May, 1919 
FOREST AND S T R E A :\1 
211 
Bible Stories For The Y'oung. I must 
confess, however, that the former book 
was my favorite, though my heart went 
out to young David, the shepherd boy, 
guarding his flock from the ravages of 
the wolves and other wild beasts. I also 
admired Daniel in the lion’s den, which 
I associated somehow with the large col- 
ored posters of the menagerie. Samson 
carrying oflf the gates of Gaza I consid- 
ered a mediocre performance, judging 
from my knowledge of gates in general, 
but his riddle of the lion and bees ap- 
pealed to me very strongly. 
I 
I WAS conversing with an old gentle- 
man one day in reference to early rem- 
iniscences. He remarked that he re- 
membered quite well the “hard cider and 
log cabin” presidential campaign of 1836, 
when the Whig slogan was “Tippecanoe 
and Tyler too.” I remarked that I also 
remembered that campaign very well. 
“In what year were you born?” he asked. 
I answered, “In 1836.” He said he could 
not understand how I could remember 
anything that occurred in the year of my 
birth, but I explained that the campaign 
he mentioned did not not take place in 
1836, but in 1840, when I was four years 
old. 
I remember some of the features of the 
presidential campaign of 1840 much bet- 
ter than those of any subsequent one. I 
think the first daylight political proces- 
sion was inagurated at that time. I was 
particaulrly impressed by the handsome 
silk baners borne by the various state 
organizations; the log cabin on wheels 
with coon-skins on the walls and a cider 
barrel on a bench at the door. I shall 
never forget an immense gayly-colored 
ball some twenty feet in diameter, with 
a wooden tire around the circumference 
on which it was propelled by a dozen or 
more men by means of a long shaft. It 
bore the legend “Keep the ball rolling for 
Tipe and Ty.” 
My First Experience in Angling 
A YEAR or two after the political 
campaign of 1840 our family re- 
moved to the suburbs of Baltimore 
on account of my mother’s health. The 
place was a very pretty one of about 
fifteen acres near Lanvale. A rocky 
stream ran along the road in front of the 
woodland pasture. Near the road gate 
was a stone bridge under which ran a 
small tributary brook. Below this bridge 
I did my first fly-fishing when about 
seven years old. Our hostler and gard- 
ener happened to be an old English game- 
keeper with whom I was soon on very 
friendly and confidential terms. Usually 
before bedtime I would sit at the feet of 
this Gamaliel for an hour, in the kit- 
chen, when he fired my youthful imag^ 
ination with stories of fishing, fox hunt- 
ing and shooting. I had already been 
worm fishing at the stone bridge with a 
boy neighbor, but “James” would have 
none of it. He taught me to tie an arti- 
ficial fly, and showed me how to cast it 
with a willow wand. 
About that time, in 1843 to be exact, a 
remarkably brilliant comet with an enor- 
mously long tail appeared in the north- 
ern heavens which we viewed nightly 
with wonder and awe, and eventually with 
admiration and pleasure. One of the flies 
tied by James he named the “comet” in 
honor of our celestial visitor. It had a 
fiery red hackle from my game rooster 
and a long yellow tail from the canary 
bird. He called it a salmon fly, but some 
small ones proved quite effective with the 
sunfish and chubs. We fished at the 
bridge every Saturday afternoon, when 
James had a half holiday, during the 
summer and autumn. 
There was a warm spell the next win 
ter in the latter part of February, and 
we repaired one day to the old bridge 
for our first spring fishing. It was on a 
holiday, I remember, Washington’s 
Birthday. During our fishing I re- 
marked : 
“James, I wish I had been born on the 
22d of February instead of the 29th, for 
then I would have a birthday every year 
instead of every four years.” 
“Never mind lad,” he replied, “any 
one could be bom on the 22d, but not 
every one can be born on the 29th.” 
“Yes, James,” I assented, “but I would 
like to have been born on Washington’s 
birthday.” 
“Never mind, lad,” he said, “its well 
you were not.” 
“But, James,” I persisted, “he was such 
a good man; he never told a lie.” 
“Indeed ’e did, and ’undreds of ’em,” he 
said warmly. 
“Oh. James, how can you say, so,” I 
added, “he was the father of our coun- 
try.” 
