suggest, as I sat on the upper step, listening to the interview. "He is laughing at us," said the scion, angrily. "Let him laugh; he is safe," replied Ben. "I'll tell you what we can do." "Well, what?" asked Waddie, as he cast a discontented glance at me. HUNTING AND FISHING IN MAINE. THE BY MILLINOCKET. CARIBOU-HUNTING. HE caribou found in this state are known as the woodland species of the reindeer, but much larger than the tamed deer used in "Let us camp out here to-night," continued Lapland, which are called the barren-ground Ben. variety. "Camp out!" repeated several of the party, not fully comprehending the idea of the fertile Pinkerton's brilliant mind. "Starve him out, I mean," explained Ben. "We will stay here and keep him a close prisoner till he is willing to come down and take his licking like a man." Stupid as this plan seemed to me, it was promptly adopted. But the enemy retired out of hearing to complete the arrangement, though they were near enough to fall upon me if I attempted to escape. I did not consider myself a match for the whole of them on the ground, and I had expected to be terribly mauled, as I should have been if my wits had not served me well. Presently I saw Waddie leave the party, and walk towards his father's house. I concluded that he had gone to change his clothes, for his plight was as disagreeable as it could be. His companions took position near the foot of the steps, with the clubs in their hands, ready to receive me if I attempted to evacuate my fortress. I was quite confortable, and rather curious to know what they intended to do. I waited an hour for the return of Waddie, during which time I studied the structure in which I was a prisoner, and its surroundings, in order to prepare myself for action when it should be necessary. It was plain to me that the scion was taking more time than was needed to change his clothes. I thought something had happened at the house; and in this impression I was soon confirmed by the appearance of Colonel Wimpleton, attended by two men. Our caribou weigh about three hundred pounds, while the Lapland reindeer will not average more than half that weight. The caribou is now very rare in the limits of the United States. Some few are found in the forests of Maine, and now and then one is seen in the wilds of the Adirondack. Not many years ago they were numerous in this state; but now we know only of a few herds among the Eberne Mountains, and around the great bogs and thick forests near Chesuncook Lake. We will not say that the hunters have killed them all, for they have not; but the animals have evidently migrated to the north, and perhaps have swum the broad St. Lawrence, and sought the wilds of Labrador. They disappeared very suddenly from this state, and it is now a mystery to the hunters to know where they went. About a quarter of a century ago they began to disappear, and in a short time only a very few remained of all those who had ranged our forests in vast numbers. In the southern part of Washington County there are sandy plains of vast extent, and enormous bogs. Here, on these pine plains and mossy bogs, the caribou existed in great numbers forty years ago. All at once they began to disappear mysteriously, and soon not one remained; and for a quarter of a century not a solitary caribou has been seen in these localities, where once they were so plenty that the hunters frequently killed two at one shot. The reindeer is known to be a migrating animal, now travelling in vast herds to the sea-shore, and then marching back to the impenetrable forests. This may help explain the sudden disappearance of the caribou from this state; but many years have elapsed since then, and the animals have not returned, except in a few instances. When a boy, and hunting for deer on the plains above mentioned, we have crossed over to the great bogs, and sought for the trail of the reindeer, but without avail. "It is no use to hunt for them," said my friend George, “for they are all gone; I killed the last one ten years ago. Over beyond that little meadow there are some big springs, and the caribou loved to go there to drink, for the water was cold as ice, and clearer than the air. One morning I concealed myself in a clump of alders over yonder, and waited for the thirsty deer. Soon a large herd appeared, trotting beautifully up the meadow. How my heart leaped for joy! for they were coming close to me. When the leader, who was a tremendous great fellow, came abreast me, I up with the rifle and fired at him. Down he went, and also a doe, who had run up alongside of him. Quick as a puff of the wind, the rest of the herd scampered over the hill, and I saw no more of them. As soon as I loaded my rifle, I ran out to where the reindeer lay, and found the buck and doe lying side by side, shot through the heart. The buck was the biggest one I had ever seen, and his antlers were four or five feet high. I gave them, three years afterwards, to the naturalist Audubon, when he came down here hunting after birds." As we ranged about, George pointed out to me the favorite places where the reindeer were wont to go and feed, and the great trails they made in passing from one part of the country to another. "I counted," said he, "one hundred and twenty-five caribou leaping across that brook one morning; and some of them never jumped across afterwards.” On our return from our deer hunt, we went to see an old man by the name of Wooster, who had been famous in his early days as a moose and caribou hunter; but he had long ago hung up his trusty rifle over the fireplace for the last time, and the silver-white hair and tottering limbs told plainly that his last hunt was over. Still, boys," said he, "I love to talk of my hunts; for they are all fresh in my memory, while what