
POREST AND STREAM. 
227 

urna 
reer 
‘MUGGINS DOES A HUNTING GO. 
5 y re 
MistER EDITER: 
Neckst to ridin’ a fast hoss on a stepel chase, or settin’ 
up o’nites with a purty gal, or goin’ to ‘lection, or getten’ 
*pinted to a post-offis, there ain’t nothin’ I like better ’n 
goin’ a huntin’. [ken remember when J was a yuthe of 
tenderage how fond I was of shutin’ cats and hens and 
other targets, and how scart my old gran’mother always 
was for fear the ball mite go round the target and hit the 
cow, or break out the winders, or kill some other feller or 
other; but the temptation to shute at somethin’ was so on- 
resistible that I pade little attention to the old lady’s 
scremes and shreeks, but banged away at everything shoot- 
atable in the neighborhood, till I one day had the misfor- 
tin’ to shoot old Dekin Swipes in the leg (its a wonder [ hit 
it, and I don’t think I would ef I'd shot for it) and then 
there was a fuss. 
I was arrested for manslaughter in the forth degree, but 
T noticed a good deal of winkin’ goin’ on, and I rayther 
reckon the folks in the naberhood was mostly glad ’d shot 
the old kanoodle, for they all hated him like pizen, an’ so 
they soon let me off with a verdick of acksidentle shutin’, 
but I want allowed to shute any more Dekins—not if they 
node it. e 
The greatest hunt I ever hed was one time when I started 
out with Nick Bemis,one faul, fora week’s shootin’ in the 
North woods. Well, it was jest—Did any you ever try it? 
You never ken tell how much sport you ken git out of a 
gun till you try. I hada regular mocking-bird. She allus 
spoke when she was askt to, and she was just a regular 
buty and wade twenty-five pounds averdypoize, and no 
mistake. 
When some ’o them wezles see that old gun pinted at ’em 
they turned pail, like they thot it was a cannon. That 
shows what sensible critters wezles is. 
Nick an’ I started off as gay as two young buckanears. 
Nick had a rifle that would put a hed on a woodchuck at 
three hundred yards. Nick was a bang up shot, an’ o<ten 
sed'that nothin’ but the confounded foarse 0’ gravity pre- 
vented his puttin’ a hole through the moon, 
You can jest imagine what a pare of Nimrods we was. 
The air was crisp and clear, an’ jest frosty enuff to make a 
féller draw ina long breth an’ feal hew healthy he was. 
We started off with our guns on our shoulders, as brave a 
pair of hunters as ever put powder into a gun. There is 
somethin’ exileratin’ in bein’ a healthy feller, an’ startin’ off 
on’a frosty morning with your gun on your shoulder to 
shute dears and ducks and bears and woodchucx and squir- 
rels and bucks and other gaim. 
We walked about seven miles the first heat, and then we 
spidea blew J setten’ astride a bush fens, and we both 
took ame an’ fired together. No sooner did we fire than 
the pesky bird flew away. ‘This give rise to a argument as 
to which was the best shot; so we begun to blaze away at a 
tree about ten yards off. After we'd fired about ten rounds 
I managed to killa hoss ina lot about forty rods to the 
right of the tree, and then we took up our line of march for 
some place where there was more mark and less hoss.. I 
always despized a hoss that would | go sneakin’ around in 
front of a gun when shootin’ was goin’ on. 
Nick didn’t hit anything—not even a hoss. I begun to 
discount that yarn about knockin’ a hole out of the moon. 
When we first started out it was arranged that we should 
dine off the first game we killed; but when it cum to eaten’ 
hoss I passed. Not bein’ a French savong my edication in 
the hoss eatin’ line had been neglected. We had a little 
hard tack an’ sandwiches, however, so we made a meal of 
that, an’ then we started on again. 
At last Nick spied a dear. He did’nt say anything to me 
—ye was awful sly; but he edged around till he got mea 
lookin’ off in another direction, an’ then he drew a bead 
on the butiful gazelle an’ fired. Iturned round jest in 
time to see the bark fly off past half a dozen trees, an’ then 
catchin’ a glimpse of somethin’ lyin’ down behind a little 
nole, I raised up my gun and blazed away too. I was 
bound to have my share of the gaim, you see. i 
When we got up to the animal we found it was a yearlin’ 
heifer that had strade off into the ,woods the winter before 
an’ got lost and dide. Thare want no fresh venzen about 
it. We both smiled a kind of mournful smile at each 
other, an’ then we took up our line of march agin’. 
