July i, 1905.] 
3 
almost spellbound. We had brought nothing with us in 
the line of provisions but pepper and salt and a bag of 
Indian meal, which latter had been the cause of so 
much grumbling. When we left Portland, it weighed 
40 pounds, but during the march through the wooded 
hillside, notwithstanding that it was being consumed, it 
had grown in weight until the Scribe was ready to 
swear it weighed at least a ton. We had met with 
much opposition from our Brooklyn friends, who 
thought we should starve if we did not take a four- 
horse wagonload of supplies, and declared it their 
intention of starting a relief expedition. We felt secure 
that we would not go hungry long, and also that there 
was no more danger of our being found than there was 
of the North Pole, for, like the general of historic 
fame, we had burned our bridges behind us, and at 
once began to keep house. 
The Scribe started off for a meal of trout, while the 
girls began those feminine touches which convert a 
waste into a habitation, and which put the cabin in 
condition for our stay. The Baby pulled the old boughs 
from the bunks and threw them into the fireplace; she 
brought water from the lake to rinse the bunks and 
the walls and floor Nof hard-packed earth. A broom, 
constructed from a hemlock branch, was her only as- 
sistant. The Angel went some distance into the woods 
and cut some soft, feathery pine with which she made 
rude beds. Both worked with so much zeal that when 
the Scribe returned with a string- of trout, the cabin 
looked as clean and homelike as could be wished for. 
We all ate a record dinner of trout and meal flapjacks, 
and then slept away half the afternoon, breathing the 
invigorating pine air, fresh from nature’s factory, and 
enjoying more solid comfort than one could take be- 
tween city walls in a whole week. 
It was the Angel who at length aroused us with a 
remark which will ever associate itself with Trout Lake, 
we heard it so often there: “I don’t know about the 
rest of you, but I’m hungry.” Out of her bunk she 
climbed, and attacked a cold trout on the table with so 
much relish that we hastily joined her, and the last one 
melted away like so many dewdrops before the morn- 
ing sun. After this the Scribe expressed opinions freely 
on the only part of camp life which he never did and 
never will like, the cutting of firewood. But after the 
Baby had told him how much she admired his powerful 
form and enjoj^ed the artistic way that he sank his ax 
into the wood, and the Angel had told him how hand- 
some he was when flushed with hard labor — he got his 
steel and started off quite cheerfully, admiring in turn 
the subtle persuasion of the fair sex. The Angel fol- 
lowed with her gun over her shoulder in quest of small 
game, but with visions of grizzlies and elephants in her 
mind, while the Baby, whose ambitions did not soai 
.=0 high that afternoon, rambled off fishing. 
For some time the only sound was the whack, whack 
of the Scribe’s ax, which lasted only until four arm- 
fuls, or enough to last for the night, had been cut, when 
down he sank on the slope overlooking the lake, medi- 
tating on matters in which city newspapers shared no 
part. He had not time, however, to frame the structure 
for a day dream, when a shot echoed through the 
woods from Angel’s gun, followed almost instantly by 
another, and after a moment’s interval by two more; 
then something actually woke him up. It was the 
sound of Angel’s voice, calling to him by the name 
she used in the old courting_ days, and in a note that 
for once in his life entered him in a race at top speed. 
There is plenty of big game in these Northern woods 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
which it is not safe to try to bag with' No. 6 shot, and 
with his rifle in hand, he rushed up the hill in the direc- 
tion of the disturbance at a speed that none of his as- 
sociates in the city would have given him credit for 
possessing. Up the hill in the rear of the cabin he 
ran, and scrambled for a mile or more before he spied 
the object of his search— the Angel, her gun still hot, 
standing at the foot of a piant poplar, looking anxiously 
into the thick leafy top. _ 
She seemed to be uninjured, and he seated himself to 
catch the breath the hill had stolen before he investi- 
gated the animal the Angel assured him was as big as a 
bear, and which she had shot at four times without 
effect. She had come to the wise conclusion that she 
would not stir it any more until she knew something 
of what it was. Man-fashion he did not tell her, but 
silently admired her grit in not running away. He 
then pointed it out to her, and after a well-directed 
shot from the rifle, which she borrowed from the 
Scribe, her first game, a big hedgehog, came crashing 
down. She insisted on dressing it alone, and that fin- 
ished, started for camp as proud as ever a Napoleon 
was, but constantly shifting “her meat” from one hand 
to the other, the Scribe consigned to lugging the guns. 
Her cup of joy was full, when she found the Baby had 
returned with a nice catch of fish, and saw her as she 
stalked into camp as big as life and more than natural. 
The Baby took a huge interest in the first game, and 
guessed it to be everything between a moose and a 
muskrat before she was finally told that it was a homely 
old hedgehog. It was soon done to a turn over a 
sizzling hot log fire, and never was meal more enjoyed 
than then. 
