FOREST AND STREAM 
[Sept. 20, 1902. 
tackle the hunter who had approached him after dropping 
his gun. 
The boy was attentive and drank in the lessons preached 
to him. For a boy his improvement throughout the day 
was marked. Suffice it to say that we with no indifferent 
appetites enjoyed our noonday meal in a gully by a spring 
imder the spreading shade of a cottonwood. During the 
heat of the day we rested, and the boys talked and ex- 
changed farm and city lore and became fast friends. 
The country boy shot with my boy's gun a part of the 
afternoon, and my boy held the horses. And so the day 
was spent, and when that boy rolled into the sleeper at 
night on his return to town, he certainly was a tired, 
flushed, but happy boy, and there was no prouder boy in 
town than he as he paraded his own particular bunch of 
birds shot with his own gun up the street for the ad- 
miration of the other boys who did not go. 
Charles Cristadoro. 
St. Paul, Sept. 11. 
The Songf of the Sea GtjII. 
Fly high, fly low, as swift we go 
Above the billows crest with snow ; 
With tireless wing we onward swing, 
To seek the food the waters bring ; 
For One above our needs will know. 
Through summer's airs so soft, so slow; 
Through autumn's blasts and tornado. 
We, circling still, on sweeping wing 
Fly high, fly low. 
Through the fierce storms that winters bring, 
When from the north the wild gales sing, 
Above the ice and through the snow 
With dauntless breasts we face the blow. 
Or, sweeping on the tempest's wing. 
Fly high, fly low. 
J. H. Fisher. 
Taking Your Boy Hunting. 
The boy had been promised a day with the prairie 
chickens, and the various stages of preparation and an- 
ticipation had been passed through, and we were at last in 
a hunting wagon, slowly trott.'ng over the wind-swept 
stubble and prairie as the dogs ranged ahead hunting 
for birds. 
Surely anticipations are rarely realized," as far as that 
boy was concerned it would have been an impossibility. 
The first thing in the morning and the last thing at 
right did his i6-gauge gun come in for an inspection only 
such as a captain at West Point would give the arms of 
his company. And before the gun went back in its case 
the oiled rag was each time carefullj' applied to barrels 
and stock. 
At odd. times dnrintr *hp rlovr tino frun would be taken 
practicing would be 
;he gun quickly to 
1 the air and bowled 
)r cap being thrown 
rule confined to the 
i. used. 
I arrived when we 
-n road, seemed to 
ie chickens, and the 
irie chicken and its 
s he, was tucked in 
now if it would not 
lis to bed with him 
them from imder- 
at our station, but 
us by, the boy was 
hight as well have 
on on a Fourth of 
t on that boy sleep- 
village station there 
D-seated rig with a 
lorses awaiting our 
ee square miles of 
raising, and as he 
fired to his knowl- 
of which had been 
1 to bring his birds 
birds, because they 
d into the rig and 
dirt prairie roads 
ith wide open eyes 
and no' doubt pic- 
■ prairie grass alive 
gh with its crop of 
of mallards as the 
;u from their morn- 
f water and a rush 
w frantically grabs 
; swiftly ascending 
them !" But with 
ire soon well down 
, er feeding ground, 
,11 their breakfast. 
ir putting a scarlet 
.g a ruddy glow to 
it in his ecstacy of 
the road gives up, 
'o of corkscrewing 
ipe, scape" only to 
;gain not fifty feet 
; full of questions, 
the acres of wheat 
he wire fence and 
a conspicuous sign 
ihingle, "No shoot- 
as no meaning for 
^vith wheat stubble 
•i and barns straight- 
; t in the stubble we 
|oving through the 
as they are pointed 
it kind of chickens, 
■'Those are prairie 
limits were taken 
but as the wind is 
gs catch the scent 
I ion, but a touch of 
them obey under 
bad as the dogs, 
us shoot now and 
e breakfast and let 
DO, like the dogs, is 
restrained, his protests keeping pace with the impatient 
whining of the dogs. "Just see them. Golly, there must 
be fifty of them ! What big fellows they are ! See them 
run ! There they go ; now see the chance we lost I" as 
the birds take wing and go sailing on curved pinions 
toward the prairie grass cover. The boy is worried, 
perceptibly so, equally so with the dogs that also saw the 
birds flush and away, but our good farmer mentor tells 
the boy that he knows just where those birds went, and 
right after breakfast we will walk right to the exact 
spot, unless we meet another covey or two on our way, 
and the dog will locate them at once. And the boy won- 
ders at this and quiets down. And here is the farm- 
house at last, and the first to greet us is the farmer's 
wife, who lifts the boy out and in doing so gives him a 
motherly hug and kiss and carries him right into the 
kitchen and sets him by the warm stove that supports its 
burden of sizzling ham and eggs and boiling coffee await- 
ing our coming. 