Somehow my gun grew heavy. Ikept shiftin’ it from 
one shoulder to t’otheran’a lookin’ around for gaim. Thare 
was plenty of ground burds an’ chipmunx, an’ now an’ 
then a snaik, but Nick an’ I didn’t want no such. We 
was’nt out for no boy shutin’; what we wanted was noble 
gaim, like bucks an’ eagles an’ wolves an’ bears. How 
much I would have given then if I could have started up 
an African lion, or a rinosseros, or even a noble bisun! 
On we went, an’ still no gaim. How heavy my gun 
grew! Deeper and deeper into the woods we went, and 
yet there was nothin’ to be seen worth shutin’. Such luck 
T never had before. Nick sed the same thing. 
“What kind of a country is this, enyway?” I asked, kon- 
tempshusly. 
“J dno,” sed Nick, more forcibly than politely; ‘‘never 
was here before.” : 
“fark! What’s that?” I asked, as a sound like distant 
thunder smoat upon my ere. 
“Patridges, by,jingo!” sed Nick, looking round in every 
direction and cocking his gun, ready for action. 
‘Directly we caim upon the flock; but before we could 
_ present an’ fire they all flew away, and left us to diskuss 
the question as to who first skart ’em off, 
We jawed ourselves into a plesant frame of mind,an’ 

then we toddletl on agin’. Inever knew a gun'to gro so 
hevy as mine did, I tried every kind of way of carryin’ 
it, an’ still it was hevy. About vhis time we cum in site of 
the lake, an’ right out, about forty rods, was the biggest 
flock of dux I ever see. We krawled¥along kautiously an’ 
got a good ame an’ fired together at the word “‘three.” The 
dux turned round asif they was a lookin’ for the bullets, 
an’ begun to swim torge us. We loaded up an’ blazed 
away agin’; the dux rather seemed to like it, for they kept 
on torge the bank, an’ when they got so near we could al- 
most reach out an’ knock ’em down with our 7gun stocks, 
we fired agin’. This offended the dux so much that they 
all flew away; but nerry aj’one was shot, so we had no 
gaim to eat yet, an’ the shaids of nite was closin’ in on us, 
as the ploit says. 
Kold, hungry an’ weary, we kurled ourselyes down by 
the root of a tree an’ covered ourselves with leaves an’ fell 
asleep. I dreamed I was in the Saint Nicholas Hotel, in 
the best room in the house, an’ that Nick was carryin’ a 
cannon on his shoulders over to Hoboken. Having satis- 
fied my thirst for vengeans by respeatin’ this dreme about 
seventy-five times, I woke up and found it was day lite, an’ 
Nick already up an’ takin’ site at somethin’, an’ about to 
fire. J couldn’t see what it was, but determined to be even 
with him. Iamed the same way he did, an’ we fired one 
aster the other—bang ! bang ! 
Then I herda yel that maid my hair run cold an’ my 
blood turn gray. Nick sprang up, while every hair stood 
either on one end or the other, and shouted at me: 
“You've killed an Injun!” 
‘““Whoop! whoop! yelled the dead Injun agin’. 
I waited to hear no more, but seizin’ my gun, | started 
for some other lokality jest about as fast As I could dig 
through the brush. I think [ran about, five miles before 
breakfast, an’ then I struck a clearin’ where there was a 
plenty of blackberry bushes, an’ maybe I didn’t sail in— 
Ono! J think I eat about seventeen quarts, an’ then I 
felt easier in my mind. If I couldn’t shoct gaim, I could 
eat berries—if I could only find them—sooner than starve 
to deth. How glad an’ thankful I was that blackberries 
couldn’t fly away. 
Then I shouldered that heavy old gun agin’ an’ started 
back for the woods, expecting every minute to meet a ded 
Injun or some other object of horror. Hevier and hevier 
grew that old gun as I staggered along through the woods, 
and still no gaim. 