After supper we started a series of evening concerts 
that lasted as long as we were in the woods. And our 
voices, soprano, contralto and bass, in town not looked 
on as more than ordinary, sounded wonderfully sweet as 
the echoes reverberated in the pale moonlight. We sat 
thus telling stories and singing, the Scribe _ pulling 
steadily at his faithful corncob filled with a choice mix- 
ture brought from the Notch. We sang all the old 
songs we knew, accompanied by the ripple of the waves, 
as Trout Lake swashed the rocks at our feet. Then we 
retired to slumber in those pine-filled and scented 
bunks, nothing in the world to disturb the tranquillity 
that good food, hard exercise and fresh air made for us. 
Just as the first rays of the sun stole over the treetops 
the Scribe was awakened by suspicious sounds from the 
bunk opposite, and he opened one eye cautiously just 
in time to see two dainty figures disappearing through 
the doorway, and he smiled significantly as he surmised 
their intentions. As he lay there half awake, he pic- 
tured to himself a big rock by the edge of the lake 
overlooking a wide ledge in clear view sorne eighty feet 
below where a natural shelf rose precipitously about 
twelve feet out of the water. The Scribe had heard 
the girls declare that to be a dandy spot for a_ dive, 
and he bethought himself of two fairies poisirtg lightly 
on the brink, bathed in sunlight, innocence and grace 
personified; he could see them shoot downward straight 
as arrows, and disappear. Then two heads glistening 
and dripping alrriost instantly reappeared only a few 
feet apart as they started for the shore, using those 
long strokes that a good swimmer employs when in a 
hurry. The Scribe was up and off for the morning 
meal of fish by that time, yet he shivered as he re- 
membered the times he used to dive off that very ledge 
into the same spring, where, if the human body is to 
be trusted as a thermometer, the temperature is at least 
forty degrees below zero. Hunger finally drove him 
back to the cabin, only to find the Angel and the. Baby 
busy before a cheery fire and as sunny as though there 
were no cold spring in existence. 
If I should try to give a detailed account of the^ two 
short weeks that we spent so comfortably at Trout 
Lake, the larger part of it would necessarily be about 
our appetites, for they were next to insatiable. Brook 
trout, lake trout and black bass, horned pout and eels, 
with hedgehodgs and squirrels for a change, hoe cake, 
johnnycake and flapjacks and all the rest, I must not 
forget strawberries for dessert, formed our menu for 
those fleeting, sunny, merry days. And what may 
seem strange, to look back upon it, we never once 
grew tired of the diet nor yearned for anything more. 
Our only regret was the fact that everything must 
come to an end, and that the time was so short to 
consume the good things to be had for the getting. 
Of course, we did other things than eat; we gathered 
spruce gum and ferns; we took long rambles through 
the avenues of trees that stretched interminably on 
three sides of the cabin. We fished where fish are 
plenty, and twice had the opportunity to see deer drink- 
ing in the moonlight at the edge of the lake. Once we 
caught a glimpse of a bear, but could not get within 
range. 
We climbed trees and swung among the branches like 
veritable children of the woods. About a mile away 
from the lake we discovered a pond warm enough in 
which to bathe; we soon became excellent marksmen 
with rifle and revolver, and evenings we made the 
echoes bring back the music of our songs and hymns. 
We were as happy and as free as birds, but, you know 
yourselves, boys, vacations have a way of drawing to a 
close all too soon, and it was with a deep and heartfelt 
regret that we packed up one evening for the return to 
the world of books and men early the next morning. 
There was a queer, homesick feeling in our hearts, as 
we made our way slowly in the bright sunshine of the 
morrow, headed for Camp 6. We walked the entire 
distance in leisure, and with far less fatigue than we 
had experienced on our way out. It was 10 o’clock 
when we reached the old, tumbledown platform that 
served for a station and dragged our trunk from its 
retreat, reclad ourselves in garments more showy and 
far less comfortable, and after packing it up again, sat 
down solemnly to wait for the train. It was past ii when 
it crept into view, steaming slowly and emitting smoke 
like a big factory chimney. Our friends of the train 
greeted us with zest, and we settled ourselves in such 
a manner that people would not wonder if we had ever 
worn clothing before. We succeeded^ well enough so 
that when we reached Fabyans at 4:30 in the afternoon, 
we did not create any undue attention as we walked to 
the hotel. 
The big house was open for the season by that time, 
for it was two weeks since last we were there, and many 
visitors had arrived meantime. All hands managed^ to 
pass a very jolly evening, but awoke the next morning 
realizing sadly that our picnic was over until the next 
summer. And as our train wound down through the 
Notch, the Scribe opened the window, took one long, 
backward look, pulled in his head, and with a tre- 
mendous sigh, reached to the rack above him for a 
bundle of New York dailies that were awaiting him at 
Fabyans. With a pencil borrowed from an old gentle- 
man across the aisle, he was soon equipped, and with 
a quizzical look at two demure appearing ladies opposite 
him, once more began work. Nelson Snow. 
Asiatic Deer in the Zoological Park. 
The already large collection of Asiatic deer in the 
New York Zoological Park has recently received an 
addition of an important and very rare species. 
