922 
FOREST AND STREAM 
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WOODCRAFT 
By NESSMUK 
No better or more 
delightful book for 
the help and guid¬ 
ance of those who 
go into the wild for 
sport or recreation 
was ever written. 
No one ever knew 
the woods better 
than Nessmuk or 
succeeded in putting 
so much, valuable in¬ 
formation into the 
same compass. 
Camp equipment, 
camp making, the 
personal kit, camp 
fires, shelters, bed¬ 
ding, fishing, cook¬ 
ing, and a thousand 
and one kindred 
topics are considered. Beyond this the 
book has a quaint charm all its own. Cloth, 
illus., 160 pages. Postpaid, $ 1 . 00 . 
Forest and Stream Publishing Co. 
128 BROADWAY, NEW YORK 
RARE BOOKS ON ANGLING. 
A correspondent of Forest and Stream re¬ 
ferred in the February number to a rare edition 
of an early English work on hunting and hawk¬ 
ing topics which was priced by the dealer owning 
it at eleven thousand dollars. This no doubt took 
the breath away from the ordinary mortal, whose 
utmost ambition in such literature does not rise 
higher than the sporting goods catalogue. 
Wealthier members of the fraternity, however, 
are used to paying high prices for rare editions. 
Thus an English firm of book sellers announces 
for sale about the scarcest article that can be 
collected by the angler of means, namely, a com¬ 
plete set of the first five editions of Walton, 
or this set—almost perfect—they ask $4,500. Cu¬ 
riously, the second edition is much scarcer than 
the first or original edition, a fact commented 
on by Hon. Daniel B. Fearing, a notable col¬ 
lector of this country. 
“We are pleased to learn,” says the “Shooting 
Times and British Sportsman,” “that the caper¬ 
cailzie is increasing in number in Scotland, and 
that those handsome birds are quite numerous in 
the pine woods of Tay and Perthshire. Some 
years ago they were completely extinct in Scot¬ 
land, having become wiped out through the grad¬ 
ual clearance of the ancient forests; but in 1847 
some birds were introduced in Norway and laid 
down near Taymouth. They were carefully pre¬ 
served, and have now spread in many directions 
and are doing exceedingly well. In Norway and 
in Austria the capercailzie affords good sport 
with the rifle by stalking the cock birds, which 
perch on the highest trees to salute the morn.” 
THE COLONEL AT THE TRAPS AND 
AFIELD. 
(Continued from page 896.) 
down. Here’s where the ‘state o’ mind’ comes 
in; if you get upset you might as well quit right 
there and get over it, ’cause yo’re only wastin’ 
yo’r ammunition.” 
This rather annoyed me, and I insisted on go¬ 
ing through with my string. I did, and got two 
birds from the remaining ten. I was a little 
ashamed as I turned to the Colonel. 
“Satisfied now?” he asked cheerfully. “You- 
all got to leave yo’r temper home when yo’re 
shootin’ clay birds, my boy. Now I’ll give you 
five birds on the next twenty-five for a seegar.” 
I started the match and we both reached 
seven without a miss. I was watching the Colo¬ 
nel closely every shot; he broke his eighth bird 
before it moved ten feet. I proceeded to miss my 
next shot. 
“I’d ’a’ bet fifty cents you’d miss that! Ha! 
ha! Now you-all stop watchin’ me and and 
think about yo’r own shootin’; never look at the 
other fellow when yo’re at the traps—the um¬ 
pire is watchin’ his score, and he don’t need vo’r 
help.” 
We shot our twenty-five and went into the 
clubhouse where I bought the Colonel his “see¬ 
gar.” We spent the next half hour watching 
some crack shots make high scores, and then 
took up our guns again for fifty birds before 
leaving. After we got up to about twenty birds 
I began to break one after another. It seemed 
as though I did not have to aim at them; every 
time a bird was thrown I felt that I was going 
to break it, and I did. 
“Well!” exclaimed the Colonel, “I see yo’re in 
yo’r ‘shootin’ groove’ at last! Don’t that feel 
nice when you know that every bird is dead be¬ 
fore you even shoot at it? After you get about 
ten or twelve that way, you-all want to look 
out, ’cause the first thing you know you’ll miss 
one, and then you’ll get worried when you miss 
another and it’s all off! That ‘shootin’ groove’ 
is worth waitin’ a long time for; some days 
when you been up too late the night before you’ll 
never get in it; but when yo’re feelin’ fine and 
yo’r digestion is just right yo’re liable to slip 
into the groove and then I hope I’m not bettin’ 
against you!” When we finished this match the 
Colonel had to his credit forty-four dead birds, 
while I had thirty-seven. 
The following week the Colonel and I went 
pheasant shooting. The country over which we 
hunted was very boggy and difficult. The dogs 
would point a bird, and as one of us walked up 
to flush we would stumble and slip among the 
bogs, with the result that when a bird rose we 
might be precariously balancing on top of a 
wobbly-hummock. The Colonel had no chance to 
assume the correct stance before shooting at 
these birds; but he killed two out of the six 
cocks that he flushed, while I did a little better 
with three dead out of five flushed. 
“Well, sir! I see that you-all are profitin’ by 
the little lesson I gave you at the club the other 
day,” said the Colonel. I assented to this with 
a smile—the smile of a villain—for I had an 
idea that I could show the Colonel something the 
next time we met at the traps. A few days 
later I had my opportunity, when I challenged 
him to a twenty-five birdshoot “a la field style;” 
that is, we were to start about twenty yards 
from the trap and walk up to it over the low 
shooting platform; the birds were to be fired 
without warning. Every three or four shots we 
were to walk across in front of the trap, first 
from one side and then from the other. 
We proceeded with our match, and as bird 
after bird was thrown, the Colonel’s “state of 
mind” did not radically improve; in fact he 
grew positively solemn. My plan was very suc¬ 
cessful—more so than I expected—-for the Colo¬ 
nel killed but eleven birds as against my four¬ 
teen. 
“You win, my boy,” said the Colonel, with a 
twinkle in his eye. “I reckon that gettin’ yo’r 
gun up right quick and keepin’ yo’r balance per¬ 
fect as you walk, counts even more than yo’r 
‘state o’ mind’ when it comes to field conditions. 
I certainly would enjoy, however, to give you-all 
ten handicap on fifty targets, shootin’ the regu¬ 
lar trap rules.” The Colonel’s dander was up 
now, and he won as usual at his pet game. 
Spratt’s trophy consisting of two handsome 
sterling silver porringers for the best brace in 
the 1915 shows, was won by Ridgeway Kennels’ 
wire-haired fox terriers. 
