340 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
een, 
For Forest and Stream 
HERB ROBERT. 
[The Herb Robert isa most common little plant, which has often been 
found green under the deep snow in winter in Central New York. Itis 
the Wild Geranium or Cranesbill, @. Robertianum of Linneus. See 
Gray’s Manual, p. 73. It blooms from June till October, and is found 
plentifully in Europe.] 
HE parting step of summer 
In all our Western woods, 
Is where the low Herb Robert 
Makes fair the solitudes. 

O darling little blossom! 
With leaves so fringed and gay, 
For spring and autumn blazoning, 
Do meet in them to-day. 
Those faithful little leaflets 
That curl around thy form, 
All through the wild dark winter, 
Are green ‘neath sleet and storm. 
Lo! when the blast updriveth 
The feathery snow away, 
“Good morrow, dear Herb Robert,”’ 
Sings little Nut hatch gray. 
“°Tis tired Iam, and hungry, 
@ Poor pecking on a tree; 
To see your face of summer 
Cheers up a bird like me.” 
And Master Chipmunk beggeth 
For just one smail green spray, 
To take i’ the nest to Madam, 
Who likes a fresh bouquet. 
But fast flee bird and squirrel, 
For human tread is nigh, 
A boy’s brown hand uproots them, 
A little maid stands by. 
Soon are they faithful leafiets 
Unfolding free and fain, 
No more the storm comes near thee, 
It drifts without the pane. 
In waysides fair of England, 
By castles stern and bleak, 
On wild Welsh roads, on Scottish soil 
In sight of Alpine peak. 
Where blushes late the sunset, 
Night in the vale below, 
As rings the plaintive Angelus, 
And home the peasants go. 
As wander far the footsteps 
That found thee midst the snow, 
Again thy bright leaf greets them, 
And fresh thy flow’rets blow. 
With dreams of home and kindred, 
Thou cheerest on the way 
With memories pure of childhood, 
Thou dost refresh the day. 
So, be it bird or squirrel, 
Or man, that asketh thee 
Alms of such cheer as thou canst give, 
Thou givest full and free. 
And as for every good thing® 
We thank the Lord on high, 
Thank Him for brave Herb Robert, 
With all my heart, say I. F. L. H. 
Aupany, N. Y., Dec. 27th, 1873. 
En 
IN THE ADIRONDACKS.—FOLINGSBY’S 
POND. 

BY HAVILAND. 

UR party had reached their boats at “‘Pine Tree Land 
ing,” onthe Racquette River, and, luncheon over, 
were grouped about the trunk of the famed old tree that 
gives the locality its name, enjoying the golden sunshine 
and the freedom from care and restraint that comes like 
rain in summer to ‘‘those who seek out Nature in her 
strongholds,” and test the wild joys of out-door life. Di- 
rectly in front of us the turbulent river, the great highway 
of the wilderness, foamed along on its course to Tupper’s 
Lake. To the left a small stream crooked its'way down 
through a marshy plain, which stretched away a mile or so 
toa mountainrange. ‘‘Up this stream a mile and a half is 
Folingsby’s Pend,” said Wardner, our guide, shading his 
eyes with his hand and gazing up stream; ‘‘any of you 
ever been there?” 
To all of our party this romantic pond was unknown, 
save by repute, and we at once decided to visit it, and con- 
tinue our trip to Tupper’s Lake next day. Following each 
other in single file we rowed and poled our boats up the 
narrow outlet, through the brush and rushes, now gliding 
smoothly over deep pools, floored with shining white sand, 
then grazing the bottom, and with oar and setting pole 
fairly lifting the light boat over the obstructions. A short 
turn to the left, a few sturdy strokes with the oars, and 
crushing our way through the willows that lined the bank 
we shot out into the clear bright waters of Folingsby. 
“Get your trolling lines out,” said our oarsman, ‘‘there’s 
good fish in this pond,” and, agreeably to the command, 
the long line and chain of hooks, baited with shiners, 
floated astern. 
We were watching and admiring the graceful flight of 
two white gulls, as they flew about, now splashing into the 
pond, sending the clear water in showers all about them, 
then soaring away up the mountain side, their snowy shapes 
in bold relief against the dark background of evergreen 
forest, when a slight twitch, then a decided pull on our 
line, told us that one of Folingsby’s speckled beauties was 
attached to us, and playing the fish carefully for a few mo 













































