tural beauty, and again it is the delicate tracery of foliage 
and limb winding in and out. in patterns that for grace 
and beauty defy the imitative hands of man. Hear the 
twitter and song of birds and the chatter and bark of 
squirrel, now querulous, now shrill and angry, now quiet 
and contented— the sound of love, the sound of joy. 
Stand at evening in the great wild woods and watch the 
lone sentinels of the sky as they take their posts. Look 
up through the trees as they gleam calm and serene, and 
as the outline of the tree tops appears in bold relief, tell 
me is there cathedral tower or dome that so effectively 
expresses the idea of worship ? Or has there been frozen 
into stone anything so grand? Take that solemn silence 
that prevails at night when winds are still. So. calm, so 
peaceful, broken only now and then by the call of some 
night bird, and is there anything more solemn? Any- 
thing that sets the serious thoughts of the mind-in more 
active operation? See how time's awful power is visible 
in the woods. Mark the decaying tree, the: logs half 
crumbled into dust, the vegetation that blooms to die and 
dying blooms again — a constant falling of leaf, on leaf 
and plant on plant, laying up a treasure of richness for 
the soil, which man in time will enjoy. So nothing goes 
in vain ; nothing entirely perishes. Nothing is lost, 
though at first it seems as if waste were on every side. 
And now autumn days begin to wane, and another 
power begins to make its presence felt. At first it thills, 
the gentle winds and couriers come who paint each leaf 
with color bright. Under cover of the night an army of 
artists and goldsmiths are at work, and, when the morn- 
ing sun breaks over the hills, the landscape round is 
decked in colors of the rainbow and begemmed with 
jewels brighter than the precious stones of crown, or 
diadem, or treasure rare of king or emperor. They touch 
the waters and turn them into glass. They kiss -the foli- 
age again and again until, under the fatal breath, it wilts 
and dies. The regal evergreens alone greet them with a 
smile and preserve throughout the rich color which 
nature first gave them. Then the winds sob and sigh in 
the north, and the rain drops, kissed as they fall, come 
to us as downy as the dainty covering of the wild swan's 
breast, and the woods change to ghostly whiteness, and 
everything seems at once to begin the long winter sleep. 
To see and to note all these things is a part of the joy 
of a hunter's life, and who can do it without inciting in- 
fluences that are for the best? They make a man reflec- 
tive. They lead his mind to trace back all influences 
and all power to one central source, be it called nature 
or by some other name. They show to him the grand 
harmony of all things about him — the heavens, the cur- 
rents of the air, animal life, vegetable life, yea, too, 
human life. They loosen the strings of that wonderful 
organ, the heart, and cause it to thrill in response to the 
suggestions of nature. They tend to tear away that mask 
of hardness and selfish interest which the fierce competi- 
tion of business life is causing all men to wear. 'Subject 
to these influences he lives life over again and notes 
whether he is out of tune with the world as it really is. 
To be generous and open handed, to be just and for- 
giving, is one of the main characteristics of the true 
hunter, for nature teaches him these things so constantly, 
so plainly, that he cannot fail to profit i by the lessons. 
Does she not give with the utmost openhandedness ? 
Does she not quickly repair all losses and smile and smile 
again as if all were always well? They, teach him true 
religion without the narrowness and restrictions of creed. 
They teach him to be industrious, to,, be patient, and not 
to continually complain. They teach him to be kind, to 
aid a suffering fellow man and to share with him that 
which he can. They make him liberal — liberal in home 
life, liberal in religion, liberal in politics, . and liberal in 
business. They teach him independence. They show 
him what it is to be free — free to live and breathe the 
pure air and to enjoy the God-given glories of this 
gigantic, wonderful world of ours. 
A hunter's life is a healthful life. It loosens up the 
cords and sinews of the body and hardens every muscle. 
It steadies the nerves. It tones up the blood, enriches it 
in color, and sends it coursing through the arteries and 
back through the veins that only the days of boyhood can 
equal. It cleanses that boiler of the body, the stomach, 
and sets it to working with a regularity and strength 
that is astonishing; and it clears away the cobwebs of 
the brain. It makes a man ambitious and starts him off 
in the morning with the strength of an athlete, to return 
at meal time with the appetite of a giant. It brings him 
home at night tired and weary, so that a bed on a plank, 
so long that it is warm and dry, is a luxury. It makes 
him rest at night with that calm, deep sleep of childhood, 
wherein all the damages are repaired and the constitution 
rebuilt for future struggles. A trip in the woods saves 
doctors' bills, and is worth many times all the medicines 
of the world. Time lost from business is nothing. The 
wages or profits that seem to slip away on account of it 
count for naught. They will all be more than made up 
on the other end of the journey of life, as it will lead to 
a more prolonged and happier old age. 
