March 15, 1913 
FOREST AND STREAM 
343 
Emetic,” when we espied a beautiful grouse sit¬ 
ting high in the fork of a fir tree. The oppor¬ 
tunity was too good to be lost. Thompson said 
if he had an arrow that was headed with the 
Kohinoor—its steel a portion of the rod of 
Aaron and fletched with feathers from the wing 
of the dove that first sighted land—he would 
risk it on that shot. With calm deliberation he 
drew from the quiver his century-old arrow and 
prepared to shoot. With such an example be¬ 
fore my eyes, I could not afford to respect 
Jackson's injunction to bring the “Whirling 
Spray” to rest only in the vitals of a bear, and 
I proceeded to follow suit. Both shots missed, 
and they were good misses, my arrow buried it¬ 
self in the tree just above the bird, and Thomp¬ 
son’s just below. We had had our fun, the bird 
had had its scare, but our arrows were beyond 
recovery as far as we were concerned. Had 
these arrows been properly headed for that class 
of shooting, they would not have been lost. They 
were not lost entirely, however, as three years 
after that a combination of circus acrobat, squir¬ 
rel and telegraph lineman, who heard the story, 
climbed the tree and chopped the arrows out, 
but little the worse for their long exposure. 
Surprising results sometimes follow the use 
of blunt arrows. I have driven them entirely 
through a rabbit, feathers and all, and have had 
them glance harmlessly from the wings of a 
sitting grouse. 
Scores of target archers have become pro¬ 
ficient and have abandoned the sport, but I never 
knew one that really hunted with the bow that 
ever gave it up. There is more joy in bringing 
home one lone rabbit brought to bag with the 
bow than there is in giving ninety and nine 
to the poor which have been collected with a 
shotgun. It is not the blood and fur and 
feathers the archer wants, but the chance to 
shoot and scare them and see them run. The 
pleasure is in the glorious misses. Every miss 
is as good as a hit, for one sees exactly where 
he is shooting, and you do not have to kill in 
order to know whether you are doing well or ill. 
Everything one shoots at has more than a show 
for its life, unless Jackson is doing the shooting; 
then the odds are a little against it. But that 
can’t be helped; he will insist upon shooting with 
the precision and regularity of a machine. 
Thompson says he is as deliberate as the pro¬ 
cesses of nature and twice as sure. All of which 
militates against longevity among the rabbits of 
this vicinity. 
I find I am digressing from my subject and 
getting garrulous. In closing, will say that the 
steel heads of the hunting arrow must be sharp, 
razor sharp, and kept so. It is a mistake to 
make them barbed, or even triangular in shape, 
as thus it is impossible to withdraw them from 
the game without much cutting and tearing. 
Also when hunting in timber, carry a pocket 
axe to chop out such as become imbedded in 
trees and logs. And lastly, tell us through the 
columns of Forest and Stream of your various 
hunts, hits as well as misses. 
FOR ARCHERY SUPPLIES 
Write for Archery Catalogue. 
E. I. HORSMAN CO. 365 Broadway, N. Y. 
The Bow That Strung Itself. 
BY F. S. BARNES. 
Will H. Thompson, whom so many archers 
lovingly call the “father of American archery,” 
for many years with his brother, the author, 
Maurice Thompson, used the long bow only in 
hunting game, and who could, if he would, give 
to literature and to all who love archery many 
interesting reminiscences of sylvan archery, more 
than thirty years ago wrote a little poem which 
appeared in some Eastern periodical, and which 
attracted so much attention from archery people 
that it was reprinted in England. Like all of 
Mr. Thompson’s serious work, there is a tender 
strain of emotion running through it, which is 
clearly revealed in the second stanza, but it is 
in the last stanza that the happy conceit of the 
old bow stringing itself stirs the heart as well 
as the mind of the faithful archer. The master’s 
praise was too much for the aged limbs of the 
old bow, and in their swelling pride they bent 
themselves until the comrade string crept to the 
nock. 
Feeling sure that the young archers of to¬ 
day will be as pleased as we of other years to 
read and preserve this poet’s gift to archery, I 
attach a copy of the poem. 
“AN OLD HUNTING BOW.” 
BY WILL H. THOMPSON. 
This is no dead, insensate staff. 
No lifeless bulk in bondage sef; 
The echoes of its ancient laugh 
Roam through the wildernesses yet. 
And fondling it, my eyes grow dim 
With just a hint of hidden tears, 
Seeing each rough and mighty limb 
Bent with the toil of years and years. 
Gone are the days, old friend, when we 
Through the green land went roving. 
And naught remains to comfort thee 
But one poor shaft and knotted string. 
Do these find tongues to sing or say 
Aught of thy vanished history? 
Of mountain brook’s wild runaway— 
The pine tree’s murmured mystery— 
The voices of the solitude. 