ments we drew it towards us and lifted the dainty crea- 
ture into the boat with the landing net—a good seven pound 
salmon trout. While unhooking our fish our companion 
mate. 
Proceeding in this way we were soon at the inlet, where 
two of the party were catching speckled trout, two and 
three at a cast, as fast as they could let their flies touch the 
water. To the left on a knoll, the blue smoke curling over 
the tree tops, the cheerful “‘hack” uf the axe and the sound 
of voices told us where our camp for the night was to be, 
and heading our boat in that direction we were soon on 
shore, and our fish delivered over to “Shady,” an unhappy 
youth who had been deluded into accompanying the expe- 
dition, and whose dark complexion had won for him his 
present-name. ‘‘Ef Ihed a cat here,” said he, as he took 
the fish, ‘‘I could ketch more of dese fellers dan ever ye 
see; ye know cats is dredful fond of fish, ain’t they? well, 
so fish likes cat jest thesame. I would drownd the cat and 
anchor her out in the pond, and fish ud come around her 
thicker’n hairs onto a dog—then go to fishing.” 
““Gome to supper all you epicures,” called H., from the 
top of the knoll, ‘‘we have got speckled trout, brook trout, 
river trout, lake trout, salmon trout, and f-i-s-h,” winding 
up his remarks with his peculiar snort and whistle. And 
such a supper as our handy host had spread before us—the 
table of fresh peeled spruce bark, the plates being frag- 
ments of the fragrant bark of the white birch, piles of 
crisp fried trout, venison steak, a “smother” of ruffed 
grouse and wood duck, and a cup of strong coffee at each 
sportsman’s elbow, is the bill of fare, and, with the appe- 
tite that outdoor life and exercise alone can give, we attack 
vigorously the tempting woodland viands spread before us. 
Supper over, the fire replenished, with pipe or cigar 
alight, we gather around the glowing camp fire, talk over 
the events of the day, plan for the morrow, or wake the 
long silent echoes with song end laughter. . 
We are to-night on classic ground. The bark shanty we 
will occupy was built for a ‘“‘chosen band,” whose names 
are ag household words the world over. Here Emerson 
first conceived those thoughts and ideas to which he gives 
such sweet expression in his poem, ‘“The Adirondacks;” 
here’s where the wood-god murmured through the leaves, 
welcome, though late, unknowing, yet known to me. Here 
the lamented Agassiz caught ‘‘pugs” and all manner of 
creeping things native to the region, and astonished the 
guides by bis thorough and intimate acquaintance with all 
the ‘“‘tenants of the wood.” Here the ‘‘autocrat” kept the 
little circle around the spruce-topped table delighted with 
his ever brilliant and witty conversation, as he has often 
done in other circles, when the ‘‘festive board” was of ma- 
hogany, and the “‘service” of china and silver instead of 
birchen bark. Here Hosea Biglow climbed a lofty tree for 
the purpose of observing closely a fish hawk’s nest. Here 
this party of scholars were wont to lie soft and warm, 
camped in the ‘“‘mellow autumn time,” and, let us hope, 
renewed their lease of life, for we can illy afford to lose 
men of such broad views aud liberal sentiments. 
Leaving the noisy camp with our companion and guide, 
we paddled silently out into the calm, moonlit lake, taking 
a rifle along in case a deer or other game should appear to 
us, and wrapped in our blankets we coasted down the pond, 
our guide sending the boat along without a sound and 
scarcely aripple. The stillness and the easy motion of the 
boat was sedative in its effects, and we were almost in the 
land of dreams when the sharp ‘‘spang” of the rifle and 
the sound of some animal floundering on the shore aroused 
us, ‘What is it; a deer; did you hit it?” were the questions 
excitedly asked and coolly answered by the veteran guide 
with ‘I guess I did; he lays there anyhow, and deer that 
ain’t hit, and pretty badly, too, don’t wait long after being 
shot at.” And as the boat grated on the gravelly beach we 
found our deer dead—shot through the head. 
“We had better tripe the critter right here; we don’t 
want the inwards laying around camp,” said W., rolling 
up his sleeves, putting a stick through the deer’s hind legs, 
and with ouz help suspending him from a jutting limb on 
the nearest tree. ‘‘We are right at Folingsby’s Landing 
now; you have heard of him, I suppose,” continued W.; 
he was the strangest man that ever came into these woods. 
I never saw him, but I knew a man who was with him 
when he died. He came here forty years ago or more, 
built him a shanty just back of us, and gave this pond his 
name; but he didn’t stay at home much; he used to go 
rambling all over the country—sometimes way up the Sara- 
nac, and then some one would see him a few days after a 
hundred miles from there. He never talked much to any 
one, and unless it was stormy, or some one was sick, he 
would not let them into his shanty. He was an #nglish- 
man—a tall, fine looking man, grey-headed, would answer 
all questions about the woods and streams, and he knew 
them, too, like a book; but he’d get on his dignity if any 
one asked him any questions about himself, and I never 
knew any man to try that more than once. He lived here 
a long time, and no one knew anything about him, except 
what they guessed at. That he was a man who had seen 
better days, and moved in high society in the old country 
some time, was about all any one could say, but why he 
should live like a hermit away off in the woods all alone 
puzzled everybody, and they finally gave up guessing and 
let the old man fish and huntin peace. After awhile he 
struck another with similar success, and laid it beside its | 



