98 
IS/Iav IS 
FRAXK FORESTER. 
Bt Isaac McLellan. 
In compliance with a request, by a correspondent of 
Tire Rod asd Guif, we present some reminiscences of 
dear departed Herbert ; dear to those who knew and 
valued him in life, and dear to those of another genera- 
tion, who know and admire him in bis writings. 
As the swift years pass away, the productions of his 
versatile genius, not onl}- survive, but shine with in- 
creasing lustre, and find high favor with a new genera- 
tion of lovers of sport and of sporting literature, while 
the old love of his friends, brightens and strengthens 
with the gliding j’^ears. Eheu ! anni labuntur ! Yet 
his literary influence does not pass away, and as his 
veteran friends and associates disappear in the battle of 
life, new recruits spring up in myriads to fill the de- 
pleted ranks. 
Though he w'rote not in verse, Lis fascinating pages 
are emblazoned with the sweetest flowers of poesy, and 
his spirit takes us timidly by the hand, leads us onward 
into the fairest, fairy retreats, of the natural world. 
We all remember his words as we pass into the un- 
trodden solitudes of the primeval forest, over the rust- 
ling grass of wind-swept piairies, deep in the blast of 
embowering dells and dingles, along the breezy hill- 
sides, by the borders of tumbling brook or rushing 
river ; or the hoarse-resounding surges of old ocean. 
The light of his pen falls upon all places-beautiful or 
majestic in the land, and illuminates them with unfad- 
ing glorj'. He suggests and guides in manly sports and 
pastimes, and while he leads us forth into nature, with 
gun and rod in hand, teaching us their use, he educates 
our mental and bodily eye in disclosing to view 
the wonders and beauties of the fair world that lies 
about us. 
“ Our Frank” was the most copious and brilliant of 
all writers on sporting topics, describing minutely and 
faithfully all game animals, game-birds and fish, and 
sketching with a facile pen the varied and particular 
scenery where they may be found. 
We were quick to appreciate his kindly and novel 
qualities, to notice his failings, for who of us is with- 
out fault or blemish ? When he laid aside his pen and 
lifted the fatal pistol, the reading world lost one of its 
most gifted authors, the sporting world its most accom- 
plished delineator. As he had, when in life, no peer in 
the deseription of sporting subjects and of manly 
recreations, so, being dead, he has left no one worthy to 
fill his place. His ardent love of nature and all the at- 
tractions of the natural world in field and forest, in 
moorland, upland, prairie, and broad salt-marsh, in- 
spired his pen w'ith an elegance that will always rendei 
his volumes foremost favorites with all devotees of rod 
and gun. Sad it is that his poetic nature, his apprecia- 
tive knowledge of all hunter’s craft should have had 
such untimely end. He was emphatically an earnest 
sportsman, a true delineator of all the pastimes of field 
and stream. He was plain in dress, manly iu bearing, 
with nothing of the exquisite in costume qr deportment, 
and when he stept into the office of the genial Spirit of 
the Times, bearing in his hand a big roll of manuscript 
and wearing his slouched hat. and heav}' boots and 
bushy moustache, he looked like a hardy hunter of the 
West, just returned from the deer and the woods. He 
cared not for the pomp and gaieties of polished city life, 
but loved better to contemplate and portray the varied 
features and changes of nature, the blue, starry glory of 
the night, the opening effulgence of day, the pale glim- 
mer of the dawn, the swollen river, the frothing cataract 
the savage gloom of deep forests, the willow-margined 
inland lake, lonesome vallies embosomed in wooded 
hills, salt-bays alive with wild-fowl, desolate rocky 
mountain ridges, haunts of the grizzly-bear, Canadian 
wilds traversed by clattering hoofs of moose and cari- 
boo, immense prairies peopled with grouse and quail; 
cedar swamps and piny woodlands, the homes of the 
partridge ; boggy fens and miry meadows where the 
snipe and the wood-cock bore the soft mud for worms 
and larvae. 
Pity it is that one of such buoyant spirit, with such 
social relish for companionship, such love for the 
breezy sports of waste and wilderness, should at the 
same time be so prone to mental depression, so weary 
of life, and so ready to barter it for that undiscovered 
country, mistily lying beyond the shore of time. It 
was his latest wish that on the tablet that marked the 
place of his final repose should be inscribed that mourn- 
ful epitaph: “iliserrimus. ” We suppose he was, at 
times, or fancies himself to be “most unhappy.” So 
variable was his temperament, that if but for a little he 
could have tided over, the ills and evils that beset him, 
and led him rashly to his death, he might now still be 
with us, to charm and to instruct. 
