C 2 G 
FOREST AND STREAM 
May i8, 1912 
the call of nature to give its plant life and tree 
life and earth life the drink it so craves? Is 
it not to ease the land a while from its usual 
path and to give it the sweet understanding of 
variety? True is the word. Let the rivers slip 
along and let the canoe take its course. Who 
may say but that around that gentle turn lies 
some enchanted land never conceived of save in 
dreams? Who may say hut that the sun is 
gentler there, the music of the earth is softer, 
that the tinkling of the beaded water from the 
paddle tip will not have a supremer nuance than 
has ever before touched the sensitive strings 
of the memory and communicated the sound to 
the soul. 
As the airy craft lips its way over the un¬ 
ruffled murk of the surface, there is chance for 
much reverie. Always the thoughts that spring 
with each forward movement, always that awak¬ 
ened desire to know what lies beyond, always 
the glamour of the solitude to make for the 
heart of one a perfect haven. The open road 
has its lure, its intrinsic lure, its appeal to the 
soul of one, but shall we then lower the lure 
of the stream to a second place? 
This were impossible. With that path of 
dreams unfolding before you, with the sylvan 
grandeur presenting itself in glowing banks on 
each side, nothing but beauty visits upon the 
being of one. Now and then a streak of sun¬ 
light so soft and diamond clear prints a picture 
on the water that shall never fade as long as 
there is a movement of life in the heart. I 
know some sweet and delicate places. I know 
some secluded place, and as I sit here before 
the veteran typewriter I hear over the tap, tap 
of the type the gentle purl of water; I hear the 
rumble and the roar of cascades; I hear the 
minor note of the rapids; now the heavy note 
and now the gradual pause, and then the whirr 
again as the waters plunge foam-flecked over 
the hoary rocks. 
I feel the canoe approaching those rapids. We 
sit tense in our individual places with our eyes 
riveted upon the crash and roar before us, won¬ 
dering vaguely if the canoe will be wrecked 
and we will be spilled into the tumultuous deep 
so menacing and yet so inviting to the adventur¬ 
ous soul. The canoe leaps forward. It feels 
the catch of the arms, the water arms as they 
reach out to seize that seemingly contrivance 
and dash it to pieces on the rocks below. Here 
is one of those moments that tests the skill of 
the paddler. To dash through that boiling, seeth¬ 
ing pot and come out high and dry on the more 
serene water—what of skill is there not con¬ 
nected with the manipulation of that 18-foot 
wonder. 
It is moments such as these that add zest to 
the usual routine. You do not know what is 
ahead of you. Search out the unfrequented 
streams and hunt the gold at the rainbow’s end 
so to speak. 1 want now and then a rapid to 
boom through; I want always an infinite variety 
to cool the passion for adventure; and then when 
I come to the quiet and untroubled streams, the 
newness will tremble through my veins and fill 
me with some of that delicious joy that can only 
be known when experienced. 
And now, mhid you, I am not going to stop 
at this; I want more than this variety, for I am 
a disciple of the honorable Izaak Walton, and 
to pass by the ideal pools would be to insult the 
most glorious of pastimes. I want to strike now 
and then along the course of some beautiful and 
unvexed stream certain pools where I can cast 
a fly. I want with me at my feet the resilient 
bamboo; I want that tapered line and that 
smooth, round and hard leader, and I want also 
a set of flies that match the surroundings, refer¬ 
ring to the flies that fall upon that surface to 
trick the trout. I want to tie the canoe to the 
willows and there in hiding cast my flies into 
the dark and promising nooks where the big ones 
lie fanning the water with their heads pointed 
upstream. I want to keep out of their sight; I 
want to make no disturbance, and if success 
shall come to me, then I shall be doubly glad, 
but if no success shall approach my dominion, 
then, too, I shall be glad, for I will have had 
my wrist in action, I will have flicked the water 
just right, and at just the right spot. That in 
itself is part of the wonderful completeness of 
the day. 
I will take just a few so that when the camp 
is pitched at night under the lordly trees, the 
aroma of frying fish shall touch the nostrils and 
fill the breast with joy overflowing. Or when 
we approach the still-flowing brooks where the 
transparent water shows us the fish at their play, 
I want to float my dry flies. I want to see those 
upright wings flowing along so perfect and so 
likelike to lure the scientific king of the deep. 
So let the canoe keep to its course. Nor let 
this variety be all. With the birds around I 
would picture them in their haunts and then 
when the winter hours once more come to shut 
me in from paradise I can take out that album 
and turn the leaves of remembrance, living over 
the scenes that so appealed to me in the past. 
