FOREST AND STREAM. 
691 
Photographic Facsimile (mlnccl) of Cluimplain's Map of Ni« France, prepared (11 163i 
; v 4 , 1907 .I 
h we were resting, flooding our souls w-ith 
(rrent of color as rich and rare as that 
jh comes through a cathedral window, 
as the serene sadness stole over the land- 
•, nature’s lamentation for a dying day, a 
red deer stepped forth and complacently 
1 d at us until the guardian spirit stirred 
1 n him and he sped fleetly away into the 
Is. Then, as if ashamed of his needless 
ji -ust of friends, he returned and looked 
ver for quite awdiile. We floated around 
the still water, our boat seeming almost 
1 to glide into the upper air, our souls 
_-d in that etherial calm that fades into the 
J;er silence of the night. Two cranes 
ed their weird way into the gathering 
ness, seeming to be borne upward from 
As the stars came out our boat floated 
silvery sea; stars, mirrored in the water 
.v, danced in the ripples like tiny trout 
, ng hide-and-seek. 
xt morning Dr. Bragdon and Bishop 
’ tehead, of Pittsburg, came over flushed 
triumph and exulting in victory. They 
aloft a magnificent twenty-pound muscal- 
i j they had captured the evening before in 
ight Bay. Our envy waxed warm as we 
1 the great size and beauty of the fish, 
t galled me was that I had toiled for 
? and had caught hundreds of the same 
1 of fish, and now what anguish of spirit 
. mine when I saw a veritable tyro take 
trophy I had so long and so diligently 
1 ht. , 
2 soothed our ruffled feelings by deciding 
t happened in this wise : Bishop Whitehead 
earned by a life of splendid sacrifice and 
ce the place of highest honor in the Es- 
1 -shed Church of England, and since Dr. 
Ies A. Bragdon, a rector of the same 
: :h, rowed the boat, these Ontario mus- 
nge, being all good loyal British subjects, 
compelled by their patriotism to favor 
1 ers of the established creed. Be this as 
ay, we were all able to rejoice with our 
i d, the Bishop, who said to Dr. Rosselle, 
ied not to be envious when I saw you and 
Norris bring home big fish every day.” 
lly believe we envied him most his kind- 
1 of heart. Indeed his genial companion- 
compelled us to wish that he might catch 
her and a larger Esox nobilior. 
[to be concluded.] 
Forest and Stream. 
>r the haunts, where nature triumphant 
ns in her glory afar from the noise, 
j he glare of the cities, rudely defiant 
nature's deep peace and calm equipoise; 
■ the stream rushes down and leaps in loud thunder 
precipice high, which curbs its wild sway, 
ng the mad rushing billows asunder— 
waters which foam and spout dewy spray. 
S come to the woodlands; be free, and be joyous; 
the the fullness of joy in nature’s delight, 
1 : there is freshness and naught to annoy us, 
: from the city’s distractions and blight. 
ye who droop and are sad with life’s weariness, 
I e your toil at the desk, the bourse with its roar; 
'j > the woods and share nature’s cheeriness, 
1 : your rod and your gun and be young for once 
t more. 
: the angler’s joy in nature’s freedom, 
t re diaphanous pools your sport will supply, 
the trout that are silv’ry, swift-darting, speed from 
‘j 3 ' se > or a shadow, that startles them shy. 
nic odors will breathe on you gently 
j '"11 you to sleep like a slumbering child; 
? will keep you in health and in plenty, 
ire—so gentle, beneficent, kind. 
C. T. Easton. 
EMULATION WITHOUT REACTION. 
er a day of enjoyable sport, it is wise to 
1 e a drink which helps to restore the vital 
rs rather than one which tends to deplete 
l i as in the case with many drinks. Bor- 
'| Malted Milk is delicious, concentrated, 
j s h>ng, invaluable to the camper, made ready 
! i se by adding water, hot or cold.— Adv. 
The Smoker. 
Boston, April 23.— Editor Forest and Stream: 
It is not the suburban smoker with its busy 
inbound morning crowd, and its occasional 
night lading of homegoing revellers, but its 
country cousin, variously removed, that gives 
us now and again the pleasant thoughts of what 
the wild creatures of marsh, or wood or up¬ 
land may be doing. 
Here is one of our old friends waiting under 
the big shed for its start. Forward is the bag¬ 
gage compartment and its friendly commanding 
officer is ready to comment on the backward¬ 
ness of spring, and to advance theories as to 
the non-appearance of the geese as yet. 