The farmer's boy, about the age of the other boy, comes 
in with his burden of milk, warm and foaming, from 
the pasture. An acquaintance is struck up at once and 
they are deep in the chicken question immediately, the 
farm boy telling where the coveys are and where they 
roost and how tame they are. and such other informa- 
tion as would prove of interest. 
The boy at the breakfast table has certainly heart for 
other things than food, and only under the stern com- 
inand of his parent and the mothering of the other boy's 
mother, and the good example of the other boy, who has 
been choring from daylight and eats as only a farmer's 
boy can, does he worry down his food. And the break- 
fast over we don our shooting coats, distribute a supply 
of shells, fill a goodly sized stone jug with water, and 
during all this time our good hostess is loading a basket 
with a lunch that a well-to-do farmer's wife knows only 
too well how to put up, while the farmer's hoy, who is to 
go with us. finishes up some work about the place. "All 
ready?" cries the farmer, and we jump in and off we trot 
straight across the stubble toward the promised swale of 
prairie land, where our birds of the morning pitched. 
The dogs are out now ranging to right and left, nosing 
tjie ground and running in geometric circles over the 
stubble. They are fresh and wild, but will soon steady 
down. Away we go, the sun now tempering the breeze, 
making it a pleasure to face the wind blowing in our 
faces. "Look out! No, nothing there now; that's where 
sotne birds were no doubt feeding this morning," as the 
dogs halt and for a moment make game. We are out 
of the stubble now and are now riding over the thick 
prairie grass and approaching the swale. The dogs 
some distance ahead of us have stopped still and are htig- 
ging the grass. They have scented the birds. We drive 
up and dismount. I put shells into my gun and taking 
the boy's gun go through the motions of loading it, but 
put empty shells into the barrels. The farmer has put 
shells into his gun and already stands behind his dogs. I 
keep close to my boy— in fact, a little behind him, so I 
can look over his gun barrels when he shoots. I know 
that the roar of the flushing birds will disconcert him, 
and he will pidl one trigger after another at the brown 
and white mass that leaps into the air. The birds are 
some distance yet ahead, the scent coming fresh and 
strong to the dogs down wind. 
Under persuasion they crawl stealthily along, their eyes 
aglow and their jaws dripping with saliva, every muscle 
tense and nerve quivering. The boy divides his attention 
between the dogs and the grass a little ahead of them. 
He is already at the highest pitch of excitement and 
trembles like an aspen. On and yet on the dogs crawl, 
and yet no birds, when with a roar the covey breaks 
cover and is in midair. The farmer, who knows a gun, 
quickly stops the two leaders, and the boy does as I 
anticipated, aims at "something brown" and pulls both 
triggers — and gets nothing — and I am fortunate in knock- 
ing over a single quartering bird that conies my way. 
The covey being leaderless, flies aimlessly along, and 
scattering'drops not a hundred yards away. The dogs re- 
trieve the three birds and the boy is yet suffering from 
his first attack of chicken ague. In his excitement he 
did not know that he actually .fired no shot. 
We jump into the rig and drive toward where we 
marlced down the birds, the dogs ranging a short distance 
ahead. And now comes the boy's lecture, to Avhich he 
patiently listens, chagrined at his miss, and after being 
told about the fallacy of trying to kill a whole flock in- 
stead of a single bird at a time, I explain to hirn how 
l-jis gun was really not loaded, but promise next time to 
let him load it himself. The boy naturally reasons that 
he might have gotten a bird if his gun had been loaded 
and becomes a little confident. 
The dogs are down again. Out we jump. The birds 
are scattered and scared, and will lie close. At most two 
at a time may flush, more likely one at a time, and they 
■ will have to be kicked out of the thick cover. The second 
dog is backing the leader— so we are shooting over the 
single dog. We agree to give the boy first shot. The 
dogs are urged on until they will go no further. The boy 
is told to step just ahead of the dog and kick the thick 
grass. He does so, and up flushes bird, all but brushing 
the boy's face with his wings, and the boy shoots, bang, 
bang, a j^ard behind each time, but before the bird is out 
of range he is neatly dropped by our host and marked 
down. 
The dogs are yet close upon the ground, for within a 
radius of fifty feet are perhaps the rest of the covey, un- 
less they have bunched and run. 
We go along cautiously and words of admonition are 
poured into the boy's ears, when up flushes another single 
bird and again the boy misses. He was prepared for 
the flush, so much, so as to shoot before the bird was 
three feet from the ground and expending both barrels 
upon his upward flight, shooting under each time. I 
"wiped" the boy's eye as the bird started straight away. 
The dogs were yet staunch and flat upon the grass. The 
rest of the birds were close at hand. More admonitions 
to the boy. We still kept liim close up to the dog. It was 
his day, and the opportunities must first be his. With a 
whirr a bird quartered off to the left, and the boy scored I 
With a whoop he dropped his gun and ran to retrieve 
his bird, flushing a chicken in his course. Well, he 
brought back his fluttering quarry and got a long lecture 
on such temerity, and an example was cited of what a 
wildcat would do if recovering after a shot he should 
Philosophy from the Shastas. 
