Jan. it, igotj 
FOREST AND STREAM 
4 3 
fir, and some of the scratches on the tree were nearly 
10 feet from the ground. 
A word about the Wow-down: A few years ago a 
hurricane swept over that section of Maine designated 
on the map as '% Range 7." From a point near the 
east side of the East Branch of the Penobscot River, near 
Deer Island, five miles above Grindstone Falls, to a 
point five miles directly east the hurricane cut a swath 
from three-quarters of a mile to a mile and a half wide. 
The great destruction wrought by the storm can only 
be realized by viewing the scene. But if you want to see 
it, my advice would be to charter a balloon. The main 
blow-down is fringed on either side by minor blow- 
downs, which are calculated to deceive the unwary 
hunter and lure him on to the greater hardship of the 
main jungle. Trees, large and small, are laid in great 
tangled masses, and interwoven with them are saplings 
and second growth poplars and birches, and an under- 
growth of briers and vines. Here all the game, large 
and small, that inhabit the Maine woods, are to be 
found, but don't go there hunting for them. 
Frank E. Wolfe. 
Game and Hunting in Merry 
England. 
It is yet early spring, but here in Taunton Vale, in 
the south of England, the hawthorn hedges, crowned with 
fragrant bloom, are white as banks of snow in sunshine. 
So closely are the branches interwoven that the song 
birds can" hardly find a nesting place among them, but 
yet from many a little opening come the twitterings of 
the babes in the nest, while high up in the cloudless sky 
the lark pours out his wondrous melody, and the gold- 
finch is singing blithely among the willows on the banks 
of Tone. The primrose and daisies nestle close against 
the hedge, and' cover all its base with color, filling the 
air with delicate perfume; and the buttercups are here, 
too, with their gleam of gold, and on the lower ground 
beside the water the Canterbury bells and the lilies of 
the valley. Here in this opening through the hedge the 
hares and rabbits go in and out from grain field to 
meadow*, and the fox's cub is now peeping out, but 
seeing me, draws back his pointed nose and ruas off 
to his burrow under the hill. Everywhere is melody 
and perfume — the air vibrates with bird songs, and the 
green fields are dotted over with grazing sheep. Down 
yonder by the brook, where the trout are leaping from 
the water after the cloud of many-colored flies that 
hover it, a pathway leads on to the little wayside inn, 
where I have spent many happy evenings listening to 
the keeper's tales of midnight adventures with poachers 
on the great preserves. On the stile that crosses the 
hedge, under the shade of the great elms, sit two lovers 
— he is only a shepherd lad and she a dairy maid, but 
both seem quite as happy as any lord and lady in all 
the realm of merry England; and why should they not 
be? Do wealth and titles bring happiness, or coronets 
heal broken hearts? No, verily; it is youth and We 
and ruddy health, with all our dreams of future pleasures 
yet before us in their unclouded beauty — they may all 
pass away like the glories of the morning, and disap- 
pointment darken all the years to come, but the shep- 
herd lad on the stile beside his sweetheart is happier 
than a king. There is a loud whirr of wings in the air 
above me; it is only the flight of a golden pheasant from 
the open fields, where he has been feeding, to the great 
fir w r oods of the game preserve. But here in this hazel 
thicket is a dead hare, caught in a gin, and yonder, 
under the hedge, among the ferns, I caught a glimpse 
a moment ago of the brown velvet of a game-keeper's 
sleeve. He is watching for the poacher to come to get 
the hare. I pass on down the hedge, book in hand, and 
he takes no notice; he knows me well, and has told me 
many a story of gipsy poachers, over a bottle of ale, at 
the wayside inn. But yonder comes a great, slouching, 
ragged ruffian, peering uneasily from side to side. He 
cannot see me, for I have stepped behind a gonse bush 
all ablaze with golden bloom. He creeps on slowly 
toward the gin; now he seas the dead hare in the trap 
and seizes it, and the under-keeper, gun in hand, bounds 
from his hiding place, and the culprit, cowed and unre- 
sisting, is led away to stand his trial before the 'squire 
and then serve out the sentence that is sure to follow in 
the county jail. 
* * * * * * * * 
No other country in the world possesses game birds 
and animals of the chase in such abundance as England. 
