Tez 
New Year Reminisence. 
CHARLESTOWN, N. H., Dec. 29.—Editor Forest 
and Stream; A Happy New Year to you and all 
the readers and correspondents of ForREST AND 
STREAM, also to the dear old paper itself, in its 
new suit of clothes. 
I do not see how you can improve its contents, 
though you may make its external appearance 
more attractive! I have sometimes written you 
a rhymed greeting for the New Year, but my 
muse has deserted me this year, and no appeal 
to “The harp that once in Tara’s halls,’ an- 
swers to my spiritings, and the only notes I can 
evoke sound more as if they had come from those 
which the exiled Hebrews hung on the willows 
of Babylon! The fact is, I am getting old. 
I have not wet a line this year, and it is a 
dozen at least since I pulled a trigger, and I live 
in pleasant reminiscences of the past. I had a 
pleasant surprise a few weeks ago by the appear- 
ance at my door of an old shooting friend and 
companion of “auld lang syne,” as I was smok- 
ing my “post prandial pipe,” and we had a very 
pleasant hour, recalling the old days of our 
tramps over the hills of central New Hampshire, 
among which came prominently to the minds of 
both ef us, one bright first day of November, 
more than forty years ago, over the foothills at 
the Uncanoonuck Mountains, in Goffstown, in the 
height of the fall flight of woodcock, when we 
made a very successful “mixed bag” of wood- 
cock, ruffed grouse and northern hares, com- 
monly called rabbits. We had his old painter 
Don, who answered perfectly to Mr. Hough’s de- 
scription of a “meat dog,’ and a young pointer, 
which a friend who accompanied us was break- 
ing for me; and I well remember the delight 
with which we watched the young dog follow the 
lead and take lessons of the old one. 
In the conversation which followed, my friend 
spoke of having recently met another old friend 
who I had not seen for years, but with whom I 
was intimately associated in business for a long 
time, and my thoughts at once jumped back ten 
years further, to the spring of 1851, when I saw vs 
both on top of an English stage-coach on our 
way across the ridge of hills which separate 
Lancashire from Derbyshire, to visit the cele- 
brated country seat of the Duke of Devonshire, 
Chatsworth. The transition in my mind took but 
a second, though years of time and leagues of 
distance were compassed in it, and I well remem- 
bered our arrival that night at a quiet little inn 
in the village of Bakewell, where, after a good 
dinner, we smoked our cigars on the old arched 
stone bridge over the Derwent, and watched the 
play of some large trout in the stream below us. 
After a restiul night between “sheets smelling of 
lavender’ (see Izaak Walton) my friend D. and 
I set out on foot.over the ridge which separates 
the valley ci the Derwent from that of the Wye, 
on which Chatsworth is situated. 
A traveling companion, Mr. R., took a carriage 
and drove round the course of the two valleys 
to meet us, not being an ardent pedestrian. We 
explored the house and grounds of Chatsworth 
thoroughly, saw the great greenhouse, which Mr. 
Paxton had built for the Victoria Regia, and 
which was the prototype of the Crystal Palace, 
then being built in Hyde Park; had luncheon at 
the inn in the lovely little village of Edensor, in 
the edge of the park, and then drove down the 
Wye, to the junction of the two rivers, to see the 
celebrated old Peacock Inn at Rowsley, renowned 
among all English anglers. After a glass of ale 
at the Peacock we drove up the Derwent and 
visited Haddon Hall, one of the most renowned 
old baronial mansions of England, and saw the 
celebrated dancing hall, the floor of which is said 
to be all laid with the boards from one oak tree, 
and the true semi-circle steps which lead to it, 
to be carved from the roots of the same tree. 
We also saw the old stone steps leading to the 
garden, down which Dorothy Vernon, the heiress 
of the Peak, is said to have eloped with Lord 
John Manners, the heir of the Duke of Rutland. 
From here we found our way back to Bakewell 
and Manchester. I fear, though, that my old 
world reminiscences may not be interesting to 
your readers, and much as they delight me, I 
must bring them to a close. Von W. 

FORRES TVANDE SE REAVE 
4 
! 