“There’s sheldrake on the marshes, but he 
ain’t seen but one bunch of seven Canadas. 
No, of course they ain’t no law on geese, 
spring or fall. You go after them, and you’ll 
see why they don’t need it any, even if Elkanah 
Higgins did shoot one from his kitchen porch.” 
Wisdom and logic flow from him in twin 
streams, and we know that back in the car we 
shall find these same streams ever swelling on. 
The car itself is filling up now, and the racks 
are piled with impedimenta which somehow 
conveys a strong impression of a strenuous 
life. A telescopic canvas-covered affair hints 
at journeys in the open, and an old suitcase 
with bulging top and a precautionary rawhide 
cinched about it. certainly does not contain 
evening clothes. Worn guncases here and there 
tell more openly of their owners’ intentions. 
An uneasy setter scrambles to the seat beside 
his master, gives him a somewhat nervous but 
hearty smile, and thumps back on the floor for 
a few final revolutions before settling down. 
As the train jolts out into the country the 
atmosphere of the smoker becomes thicker and 
bluer, and the conversation more and more 
game, till the solitary shoe-drummer feels ab¬ 
solutely lonesome and pathetic with a store of 
unused, spicy narratives locked in his breast. 
Here and there we lose some of our friends. 
A small station, where a gray-mustached man 
is standing by an open wagon with a Chesa¬ 
peake Bay dog bearing him company, claims 
two of them, and through the greetings on the 
platform we catch one remark: “Got two 
yesterday.” Things must be looking brighter. 
As the worn leather seats gradually empty, 
comes the conductor to count his tickets and 
cast up his mysterious accounts. He is not 
too busy, however, to throw in an occasional 
remark as to observations from one of the men 
at the life saving-station on the goose outlook 
or his own experiences when he “lays over” at 
the end of the route. 
And so our good little car hunches itself 
along, and we know that in a few w r eeks the 
guncases will have given place to rod cases, and 
the attack and defense of the worms-for-bait 
proposition will rage from the baggage com¬ 
partment to the after water cooler. 
Later in the year come the guns again, and 
we rejoice that full understanding is in us as 
we listen to a long yarn winding up with “six 
winters, a summer and five beetles, by golly!” 
Still later, more guns, and we know that the 
ducks are coming south. Black duck with 
olive legs, black duck with red legs—does not 
our old smoker hear all the wisdom on this 
point? And through all the duck talk hums the 
steady current of quail conversation, with an 
occasional remark from some more or less in¬ 
visible setter or pointer. 
So goes the outward-bound smoker through 
the year. Homeward, the story is different, yet 
still the same. A breath of fresh air, an eddy¬ 
ing of the smoke, and we turn with our fellow 
occupants to see the newcomers enter. Pride 
and modesty combined show in this chap who 
stows away three geese in the baggage com¬ 
partment, and the interest and praise of the 
baggageman is as sweet music to him. Him 
we will interrogate later. Or it is the man 
with a bunch of black ducks? We notice with 
appreciation and sympathy that the two red¬ 
heads which fell to him have somehow worked 
into the most prominent position. So have 
we done with our birds, so. Will we do as long 
as ducks fly and powder burns. 
And the homeward conversation: A slightly 
lower key prevails than on the out-bound trip. 
Ducks were not flying or quail did not lie to 
the dog quite as they should. Everything was 
fine, as good as we expected, but there was 
that unaccountable miss on a good single 
chance. We fully expect, and welcome as an 
old friend, the consoling remark that probably 
there wasn’t any shot in the cartridge. 
All over the country go the brothers of out- 
old smoker. Here it is guns, dogs and bird 
talk, there it is rods and fish. Here again men 
wag unshaven chins over miraculous doings of 
a new .30-30, while the .45-70 man, with dissent 
written all over him, impatiently waits his 
chance to tell of the moose he got across the 
logan, measured hundred and eighty-five yards. 
All this have we done, and seen, and listened 
to, with the bite of the unaccustomed extra al¬ 
lowance of tobacco strong on the tongue. And 
the next time, as we open the door of the 
smoker and breathe its atmosphere once more, 
it will seem again a quiet welcome, and a sort 
of promise of sport. The old smoker is a good 
friend of ours, a well-wisher, and one possessed 
of some few of our hearts’ secrets. 
George C. Wales. 
