FOREST AND STREAM. 
[May 4, k 
A Tennessee Outing.—I. 
“How Tempus does fidget,” as old Billy Wim¬ 
ble used to say, and we repeat. 
Here it is time to- overhaul fishing tackle, and 
few of us have said a word about the abundance 
of birds, good outing weather and other bless¬ 
ings of the closing bird season. . 
“Just like hogs eating acorns, quoting W im- 
ble again. “Eat and eat, never call none of your 
friends, never tell how good they are, and never 
even look pleasant at the tree.” 
The next best thing to going yourself, is to 
hear about the other fellow’s good time. I wish 
a lot of good fellows, who know a lot of good 
stories, which they do not tell, were like callow 
youths with their first sweethearts, in danger of 
having convulsions if they don t tell somebody. 
Of course some are too busy and some are too 
lazy, and a few are too modest. We haven t the 
literary style necessary to writing interestingly, 
say the latter. 
If you will ask the editor of one of the most 
interesting publications of the day (and his ad¬ 
dress is 346 Broadway, N. Y.) in regard to this 
matter, he will tell you that it is not the man 
who has the literary style, but the man who has 
the story that is getting the real warm welcome 
to-day. 
You do not put on your after 6 P. M. proud 
toggery when you go to the field or forest, you 
don the corduroys, warranted to stand wear and 
resist tear. You go further and fare better in 
this array. So with the story; don t try to put 
it in full dress. Good, plain, serviceable Anglo- 
Saxon dress will carry it safely to the men who 
want to hear it. „ , , , ^ , 
A genuinely good fellow (called by a host ot 
friends Charlie) and I made some history last 
season, and if the chronicler could but faintly 
portray the pleasures of the outing we enjoyed, 
the sourest critic in his most hypercritical mood 
could only feel envy of us. 
With consciences void of offense toward all 
mankind, guns in which we had implicit confi¬ 
dence, and a dog whose prejudice justified great 
expectations, we crowded into a cab in the gray 
dawn of a December morning and drove through 
a downpour of rain to the depot. 
With a wet dog between my knees, a breech 
bolt digging into my side, a heavy box of shells 
on my best foot, and the rain beating down as 
though it was warming up for a “gully washer 
and a clod buster,” I thought it a fairly good 
opportunity to grumble a little. 
Even a pedigreed dog, when wet, has an odor, 
w hi c h—to put it politely—is not that of Araby 
the Blest. 
A fellow’s ribs are very sensitive. I would 
fight the biggest man that ever wore a hat who 
trod on my foot and did not apologize. And 
starting on the first (and last) vacation of the 
season in a rain! 
It needed very little encouragement to set me 
to kicking vigorously, but I did not get a bit. 
With it not even his own dog—and that makes 
a big difference—and with more things crowding 
him than I had, and more sorrow over the out¬ 
look as to weather, my friend was as cheerful 
as though every prospect pleased. He refused 
to see any but the bright side and vowed we 
would have sunshine to-morrow. That is the 
brand of man to go hunting with, and you will 
have a good time in such company in spite of 
the wind, weather and what not. Our destina¬ 
tion was Wright’s Spring, in Hawkins county, 
selected for two reasons. . In the first place it 
being in a good game section, and in the second 
place offering comfortable accommodations. East 
Tennessee is famous for mineral waters, many 
of which have great therapeutic value, but none 
are more excellent and efficacious than the Epsom 
lithia water of Wright’s Spring. 
It was raining still when we reached the end 
of our journey by rail, and boarded the covered 
hack for the nine mile drive, and it was througn 
a steady downpour that we saw the "faces of the 
good Doctor and wife when we pulled up at 
their door. We had both been with them before 
and had the honor of being on their list of 
friends, so enjoyed a warm welcome. I he little 
dog, “Lady,” by right of breeding and birth, by 
reason of sweet temper and affectionate disposi¬ 
tion and by possessing every attribute belonging 
to the term that a dog could have, was the only 
stranger to our good friends, but she too, was 
cordially welcomed, first for our, and later, for 
her own sake. In a big east room, with a bay 
window into which my friend said the sun would 
be pouring next morning (and it was), we stowed 
our belongings and stretched out in easy chairs 
before the fire. As my tired muscles began to 
relax, a feeling of great contentment stole over 
my soul. I was happy as a king is supposed to 
be. With the best of company, and the most de¬ 
lightful anticipations, what more could a man 
desire? 
“Wonder what the dinner hour is?” queried 
my friend. Dinner! Yes, to be sure. I recalled 
the hasty, light breakfast eaten at an hour that 
usually found me doing the deep sleep act, and 
immediately discovered an intense interest m the 
subj ect. 
“Only 11:30,” said he, in a mournful tone, 
consulting his watch. I knew then that I was 
not the only one who had journeyed far on 
light fare. We suffered in silence for a few 
moments, and I was about to offer the encourag¬ 
ing suggestion that perhaps the dinner hour might 
be set forward a bit by our ever considerate and 
thoughtful hostess, when the bell rang. 
