A Maryland Week

PHILADELPHIA. -- Editor Forest and Stream: In January I made a trip to Stockton, Md., where I was the guest of Mr. O. D. Foulks, and enjoyed a week of quail shooting far superior to what one could expect in these days of depleted covers. There were birds everywhere, and good-sized coveys at that, but they were not "easy" -- quite the contrary, being large, strong, educated birds -- seldom found in the open, and when so found taking to the densest cover at once, making the shooting of the most difficult order and testing the dog's nose and bird-sense to the fullest extent, all of which is the very acme of sport to one who goes for sport alone. The pot-hunter could hardly earn enough to pay for his shells in this country, as it is a succession of marsh, cornfield, rank sedge, cat briar thickets, woods, and all that affords the quail the safest cover and a natural preserve. Nothing will prove disastrous to the birds here except the hardest of winters.

The people so far have been very generous in allowing sportsmen to shoot over their grounds; but how long this may continue is a matter of conjecture, though as a class they are the most generous, frank and unselfish people it has been my fortune to meet.

I enjoyed some of the finest shooting of my life over my pointer puppy Sam -- now fourteen months old -- a thoroughbred, and the gamest puppy I ever saw afield. Mr. F. raised and trained him for me as a personal favor, and with such success that the pup found all our coveys, all singles -- and some in places where it looked impossible -- and retrieved every bird shot; dead, wing-tipped or apparently lost, it made no difference, he found every one. He hunted day in and day out and made a practically errorless record. Needless to say, I now envy no man his field trial winner nor his meat dog. Mr. F. does not train dogs for the public, but he could do so with credit and profit to himself.

Mr. F.'s house faces Assateague Bay, famous for geese, brant and ducks, and where I have enjoyed many days of good duck shooting, as all the facilities are at hand for that sport in the way of sink box, decoys, blinds, etc.; but the wildfowl shooting has been poor this winter, for what reason none of the old gunners seem able to tell. Can it be that ducks are getting scarce? We were out one day and killed four, but could have done much better had it not been for the drifting ice. The bay is planted with the choicest of salt oysters, a goodly portion of which belong to my genial friend and thorough sportsman, Mr. Alfred Child, so that the best the bay afforded was none too good for us. Home comforts in the leisure hours, with a friendly acquaintance with all the neighbors, helped to pass all too quickly the bachelor's vacation -- a week that will live long in memory as a time of pure and unalloyed pleasure, due to the untiring efforts of Mr. Foulks and his interesting family. And, best of all, I have the invitation to "come again." That is luck good enough to report to FOREST AND STREAM.

BACHELOR.