From haunts of memory calling loud, 
Tallulah from her rushing flood, 
Toccoa from her falling cloud. 
With whisperings of beasts beset, 
With scent of slain things’ sensuous blood, 
Rousing the slumbering lion yet 
That lairs in memory’s oldest wood. 
Do my eyes fail me, as I watch? 
Or are the great limbs curving slow, 
The looped string creeping to the notch, 
Bravo! Well done, my dear old bow. 
Bow Air—Beechview Match. 
Pittsburgh, Pa., March 3.—Ftftfor Forest 
and Stream: On Saturday, March i, the Bow 
Air-Beechview team shot a Keystone match 
round of 144 arrows at 60 yards. The weather, 
for a wonder, was perfectly calm. Mr. Holmes, 
while shooting, made the remark that he hardly 
felt at home in the absence of our usual noisy, 
violent wind, whereat Mr. Wolf dryly replied 
that if he had his way he would shoot in a 
vacuum. Inasmuch as Mr. Wolf weighs about 
115 pounds in the rough, one can readily see 
why he should wish to sidestep the wind. Scores: 
Hits. 
Score. 
D. 
F. 
Wolf. 
. 102 
484 
VV. 
. 1 . 
TTolmes. 
. 126 
602 
J. 
S. 
Jiles. 
. 128 
612 
0 . 
L. 
Hertig. 
. 141 
775 
The Keystone match round consisting of 
the usual team round with forty-eight arrows 
additional makes a pretty good test for the 
archer s endurance. The Pittsburgh archers 
have also adopted what is called the Keystone 
practice round, consisting of seventy-two arrows 
at 100 yards, forty-eight at 80 yards, thirty at 
60, 50 and 40 yards; 210 arrows in all. This 
makes an afternoon’s work, which, while some¬ 
what strenuous, can be done once a week with¬ 
out harm. It comprises all the elements of both 
the York and American round. In looking over 
old scores I have found in several instances 
where a York round expert fell down at 40 
yards. The cause of this is not lack of skill, but 
lack of familiarity with the short range. 
Mr. Rendtorff’s article on the importance 
of keeping both eyes open while shooting is 
timely. The writer has been a gun crank all 
his life and shoots with both eyes open, whether 
the weapon is a fine-sighted rifle or a shotgun 
with just a plain bead between the barrels. His 
observations of the best shots in the world point 
to the fact that nearly all of them shoot with 
both eyes open; in fact, nowadays a man who 
squints along the barrel of his gun is a curiosity. 
While Mr. Rendtorff enumerates some ad¬ 
vantages which may be placed to the credit of 
the one-eyed shooter, in reality none exist, for 
one can take just as fine a bead on his point of 
aim (if he is going to do such a foolish thing) 
with both eyes open as he can with one eye 
shut. 
We flushed a meadow lark on our range 
Saturday and saw several scores of robins. So 
take courage, fellow archers, for spring is near. 
O. L. Hertig. 
The Archery Meeting. 
BY THOM.'IS H.\YNES BAYLY. 
The archery meeting is fixed for the third. 
The fuss that it causes is truly absurd; 
I’ve bought summer bonnets for Rosa and Bess, 
And now I must buy each an archery dress. 
Without a green suit they would blush to be seen— 
And poor little Rosa looks horrid in green! 
Poor fat little Rosa! She’s shooting all day! 
She sends forth an arrow expertly, they say; 
But ’tis terrible when with exertion she warms, 
And seems to me getting such muscular arms; 
And if she sould hit, ’twere as well if she missed, 
Prize bracelets could never be clasped on her wrist! 
Dear Bess, with her elegant figure and face. 
Looks quite a Diana, the queen of the place. 
But as for the shooting—she never takes aim. 
She talks so and laughs so—the beaux are to blame. 
She dotes on flirtation—but oh! by-the-by, 
’Twas awkward her shooting out Mrs. Flint’s eye. 
They’ve made my poor husband an archer-elect; 
He dresses the part with prodigious effect; 
A pair of nankeens, with a belt round his waist. 
And a quiver, of course, in which arrows are placed; 
And a bow in his hand—Oh! he looks, of all things. 
Like a corpulent cupid bereft of his wings. 
They dance on the lawn, and we mothers, alas! 
Must sit on camp stools with our feet in the grass; 
My Resa and Betty no partners attract! 
The archery men are all cross beaux, in fact! 
Among the young ladies some hits there may be. 
But still at my elbows two misses I see. 
Long-Lived Boots. 
Clarence Eaton, of Franklin, Me., is wear¬ 
ing a pair of cowhide boots that were made fifty 
years ago. The boots belonged originally to 
Robert Fossett, of Strong, Me., and were worn 
by him constantly forty-eight years ago and look 
good for another half century’s wear. 