He liked the athletic exertion of forest life better 
than the luxurious pleasures of city existence. He 
seemed not a little proud of his own personal strength 
and powers of endurance, and would have preferred 
a bout of fisticuffs to the silken attr.actions of the ball- 
room. He preferred the Adirondacks to Broadwaj’, 
and in the fullue.ss of his heart speaks in this manner of 
that wild region. “Here, there is no work for the 
feather-bed, city hunter, the curled darling of soft 
dames. Here the true fort, the stout arm, the keen-eye 
and the instinctive prescience of the forester and moun- 
taineer are needed.” 
He loved at times to emerge from his secluded retreat 
at the “Cedars” and mingle in the living tides that pour 
through Broadway, bringing with him, as it were, into 
the stifled city, the honest breezes that blow’ over woods 
and waters. In his hand he often bore a voluminous 
roll of manuscript, read}’ for the press. As he ex- 
changed a hearty grasp with a friendly hand, his dark 
eye would sparkle and his swarthy cheek brighten into 
smiles. He cared not for fashion or for parties, but his 
talk was ever of the rod and gun, the dog and the 
horse. He would often be met with at the office of the 
old Spirit of the T imes, in Barclay street, and later 
when it was removed to the Appleton’s building, corner 
of Broadway and Leonard street. Here, he would con- 
sort with IVm. T. Porter, George Wilkes, Philip 
Anthon, Genio C. Scott, Carl Benson and other well- 
known writers on sporting topics; with whom he had 
free and friendlv intercourse. The room on the same 
floor with the Spirit office, was occupied a.s the office of 
tire late Knickerbocker Magazine, where the genial Lewis 
G. Clark and other kindred souls could be found, and 
among the contributors of that good old departed pub- 
lication the name of Herbert migh*- be often found. 
And here we had our last interview’ w’ith Frank For- 
ester, a short three weeks before his death. He then 
came into the office accompanied by Porter, and his 
friend Anthon, and they all seemed to be in high glee, 
and overflowing with fun. After a general greeting, he 
withdrew us into a corner, and we had a half-hour 
talk about rod and gun. We remember that he then 
argued that nothing was so effective for wild-fowl 
shooting as a heavy single gun for the first discharge, 
that to be succeeded by a light double gun; and this 
opinion he maintains in his books. We ventured to 
disagree with him, thinking that a heavy double-gun, 
No. 9 or 10 bore, and of twelve pound weight, would 
be more fatal than his heavy single and light double 
gun; for it is often the case that the second barrel of 
the double gun is more destructive than the first one, as 
the flock will be apt to double up after the first dis- 
charge and so offer a capital mark for the second barrel 
and if one uses only a single barreled gun, before the 
fowler can catch up his second (double) gun, the oppor- 
tunity of the second shot is lost. 
Herbert had not very great experience in wild-fowl 
and bay-snipe shooting, as he cared much less for such 
sport than for quail, woodcock, partridge and grouse 
shooting (prairie), where game is got by help of a trained 
dog. Indeed, he then remarked that he much pre- 
ferred the field sports of the West, especially for quail 
and grouse, to the wild fowl shooting of the coast. He 
seemed to prefer the active exertions over stubble-fields 
and open prairie to the tedious and inactive watching at 
the stand, with a set of decoys, for the uncertain ap- 
proach of bay-snipe and wild fowl. Neither did he 
much care for the still-hunting for deer, saying that 
shooting at a poor unsuspecting doe, in ambush, seemed 
much like shooting at a shambling omnibus horse from 
the steps of the Astor house. Yet he would delight in 
the energetic sport of following with a fast horse, on 
the track of a flying stag of the w’ilderness, with all the 
excitements of the horn-blast, the whoop of the rider, 
and the yelping of the pack. 
William H. Herbert w’as bom in London in 1807, and 
was descended from an ancient and noble English fam- 
ily. He was educated at Eton and at Cambridge, grad- 
uating in 1830, and a year subsequent he landed in New 
York, and for a few years was teacher of Greek in a 
classical school, and soon became a writer for the press, 
especially a contributor to the Spirit of the Times, then 
conducted by Wm. T. Porter, the “ tall son of York.’’ 