By the steamer Mesaba, there recently arrived from 
Burma via London, a pair of the extremely interesting 
Burmese thameng, or brow-antlered deer {Cervus eldi) 
of Lower Burma. Specimens of this species have been 
sought by the Zoological Society for the past three 
years, and this acquisition was made possible only by 
the placing of an order by the Duke of Bedford for ten 
pairs, which justified William Jamrach, of London, in 
sending a man to Burma, spending a considerable sum 
on nets and services, and in making a capture of twenty- 
three animals. The price paid by the Duke of Bedford 
for his specimens was $ 7 S 0 per pair. The two speci- 
mens which recently arrived, and also another female 
which is to arrive in July, are all the gift of Mr. 
William Rockefeller, who previously presented to the 
Zoological Society the entire herds of red deer and 
fallow deer. 
The Burmese thameng is about as large as the Vir- 
ginia deer. Its antlers are of unique form. The brow 
tine sweeps very far forward, almost parallel with the 
upper line of the face, then makes a slight curve up- 
ward. The main beam grows backward in exactly the 
opposite direction, then swings outward and upward in 
what is very nearly a semi-circle. The points are few 
in number, but the shape belongs exclusively to this 
species. , 
The two pairs of Barasinga deer from India in the 
collection are at this time very noteworthy. Their 
summer coat is of a bright golden yellow color, the 
brightest to be found on any deer — not even excepting 
the Muntjac. , , , , 
Besides the deer of the Rusa group and those of the 
Wapiti group, the Barasinga are very conspicuous. 
The largest of the two bucks has now antlers in the 
velvet, which have attained a length of twelve inches, 
and they are of the same bright tan color as the pelage. 
This interesting deer inhabits northern India, and in 
many respects is a strong reminder of our mule deer. 
These two species resemble each other, not only in size, 
but in horn architecture. 
It frequently happens that the antlers of the Bara- 
singa possess a double bifurcation on each beam, which 
is so characteristic of the mule deer. 
The female altai wapiti of the Asiatic deer collection 
recently gave birth to a fawn, but owing to a mistake 
of nature, the animal failed to survive. Inasmuch as 
this is the first instance of the breeding of the altai 
wapiti on this continent, the loss of the fawn is par- 
ticularly to be regretted. It was spotted in the same 
manner as fawns of the American wapiti. 
A Cotton Tail Freak. 
Morgantown, W. Va . — Editor Forest and Stream: 
One of the most curious freaks of nature ever seen in 
these parts, was captured near here recently, in the form 
of a common gray rabbit, but in such a garb as to make 
it almost unrecognizable as such. 
Aside from its ears being rather smaller than ordi- 
nary, it is much like any other “cottontail,” except for 
the extraordinary covering of long hair. It has a cov- 
ering of fine, silky hair, of a lead color, just the color of 
an ordinary maltese cat, somewhat wavy and four to 
five inches in length, falling each way from the line of 
the backbone like that of a yak. This hair is so thick 
and long as to completely cover up the natural rabbit 
fur, except a small patch around the tail and a portion 
of the head; but the natural fur can be found all over 
its body by parting the long hair and looking closely. 
It is the size of an ordinary rabbit, but the thick, long 
and wavy hair gives it the appearance of a thick-bodied 
animal like the raccoon or possum, and makes it ap- 
pear the size of a large possum. It has the ordinary 
“cotton” tail. Remove the head, legs and tail, and no 
one could even guess what animal it had tried to be 
without parting the hair and seeing the rabbit fur un- 
derneath. It has more the appearance of an angora 
cat than anything else; but investigation shows that 
there are none of these animals within miles of where 
the rabbit was killed, so that it is hardly a plausible 
theory that it could be a cross between one of these 
animals and a rabbit. It is on exhibition in one of the 
show windows of town, and attracts much attention. 
If any Forest and Stream reader can give any light 
aS to the probable identity of this queer animal, we 
would be glad to hear from him. 
- Emerson Carney. 
[This is a form of diseased pelage, of which ex- 
amples are reported from time to time. For many 
years the Forest and Stream had in its office just such 
a cottontail rabbit as is described — a rabbit with the 
long coat of a Yorkshire terrier. Rabbits seem prone 
to curious dermal outgrowths, of which the horns 
often reported on rabbits from Kansas and Nebraska 
are examples. The frequently quoted crosses between 
cat and rabbit, and cat and coon, do not exist in fact. 
They are beasts of myth; but many folk tales are told 
about them. The Morgantown rabbit was plain rabbit, 
but with an unusual coat.] 
Huntington, L. L, June 24. — A fine specimen of a 
copperhead snake, that rarest of all the snake kind on 
Long Island, was killed at Long Swamp yesterday by 
Surveyor Carlos S. Dillon. Without warning the snake 
raised up its head near Mr. Dillon, flattened out and was 
ready for fight. Mr. Dillon killed it. The snake was 
about forty inches long and was found to contain thirty 
eggs, each as large as a robin’s egg. — Brooklyn Eagle. 
“To AN angler the pleasures of the rod and reel are far 
reaching, and have no boundary save when the mind 
ceases to anticipate and the brain to remember. * * * 
The fish in the pipe-smoke has been as active as was the 
fish in the water, and afforded as fine a play. My reel has 
clicked as merrily in the half-dream as on the rod in the 
long ago.” — A Nelson Cheney. 