Shasta Mountains, Cal., September. — Editor Forest 
and Stream: I have not interfered by interpolating for- 
eign substances into Forest and Stream lore for quite 
a while. I have, like a simple fellow immortalized by 
William Shakespeare, begun to look upon time with con- 
siderable indifference and, perhaps, with some contempt. 
■ He drew a dial from his poke, 
And looking on it, with lack-lustre eye, 
Said, very wisely: "It is ten o'clock; 
Thus we may see," quoth he, "how the woi^ld wags; 
'Tis but an hour ago since it was nine; » | 
And after one hour more 'twill be eleven; 
And so, from hour to hour we ripe and ripe, j 
And then, from hour to hour we rot and rot; ' ' 
And thereby hangs a tale." 
Not altogether a motley, miserable fool was he, but 
somewhat of a forester. Base is the slave who counts out 
the sands of his life in the click of wheels — the non- 
sense of a brass clock ! In timing his pace, his senti- 
ments and his physical and intellectual beiiig to schedules 
that mince the atoms of what we call time into motes and 
dust ! The great ones of the days in which we live have 
reached the summits — of what? If some of our most 
conspicttous specimens of human greatness have not 
achieved the tiltima thtde of slavery in the acquisitions 
most dear to our alleged civilization — why my head will 
bleed water like a watermelon if plugged. Tennyson 
sung. 
Better fifty years of Europe than a cycle of Cathay. 
But he had seen but little of Europe and not any of 
Cathay ; and his song is a fine specimen of pessimism, in 
its undertone; and Europe and Cathay are un-American 
anyhow you fix it. 
Civilization is a hard problem with decayed spots in it. 
If the people who see the most of it would vote, without 
stopping to argue and be coerced, the majority would 
.signify that they would rather go a-fishing than moralize 
about the more vital things of every-day occupation. 
Andrew Carnegie makes no mistake in putting the 
products of industry into libraries for the people who 
make it possible for him to be a benefactor. But I 
question, at my own expense, the advisability of his 
donating his tomes to contending cities. The people of 
cities have too much of everything, particularly in Anier- 
ica, and they have more newspapers than they have time 
to read between meals. Few metropolitans can read, 
really. If Mr. Carnegie would establish little temples to 
Minerva where they naturally belong, and where nature 
puts them, the pilgrims who sought them would be true 
disciples. One of enduring and spacious construction 
would fit in the. Yellowstone Park. Others would not 
interfere with the beauties of Western cornfields. South- 
ern plantations, mountain mills and mines. 
The accumulated wisdom of the ages, freed from the 
modifications that civilization buries it under, is unques- 
tionably among the treasures that acquisitive man has 
gleaned from the earth, its occupants and its discovered 
materials and forces. The great pity, it sometimes seems, 
is that the real brain, brawn and sinew of humanity is 
forever handicapped and balked by the lack of access to 
the fuel, energy, impetus, material and tools and science 
in which the world is rich. One disadvantage is that the 
science of accumulation and centralization hoards the 
world's treasures in archives when they were created and 
intended for broadcast distribution. A rich jewel in an 
Ethiopian's ear is better than to have it in a monarch's 
crown, if the crown is hidden away from enterprising 
thieves and the people. Ten million dollars can be stowed 
in a barrel and buried in a bank or in the earth. It might 
make ten hundred thousand people happy and serviceable 
for a week or so. and it would do things of various kinds 
until some villain buried it again. Money is chiefly em- 
ployed in diverting mankind from acquiring wisdom. If 
we shoot snipe we lose ducks. 
The world is full of philosophy, of differing quality and 
value, and I always contribute my product with as much 
assurance as diffidence. I know there is some in circula- 
tion that is no sounder. The more fertile and ponderous 
brains of great capacity sometimes acquire bulk like the 
snowballs rolled into huge globes by boys in New Eng- 
land and in other regions where there are winters. The 
acquisition of the one being about as profitable as that 
of the other to all concerned. And so, I can affix no 
moral to this except that, as a friend of mine was fond of 
saying, "A rolling stone is the noblest work of God, and 
an honest man gathers no moss." 
It is reported that a man recently kiUed a deer not far 
from my shack in these mountains, with a madstone in 
its stomach. The man took the stone to town and sold 
it for $1,500. I never knew before where madstones 
came from. Alas, poor deer! If they carry madstones 
around worth $1,500, it is much more injudicious in them 
than to have good meat on their bones and a skin worth 
78 cents, on the meat. However, I have seen neither the 
man nor the madstone. The history of the achievement 
will doubtless show up in some of the metropolitan news- 
papers after a while, fully illustrated with photographs of 
the man, the deer and the Stone in its stomach. 