Around the camp fire, too, there are many lessons that 
can be learned. The discussions there, though often tem- 
pered with levity, are yet more often tinctured with wis- 
dom. 'Tis there that all bigotry and bitterness are for 
the time cast aside. 'Tis there that religion, politics, and 
the other affairs of life are discussed with candor, and 
'tis there that, if agreement cannot be reached, all dis- 
turbing argument is cast aside. There is a great deal of 
philosophy in camp fire talk, for the simple reason that 
it is the true philosophy of life, unhampered by artificial 
restraints. Perhaps I may seem to be assuming too much 
latitude, but- if you think so put it down as due to my 
enthusiasm alone and net to a desire to overdraw. And 
yet much of this is true. Indeed, so true is it that the 
one who is often most unsuccessful in bagging game is 
frequently the happiest man who leaves the woods and 
the most anxious for the trip again when autumn days 
roll around once more. At all events, such things as 
those, which in my poor language I have attempted to 
describe are some of the joys of the hunter as we have 
been able to find them, and if you doubt me lay it rather 
to my poor powers of description than to a lack of argu- 
ment and proof. 
All this time our hunt has been drawing to a close, 
and it remains for me as quickly as I can to describe the 
remainder of the trip, including the last night in camp. 
Carolus. 
[to be concluded.] 
FOREST_AND_STREAM.- 
Camp and Comrades. 
Editor Forest and Stream: 
In arranging a camping trip, I have always advocated, 
and generally adhered to, the following plan, and have 
found it decidedly more satisfactory than the usual way, 
considering, however, that it -would only apply to a very 
small party, and which has no guide employed. 
Let each individual furnish himself with a complete 
outfit, excepting tent, bed, ax,, and possibly a camp-kettle 
to be used for heating water, boiling meat, etc., these to 
be for the general use of the party. The extra weight 
thus entailed could not amount to more than three or 
four pounds to each person, and the satisfaction of being 
thus equipped more than compensates for the little extra 
weight, for the following reasons : No two persons have 
exactly the same tastes as to what they prefer to eat and 
drink, and how they have it prepared. The above plan 
allows each person to be entirely suited in this respect. 
One may prefer to go light so far as concerns lux- 
uries, either in bodily comfort or provisions, while an- 
other may have extravagant tastes in that direction; this 
will allow the one going light the advantage of a light 
pack while traveling, and fewer belongings to care for in 
camp. One may prefer :to lie in bed sometimes until a 
late hour, and cook ail elaborate breakfast on rising; 
while another may wish to be up at an early hour, eat a 
hastily-prepared breakfast, and get out. No chance for 
fnction there ! ' : 
One may be a crank on having a general dish-washing 
after each meal, while another may find greater comfort 
in turning his frying-pans and dishes upside down, ready 
for the next meal, instead of washing them. All right- 
nobody's business! One may wish to eat oftener than 
another, or the times of eating may not correspond on 
account of arrival at camp, etc.; each can thus be inde- 
pendent and accommodate himself without any aggra- 
vating delays or waiting, adding to the general peace and 
goodwill of the camp, and allowing each one the ad- 
vantage of a full experience. of camp life. 
One of the essential benefits of camp life is that of 
creating and exercising a spirit of independence and self- 
reliance; and any arrangement which .would disturb this 
and cause a dependence one upon the other must destroy, 
to some extent, this important feature of camp life. 
Where the work of the camp is done as a whole, with 
each one assigned to his particular department of the 
work, each one is dependent upon others for a certain 
part of his comfort and well being, and thereby deprived 
of exercising that self-reliance and independence which 
is growing weaker in each succeeding generation of 
Americans. The tendency in the present day is to do 
nothing for ourselves Which we can conveniently have 
done for us by others, and we only realize how helpless 
we are when we get out away from our modern and con- 
venient homes, and get where all is just as nature made 
it, and where our existence and comfort depends entirely 
upon our own knowledge, and efforts. 
