(jet. 24, igea.i 
Forest and stHEAM. 
8l8 
the routes the foxes are apt to take, sometimes join 
in the chase on foot. Cases are known in which foxes 
have been run 30 and 40 miles, the chase being in two 
counties. Renewed attention to fox hunting is now be- 
ing given in several parts of the State. On the coast, 
near Beaufort, there is unusually good sport of this kind, 
among the small pines, scrub oaks and the tangle of 
yeopon and other small bushes, which are often so 
thick that horses cannot dash through, but have to fol- 
low the trails, while the dogs do the work in the thick- 
ets. It is not probable that in any State the fox hunt- 
ing is better than it is in parts of North Carolina. 
The partridge (no North Carolinian uses the word 
quail) shooting promises to be unusually good this sea- 
son. In a few counties the season opened Oct. 15, but 
in nearly all it opens Nov. i, and ends March i or 15. 
In a few counties it is only during December and Jan- 
uarj-. The summer was remarkably favorable for the 
growth of the birds, and the broods are said to be 
I nusually large. To give an idea of the number of 
the birds, it may be stated that a gentleman here at 
Raleigh, in the course of a Sunday afternoon ramble, 
recently 'found no less than nine coveys. In some cases 
there are double broods, the little birds, locally known 
as "squealers," doing their best to keep up with their 
older brothers and sisters. In this part of the State no 
lands are taken by sportsmen upon payment of taxes, 
but in the Piedmont section of the State many thous- 
ands of acres are so held, Guilford and surrounding 
counties being particularly notable for this sort of 
privilege. The game law for the State has been greatly 
strengthened by the Audubon law, enacted last March, 
w hich has stopped the killing of game out of season, 
since for the first time in this State it imposes a pen- 
alty for having game in possession out of season. It 
is stated that from one small station in the Piedmont 
section there were shipped out of the State last season 
60,000 partridges, of which one man boasted that he. 
sent away 40,000, he being the express agent at the 
place. It was an absolute violation of the law. Thous- 
ands of these partridges were sent away in egg crates 
with one layer of eggs on top to mask them, while 
others were sent away in trunks, valises and barrels. 
Great numbers of birds were illegally killed and sold 
during October of last year and previous j^ears, but so 
far as heard from this year this has not been the case. 
There is no doubt that there is as good partridge shoot- 
ing in North Carolina as the country aflfords. There 
is all sorts of cover, and the birds are found from the 
mountains to the very seashore. The acreage of field 
peas is constantly increasing, and this is found to be 
the very best food for these birds. In the eastern 
North Carolina pine country, where sportsmen from 
the North do not go much, is one of the very best 
sections for these birds. 
A Personal Experience, with a Moral 
If any one knowing my fondness for sport had asked 
me a year ago if I read Forest and Stream, I should 
have unhesitatingly answered. Yes, certainly. 
A quite natural com^ersation, something like the fol- 
lowing, would have shown, however, that my ready and 
confident "yes" was not quite as truthful as I imagined. 
"I suppose, then, that you saw the article in last week's 
issue about the remarkable catch of black bass on the 
Delaware River, near Milford?" 
"Well, no: I don't think that I saw last week's paper. 
I was very busy on Wednesday, went home late, forgot 
to get a copy at the newsstand and afterward it slipped 
my mind entirely." 
"But the article in the previous week's issue, about 
the Garrisons, Ryersons and other old guides of Green- 
wood Lake; I daresay you were interested in that, as 
I know you used to fish there every summer regularly 
years ago." 
"I certainly should have been very much interested 
if I had seen it, but somehow I must have missed that, 
too. though I intend to buy the paper every week, and 
don't think that I very often fail of doing so. Now that 
I think of it, though, there was a series of articles pub- 
lished not very long ago that I meant to put in my 
scrap book, but in looking over the papers, I found 
that one or two back numbers were missing, and that 
reminds me that I must try and get them before they 
are out of print." 
Although this conversation is imaginerj', I have no 
doubt, that my actual experience, if recorded, would be 
not far from this, and not much unlike that of some 
others who, like myself, have always enjoyed reading 
Forest and Stream, but have somehow neglected to 
buy it regularly each week from the newsstand. 
But this spring a neighbor remarked one day that 
if I wanted to keep abreast of the times with rod and 
gun news, fish and game and forest preservation and 
other matters of interest to sportsmen and lovers of 
nature, the way to do it was to subscribe for Forest 
AXD Stream, and so get the paper regularly each week. 