I see and learn now I soon forget. The adventures I had in the woods when a boy come back in my mind just as clear as though they took place an hour ago. This solaces me for my infirmities, and I set down happily by the fireplace, and think with joy of my old companions and the good times." The venerable old man told us, with glee, how he trapped the game, and fought the bear in his youth. "O, my boys," said he, "I would gladly give a year of my life if I could only recall one day of the times fifty years ago, when the caribou fed upon the big bog in immense herds. Why, I have seen in one drove several hundred of these animals; and then it took a sly fox to creep up to them, so keen was their sight, and so sharp their sense of smell. But Bill Grant | and I knew them pretty well, and we managed to get a good many of them. Why, we would go out in the night, and creep out to the middle of the bog, two or three miles from the forest, and then lay down among the short, stubby bushes, and wait for a drove to come near. Yes, one time we waited two days for the caribou to approach, and we got mighty hungry, for we eat up all our lunch the first day. We got one though, finally, and had a mighty tough job to drag him over the bog to the path in the woods. That's the reason why we didn't go oftener to the centre of the bog, because it was so hard to pull them out over the shaky earth. This bog is eight or ten miles long, and two or three miles wide; and now and then there are little groves of trees, which serve as shelter for the deer. When they were in these groves, or in the woods near the borders of the bog, it was quite easy to creep up to them; but when they were out feeding on the mosses on the open moor, it was mighty hard to get near them. "One afternoon in August, about forty years ago, Bill and I shouldered our long rifles, and started for Pine Island, which is nothing more than a little forest of trees growing out of the bog, and two miles long by about a mile wide. We arrived here a trifle after dark; and, finding a great, dry, hollow pine log, we built a fire under one end of it, and cooked some trout which we caught in the Pleasant River meadow as we came along. We then smoked our pipes, arranged our plans for the morrow, and then laid down in our blankets and went to sleep, in the delicious and fragrant air of the pine forest. About midnight Bill awoke me, and said, 'What in thunder is that?' No wonder Bill was startled; for, of all the noises, I never heard the like of such as proceeded from the interior of the hollow log. There seemed to be a dozen animals, scratching, grunting, snarling, and biting, all together. For a moment we thought it might be a pack of wolves, or a den of bears. But Bill soon recognized the sounds, and said, 'Good gracious! there is a nest of raccoons in there, and the fire has set them to fighting!' The fire gradually consumed the open end of the log; and, until it got near enough to roast them, they kept quiet. They could not run out, because the fire blocked up the open end with living coals; and so they crowded together in the other end, and were clawing each other at a great rate. "I then took the hunting axe, which we always carried with us, and chopped a square hole in the log; and then Bill run in his ram-rod, which had a screw in the end, and screwed it into the fur and hide of one of the coons, and when he pulled him out I whacked him on the head. "We got six raccoons out of that log; and after we had killed the snarling varmints, we laid down and went to sleep, and finished our nap. "We arose at daybreak; and, after making a hasty breakfast, we crept quietly through the woods to the edge of the bog. Here I climbed a tall pine, from the top of which I got an extended view of the country. Away off, on the northern part of the bog, I could see many of the caribou feeding and gamboling about; but they were five miles off, and too far for us to travel over the miry bog. Away over on the right hand, about two miles distant, I could see a herd of thirty or forty close to a belt of pines, which stretched out into the moor like a prom- | ontory into the sea. But they were too far away; and, while I was looking out for game close at hand, I thought that I saw something move near a little clump of bushes, about a half a mile distant, out in the bog. Yes, before long I was quite sure that I could make out the antlers of a caribou, but with great difficulty, for the deer were very near the color of the bog, and it was difficult to distinguish them when lying down. "When I came down from the tree, Bill and I considered how we should get at them. It would be impossible for us to get very near, for they would hear us creeping through the bushes; therefore we must resort to some stratagem to get a fair shot at them. 66 Finally it was agreed that I should make a wide detour past the clump of bushes, and when I had got some distance beyond, and out in the bog, I should turn and creep directly towards the deer. Bill, in the mean time, was to creep out about half way, and lay down near the path they would probably take when frightened by me. As this seemed to be the best plan, and would give us two chances to shoot at the deer, I started off, making a wide circuit, so that if the deer saw me they could not tell what it was. A mighty hard tramp I had of it too. Sometimes I would come to a broad lagoon, and it would take me a long time to get round it. Sometimes I would slump into the bog, and I like to have lost my boots several times. "But, finally, I reached the point where I was to turn and creep back. Down on my hands and knees I crept, until I thought I had got close to them, when I peeked cautiously up over the low bushes; but the deer were too far off, and I did not look