Stags, fallow deer, otters, foxes, hares and rabbits abound 
everywhere, and, notwithstanding the fact that they have 
been hunted for a thousand years and more, so carefully 
have they been protected by the sporting gentry that 
their numbers appear to increase rather than to become 
diminished. Fine packs of stag, otter, fox and beagle 
hounds are kept in every county, not to mention harriers, 
pointers, setters, spaniels, greyhounds, and the many 
different breeds of terriers, and other, hunting dogs. 
Legislative protection, together with the systematic and 
scientific methods employed in the rearing and preserva- 
tion of game, have always kept England well supplied 
with game birds and animals of the chase, which the 
aristocratic sportsman loves to shoot in the coverts, ©r 
follow on spirited hunter over meadow and moorland, 
leaping gates, hedges, dykes and streams with a reckless 
disregard of danger that would amaze the rough riders 
of the West. And the ladies, too, join in the mad race 
with equal zest and courage, and at the inspiring cry 
of "Tally-ho!" or "Hark away!" urge on their hunters 
over every thing that bars the way, and are quite often 
the first in at the death. It takes fifty-two hounds to 
make a pack in England. Then, top, the great preserves 
are filled with pheasants, grouse and woodcock, upon 
which the noble sportsmen love to turn their guns 
during the shooting season. The guns are loaded and 
handed to them by the keepers, and are fired so rapidly 
that the preserve is soon filled with dead and dying 
"birds. These are all collected by the keepers, and those 
not intended for the master's table or as presents for his 
friends, are distributed among his tenantry. 
The Ground Game Act provides that the tenant far- 
mer shall be entitled to all the hares and rabbits found 
on the farm; but the landlord generally informs him 
that he must either let them alone or give up the land. 
The right to carry a gun in England costs a man a half 
pound, and to kill game with it adds four pounds more. 
The game-keepers are true and trusty, and perfectly 
familiar with the haunts and habits of every wild animal 
on the preserves. They know where the she fox has her 
burrow, and the pheasant her nest, and they wage un- 
ceasing war against all crows and magpies, which eat 
the eggs, and weasels, stoats and polecats, which de- 
stroy the young of hares, rabbits and all game birds. 
Owls, too, are fond of all the young things under the 
keeper's care; and he sets steel traps on the tops of poles, 
where these birds of the darkness are almost sure to 
alight, and as the trap is of circular form, and covers 
over the top of the post, it is not noticed, and many 
are taken in this way and nailed up with other depre- 
dators in the keeper's museum. The domestic cat is 
an incorrigible poacher, and is shot by the keepers when- 
ever found trespassing on the preserves. Foxes also 
destroy a great deal of game; but their depredations must 
be endured with patience, as they are far too valuable 
to the gentlemen of the hunt, to be in any way molested, 
and they are indeed always most carefully protected by 
the game-keeper and his assistants. 
If the poultry of the tenant farmer is carried off by 
foxes, it is always paid for by the members of the hunt. 
The pheasant is the most beautiful and highly prized of 
all the game birds of Great Britain; was originally a 
native of the banks of the River Phasis, in Asia Minor, 
was brought to Europe by the Greeks, and introduced 
into England by the Romans; and though countless gen- 
erations of these splendid birds have been bred in avia- 
ries, they have never been domesticated, and if given 
a chance of liberty gladly fly away to the woods and 
coverts. The hen pheasant is a poor mother, and rarely 
rears a fair-sized brood from the fifteen or eighteen eggs 
she lays in April. These are of a uniform olive-brown 
color, and nearly spherical in shape. Any one finding 
a pheasant's nest and reporting it to the keeper re- 
ceives from him a shilling; and all the eggs that are 
fcund are hatched under domestic hens of some of the 
smaller breeds; and for this purpose all the broody ones 
that can be had among the neighboring farmers are 
brought up and kept in aviaries, ready to be set on 
pheasants' eggs. The hens are set in coops in the open 
fields, little walks being always left between the rows, 
and branches of yew and fir trees spread around them on 
the ground, for the young birds to shelter under. 
These are fed on rabbit meat, boiled with eggs, and 
meal, and when weaned are almost tamed, but soon be- 
come quite wild and fly away to the preserves and 
coverts. Sometimes pure white pheasants are seen, and 
are remarkably beautiful birds; but no effort has ever 
been made, I believe, to breed them true to color. The 
largest pheasantry in the world is the property of King 
Edward VII. at Sandringham, where from 500 to 600 
hens are kept in the most perfect and costly aviaries ever 
built in any country. 
