Forest and Stream 
$3 a Year, 10 Cts. a Copy, 
Six Months, $1.50. 
NEW YORK, SATURDAY, MARCH 15, 1913. 
VOL. LXXX.—No. 11. 
127 Franklin St., New York. 
Leaves from a Sketch Book 
J UNE 17, 1911. I awoke bright and early 
this morning to the cheery call of the 
Wizard, who has a knack for early rising, 
and I knew as soon as his voice rang out that 
the fire had been replenished, and the morning 
meal was well on toward completion. And it 
seemed something like home to know that one 
could depend upon another, but then we all have 
our camp duties which by the way is a sure thing 
to follow when on an outing trip. Now, the 
Wizard, being gifted with the divine power of 
constructing things in the line of food, could not 
get out of it. He was chosen in the beginning 
of things as cook, whether he liked it or not. 
But then he is of the good sort, and would never 
have allowed us to suffer in agony. Now sup¬ 
pose for instance I had been chosen cook. As 
a cook I come under the banner of the battered 
saints. Once, and that was away down there 
when we were glorying in the beauties of Lake 
Manitou, I took a hand at preparing something 
for the famished fishermen who had been out 
on the lake trolling for mascalonge at least three 
hours, and it is a wonder I live to jot this down 
in the official diary. As the Scribe, my powers 
are limited to turning out so many words whether 
there is anything doing or not, and I do not 
mind it if I have my share of the joys eternal. 
Just so long as I catch so many fish a day I 
will cover page after page, even if I have to sit 
by the camp-fire all night. 
As I have afore-mentioned, I tried to imi¬ 
tate a cook to appease the hunger that I knew 
was gnawing at the insides of the Athlete and 
the Wizard. The Student was down the lake 
in our canoe taking some bird pictures, or try¬ 
ing to. In a word I was endeavoring to make 
biscuits in the Dutch oven, which is a remark¬ 
able thing used by woodsmen and forest rangers 
sometimes, and are good fellows if one knows 
how to handle them. These biscuits surprised 
me. The dough, which I regret to say, was 
elastic in quality, baked all right, but then again 
they did not bake right. Now, how in the world 
do you think that Wizard does it? There he 
will stand mixing his flour and things with a 
feeling about him that encircles the camp and 
rises and hovers over the lake and the Canadian 
wilderness in general, and there I sit and watch, 
trying to steal from him his knowledge of these 
wonderful arts. My adventure with the biscuits 
brought tears of shame and humiliation to my 
eyes. They spattered upon the biscuits and 
rolled down to the lake, and when the fishermen 
finally were heard approaching across the still 
waters of the cove, I conjectured a lot of things, 
but decided to do the best I could and let it 
By ROBERT PAGE LINCOLN 
go at that. Now the Athlete eats biscuits hand 
over hand. And when he arrived and I handed 
him one for his consumption, and he bit his 
teeth into it, I knew that my day of judgment 
had arrived. 
The crust of the biscuit I had given him 
was of an adamantine excellence, and though 
the Athlete is famed for his fangs, they were 
unable to enter the divinity that he thought lay 
underneath. He thought after getting off the 
shell he would find the meat in the nut. But 
I got the whole biscuit right on the top of my 
dome of thought just as I made a hasty exit 
around the tent. I had visions of other worlds, 
and was sure that the one with so many trails 
and illuminations around it was Halley’s comet. 
That’s what I got for trying to make biscuits 
for hungry fishermen. It’s awful. And when 
I again looked out there was the Athlete hold¬ 
ing his stomach and laughing himself into a fit. 
I can fry fish and pancakes now and then for 
my own use, but when the star boarder is around 
it is a dangerous undertaking. Now you know 
why I was never chosen cook. The Wizard can 
cook. The Athlete gets the wood for the fire, 
because he is strong and healthy looking, and 
as a captain of one of the best known football 
teams in the United States has done much dam¬ 
age. One time the Athlete uprooted a pine that 
would have shamed the efforts of Hercules. You 
want to hear about that of course, but I will not 
go into details, for fear some perfumed high¬ 
brow will call me a nature fakir. The Student 
has charge of the camera department, and the 
Scribe, while doing duty with the official book, 
does all the little jobs the others will not handle. 
One time I washed underwear, but that’s 
another story. This morning there is every ap¬ 
pearance of a fine day awaiting us. We rolled 
out of our blankets and after a wash seated 
ourselves to sample the efforts of the Wizard 
in the line of culinary virtue. Every time I eat 
one of the Wizard’s biscuits I love him more 
and more. He don’t look as though he could 
do it, but still he is wonderful as a dough con¬ 
structor. He should have a Carnegie medal, 
and I think as soon as we get back to civiliza¬ 
tion we will arrange a committee to investigate 
the old fellow. With the faintest indication of 
a breeze coming over the water there was some¬ 
thing in the very air that quickened the pulse 
and sprung aflame in the heart. I looked far 
out over the waters and saw the further shore 
with the pines meeting the edge of the lake in 
one dash of gloom in that blue-black glory that 
is presented to one who looks upon the pines 
in the early morning, or as the shadows begin 
to fall at twilight. The sun had just peeped 
over the eastern brim of the pines, and the warm 
rays were sending their glamor into every nook 
as thought to search out the hidden places. The 
waters around the coves lay still and unblem¬ 
ished by the murmurless breeze; all was wrapped 
up in the dreams of the wilderness, and somehow 