I am happy to say that I at once responded, and 
many times since have been glad that I did so. The 
pleasure that I have since experienced reminds me 
often of what I must have occasionally missed: but 
never mind, I am sure now of having a good bill of 
fare set before me every week of things that I find 
served to my satisfaction and enjoyment, and as the 
old lady said, "That is very much to be thankful for." 
A few evenings since while reading Forest and 
Stream. I remarked to my better half, that I never 
before realized the high tone and character of the 
paper, and how much solid information its pages con- 
tain, aside from the pleasure its breezy and out-of-door 
articles recall and awaken. 
Although not herself a fisher, "but a well wisher of 
llie sport." she replied, "Why not write to the pub- 
lishers and tell them, that you think so. Perhaps, 
loo, a statement of the satisfaction and enjoyment you 
have derived from j'our action, may lead some other 
c-i.sual reader to make it a point tp subscribe at once 
i 0 the paper, which you have in consequence learned 
to value more highly than before." 
Hence the testimony of this subscriber, jaad the 
moral. "Go thou and do likewise." _ =,., 
Elizabeth, N. J. R. W. WoODWARD. 
One Day and Another. 
Memory is clear and distinct regarding the general 
outlines of one day in my life, but hazy in some of the 
details. I can see a small barefoot boy, trousers care- 
lessly rolled half way to the knees, a straw hat, such 
as country boys wear, much the worse for wear, for 
being used at sundry times as a net in which to catch 
minnows, a trap to clap down over fledgling birds or 
bright butterflies, a handy and useful vehicle in which 
to carry cherries, apples, straw or blackberries — no 
one but a country boy knows what a terribly useful 
article a straw hat really is. This particular day I 
had my own and my very first fishing line. I earned 
the money to buy it driving a flock of sheep (I guess I 
only helped one of the farm hands drive them to Grand- 
father's). Father had cut me a beautiful pole, none of 
your new fangled split-made things from a factory — 
and I am by the creek ("crick," we called it), which 
lazily lolled along in the edge of the meadow. The 
new and bright cork is dancing on the gentle ripple 
of the water. I know my bait is right; did I not put 
on a big worm and spit on him before dropping the 
hook overboard? Pretty soon the cork gives a little 
wiggle, and my heart almost stands still; surely that 
time it bobbed. I am growing impatient, but remem- 
ber my father's instructions, "Wait until it goes way 
under." Two or three times in quick succession it 
tilts, and I am sure that I was sweating — perspiration 
is too mild a word. Suddenlj^^ in a slanting direction, 
that blessed cork starts up stream and for the bottom. 
It really seems as though it would be out of sight be- 
fore I can bring my rigid muscles into action; but I 
"jerk," jerk hard enough to have broken the best of 
tackle with a really good fish. Well, I have him on the 
bank — I don't know which — a small catfish, or perhaps a 
sunfish, perch or chub, I don't remember what the variety 
was — I had caught him. 
Another day — 
My boys are in college, my girls in the high school. 
I have left my business and have traveled six hundred 
miles for a week's shooting over my own dog. Not that 
he is the only dog I have ever owned. I cannot re- 
member the time when I have not owned one or more 
of one breed or another, but this one from the moment I 
first saAv him appealed to me, why I do not know. He 
was the homeliest pup I ever saw; his eyes were too 
light, his head too flat, his ears too thick, nose too 
sharp, and, sin of all sins in a hunting dog, he had a 
slight crook at the tip of his tail. As a pup he seemed 
to think himself just as smart and as good as the chil- 
dren. When I began to hunt him, he could and did 
find game; the difficulty was to find him. Then he began 
to point beautifull3% and would hold his point until I got 
v/ithin from seventj^-five to fifty yards; then, apparently 
thinking that he had been extremely patient waiting so 
long for me, with a bound that seemed to say, "There 
they are, come on," in he'd go, and I would see visions of 
frightened birds and flying dog. If, through some acci- 
dent, I succeeded in getting near enough to make a kill, 
and the dog happened to point long enough to see the 
bird fall, he would go for it — and findings we're keep- 
ings with him. Why not? I always kept the bird when 
I got it first, why not he? He would swallow the bird 
with an air of having done something really worth while, 
and a look that seemed to say, "I got that one, old man." 