Pheasants roost at night in trees, and crow not unlike 
the 'young male chicken. They fly with great rapidity, 
but cannot prolong their flight to any great distance; 
and while many may be lost to the lord of the manor 
by flying away to some neighboring preserve, he will 
probably gain as many in return from other owners. The 
gipsies that wander everwhere up and down the green 
secluded lanes of England, are the most inveterate poach- 
ers in the kingdom. They are quite as well skilled in 
woodcraft and forest lore as the most experienced and 
observing keeper, and are successful, bold and cunning. 
They can closely imitate the cry of any animal, and are 
experts in the making of traps and the*setting of wires; 
they know how to coyer a hedgehog over with clay and 
thus escape annoyance from his spines, and then bake 
him in an oven on the hot coals of their camp-fires. 
When out at night on poaching expeditions they are gen- 
erally accompanied- by lurchers — cross-bred dogs re- 
sembling a mongrel greyhound, having pricked ears, a 
shaggy coat and usually of a yellowish white color. They 
are very fleet and always hunt in silence; they are thor- 
oughly trained, will immediately conceal themselves on 
the approach of a stranger, and are excellent retrievers, 
carrying every hare and rabbit they may catch to their 
master, and laying it down at his feet. Rabbits are 
caught by poachers by spreading nets before their bur- 
rows, then the lurchers are sent out to drive them in; 
many becoming entangled in the meshes of the net are 
taken before they can extricate themselves and escape. 
Hares are frequently captured in the same way, only 
the nets are then stretched before the gates and gaps in 
the hedges, and as a hare will weigh from 10 to 14 
pounds, and is of excellent flavor, it is more sought 
after by poachers than any other animal on the preserves. 
These trespassers when out on their raids at night keep 
out scouts and sentinels, to watch the keepers^ and give 
warning of their approach. The danger signal— always 
agreed upon among themselves before setting out — may 
be the closely imitated cry of some night bird, the bark- 
ing of a fox or the bleating of a lamb. When discov- 
ered by the keepers, and unable to escape by flight, they 
try to conceal themselves behind hedges, at the bottom 
of ditches, or among the thick foliage of some evergreen 
tree. Sometimes, however, desperate battles are fought, 
and they are either killed or kill the keepers. 
******** 
I was sitting in the little parlor of the wayside inn 
one evening, talking to John Hunter, head keeper to 
Lord Talbot, of Castle Tone, County Somerset. "And 
so you are going over seas to teach in America," he 
said. "Well, I am sorry that we are to lose you here. I 
heard his lordship say after he came back from the 
grand tour, 'That a man may travel far before he sees a 
finer bit of old earth's crust than Taunton Vale.' " 
"And he was quite right, Hunter," I replied. "I do not 
expect to find a finer; but wages are better there than 
here; so I have decided to sail next week and try my 
luck in the Great Republic. But before we part, tell me 
another of your adventures with the poachers." 
"Well, Master James," he answered," I have told you 
about all, I believe, that would interest you, unless it were 
about how I came to get my wife." 
"Tell me it, by all means, Hunter," I exclaimed, eagerly, 
for he was better educated than most of his class in 
England, and told a story well. 
"I was only an under-keeper then," he continued, "and 
was having a deal of trouble with the poachers. Many 
soldiers from the Vale had served their time in India, and 
other foreign lands, and came home again — some as noble 
fellows as ever followed the fife and drum to battle, and 
others reckless, idle and dissipated. Some of them 
married, but would not work, and trespassed on my lord's 
preserves, and kept all us keepers busy every night. One 
we killed, and several were captured, and we were be- 
ginning to hope that the worst of it was over. A poor 
widow, whose husband was killed in the Zulu war, where 
the Prince of France lost his life, was living on the 
estate, and her daughter Mary was a splendid girl, and I 
was in love with her, but she was shy, and I could never 
meet her where we two could be alone together — just 
seemed to always keep out of my way, you see. Well, 
one night I was out on the preserve down by the brook, 
sir, at the eastern border, when I heard a game cock 
crow not far away. You know, I believe, Master James, 
that the male pheasant is a most pugnacious bird, and 
always ready for a battle, night or day; so the poachers 
take a fighting cock with them sometimes, and when he 
crows the pheasant will answer him and fly down from 
his roost, and as he is no match for the cock, armed as he 
always is on these forages with sharp steei gaffs; he is 
soon killed and slipped into the poacher's bag. Well, I 
had been creeping silently all the time toward the spot, 
and presently I heard the cock crow again. 'Curse you,' 
I was thinking to myself, 'if 1 don't wring your neck 
and march your thieving master off to Castle Tone be- 
fore you are much older my name is not John Hunter. 