Our camp life, then, is practically the only, time of the 
whole year, when we can conveniently, throw ourselves 
entirely upon our own resources, and revive and keep 
alive the sparkle of independence inherited from the old 
pioneer forefathers, , and .which is characteristic of 
Americans. ; 
One may have attached to his name any number of col- 
lege degrees, and 'yet be helpless because he has never 
learned to do things. If a person inexperienced in camp 
life and in doing things for himself; : were to go on a 
camping trip, have a complete but limited cooking outfit 
of his own, with his own selection of provisions; etc., and 
learn during the trip to live\comfort.ably in the woods 
without any reliance on any one but himself, it would be 
of value beyond that of a term in college: not only for 
the knowledge gained, but for the spirit of independence 
which such self-dependence must create. 
While, as I have said, the tendency is to allow others 
to do_ for us, that, in turn, tends to make us content in 
allowing others to think for us; and any thing which 
tends to make us do our own thinking and help ourselves 
is worthy of consideration. Therefore, aside from the 
tendency to a satisfactory and harmonious camp life, it 
may be made productive of intellectual good. 
Emerson Carney. 
MojtGHNTOWN, W. Va. 
Chased by a Shark. 
Seeing a small shark brought ashore the other day 
by one of the salmon fishermen, who had found it rolled 
up in his net, put me in mind of an exciting adventure 
I had many years ago. Both at the east, as well as the 
west, side of the mouth of the great River Moisie, 
sand banks run out to sea for a distance of two or 
three miles. These are covered at high tide, but being 
of almost a uniform height, the falling tide runs off 
of them in a very short space of time, and leaves them 
dry with the exception of some odd places where pools 
of water remain. The banks are dry the last two hours 
of the ebb and the first two hours of the flood tide. 
The great river continually deposits on these sands 
such quantities of vegetable matter, t|iat they are a 
resort for many kinds of small fishes; and numerous 
waterfowl come there at certain stages of the tide to 
feed on the fish, 
I was only about eighteen at the time, and had gone 
out in a birch-bark canoe to shoot ducks on the banks. 
My companion, an Indian boy, even younger than my- 
self in years, but several times older in experience, was 
to steer the canoe. The last words his father said to 
us before leaving, were, "Don't go too far out, or the 
'Ma-tchie-ne-mak' will cut your canoe and eat you." 
The sea that morning was as calm as a pond, and 
perfectly glassy from the strong May sun striking 
straight down on it. We had been out for a couple of 
hours, and had had pretty fair luck with sea-ducks and 
loons, and were just about starting for the shore before 
the tide left us dry on the banks. If such a thing had 
happened, it would have entajled on us the labor of 
carrying our canoe a mile or so to the beach, over soft 
yielding sand. 
"We better go," the boy was saying, when his words 
were cut short in his mouth. With the remains of that 
breath he screeched "Ma-tchie-ne-mak!" and started to 
paddle like one possessed. I admit that his fright was 
[Aug. 20, i§S4- 
infectious, and coupled with the dreaded . name of 
shark, it so quickened my strokes, that H anion's sixty- 
a ~"?V? ute were sIow compared to the way I worked my 
paddle. I had read, and heard from old whalesmen, that 
as long as one kept the water churned up, there was no 
danger of the shark getting in his work. Twice the boy 
called out, "There he is!" Once I caught a glimpse of 
the monster a few yards off on our port beam, heading 
for the shore also, but evidently watching for a chance 
to attack us. 
The tide was now running out, and consequently the 
more we neared the shore, the shoaler the water got. 
The shark had not stopped to consider this in his mad 
rush to catch us. At last our canoe grounded on the 
sands and we looked back with relief at our narrow 
escape. But, ah! what it that about a couple of 'acres 
astern, surely not the shark! But it was, and he; was 
floundering about in shallow water, in one of the pools, 
and every minute the water was getting less. "HOop- 
la! we will now hunt the shark," I said to little Moses, 
as I started off toward him over the now dry sands. 
Yes, there he was, the great, ugly beast, flopping 
about in a basin surrounded by banks, out of which it 
was impossible for him to escape. From the shore the 
boy's father and one of my men saw what was going on 
and came out with a handful of bullets and their guns. 
In the meantime I was employing the time with! good 
results, by pouring into the shark charge after charge 
of AAA shot at close range. 