He had great speed, a wonderful nose, endurance be- 
yond belief, was bold as a warrior, and had game sense 
that was unerring. He was good natured, and the hap- 
piest dog that I ever saw. His attachment to me 
amounted to devotion, yet he seemed worthless. I asked 
John Lewis one day what he thought could be done with 
him. "Didn't know, but would take him and see." 
I had traveled six hundred miles for a week's shooting, 
and men who really work Avill appreciate my feelings as 
I started out that right frosty morning in North Carolina 
with Sandy Gladstone, I. Murray Mitchell's favorite and 
celebrated dog, for Donald's companion, 
Sandy Gladstone needs no words of praise to anyone 
who ever saw him in the field, or on the bench, for that 
matter. It was a hard place to put out my dog. I can 
only wish that others had been there beside Lewis and 
mj^self. Never a falter by either dog; each one speedy, 
self-reliant, hunting out his own ground, no mistakes, 
no jealousy, never a refusal to back or a break at shot or 
wing, my dog a splendid retriever. We came miles ami 
found quantities of birds; the country suited this stout- 
hearted and strong-limbed pair, and my dog held his own 
with one of the best dogs that ever pointed a bird. Sandy 
is still living, resting on his well earned laurels, with 
every comfort that a dog can have. Donald sleeps be- 
neath a magnificent holly tree on Duncarmon plantation 
in South Carol ina. George Batten. 
A Lost "Woodcfaft,** 
One of the phenomena of everyday life is the manner 
in which some inanimate objects travel in circles, and, 
after many years, return to their original owners. 
Eighteen years ago a party of Philadelphia boys, return- 
ing from a camping trip in the Pocono Mountains, stood 
upon the Pennsylvania Railroad platform at Trenton, 
waiting for a train to this city. When the train appeared 
one of the party missed a small cloth-bound book, bear- 
ing the title "Woodcraft." It had evidently been stolen 
from his coat pocket while he was waiting on the plat- 
form. The loss of the book has been mourned ever since, 
for it reflected much of the boy's love for mountains, 
woods, and trout streams. Years passed, and, finally, in- 
a mood of longing for boyhood zest for outdoor life, a 
bright new copy of the book was purchased, but it seemed 
to lack the flavor that made the old book a loved posses- 
sion. Last Monday night two men were smoking in a 
library, when the host said: "Do you know this book?" 
He produced a little book, bound in blue cloth and 
stamped on the side in faded gold with "Forest and 
Stream Series — Woodcraft."_ The visitor seized the book, 
aisd exclaimed: "That is mine! Where did you get it?" 
"It is mine now," laughingly replied the host. "I bought 
it in a second-hand store. But here is your name on 
the inside of the cover." The story of the book's disap- 
pearance was told, and an exchange was effected. And 
so, after many years, the old book has returned to its 
original owner. — Philadelphia Record, Oct. 14, 1903. 
Kipling's "Red Gods." 
Editor Forest and Stream: 
When I had read Manly Hardy's version of Kipling's 
pof.n, I consigned to the waste-basket an article which I 
had prepared on the same subject. 
Mr. L. F. Brown has contributed so many good things 
to Forest and Stream that I was truly sorry to have tO 
object to his criticism of the poem. 
Mr. Hardy has covered the ground fully, and his arti- 
cle, like all of his writings on the waters and woods of 
Maine, has the true ring. 
In my boyhood days I could see from the knoll on 
which the little red schoolhouse stood, a shingle bar in 
Cortigan Brook, Years later that bar cost me time and 
money, for my hemlock logs would persist in forming 
a "raw, right-angled log-jam" on that bar. 
Birch Stream is the dividing line between the towns 
of Alton and Argyle. For ten miles it winds through all 
kinds of soil, and its numerous bars are made up of 
shingle, sand and earth sediment. 
I have dined on many of its bars, shingle and other- 
wise, while log driving and hunting. In a cold Novem- 
ber day while setting traps on the quick water, I always 
found "sun-warmed shingle bars" protected from the 
wind by high shores a cozy place at dinner time. 
My canoe was propelled by one of those "shod canoe- 
poles," only my setting pole was a double ender— shod at 
both ends. All the setting poles that I ever saw for 
canoes and bateaux were shod, and some were shod at 
both ends. 
What Mr. Hardy writes about the "click" of the setting 
pole is true, and well known to every hunter and log- 
driver in Maine. Come East, Mr. Brown, come East, 
and grow up with the "right-angled log-jam and the 
shingle bar !" Hermit. 