higher, but crept on. "I had now arrived to within twenty rods of the little trees where I had seen the deer, and thought it best to get a sight of them, and fire from where I then was. As I slowly raised my head, I caught a glimpse of the wide-spreading antlers of the stag; but the moment my head was lifted high enough to see the caribou's head, his quick eye perceived me, and with a shrill snort he sprang to his feet like a flash of lightning. "A dozen other reindeer rose up from the bog where they had been sleeping, and gazed intently at me. I had not an instant to lose, and I aimed my rifle directly at the big stag, and sighted at his nose as he stood facing me. "At the flash of my gun, the noble animal reared up on his hind legs for a second, and then fell over backwards, perfectly dead, for the ball had pierced the end of his nose, and went through his brain. "The rest of the deer ran, as we had supposed, directly down the path in the direction of Bill. They ran right over him; and so swiftly did they go, and so near were they, that Bill could not stop to take much of an aim, and so missed them all. "But we had as much as we wanted to do to drag the big stag over to the meadows. Here we built a raft, and floated down with our prize to within a few miles of home." POETS' HOMES. BY THOMAS POWELL. Author of "The Blind Wife," "Florentine Tales," "Simon de Montfort," "Confessions of the Ideal,” “A New Spirit of the Age," "Love's Rescue," "Living Authors," &e. I DOUGLAS JERROLD. SHALL have little to say about the home of this most popular writer, because, although I knew him, and frequently met him in society, his manners were so repulsive to me that we never visited. He was more of a human wasp than a man; although he had a very pleasant nest, as I know by report, at Putney, on the banks of the Thames, and about eight miles from London; and, notwithstanding his "Caudle Lectures," he had an excellent wife, to whom he was much attached. and who loved him in return. In person Douglas Jerrold was one of the smallest men I have ever seen. It seemed as though he had no neck, so immediately did his head grow out of his shoulders, which, being very round, and protruding, made him like a sort of modified hunchback. His face was a "That was rather strange, the other night, at the Marquis's!" "What was that?" asked Costello. 66 Why, we had no fish at dinner," said Smith. "I can't account for it." "I can," said Jerrold. "They of course ate it all up stairs." This taking it for granted that Albert Smith dined in the kitchen below with the servants, was an extinguisher, and he never boasted again at the Museum Club of his grand acquaintances. very aggressive one, his forehead, nose, and | night." At last, upon one occasion, he gave chin being prominent and sharply cut -a sort Jerrold an opportunity to let fly; for, happenof hatchet, like his mind. He wore his hair ing to say to Dudley Costello, - which was, after his thirtieth year, an iron gray-brushed off his face and forehead; while his eager gray eye and sharp tone of voice gave him the appearance, to use Thackeray's simile, "of a fighting cock trimmed for the combat." Horne epitomized his personal appearance as "cod's head and shoulders." He was certainly the most trenchant man I ever met. He was not like the Irishman who invited people to tread on the tail of his coat; but he went about the world industriously treading upon other people's coat-tails. I never met a man, especially a literary one, who had so little per- In exposing pretence and humbug Jerrold sonal courtesy. Like Diogenes, if he saw any never studied his own interest; he was truly Plato proud of a new carpet, he would trample | a fearless man. upon his pride in his muddiest boots. He was a most merciless reparteeist, and would send his brickbat through the costliest of human transparencies. It was very dangerous for any human snail to venture out too far from the shell of its egotism in his presence, for his foot would be upon it in an instant. Mark Lemon, the famous editor of Punch, who feared Jerrold less than the rest, said, one night, in a company where Jerrold was present, 66 - Why, what's the matter with you, Jerrold? | You have not said anything spiteful all the evening. Are you sickening for the measles?" It must, however, be confessed that Jerrold's keen blade was generally drawn to attack shams and oppressions; he waged a constant war with snobbery, conceit, and arrogance. His retorts would fill a volume. He seldom went out of his path to attack; but woe to those who got in his way! There was a sharp sententiousness about his jokes eminently characteristic of the man. When Heraud, who was rather famous for publishing long epic poems, such as the "Judgment of the Flood," "The Descent into Hell," &c., and who had an inordinate opinion of his own genius, said, rather pompously, one | evening, "My dear Jerrold, have you read my Descent into Hell?" the sarcastic wit replied, "No, my boy; I'd rather see it, any day." The well-known Albert Smith, who was in many respects the greatest snob I ever met for a man of undeniable intellect, was very frequently the butt for Jerrold's shafts. Smith's weakness was a love of grand acquaintances, with whose sayings and doings he dosed his unhappy companions; it was, "My lord said this," or "My lord said that;" or, "We had splendid champagne at the marquis's the other A few days after Macready had taken Drury Lane Theatre, he met that solemn theatrical potentate at Talfourd's. "So you have taken Drury Lane Theatre, Mr. Macready?" said Jerrold. "I hope you'll do well with it." With his usual superciliousness, Mr. Macready began to dilate upon what he meant to do for the dramatists, adding, "If you have a play ready, Mr. Jerrold, I should be glad to see what I