We came near jamming in the door, in the 
stampede, but finally got out safely and were 
seated at the table before the echoes of the wel¬ 
come bell ceased. That mainstay of the. land of 
the free—the American hog—reaches a high state 
of excellence in the fertile valleys of Hawkins 
county, and a few of the finest specimens had 
been offered up as sacrifices, celebrating our ad¬ 
vent. 
The good things they were made into, besides 
a la natural was a constant delight and sincere 
satisfaction to us. The hog may not shine in 
polite society, but if each of us performed as 
well his mission in life, the world would be better. 
The Doctor made glad our souls by meeting us 
at table with the prophesy: “Rain is about over,” 
for we believed him. 
He is not a prophet, nor the son of a prophet, 
but he had made good so often in forecasting 
weather that we had faith in him, especially when 
his prophesy coincided with our earnest desires. 
It all came true, and by 2 P. M.—fed to a pain¬ 
ful sufficiency—we were dragging large sections 
of the good 'Doctor’s real estate across lots out 
after the birds in spite of mud—mud everywhere. 
The dainty little dog had a lot of pent-up energy 
to work off, but every time she got frisky a mud 
hole intervened and she soon became bedraggled 
and demure. 
My friend had been up for a few days at the 
opening of the season and knew, where the birds 
used, and we were making straight for a bit of 
stubble, where he often found a covey taking 
supper, and had just passed through a heavy bit 
of undergrowth into the open beyond, when a 
crash and roar—like a freight train about to run 
us down—caused us to turn quickly in our tracks. 
The noise was in the thicket we had.just passed 
through, and would have been attributed to a 
her 3 of stampeding elephants had we been in 
big game country. 
We could not see the cause of the. commotion 
immediately, but had not long to wait, for in a 
moment, out from the swaying brush and small 
growth—running down everything under ten 
inches—burst the Doctor's big dog Bob; 
sprang upon my friend, covering him with 
and caresses. I had heard of Bob, and knej 
for a dog whom sportsmen would not he 
high repute, but his frantic delight over : 
my friend again was an exhibition of 1 
that deeply affected me. It seemed to affe 
friend also, but not in the same way. 
More demonstrative affection than Bob's 
hardly be imagined, and his ardor never ■ 
until its object got hold of half a fence ra 
plied it vigorously, by which time Bob had 
used up all the mud on his feet. 
“All that loyalty and affection after I be£ 
with everything from a switch to a fenc 
when here’ before,” said my friend as he o 
off the most prominent chunks of mud \ 
chip. 
“Now, we had just as well go back, h 
tinned. “You cannot get that big. brute 
any other way, and there is no hunting wit 
loose. He can smell a bird further, fl 
quicker, and run it longer than any dog 
State.” 
My friend was a man not given to exa 
tion, and I came to believe that his su: 
up of Bob’s virtues and vices was literal! 
A more beautiful animal I have never s 
more aggravating one I have never knowr 
read that artists portray the perfect figur< 
composite, taking the head of one, bo 
another, legs of another and so on, but h 
would draw the perfect animal from one 
must see Bob. A red Gordon setter, ven 
and powerful, with a deep brown eye 
pathos, I almost weep when I think of w 
might have been. 
We debated the matter and finally cor 
to go on, as we only intended a short ro 
work off the wire edge. Lady was \\ 
along the edge of a ditch, showing signs of 
thing suspicious, and when we moved c 
dashed ahead and she being in the line 
advance ran into and knocked her into the 
If he had been as sensitive as he was be 
the look the little dog gave him, whf 
crawled out and shook off the mud and 
would have caused him to be abjectly apo 
Lady is the gentlest and sweetest te: 
little dog in the world, and I. do not tbi 
bears malice, but she knows discretion, 
remainder of our hunt she carefully avoir 
big, rude dog. If he went to the right, si 
the left and vice versa. 
Charlie was carrying a new gun, a 10 
He might be said to be standing with n 
feet, where the large and small gauge me 
he had always shot big bores, and was n.0 1 
ful that he might have, made a mistake in 
ing only the sixteen with him. 
A dove, crossing in front and unite hif 
the first shot to offer. I noticed the sr 
the bird, the distance, and prepared to fra 
cuses and offer consolation, but was sa\ 
trouble of either. At the keen crack of tl 
gun the bird pitched down, clean killed, ; 
yards. 
“Good!” I shouted; “accident.” I added 
my breath. A second bird, which I b; 
noticed following the first, changed th.e 
tried to pass to the rear, but was stoppe 
the second barrel as neatly as the first 
shouted “Good!” again, without an.v , 
reservations. How bigoted a fellow will 
if he does not fight against the tendenc 
his accidents will be exhibitions of skill, ; 
good work of the other fellow’s accidents 
3 Bob found the auail and went into tl 
Charlie dryly remarked, “in his usual hapr 
ner.” No two birds flew in the same di 
It was every bird for itself, and Bob aftc 
like a brown cyclone. One flew in our 
tion which, by a united effort, we bagger; 