Strange it is,' I mused, that such rubbish come safely 
home from war, while their betters fall in battle/ Just 
then, sir, I peeped out through the bushes, which con- 
cealed me, and as the young moon was shining faintly 
through the hazy clouds, and there were a few stars in 
the sky, I could make out objects quite distinctly some 
distance from me, and now what do you suppose I saw?" 
"A worthless soldier home from wars he never fought 
in, John, or a vagabond gipsy poacher," I answered. 
"No, Master James," he replied, "it was my sweet- 
heart, Mary, the widow's daughter, standing there with 
the gamecock on her hand! In a moment I was at her 
side. She did not scream or try to run away; only stood 
there weeping. 'Now, my lass,' I said, laughing, 'you go 
with me either to the parson or the 'squire — make your 
choice.' But she only wept the more and begged me not 
to tell his lordship; said her mother was very sick and 
could eat nothing in the house, and that she had bor- 
rowed the gamecock, and was trying to get a pheasant 
for her. Well, I took her home, and before we got there 
we were promised to each other, and next morning I 
told his lordship all about it, except that I wanted to 
marry the lass. It was just at the beginning of the 
shooting season, and the castle was filled with guests, and 
my lord was a little flushed with wine. 'You are an 
honest fellow, Hunter,' he said, 'and 'tis a d — m shame 
that the poor woman should be sick and in want, for 
her husband died for old England. Well, we will see 
what can be done,' and he walked away to join a party 
of noblemen who were going down to the stables to see 
the horses. Well, directly I heard shouts of laughter, 
and the master saying, 'By Jove, Lord George! that's 
just the thing,' and then he called me to them. 'Hunter,' 
he said, 'you will go to the butler, and tell him from 
me to have a hamper filled with food, with half a dozen 
bottles of wine, sent with my compliments, to the widow 
Wilson. Then go there yourself and say that Dr. Will- 
iams will call this evening, and tell that little poacher that 
I must see her immediately.' Well, Master James, I 
went away wondering to myself what it all meant. Mary 
was badly frightened when I told her what his lordship's 
orders were, and began to cry, but her mother com- 
forted her, and bade her go and see what the master's 
pleasure was. Well, when we came near the castle a 
great group of noblemen came down to meet us and 
escorted us into the great dinirfg hall. Then his lord- 
ship arose and said, 'My lords and gentlemen, I want 
your opinions on matters of grave import. Here before 
you is one of my serving maids that was taken on my 
preserve at midnight with a gamecock on her hand try- 
ing to lure my pheasants to their deaths; and here is one 
of my under keepers that has been neglecting his duties, 
and instead of capturing poachers, as in honor bound, 
has been guarding them safely home; and is it for the 
glory of old England that young men and maidens 
should wander together about the fields and forests at the - 
solemn midnight hour?' 'No! by Jupiter Amraonf cried 
young Lord George Fenwick, springing to his feet. 
'Such things are not to be tolerated, unless we want to 
bring the fain fabric of our empire in ruins upon our 
heads. I can see no way out of this sea of trouble ex- 
cept the culprits marry, and I will give £5 to help start 
them housekeeping. What say you all, my lords, and 
gentlemen?' 'There is n© other way, Lord George,' 
they said, 'and we each give £5 as a 'wedding present.' 
'Well, the matter is settled then, and the marriage cere- 
mony will be celebrated in this hall at precisely 8 o'clock/ 
said Lord Talbot; and so it was, Master James, with 
great festivities." James M. McCann. 
The Juicy Season. 
De rabbit ran 
From the white man gun, 
(.Come down on dat triggerl) 
De possum say, 
"I gone terday — 
I mus' hide out f'um dat nigger I" 
Fer hit's good times now in Georgy, 
In de country en de town; 
'Taters in de ashes, 
En possum bakin' brown t 
De turkey say: 
"Who come ray way, 
En knock at the henhouse do'? 
I mus' roos' ez high 
Ez the big blue sky, 
Or de nigger got me sho'I" 
Fer hit's good times now in Georgy, 
In de country en de town; 
Take yo' place en say yo' grace, 
Fer de turkey gettin' brown! 
—Atlanta Constitution. 