can do for it." "O, come come! Mr. Macready," said Jerrold; “none of that, if you please! I don't want any of your grim patronage." Mr. Macready looked as though he had unexpectedly received a sockdologer. SEA THINGS. — MARINE ANNELIDS. You BY GEORGE S. BURLEIGH. have probably lived till now under the delusion that a worm is an ugly thing, useful perhaps in the commissariat of nature to furnish rations to a codfish or a bobolink, but with nothing to instruct us, or excite our admiration. This delusion would not long survive the use of a microscope upon these victims of prejudice and misconception. The marine annelids are by far the most numerous of the family, and the most elastic; for the naturalists give us some fearful stretchers under that head, which nothing but personal observation could prepare one for taking at par. They are, in fact, just so much vitalized India-rubber the annelids, you understand, not the naturalists. One fellow, Nemertis gigas, the great band-worm, —just a bit of tape half an inch wide, — stretches from thirty to forty feet long, brown, smooth, and shining it into the fur and hide of one of the coons, and when he pulled him out I whacked him on the head. "We got six raccoons out of that log; and after we had killed the snarling varmints, we laid down and went to sleep, and finished our nap. “We arose at daybreak; and, after making a hasty breakfast, we crept quietly through the woods to the edge of the bog. Here I climbed a tall pine, from the top of which I got an extended view of the country. Away off, on the northern part of the bog, I could see many of the caribou feeding and gamboling about; but they were five miles off, and too far for us to travel over the miry bog. Away over on the right hand, about two miles distant, I could see a herd of thirty or forty close to a belt of pines, which stretched out into the moor like a promontory into the sea. But they were too far away; and, while I was looking out for game close at hand, I thought that I saw something move near a little clump of bushes, about a half a mile distant, out in the bog. Yes, before long I was quite sure that I could make out the antlers of a caribou, but with great difficulty, for the deer were very near the color of the bog, and it was difficult to distinguish them when lying down. "When I came down from the tree, Bill and I considered how we should get at them. It would be impossible for us to get very near, for they would hear us creeping through the bushes; therefore we must resort to some stratagem to get a fair shot at them. "Finally it was agreed that I should make a wide detour past the clump of bushes, and when I had got some distance beyond, and out in the bog, I should turn and creep directly towards the deer. Bill, in the mean time, was to creep out about half way, and lay down near the path they would probably take when frightened by me. As this seemed to be the best plan, and would give us two chances to shoot at the deer, I started off, making a wide circuit, so that if the deer saw me they could not tell what it was. A mighty hard tramp I had of it too. Sometimes I would come to a broad lagoon, and it would take me a long time to get round it. Sometimes I would slump into the bog, and I like to have lost my boots several times. "But, finally, I reached the point where I was to turn and creep back. Down on my hands and knees I crept, until I thought I had got close to them, when I peeked cautiously up over the low bushes; but the deer were too far off, and I did not look higher, but crept on. "I had now arrived to within twenty rods of the little trees where I had seen the deer, and thought it best to get a sight of them, and fire from where I then was. As I slowly raised my head, I caught a glimpse of the wide-spreading antlers of the stag; but the moment my head was lifted high enough to see the caribou's head, his quick eye perceived me, and with a shrill snort he sprang to his feet like a flash of lightning. "A dozen other reindeer rose up from the bog where they had been sleeping, and gazed intently at me. I had not an instant to lose, and I aimed my rifle directly at the big stag, and sighted at his nose as he stood facing me. "At the flash of my gun, the noble animal reared up on his hind legs for a second, and then fell over backwards, perfectly dead, for the ball had pierced the end of his nose, and went through his brain. "The rest of the deer ran, as we had supposed, directly down the path in the direction of Bill. They ran right over him; and so swiftly did they go, and so near were they, that Bill could not stop to take much of an aim, and so missed them all. "But we had as much as we wanted to do to drag the big stag over to the meadows. Here we built a raft, and floated down with our prize to within a few miles of home." POETS' HOMES. BY THOMAS POWELL. Author of "The Blind Wife," "Florentine Tales," "Simon de Montfort," "Confessions of the Ideal," "A New Spirit of the Age," "Love's Rescue,' Living Authors," &c. I DOUGLAS JERROLD. SHALL have little to say about the home of this most popular writer, because, although I knew him, and frequently met him in society, his manners were so repulsive to me that we never visited. He was more of a human wasp than a man; although he had a very pleasant nest, as I know by report, at Putney, on the banks of the Thames, and about eight miles from London; and, notwithstanding his "Caudle Lectures," he had an excellent wife, to whom he was much attached. and who loved him in return. In person Douglas Jerrold was one of the smallest men I have ever seen. It seemed as though he had no neck, so immediately did his head grow out of his shoulders, which, being very round, and protruding, made him like a sort of modified hunchback. His face was a |