At last, by the merest chance, F came out into cleared 
land agin’, an’ found myself into civilization once more, 
an’ there, rite before me, stood Nick with a big deer on his 
shoulder an’ a grin on his ugly mug. 
“How are you, ded Injun?” sed he. 
“You don’t mean to tell me that was a deer that yelled 
like that?” sed I. 
“Certainly not,” sed he, ‘‘you killed the Injun an’ I 
killed the deer.” 
Nick always lies so like the old scrateb I couldn’t tell 
whether to believe him or not. 
However, we maid up our minds we had shutin’ enuff, 
an’ so we bee-lined for home, an’ by the time we got there 
that old gun of mine wade over a thousand pounds. I 
woulkdn’t carry it round for another day for all the gaim 
that. ever was invented, lions an’ )bisuns an’ injuns thrown 

‘in. Yours satisfactorily, Ernraimm Muaerms. 
—- 6 
FISHING IN THE BAHAMAS. 
eee ere ail 
NEWTON WILSON’S JOURNAL WHILE 
souTH, IN 1862. 
I remember with great pleasure the first time I ever vis- 
ited the Bahamas. Our fleet steamship, the Margaret and 
Jessie, was triumphantly paddling her way toward the 
land of Adico. Numerous little silvery clusters, apparently 
a long way off, suddenly arose out of the blue ocean before 
us, and we knew them to be islands as if just born from 
the bosom of the sparkling and peaceful sea. Charming 
was thescene. Beaches, and little coves of marble white- 
ness, abounding with thousands of God’s handiwork. The 
shells, which some ‘norther’ had hurled above high water 
mark, while on their summit might be observed the useful 
That Tree, or more aspiring Cocoanut, among which ex- 
quisitely colored lizards harmlessly played, chasing each 
other through the shrubbery. We anchored fora day at 
Green Turtle Bay, and with some of the natives I went 
fishing among the Islands nearby. My oarsmen, who were 
splendid specimens of powerfully built wreckers, pulled for 
an hour, and then cast anchor over a dark bottom, for in 
every instance where I have fished in the West Indies the 
waters were pellucid and the bottom of the sea clearly 
visible. Our craft moored, the darkies took in each hand a 
conch, and striking one against the other the shells broke 
in small fragments and slowly sunk, thus causing the fish 
to assemble and await the bait, like chickens lingering for 
crumbs. The bait, which was conch meat, they ravenously 
seized, and in many instances when three or four men were 
engaged hauling in the beautiful victims, one of the crew 
was reserved with a bright and slender lance or harpoon to 
drive off the young, and sometimes old and vicious sharks 
that lurked about, awaiting a chance to lunch on the fish 
after we hooked them. 
Two hours’ work and our boat was well laden with nu- 
merous varieties of the inhabitants of these waters, some 
of which the negroes called jewfish, turbot, red jacks, mud- 
fish, snappers, grunts, market fish, demmies, and last and 
best of all, the delicious grouper, more than equal to the 
rock cod while fresh. : 
West India fishermen use great‘caution to avoid casting 
EXTRACT FROM J. 

what intelligence! 
their lines on Oopperas Banks. I have seen negroes be- 
come blind for over a day from partaking of the flesh of 
fish fed in these poisonous grounds. To my taste the fresh 
fish of the Bahamas are finer than those of our Bay of 
Fundy, and the natives cook them excellently, served 
with Spanish sauce and a golden lime. 
: sped 
A WEEK AMONG THE PART:RIDGES.* 
SHE Si Leet 
Eprror Forrest AND STREAM :— 
The hazy mists.of Indian} summer admonished us that 
now was the time’ for the most beloved of all the sports of 
the field, and a few hurried preparations found a party of 
four jolly but eager sportsmen on their way to the famous 
partridge fields of Charles county, Maryland. Ah! how 
glorious these golden days of the yevr, with sky and cloud, 
forest and field in their richest autumn dyes mingling in 
melancholy harmony. ' 
The first rays of dawn scarcely blush the east before the 
stubbles are reached. The dogs—see how ‘they bound, 
quartering their ground exactly. There! He stands, while 

from afar another catches the faintest scent of ‘the hidden 
covey and arrests herself in an instant. How beautiful 
they look, motionless, transfixed. No pencil less gifted 
than Landseer’s could do justice to that scene. Slowly you 
approach. A moment more—a whir, and with lightning 
speed down the valley to yonder brook with overgrown 
briar they all wing their way. No, not all; one less, which 
faithful Nellie lays at your feet. He is a fine bird, and 
right well have you shot to single him out from the rest. 