Charlestown, N: H., Oct. 16.— Editor Forest mid 
Stream: Much as I have enjoyed some of the writings 
of your correspondent, Mr. L. F. Brown, I was simply 
disgusted when I read his criticism of Kipling's spirited 
poem of the "Red Gods 1" I was tempted to answer it on 
the spot, but luckily did not feel like writing at the time, 
and so it fell to the lot of Manly Hardy to make the 
response, which he did so truly and thoroughly as to 
leave little or nothing more to be said. Mr. Hardy's 
sixty years of experience in the woods of Maine gives 
him the right and the knowledge to speak ex-cathedra 
on the subject, as he does, and I can only indorse every 
word he has said about log-jams, shingle bars, and canoe- 
poles. Now, in this week's Forest and Stream comes 
another correspondent, criticising Mr. Hardy, to whom 
the best advice I can give is to read "Dogberry's" famous 
soliloquy and apply it ! 
Kjpling probably wrote from his knowledge of New 
England streams and clearings, and his descriptions are 
true to the letter. There are acres, not to say miles, 
of "shingle-bars" in the Connecticut River at Brattleboro', 
where he married and lived for some years, and there is 
a large one on the same river opposite this village where 
I have basked in the sunshine many a time, and of which 
I have a capital photograph framed and hanging before 
my eyes, with two of my little granddaughters playing 
on.it, while my daughter sits on a big stone near the 
bank, watching them. 
The log-jams are very apt to form on these bars at 
the head of a rapid, and anyone looking up from below 
will see the "racing stream" as it pours through and 
under the logs which form the end of the picture, and 
are not _ only "raw" from having all their bark pounded 
off coming down over the rocks in the mountain streams, 
but "right-angled" and at every other possible angle, as 
they have been thrown up by the force of the water. 
If anyone wants to see a good description of a log-jam. 
let them read Stewart White's admirable story of "The 
Blazed Trail." 
Kipling has probably seen some of these very jams 
on the shingle-bars at Brattleboro, and if he lived there 
when Chesterfield Mountain, on the opposite side of the 
river, was cleared and burned over, a few years ago, as 
I think he did, he had the picture of the "blackened for- 
est" right before his eyes. . 
As to shod canoe-poles, those used by the lumbermeri 
arc always shod, so far as I know. Those used by ama- 
teur tourists or summer anglers may probably be any- 
thing they can cut without too much trouble and throw 
away when done with. I have heard the, "ring" of the 
shod poles on the rocks often, and no unshod one would 
"stand the racket" in our mountain streams. Your cor- 
respondents may write truthfully of the streams of Michi- 
gan and Wisconsin, but if they" should visit the ' Am- 
monoosuc or the Pemigewasset, they would find both 
"racing streams" and sunny bars of shingle to their 
hearts' content. 
Mr. C. H. Ames, also comes to the rescue in this week's 
Forest and Stream, and again I indorse every part of his 
letter, particularly the defense of hemlock boughs, which 
are flatter and make a better bed than either balsam or 
spruce. 
I might say much more, but the clock warns me to 
close to get this in the mail. I am not "stuck on" Kip- 
ling, but I claim to know something about woods life in 
New England. Von W. 
Buffalo, N. Y., Oct. 17.— Editor Forest and- Stream: 
I was amused by some of R. W. 'Ashcroft's criticisms of 
Kipling's poem and of his criticisms of Manly Hardy 
for defending Kipling from the senseless attack of Mr. 
L. E. Brown. I agree with Mr. Har<3y. that Kipling's 
poem is practically as true to nature as is possible in 
describing in verse. Mr. Ashcroft is very hypercritical 
in his arraignment of Mr. Hardy for some of his state- 
ments. For instance, Mr. Hardy says a bar is "anything 
which obstructs,'' from which Mr. Ashcroft deduces the 
conclusion that a mill dam is a bar, without allowing for 
the rest of the definition which Mr. Hardy omitted to 
add, but his sin was no greater than was Mr, Ashcroft's 
in his definition of a log-jam which he describes thus: 
"A log-jam is an aggregation of tree trunk sections,-'- and 
I presume by the same reasoning a log-cabin would be a 
log-jam. 
Mr. .\shcroft quotes . Mr. Hardy as saying the canoe- 
poles may be heard "hundreds of yards." Now, I wonder 