By the time the men reached us the fish was pretty 
sick, and apart from snapping his immense jaws, was 
lying perfectly still. The first bullet from a distance 
of ten feet put an end to him. When the tide came in 
again we towed him into the river and cut him up, and 
salted the chunks in barrels to feed the dogs the next 
winter. From the liver we rendered out three gallons 
of oil as clear as water. This of itself was of value to 
us the next winter in our lamps, it gave a clear light 
and emitted no smoke. Those were' the days before 
coal oil came into general use. Our only lights at the 
post were home-made tallow candles,' or a cotton rag 
from a tin spout fed by seal-oil. This, combined with 
the burning rag, gave off a heavy, dense, black smoke, 
which was, if not injurious, very unpleasant to inhale 
during the long winter evenings. The shark-oil being 
so much superior, I kept it for my own private lamps, 
and the teeth ornamented the mantlepiece. ,,<■■ 
Brockvii.le, Canada. MARTIN HUNTER. 
Do Birds Smell? 
Editor Forest and Stream: 
I am a little timid in quoting Audubon just at the 
present time, but as Coahoma refers to him, I will just 
give you two of the experiments he tried on vultures. 
The experiments were as follows : "My first experiment 
was as follows: I procured a skin of our common deer, 
entire to the hoofs, and stuffed it carefully with dried 
grass until filled rather above the natural size, suffered 
the whole to become perfectly dry and as hard as leather, 
took it to the middle of a large open field and laid it 
down upon its back with the legs up and apart; as if the 
animal were dead and putrid. I then retired about a few 
hundred yards, and in the lapse of some minutes a vul- 
ture coursing around the field tolerably high, espied the 
skin, sailed directly toward it, and alighted within a few 
yards of it. 1 ran immediately, covered by a large tree, 
until within about forty yards, and from that place could 
spy the bird with ease. He approached the skin, looked 
at it without apparent suspicion, raised his tail and 
voided itself freely (as you well know all birds of prey 
in a wild state do before feeding), then approaching the 
eyes that were here solid globes of hard, dried, and 
painted clay, attacked first one and then the other, with, 
however, no further advantage than that of disarranging 
them. This part was abandoned; the bird walked to the 
other extremity of the pretended animal, and there, with 
much exertion, tore the stitches apart, until much fodder 
and hay were pulled out ; but no flesh could the bird find 
or smell ; he was intent on finding some where none ex- 
isted, and, after reiterated efforts, all useless, he took 
flight, coursed around the field, when, suddenly turning 
and falling, I saw him kill a small garter snake and swal- 
low it in an instant. The vulture rose again, sailed about, 
and passed several times quite low over the stuffed deer 
skin, as if loth to abandon so good looking a prey. 
"Judge of my feelings when I plainly saw that the vul- 
ture, which could not discover through its extraordinary 
sense of smell that no flesh, either fresh or putrid, ex- 
isted about that skin, could at a glance see a snake 
scarcely as long as a man's finger, alive, and destitute of 
odor, hundreds of yards distant. I concluded that, at all 
events, his ocular powers were much better than his sense 
of smell. 
"Second Experiment. — I had a large dead hog hauled 
some distance from the house and put into a ravine, 
about twenty feet deeper than the surface of the earth 
around it, narrow and winding much, filled with briers 
and high cane. In this I made the negroes conceal the 
hog, by binding cane over it, until I thought it would 
puzzle either buzzards, carrion-crows, or any other birds, 
to see it, and left it for two days. This was early in the 
month of July, when, in_ this latitude, a body becomes 
putrid and extremely fetid in a short time... I saw from 
time to time many vultures in search of food Sail over 
the field and ravine in all directions, but none discovered 
the carcass, although during this time several dogs had 
visited it and fed plentifully on it. I tried to go near it, 
but the smell was so insufferable when within thirty 
yards of it that I abandoned it, and the remnants were 
entirely destroyed at last through natural decay. 
"I then took a young pig, put a knife through its neck, 
and made it bleed on the earth and grass about the same, 
and having covered it closely with leaves, also watched 
the result. The vultures saw the fresh blood, alighted 
about it, followed it down into the ravine, discovered by 
the blood of the pig, and devoured it, when yet quite 
fresh, within my sight." 
Dr. Elliott Coues, in "Key to North American B»r<js, M 