You have marked the spot where they stopped. Now comes 
the sport. Eagerly you press on. Your friend takes one side 
of the branch and you the other, while in the centre Reno 
and Nellie slowly work. Stop! they stand simultaneously. 
Mark! anda partridge darts from the covert, which your 
companion cuts down in fine style. A step further and 
another. ‘Phis time it is your luck. He goes whizzing and 
itis yours. Again and again the unerring nose marks the 
place where the couching game is ready to spring, and 
again and again, with varying success you stop midway in 
his flight this swiftest of birds. A count between you 
shows ten birds. It is time to desist; the balance must be 
left. You call your dogs off. It is yet early, and in the 
distance another field shows birds must be there. Yes, 
you are not mistaken. The kindly farmer in gathering his 
rich harvest, like Boaz, was not, unmindful of those depend - 
ent on his bounty. There they go, dashing down, snuffing 
the wind. Already they have changed their face from 
head erect to nese close to the ground and _ tail vigorously 
wagging from side to side. They are trailing the birds, 
Let them alone, they will soon make them out. Yes, there 
they are, there is no mistake. What marvellous instinct, 
Advance cautiously, they will not 
flush the game. This time they take to the adjoining 
field,covered with tall sage grass and a few scattering pines, 
where they hope to hide in security. Alas! they are mis- 
taken. You pursue, What a magnificent field for them; 
the beau ideal of the partridge sportsman. How the dogs 
go to work, and. point after point with unobstructed aim 
gives you an opportunity to try your highest art. My 
friend, think not it is work for the merest tyro; a keen eye, 
a steady nerve, aninstinctive response of finger are neces- 
sary to bring them downin fine style. And then how 
enamoured you are with your own skill. Itis already 
eleven o'clock, and the warm sun has driven the birds to ~ 
some shady nook or stream. Let us go likewise; it is uselegs 
to hunt until two when they will return for their evening 
meal. By the side of some ancient oak, from whose roots 
gushes a limpid spring of celd, delicious water, you lunch 
and smoke and talk, until the shadows of eventide com- 
mence to lengthen themselves over the field. The work 
begins again, and in love with nature, in love with your 
noble setters, in love with yourself, you shoot through the 
purple sunset beyond the hills, through the mellow twi- 
light, through the deepening dusk which has come too 
soon, while ever and anon the only sound which breaks the 
stillness is the plaintive fraternal note of some more fortu- 
nate one calling his brother, now lost to him forever. Tired, 
and yet invigorated, you reach home long after dark, where 
your companions are already waiting. Soon the groanine 
board is spread, and you amaze yourself with an appetite 
unknown to city life. The evening is spent before the 
blazing fire, and as you sit in semi-circle, with its glowing 
flames reflected from each ruddy face, you recount the 
many incidents of the day—this magnificent point of 
Nellie, this astonishing retrieve, and that wonderful long 
shot, or vary the occasion with a friendly game of euchre, 
the consoling pipe,and if you have been thoughtful enough, 
with a glass of nut brown ale, until the old clock on the 
stairs tells you it is time for bed. And then such refreshing 
sleep! ae 
So day after day passes, cach like the preceding, and yet 
each different, and you return home a stronger and may 
perhaps a better man. Sn ba Ps 
*The partridge of Maryland is the quail of the Eastern States. 
OC 
—Years rush by us like the wind. We see not whence 
the eddy comes nor whitherward'it is tending, and we seem, 
ourselves, to witness their ‘flight without a sense that we 
arechanged. And yet time is beguiling man of his strength 
as the winds rob the woods of their foliage.—Watrmr.- 
Scorn. 
—By subscribing to the Forest anp Srream for one’ 
year a pair of skates for a boy or girl, or for any one can be’ 
secured, All sent free of expense. See advertisement of 
skates, croquet, cricket, archery, foot ball, Remington, 
Sharpe and Ward Burton rifles, shot guns, &e., &e. 