“Nay, lad, he was honly a step-father; 
’e was a grand rascal; ’e stole this coun- 
try from Hingland and if it ’adn’t been 
for ’im, this country would still belong 
to Hingland same as Canada.” 
I was dumbfounded; it took away my 
breath. If the old sycamore tree under 
which ■wjere were sitting had fallen on us 
I would not have been more surprised — 
such sacrilege! I looked at James 
aghast; I was horrified. I was disil- 
lusioned; I discovered that my idol had 
feet of clay. I did not fish with James 
much after that; only occasionally on 
Saturdays: I usually went alone or with 
my boy neighbor. However, we moved 
back to the city the next autumn, and 
James returned to old Hingland. 
I N connectioh with the long-tailed comet 
recently mentioned there hangs an- 
other tale. The followers of William 
Miller, called “Millerites” were looking 
for the end of the world in 1843. A 
bright star appeared at mid-day for a 
short period which I remember seeing. 
This in connection with the comet was 
accepted as an additional sign of the end 
of all things terrestrial. A Millerite 
family that lived on the same block with 
us disposed of all their belongings in 
preparation for the expected flight 
heavenward. The boy of the family, 
Johnnie, and I were partners in mar- 
bles and tops. He turned over all the 
assets in hand to me with the provisio 
that if the ascension did not take place 
we would continue as before, joint owners 
of the stock in trade. 
I remember well the night the family 
and a few others of like faith were to 
“go up.” They were assembled in the 
basement dining-room, seated around a 
table, in full view from the street, 
clothed in long white robes. I noticed 
that Johnnie’s robe was much too large 
for him and too long in the sleeves. He 
came to the door to bid his playmates 
“good-bye,” and explained that just be- 
fore the ascension the robes would be 
converted into white wings, and congrat- 
ulated himself that his would be as large 
as the rest owing to its generous size. 
I departed for home at the usual hour 
of nine o’clock, and left the expect- 
ant group singing and praying, with 
Johnnie’s shrill treble much in evidence. 
The next morning he was around, much 
earlier than usual, for his share of 
“chaneys” and white-alleys, and said that 
the celestian flight had been postponed 
or abandoned he did not know which, and 
did not care much, and blamed the whole 
thing on the comet. 
D uring the next month there oc- 
curred an incident that came near 
being a very serious affair, and one 
that might have terminated my earthly 
career at an age so young that my biog- 
raphy would have been a very brief one. 
It was the custom of Johnnie and myself 
to go on Saturdays to a swimming-hole 
two or three miles from town. It was a 
oool in an old abandoned stone quarry, 
about half an acre in extent, and was fed 
by small springs. 
On a very warm day during Indian 
Summer, in the early part of November, 
Johnnie and I went fishing in a creek not 
far from this pool. We had very good 
luck owing to the favorable weather, and 
our basket was pretty well filled with 
sunfish and chubs. I then proposed a 
plunge in the old swimming-hole, and laid^ 
a wager with Johnnie of six “commies”' 
to a white-alley, that I would be first in 
the water. Thereupon ensued a foot race 
of a quarter of a mile along the dusty 
turnpike to the old stone quarry, where 
we arrived very warm and perspiring 
freely. I was soon stripped and plunged 
headlong into the water. 
It was icy cold! It took away my 
breath! When I came to the surface I 
tried to tell Johnnie, not to “come in as 
the water was fine,” but to stay out; but 
I could not utter a word and breathed in 
a quantity of very cold water. My head 
felt full to bursting; my temples throbbed 
violently; and a great roaring was in 
my ears. I tried to swim but my limbs 
refused to obey, and I sank helplessly 
with my legs and arms flexed with terri- 
ble cramps. When I again rose to the 
surface I tried in vain to call to Johnnie 
for help, and breathed in more and more 
icy water. 
Then I sank helpless and hopeless in 
the welter of water, down, down, down, 
and as it seemed to me, through fathom- 
less depths, until I finally rested quietly 
and peacefully at the bottom, with no 
thought of bodily discomfort or mental 
distress. My last view of Johnnie re- 
vealed him stretching forth a pair of long 
white wings, and seemingly about to soar 
aloft. What followed was afterward re- 
lated to me by Johnnie and Jerry, my res- 
cuers. 
The pool was at the foot of a railroad 
embankment, on w'hich were the main 
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