spots. On the margin of one of the lakes where 
we camped there was a neat, nice-looking cabin 
that I made a picture of on approaching it. We 
could hear the strains of sweet music from a vio¬ 
lin. The sound of music is always attractive, for 
where there is music there is good humor or 
good will, and generaily both. 
Here we discovered a happy pair of gentle 
spirits spending a honeymoon, and when I con¬ 
sidered them, and the scene in which they were, 
1 could not but think it is a pity that the seasons 
should ever change, or young people should ever 
grow old, or that blossoms should resign their 
position to fruit. At this season of the year, 
even the butterfly is sporting with its mate and 
the green fields and budding forests, the singing 
of the birds, and the sweet smell of the flowers 
are all at their best. 
On the opposite side of the lake from our 
camp there was a party of gulls making a noisy 
fuss, and we paddled over to where they were. 
I had learned by observation that we almost 
always had good luck fishing, if we followed 
the flight of the gulls. They had their nests 
there. 
I got .my fly rod together and put on a new set 
of flies, and cast near the rocky shore, and, at 
the third cast there was a strike, and a pretty one. 
Silas, a most excellent hand with the paddle, was 
put to the test, but he was equal to the emei- 
gencv. It was quite evident by his behavior that 
the trout was a big one, and one of the gamest. He 
went up and down, back and forth, and round 
and round, the canoe circus fashion necessarily 
requiring very careful handling. I could hardly 
follow the zipping of the line, getting an occa¬ 
sional glance at his glistening sides and his yel¬ 
low belly. Finally his frantic efforts exhausted 
FOREST AND STREAM 
his strength, and Silas slipped the landing net 
under him and held him up with a triumphant 
air. No wonder! for he measured sixteen and a 
half inches, a bright, speckled trout, taken with 
a Leonard six-ounce rod, one of those dainty 
affairs that lays in a velvet lined case when not 
in active use. It is wonderful how those birds 
know the location where the fish are. 
I was fishing up on the head waters of the 
river, and on a bend of the stream there was a 
tall dead tree on the top of which an osprey built 
her nest. It was noon when we were there, and 
we decided to stop for lunch. I stepped up the 
stream a few rods and cast my flies in the pool, 
and was almost immediately rewarded by a vigor¬ 
ous strike, and got a number of trout in time 
for our meal of trout chowder, of which my 
guide made enough for four persons by taking 
a pound of salt pork, and cut it in half-inch 
squares and fried it until brown, and put in a pot 
with it six potatoes, cut in squares, two onions 
cut fine, two tomatoes, two pounds of trout, and 
covered all with cold water and salt and pepper 
to taste. Just before serving he added a cup of 
warm milk. When the milk is made warm before 
adding it prevents curdling. 
After partaking of this repast I sat down in 
the shade to read a book, and books are the nega¬ 
tive picture of thoughts, and what could be more 
appropriate for a camping and fishing trip than 
a few of Doctor Henry Van Dyke’s classics? 
They add piquancy to it as a mushroom does to 
an epicurean sauce. 
This mode of life has much in it of the fancifu! 
and picturesque. Here the lovers of nature main¬ 
tain a primitive independence totally different 
from the busy, thrifty city life. 
Our commissariat was getting somewhat low 
207 
and Silas said what are we to have for supper 
to-night. We have neither fish nor meat. He 
suggested I unstrap my rod and select my flies- 
I did as suggested and for the end fly I put on a 
Montreal, tied on a number four hook, above this 
I put on a scarlet hackle, and above it I put on 
a white moth. Silas paddled over to the edge of 
the lily pads near the inlet of the pond. The 
first rise was a little fellow who cut a tiny fur¬ 
row after the white moth, but missed it. Then 
a larger one with quivering fins and open mouth 
flung himself into the air in a successful attempt 
to seize the scarlet hackle and a half pound trout 
was secured, a two-pounder like a miniature por¬ 
poise lazily rose to the surface rolled up his 
golden belly, struck the Montreal and with a 
splash of his broad tail disappeared, but securely 
hooked was played and brought to the net and 
laid in the bottom of the canoe with his two 
brethren. 