He also contributed to the Knickerbocker, &raham and 
other periodicals. He also published several admir- 
able works, the most popular of which were treatises on 
sporting matters and natural history, such as the “War- 
wick Woodlands” “Field Sports of America,” “Fish 
and Fishing of America,” “Game in its Season,” “The 
Horse,” etc. 
In one of his trips to Maine, a favorite hunting-gound, 
he married a Miss Barker of Bangor, a family connec- 
tion of the present writer, with whom he resided in 
Newark until the period of her death in 1846. In Feb. 
1858, he was again married to 5Iiss Budlong of Newark, 
but their married life was unhappy, and they soon sep- 
arated. This family trouble was an intense affliction to 
him, and his mind was greatly depressed, the happiness 
oL life was gone. The clear use of his reason never 
rallied again and his intimate friends began to watch 
his movements with the greatest solicitude. In the 
morning of the 17th of May, 1858, he put a sudden 
end to his life, with the pistol, in his room at the 
Stevens house, after withdrawing for a moment from 
the presence of his friend Mr. Anthon. It is quite prob- 
able that if poor Herbert had had the timely benefit of 
good medical advice and would have submitted to its 
dictates, that his life might have been lengthened out, 
to build up with his pen, a still nobler monument of his 
fame. It has been said of him, “that had his brain and 
arterial system been restored to their natural condition , 
so noble and gifted a mind would never have com- 
mitted the sad error of judgment we now so deeply 
deplore. 
The remains of dear, departed Herbert were taken to 
his home, the “Cedars” and were there committed to 
the dust, followed by many mourning friends from the 
great city, and by many of the most influential citizens 
of Newark and vicinity. A simple leaning stone bears 
the inscription of his name and age, 50 years, with the 
single word “Infelicissimus” engraven below. 
“Infelicissimus!” most unhappy, 
sncb his piteous, latest word! 
“Most unhappy,” sigh the grasses, 
O'er him by the breezes stirr'd; 
Summer's dewy, leafy chaplet. 
Falling on his sacred nm. 
With a moumihl sigh repeateth. 
He hath vanish'd “to the bourne 
Whence no travellers return!” 
Ue hath written in bright letters 
Of the sportsman and the spoil. 
Of the places where the hunter. 
Follows far the manly toil. 
Of the crisp October stubble 
Where the whistling quail are found. 
Of the marshes gray and lonely. 
Where the curlew-cries resound . 
Gun and Bod, and pen and volume 
He hath laid forever by. 
Folded up his arms in slumber 
Closed for e'er hie mortal eye: 
Shrill the Quail pipes o'er his hillock. 
Forth the partridge leads her brood 
Grasses rustle o'er his pillow 
Flowers of meadow and of wood. 
Bat bis name embalmed enrvivcih 
In the hearts that lov'd him well 
Hearts, that when hie name is spoken 
Will be thrill'd as with a spell; 
Hearts, whose tablets, deep engraven. 
Long will Herbert's name retain; 
Long as human genius liveth. 
Long as sporting joys remain. 
EXPLORIXe .1 C.\LIF0RXI.\ CAVE. 
BY LrVTNGSTOX STONE, U. S. FISH COMMISSIONER. 
In tfie limestone mountains on the east bank of the 
McCloud river we found t-wo caves. One was an al- 
most circular cavity in the side of the mountain about 
thirty feet in diameter and one hundred feet in length, 
with a floor nearly level, forming a magnificent cham- 
ber with fresh green “Maiden’s hair” growing in large 
clusters downward from the roof. This cave is at an 
altitude of about 2000 feet, and is very difficult of access. 
The other cave is similar, and more easily reached, 
but has in addition a dark, narrow passage-way leading 
through the interior of the mountain to a deep, perpen- 
dicular abyss, with reentrant sides from the bottom of 
which, nothing having once fallen in, could ever es- 
cape without wings or help from the outside. It is a 
place of such peculiar terror that I will describe our ex- 
ploration of it. Having resolved to visit the cave, and 
having secured a guide in the person of Dr. Silverthorn, 
an old resident of this locality, we finished work at fiiffe 
o’clock on Saturday afternoon, and taking our blankets 
and necessary provisions together with candles, lan- 
terns, axes, ropes, etc., we proceeded to the foot of the 
mountain that evening, and having cooked our supper. 