With the camera I shall record those days and 
those scenes. 
A camp for the night! What memories it will 
call forth, and what a glory it is after a day’s 
paddling through the golden summer streams! 
You beach the canoe at a likely spot where the 
trees form a protecting fringe around the pros¬ 
pective camp location, and there just as the sun 
is melting the western skies into a liquid dash 
of luridness, the tent is put up and the even.ng 
fire is lighted. Soon the flame shoots up and 
there in the gathering gloom with the universal 
stillness of the dying day to calm the heart and 
bring it added peace, you will gather around the 
glows and sample the cook’s effort at perfection, 
and that perfection is every bit of the word. 
With the inner man to appease the appetite re¬ 
sponds and soon the coffee is poured steaming 
hot from the pot. Description of such scenes 
can never be portrayed in their exact light. We 
can sense it, but we cannot put it to word. 
There is the dying day, the shadows creeping 
in, the lake or the stream perfectly tranquil and 
not one breeze fanning the trees into life. It is 
as though it were an hour of reverence of holi¬ 
ness, and that now in silence the minions of the 
wild are watching with spellbound hearts the 
efforts of nature to outdo her past efforts in 
crowning the glory of the day, with the superb 
sunset illuminating the west with its fingers of 
crimson, of gold, of bronze and the finer blue 
that looks out between to add that eternal purity 
to the vast color scheme, truly the master artist’s 
supreme effort. 
There are the woods that lie still and calm; 
there are the gloomy spots and the silvery light 
that touches the leaves and makes them the very 
thoughts of love. There is the camp, the fire 
crackling cheerily in the open and the souls 
gathered around the blaze, gathering from their 
communion that which is the only thorough 
system as an aid to healthfulness. Let us look 
upon such scenes; let us all find them and know 
them. How can I tell of them; how can I pic¬ 
ture them from the tips of my fingers. Out 
then, mortal souls, where the streams lure you. 
Let your paddles sink into the soft and cool 
waters and camp when the night overtakes you, 
looking up at the stars, sinking to rest with the 
lull of the breeze through the treetops. 
Ridding Your House of Mosquitoes. 
BY ALBERT A. BEECROFT. 
The great question of mosquito extermina¬ 
tion has been given much space in the papers 
throughout the country in recent years, but 
so much of it was of a technical nature _ 
that the general public has been more or less 
“stung.” Owing to the fact that the mosquito 
is not a migratory bug, in the full sense of the 
word, it is not hard to combat the pest and ac¬ 
complish much good by observing a few precau¬ 
tionary measures about the private dwellings, but 
it is quite essential that the next door neighbor 
give his co-operation, or the work will be greatly 
hampered. In the early spring the first crop of 
mosquitoes emanates from the basements, and 
dry cellars of dwelling houses and outbuildings. 
It is known as the house mosquito and is not a 
transmitter of malaria or other diseases, as is 
the siigviagoea of the swamp, but it is most 
troublesome, because of the fact that it is hatched 
in the building, and being a most prolific breeder, 
it is sure to make itself felt at all times. The 
best method of clearing the house of these pests 
is to fumigate the cellar by evaporating culicide. 
The cellar should be closed and as thoroughly 
tight as it is possible to make it during fumi¬ 
gation. The fumes of the culicide, which may 
penetrate the upper floors of the house, may be 
a trifle unpleasant to some people, but they are 
harmless, and may do the premises a great deal 
of good. 
Anyone that may be skeptical about find¬ 
ing mosquitoes in the cellar in the early spring 
may prove it to his own satisfaction by looking 
into the old boxes and barrels, and on top of 
the cross-sectional floor braces, or in old rags 
and other materials that may be stored in the 
basement. Culicide can be obtained at any drug 
store and costs about sixty cents for twelve fluid 
ounces, which is enough to fumigate the average 
house. The second crop of mosquitoes is a 
much harder proposition to cope with than the 
indoor variety, owing to the fact that they breed 
in the most inconceivable places. Great care 
should be given to the gutters and drain pipes 
of the house, as the falling leaves and decaying 
vegetable matter which collects in them affords 
the finest kind of a place for the development 
of the larvae. Old rain barrels, tin cans and gar¬ 
bage cans should not be allowed to collect water, 
as it is in small quantities of putrid water that 
the female mosquito prefers to deposit her 
larvae, although she will drop them into ponds 
and larger bodies of both fresh and salt 
water. 
The only way to treat stagnant pools, ponds 
and other small bodies of water that may collect 