When we have had enough fish or fishing the 
pleasure of making photographs on a new lake 
or stream occasionally including a picture of live 
wild game to ponder over on the long winter 
evening is often a source of much pleasure. 
Down the Allagash by canoe and portage is 
about two hundred miles crossing or skirting the 
margin of more than twenty lakes or ponds, fre¬ 
quently returning to the bending, winding Alla- 
gash, continually tasting the joys of new scenery 
and fishing new waters. 
Our holiday was drawing to a close. The even¬ 
ing shadows began to silently cast their dusky 
veil over the forest. To-morrow we must paddle 
our canoe on the river to the village where the 
railroad station is located, to be hurried back to 
civilization. 
A Three 
Days’ Wagon Trip 
By C. A. V. 
After Bob Whites 
T HE quail is the popular game bird of the 
American people and especially of the 
South, where he abounds. In my section he 
is quite numerous, and frequently comes into 
our yard, picking up crumbs and wallowing in the 
sand. He seems to be especially fond of young 
green beans, and sometimes makes sad inroads 
on some planter’s vegetable garden. I have seen 
quail light in the pine trees about our house and 
even on the roof itself. In spite of this plentiful 
supply at our doors, however, we never molest the 
quail on the home grounds, but with my brother 
I often make wagon trips of several days’ dura¬ 
tion back into the unsettled districts in pursuit 
of these birds. 
The country back from the coast settlements 
is quite open, and one can drive about anywhere 
among the flat pine forests and wet prairies, 
where the scrub palmetto grows only in isolated 
clumps or not at all. The absence of these dense 
thickets of scrub palmetto makes the work much 
easier on the dogs. Also my brother and I prefer 
the unhampered freedom of the unsettled, un¬ 
fenced country. I say unsettled, for the few scat¬ 
tering huts of the wood cutters, hog raisers and 
’gator hunters can hardly be said to constitute 
a settlement. Everything is yet pretty nearly as 
God created it, and aside from the certainty of 
good quail shooting there is a possibility of se¬ 
curing, or at least seeing, larger game. 
One warm, sunshiny Thanksgiving afternoon, 
after a hearty dinner such as is usually served 
on that day, we hitched up our horse to a light 
runabout, and after packing the wagon box with 
food for men, dogs and horse, we started forth 
for a three days’ shooting trip. One of our 
dogs, Kate, was a very good quail dog, while the 
pup, Sport, was a greenhorn, though promising to 
make good some day. 
The day was ideal, and we drove along in the 
shade of the sweet-scented pines, the dogs hunt¬ 
ing on both sides and showing in every manner 
possible that they were enjoying themselves im¬ 
mensely. We crossed the ford of the Sebastian 
about three o’clock. A large school of bass 
sported about in the shallows, but they darted 
away to the protection of the flags, reeds and 
lilies when we drove into the water. A dense 
jungle of cypress skirted the stream and we zig¬ 
zagged about for a while, dodging cypress trees 
and emerging at last upon the marshes—those 
vast lonely tracts which stretch away to the west¬ 
ward until lost at last in that impenetrable, inter¬ 
minable morass of saw-grass and lilies, known 
as the everglades, or by the Seminoles as the 
great grass water. 
We found the prairies dry, owing to the long 
drouth, but in times past I have seen this coun¬ 
try all submerged. Many a fine day’s sport have 
I had with the snipe on these marshes. I recall 
one instance, several years ago, when these sav- 
anas were partially submerged and full of snipe, 
and as 1 went along they kept getting up lazily 
all around me, offering splendid shots, and al¬ 
though I am a poor wing shot I missed but few 
birds. One exceptionally lazy fellow got up al¬ 
most under my feet and, I thought, to see just 
how quickly I could kill him. At the report of 
my gun he fell dead just twenty-four feet from 
where I stood. There was nothing left of him 
but the wings. 
About a mile from the ford the old dog came 
to a point near a small clump of pines and the 
pup backed her nicely. Charlie got out of the 
wagon and walked up to where they were stand- 
