangled thicket where, at dusk, 
The p.irtridge beat his soft tattoo. 
'I'he old rail fences, half obscured. 
With bramble vines and hitler .sweet, 
Where in the morning piped the quail 
And rabbits found a safe retreat. 
I see again the reedy lakes. 
Where in the fall ihe mallards came 
To feed upon the yellow rice 
While sunset turned the pools to flame. 
Once more, as in the olden days, 
i .see the glo.ssy cliestnuts fall. 
While up among the golden leaves, 
I hear the sqinrrei"5 noisy call. 
Oh, for ,1 day amid those woods. 
With my old muzzle-loading gun 
And hunting dog of various breed.'; — 
I tell you thafs the kind of funl 
Who would not give his sordid gain. 
With all the weary care and strife, 
To feel once more that ecstacy. 
Which thrilled his boyhood's glorious life? 
Henry J. Sawe. 
The Wilds of Maine. 
The wild region west of Cangomgomoc, and north of 
Baker Lake, holds many Jarge moose. . None but the 
hardiest of sportsmen dare invade this vast solitude, and 
precious tew of them ever see Baker Lake or Chinquas- 
sabamtook. This beautiful lake, nine miles in length, 
lies far west of Churchill. The smoke of the hunter's 
campfire is seldom seen ascending from its shores. From 
morn to iwiligbt no sound disturbs the silence of the 
woods, save the plaintive call of the cow moose, or the 
weird laugh of the .\oon. At rare intervals the report of 
a rifle is h'eaM, borne faintly on the breeze. The owner 
of the piece seldom appears on the shore of the lake, un- 
less he is a hardy hunter or trapper. Since the Johnson 
party passed through this region, about 1896, there is 
no record of any one following in their footsteps. They 
probably came across from Russell Pond, the source of 
Russell Brook, that empties into Eagle Lake. The 
writer has camped near the mouth of the brook, and has 
been part way up it in pursuit of the speckled. Any 
party that attempts to reach the headwaters can be as- 
sured of having a rocky time of it. There is no good 
tracking snow in the northwest before November — the 
best month lor the moose, and about the worst for the 
sportsman. The prospect of getting starved out, or 
frozen in, confronts a party like grim specters. None 
but the toughest of sportsmen can live on venison alone 
any length of time, and do much hunting. Getting fro- 
zen in demands prompt action on the part of the guides 
and party. If the flour is getting low, a move must be 
made at once. The canoes are almost useless, except on 
open water, as dragging them through broken ice will 
ruin them. There is no cause to worry if there is a-sroad 
or trail to carry out on, but such luxuries are rather 
scarce in the Bamtook country. There is an old portage 
road that comes in near the foot of the lake, and trends 
north; it is probably an old-time relic; in that case it is 
choked up with fallen timber. The" forest growth has 
almost completeb^ obliterated the traces of ancient lum- 
bering days. There are no camps of any description in 
the countr3'-; if there ever were any they have disappeared 
long ago and crtimbled to dust. At the present day all 
the lumbering that i.s done west and north of Allegash 
Lake is carried on mostly by beavers. The marks of 
the trapper are often found in the wildest part of the 
woods. They came into this wilderness long before the 
old-time lumberman "or sportsman gave it a thought. 
Singly, or in couples, they have penetrated to every sec- 
tion of the forest where fur abounds. An almost Arctic 
winter shuts them in from the outside world, and, save 
for an occasional trip to some far-away lumber camp, to 
exchange venison for flour or pork, they see no human 
life for" months at a stretch. They make the best of 
guides, as they know the secret of every hidden pond 
and bog. 
To illustrate the light and .shade of forest life, let us 
accompany an adventurous party of sportsmen in their 
efforts to get in closer touch with nature and moose. 
Low water is the greatest obstacle they will have to con- 
tend with, and, in rarely visited sections of the woods, the 
streams are choked with fallen" trees and other obstruc- 
tions. Cutting a narrow passage for the canoes, getting 
down into the brook and clearing it of rocks, heaving 
aside huge boulders, and frequently being obliged to dig 
out a channel with the paddles, makes hard and exhaust- 
ing work for the guides. Nightfall often finds them with 
only a few miles to their credit. At dawn the attack \s 
renewed, with varving success. Sometimes they are 
obliged to leave the stream and cut a passage for the 
canoes through the tangled forest, or else traverse some 
treacherous bog that threatens to engidf the heavy weights 
of the party. This is varied by forcing the canoes 
through alrnost liquid m.ud, until not another inch can 
be gained, then landing the party on convenient tus- 
iOct. s, 1901. [ 
socks, and r eachitig th«£. timber by using the canoes as ' 
a movable bridge. Soiiietimes this plan will not work. : 
In that case they will have to- back out of the pocket ' 
and take to the woods. Their gritty attacks on the forces 
of Nature finally bring them within sight of the promised 
land, some lonely pond where the moose and deer have 
found a refuge for years from the sportsman's rifle. The 
piercing cold of November has no terrors for this hardy 
band as they track the antlered monarch to his death. 
Every day is a Inmter's feast in more senses than one. 
They are boys again, and revel in an atmosphere of trout, 
venison and song, until they have gathered in their full 
quota of moose. The end comes all too soon. The nights 
are getting colder. Ice of ominous thickness forms in ' 
the camp pail over night; the warning voices o-f winter, 
and the guides, bid them depart before they are frozen 
in. Regretfully they take the hint, and, promising to 
come again another season and renew their forest joys, , 
they fight their way out to camps and civilization. 