Lost in the Woods. 
ScHENECTADY, N. Y., Dec. 28.—Editor Forest 
and Stream: Waving read several very interest- 
ing contributions in your paper on getting lost in 
the woods I would like to tell of two or three 
cases that happened in the Adirondacks lately. 
The most remarkable experience recorded of a 
lost man in the Adirondacks in recent years was 
that of Guidas Beaugault, of Fall River, Mass. 
Beaugault was hired by the Adirondack Fish and 
Gun Club to guard it from poachers. In July, 
before he had became acquainted with the terri- 
tory, he took a day off fishing. He did not re- 
turn that night and two days later a search was 
organized to find him. The search was continued 
for more than five weeks, guides and clubmen 
going out daily. Hope of finding him alive was 
given up, but on Aug. 19 searchers saw the miss- 
ing man staggering aimlessly through the woods. 
At their hail he fainted. He was carried to the 
club house and there cared for. He had man- 
aged to eke out his subsistence from berries, roots 
and birch bark. His stout constitution and the 
fact that the season was warm allowed him to 
preserve his life for so long a time. 
An experience as severe though of shorter 
aa, £ 
WAR WHOOP AND TOMAHAWK. 
[JAN. 6, 1906. 
ashore went in the’ wrong direction and _ lost 
their lives. Their boat on the stump far out of 
their course indicated their fate very plainly. 
They could have waded ashore if they had known 
where they were. Guides’ say that more men 
were lost in the Adirondack woods this year than 
ever before. Bo Pa 
Nitwoop, Ill., Dec. 26.—Editor Forest and 
Stream: I herewith send a clipping from the 
Eveleth Star, of Eveleth, Minn.: , 
“James W. and Edward Falk spent three days 
and two nights in the swamps near Bowstring 
Lake, fully expecting that they would not find 
their way out of the dreary location alive. 
“While on their way from one homesteader 
shack to another they lost their way, soon realiz- 
ing that their condition was all but hopeless, in 
view of the fact that owing to the cloudy days 
and nights it was impossible to get their bearings 
from the sun, moon or stars. At almost dawn 
on the second night out James Falk espied the 
north star, and realizing that they were on the 
south side of the lake, they made due north. 
After a long tramp they were delighted to see 
Bowstring Lake. 
“What the men suffered in mind and body dur- 
+ 

ee 
Photo copyright, 1905, by Ernest Harold Baynes. 
duration was that of George Fletch, of Syracuse, 
near Cranberry Lake, in the middle of October. 
Fletch and a party of other sportsmen were hunt- 
ing in the territory between Gull Creek and Inlet 
River. Fletch became separated from his com- 
panions and circled. When night came all direc- 
tions seemed alike and he was obliged to sleep 
beside a little fire he built. Toward morning rain 
came down and when day broke a three days’ 
storm was on. Fletch managed to shoot a grouse 
with his last cartridge and ate it. Thinly clad 
he wandered all day and the next trying in vain 
to find somebody. Sleet fell and froze to his 
coat. Game, including a moose, eyed him from a 
little distance, anparently realizing that he was 
no longer a being dangerous to wild life. At 
last, after three frightful nights and days, in the 
sleety forest, he came to Inlet River, where he 
was found by a party of hunters, cared for and 
sent to his home in Syracuse. 
On Noy. 7, in a severe snowstorm, Albert Ful- 
ler, a Utica sportsman, and Charles Rose, a 
Wheelertown guide, started up North Lake, the 
Erie Canal reservoir, in Herkimer county. They 
lost their bearings in the blinding gale and ran 
their rowboat up on a stump and upset. © Al- 
though they were only a few feet from the bank 
they could not see it, and while trying to swim 
ing this experience is best told by James Falk, 
who said: : 
“When we realized that we were really lost 
in the swamps we started out to search for some 
landmark. We traveled and traveled, often step- 
ping in ice cold water up to our knees, UgIti- 
mately we came across some tracks. Careful 
measurement showed that we had made these 
tracks and that we were really traveling in a 
circle. It was useless to go any further. Suffer- 
ing in mind and body we remained largely in one © 
spot for the balance of the time, fully expecting 
that in the end death would relieve our suffer- 
ings. 
‘“*Never before able to climb trees, I could 
scale the highest growth without effort. But 
what I saw did no good. It was apparently an 
unending swamp. It would be difficult to de- 
scribe our feelings under the circumstances. To 
make matters worse, my brother was taken sick 
and was barely able to travel. When the wind 
finally scattered the clouds and I was able to 
make out the north star we did not dare trust to 
our sense of direction. With a small pocket 
knife, the only article with which we could do 
cutting, we carefully blazed the direction. This 
guided us when daylight finally came. I was 
pretty sure that we were on the south side of the 
