Forest and Stream 
Vol. LXXXIII. November 7, 1914 No. 19 
The Wood Hollow Days 
11.—Other Delights and Sensations 
By Robert Page Lincoln. 
“Bob,” said Fred that following night, upon 
our return from the woods with our full quota 
of game, “have you ever tried that scheme of 
fixing up birds, or fowl, for eating purposes, 
like this: you go get some clay; you clean the 
bird as far as the inards are concerned, but you 
leave the feathers on, see? Then you take this 
same bird, all cleaned and washed inside, you 
know; you cover said bird with a proper thick¬ 
ness of clay, at least so that it will hang well 
enough together, then you dig into the coals of 
the fire and you let it remain there for about 
twenty or twenty-five minutes. Then you take 
off the hardened clay, and inside you have your 
bird baked with all the freshness and odor in¬ 
tact. Have you ever tried the scheme, or am I 
telling you this for the first time of anyone.” 
“Not sew,” I commented briefly, remembering 
various and sundry mentions in print of the 
performance. “Tried it. when a kid; and got 
the receipt first from an old-timer here in Min¬ 
nesota. We will bake one of the partridges that 
way if you like. I will guarantee it as first 
class.” 
The evening settled down rather cool and a 
fire in the fire-place was a thing that was next 
to necessary; hence it was that we had baked 
partridge a-la-clay, with the trimmings. Fred 
hunted for clay and luckily found it; a gray, 
blue mixture along the creek bank, way down 
at the water’s edge at an un-get-at-able place 
which Fred yet managed to circumvent by his 
dominant ambition. Fred had his doubts about 
the scheme believing it like many of the other 
things sprung upon an innocent, unsophisticated 
outdoor audience. But when that layer, or coat¬ 
ing of clay was removed, Fred was the first to 
pronounce it as delicious beyond name. There’s 
a reason why he left nothing behind him save 
the bones and a fragrant memory. Fred vowed 
that he would, upon his return to civilization, 
lay in a due store of clay for the winter; and 
that every fowl that came his way he would ul¬ 
timately surround it with clay amid “vociferous 
epicurean benedictions.” Anyhow our clay birds 
were hailed as a success of no little order. 
I will pause to call attention to such a thing 
as peacefulness and contentment. Because our 
little cabin seemed pervaded with both of these 
singularly beneficial qualities, and the two of 
us were amply enthused with conditions to be 
at perfect ease and relaxation. I do not know 
what would usher in such things as peace and 
content if Nature would not be that matron 
saint. Perhaps content may be found in other 
places and amid other conditions, but I doubt 
vastly if it could have just the same enthusiastic 
appeal. I have carefully in my day studied the 
many questions and the viewpoints of Life. I 
presume others have done just the same thing 
-—and I do not think I am voicing anything new. 
At least, be it said, amid clamor and clangor of 
city, and its sensuous delights, as compared with 
Nature and her glory, her even-tempered de¬ 
lights, the one who would choose the former is 
indeed blinded by misplaced virtues. 
There are certain attitudes of mind and im¬ 
pulse that make for such a thing known as 
contentment. Fie who would read out of the 
book of Nature knows the value of sweet think¬ 
ing and righteous action. By the soil we live, 
thrive and return to it; and in as we recognize 
this valuable lesson, so do we, in ample measure, 
benefit by life and its living. The breadth of 
Nature inspires broadmindedness; and a total 
relief from the self-centered, neurasthenic frame 
of conception that life inside of civilization 
breeds. In its apartness Nature is divinely in¬ 
spirational—so intelligently so that the body is 
always fed by peaceful thoughts—no disturbing 
elements interrupt to break one’s abundant satis¬ 
faction. To interpret these innumerable charms 
cannot but make a life smoothly adjusted and 
penetrating by the depth of its insight. 
There is a wonderful philosophy surrounding 
a little cabin; a roaring fire on a hearth, while 
the winds are howling destruction without; a 
pipe, a friend and many tales to spin, while the 
clock ticks away the quietly passing time. I 
mention this for the reason that our Wood 
Hollow days bore just this singular appeal. 
Trudge all day in the silent woods, with Na¬ 
ture and the God of Existing Things; the at¬ 
mosphere impregnated with the very exuberance 
of life, and return at night, drowsy with con¬ 
tent, light a pipe by the fire, and half-dreaming, 
trace your way from the past to the present, 
touching gently and lovingly upon each incident, 
no matter how trivial—-then know that existence 
is indeed very sweet. It is the firelight hours 
that bring mankind in close brotherhood to each 
other; the home hearth is the link that binds one 
forever to another in the honorable name of 
friendship! 
The next morning Fred and I were astir at 
the hour of daybreak. A wonderful silence per¬ 
vaded a fragrant, freshly bedewed land; and 
Nature never seemed more gladly aware of her 
panoplied magnificence. The sun, still higher 
risen over the edge of the eastern horizon, was 
bright as a new coin; the sparkling rays washed 
molten gold over the land, and the changing, 
vari-hued leaves seemed to partake of that singu¬ 
lar warmth of light. It was an hour when to 
stand facing the east was to receive the whole 
of a sacred benediction—what with the birds 
piping their early morning ditties as they veered 
sbu J ard in their migration. 
Fred and I had jointly made up our minds 
that day to try harder than ever for woodcock. 
Rare enough, thank you; and yet they were more 
abundant in this part of the region than any- 
“Woodcock Hunting Remains the Princely Art.” 
587 