began to fail, and kept his shanty closer, and one day 
sportsman and his guide, passing by his cabin heard a good 
deal of loud talking, and going in found the old Captain on 
his bed raving with a fever. 
but they stayed all night listening tohim. Heraved awfully 
They couldn’t help him any, 
they said. Sometimes he would think he was in battle, 
and would call on his men to follow him, and wave his arm 
above his head as if he hada sword. Then he would make 
speeches. Then his voice would soften down and tremble, 
and he would whisper the name of « lady, and stretching 
out his hands would call her his angel. Then he would 
gnash his teeth and curse the man who stole her from him. 
Then he would shut his eyes and tell what he did for re- 
venge, and, as near as the men could make out from his 
ravings, he had killed them both. Towards morning he 
died. The men wrapped him up in some blankets and 
buried him as well as they could. Then they looked the 
shanty over, and under the stone fireplace they fouud a big 
oak trunk with a splendid British uniform. in it, hat and 
all, a gold mounted sword, a pair of pistols, some old fash 
ioned gold coins, and a lot of old letters and papers. One 
of the letters had a big seal on it, and was an officer’s com- 
mission, I take it. Some of the letters were addressed to 
Earl something, I forget what, it’s so long since I heard the 
name. One package of letters was in a lady’s handwriting, 
and was about half burned, as if Folingsby had meant 
some time to burn them up and hadn’t the heart to do it. 
The sportsman meant to take the chest—letters and all— 
to New York, and write to the old Captain’s friends in 
England, but the whole kit was stolen from him before he 
got to the settlements, and that’s all anybody around here 
knows about Captain Folingsby. 
It was a weird and singular story, and the wild surround- 
ings gave it double force. We instinctively drew closer 
together, not without a furtive glance around, as if expect 
ing to see the gaunt form of the old nobleman (for such he 
unquestionably was) come stalking down the forest path. 
Our deer being now ready we put him in the boat, and 
taking the oars were soon near camp. As we approached, 
the rattling chorus of a popular melody was at its height, 
the musicians making up in vigor of lungs all they lacked 
in melody. Our near approach was the signal for a sudden 
cessation of the music, and the boys came down the brushy 
hillside with a rush and helped carry the deer up to camp 
and hang it up securely, and then, after a last smoke, we 
wrapped our blankets about us and stretching ourselves 
out upon the fragrant couch of hemlock tips were soon ob- 
livious to all passing events. 
Woodland, awn and Garden. - 
SHELTER PLANTING. 


HERE no sheltering arms of the original forests re- 
main to break the sweep of wind and storm, it be- 
comes a pleasant and useful work, a labor of. iove to all 
who appreciate the good offices of the woodland, to place 
upon such parts of the farm or homestead as need shelter 
so mnch of new growth as will break the force of winter 
winds, and make areas of protection for the buildings, and the 
places where for many months of cold our faithful animals 
may gather and find refuge from the keen blast. In many 
ways will such shelters affect the farming interest beyond 
their contributions to the grace and beauty that should be 
inseparable from rural life. The snow will lie more even- 
ly upon the fields, and in this natural covering, and its 
protection from deep and excessive freezing, may be’ 
found the cause of the fertility and productive capacity of 
great sections of the northern states and Canadas, that 
might without it become almost sterile. Under its soft 
folds, shaken down as quietly as a parent would cover a 
sleeping child, a woof woven as deftly and noiselessly as 
nature performs her most blessed works, the germs of a 
new year’s growth are hidden; and here they gather, as the 
season advances, an imperceptible force of vegetable en- 
ergy that supplies the magic for the wonderful transforma- 
tion scene that brings full luxuriant summer in one sweep 
from the thralls of winter. 
Under the snow, the even snow, are the mysterious 
chemical changes that when it is swept away by the south 
wind, fill the air with influences all recognise, but none 
can describe. The snowdrop and the violet steal a fra- 
grance from it that summer flowers with all their. mature 
beauty bloom and fade without; the anemone and spring 
beauty, born of snow, water and damp forest air, are pne- 
cliled with a beauty as lovely as the graces of childhood, 
while when the streams and waterfalls are heard for miles 
as the flood sweeps on, the air hasa capacity for sound 
pearing that makes a distant bell resemble a chime, and 
the notes of newly mated birds so full and sweet that many 
halt and listen who hardly hear or know their later war- 
blings. ; 
The even snow not only protects from the intense cold, 
but from the equally intense sunlight of midwinter. 
Whether this bright light, with some degree of heat, stim- 
ulates a movement of vegetable juices, that renders fatal 
the ensuing cold of a clear night, or whether there is some- 
thing directly injurious in the glare, is a question for 
learned and close observers to decide, the fact is one evi- 
denced by many forms of growth that are ‘‘ winter-killed” 
as the farmers say. In many cases when shrubs are thus 
injured, the snow line is distinctly marked. All exposed j 
branches will be sun-burned and blighted, while snow coy- 
ee a 