Sportsmen of that class worked in ahead of the crowd 
in Northeast Maine and got the cream of the moose 
hunting long before the railroad came; they are right' 
at home in the northwest wilderness. Such men can ! 
Intnt and thrive on what chance supplies; they can glean 
from the ponds atid forests long after the last flipper has 
disappeared. They will not be driven out by cold or 
hunger so long as there is a reasonable chance to secure 
the coveted trophy, 1 
Hidden away in the dim recesses of the forest are many 
)ly places, that are known only to the elect. Wadleigh, 
Desolation, Mud and Crescent Ponds are right in the 
heart of the moose country. Mud Pond is a dreary ex- 
panse of shoal water and bog. In contrast. Crescent 
and Johnson Ponds are beautiful gems of the woods in, 
their magnificent setting of hardwood and spruce. All of; 
them are difficult of access, and are seldom visited, ex- 
cept by the wandering trapper. The region to the south- 
west is much better known than the Bamtook country. 
The lumberman's axe rang through the wilderness 
around St. John's Pond and Baker Lake long ago, sound- 
ing the death knell of the giant spruce and pine. A vig-' 
orous, hardwood growth has now taken the place of the 
old-time forest. 
Baker Lake is situated in the wildest and most inac- 
cessible part of the woods. Surrounded by almost im-j 
penetrable forests and bogs, this home of the moose and 
deer is well guarded from outside intrusion, as it is^ 
almost impossible to get a canoe in at low water. There^ 
is an old trappers' line, or carry, that runs to tlie lake 
from Avery Pond, near Cangomgomoc; no one seems to 
make any use of it, .so any party that attempts to work 
in here will probably have to hack their way through a 
tangled forest, with the chances against them. When 
moose hunting is at its best the approaches to Baker 
Lake are apt to be at their worst; sometimes the dead 
water freezes up before the snow comes. A sportsmani 
and his guides were trapped in this manner in the fall 
of 1899, but not before he had bro.ught down a fine bull 
moose on Baker stream with his Savage. The North: 
Branch is a terror at low water. The stream is full of 
gravel bars, large boulders, and other things too numer- 
ous to mention. Lugging and dragging are the order; 
of the day; a process ruinous to the canoes and the tem- 
pers of the guide?. It is about twenty miles up the Branch; 
to Abacotnetic Bog: if the water is low nearly the whole 
of this distance must be waded. The prospect is enough; 
to cause all but the hardiest to wilt. From Abacotnetic 
Bog sportsmen can get to the lake by way of Baker 
Brook and Bog; a much longer route is to float down 
the outlet of St. John's Pond. At low water it is a choice 
of two evils, with the odds in favor of the Bog route.. 
A hard rain smooths most of the rough places, and 
sends the .sport.«man on his way rejoicing. 
None but the hardy moose hunter can enjoy life in this 
vast solitude, with its accompaniments of ice, sleet, and; 
bitter cold. The sportsman must have the endurance off 
a Leather Stocking to follow the telltale tracks in the 
snow all day and camp on the trail at night with the 
temperature close to zero. On such a night some reck- 
less hunte.'-s will keep up a racket of chopping and sing- 
ing, early in the evening, and have an enormous camp- 
fire going all night, utterly regardless of the close prox- 
imity of the wary game. Not so, the knowing hunter 
and his guide. In some protected place they start a 
small fire, pittting on a few sticks at a time. Indian fash- 
ion, gathering what chance offers, and doing little or' 
no chopping. They take turns watching the fire, and ; 
manage to doze a little; but the intense cold and sting- 
ing smoke make sleep a mockery. They hail with de- 
light the first faint streaks of dawn that light up the for- 
est. A hearty meal of venison and flippers, with a scald- 
ing dipper of coffee, braces them up wonderfully. They 
take up the iracks as soon as it is fight enough, and fol-= 
low them to wha* i.^ often a bitter end for the sportsman. 
No matter how diarp the hunter plays his points he can- 
not always ward ofl' misfortune. If the bull is standing 
ir black growth, it will require the keen eyes of a woods- 
man to pick him out. Saplings deflect the bullet; and, oh! 
how exasperating it is to catch sight of the wily rogue 
bounding over fallen timber, with an up and down move- 
ment that defies all your calculations. You may plant 
your soft nose close to a vital spot, and yet fail to bring 
him dow-n; lie may drift far back into the woods to die 
in some inaccessible swamp or bog. If there is no track- 
•ng snow the chances of gettine, him are uncertain, im- 
less you have the best of Indian guides. But, oh! what 
fierce delisrht to see the forest king, at the spiteful crack 
of smokeless, fall, to rise no more. All the hardships and! 
disappointments are forgotten in the joy of the supreme 
moment. The wind often plays havoc with the calcu- 
lations of the sportsman and his guide. The hunter may 
imagine he is approaching the wary game up against the 
breeze, when, iii reality, the bull has changed his course 
and is lying up to one side of the trail. The conditions' 
are now reversed ; he either catches sight of his pursuers, 
imobserved. or, what amounts to the same thing, gets 
their scent, as soon as they work up above him. A| 
crash in the undergrowth may armounce his departure, or. 
idse he may silently steal away at a gait that laughs at 
pursuit: Inerefore. keep a sharp lookout on both sides 
of the trail, as well as ahead, unless you want to have, 
r^oniething to worry over during the long winter even- 
ings. Such are the lights and shadows of a hunter's life 
Some heavy-weight sportsmen and guides cannot travel^ 
