ij8 The Grouse Family 



love the old logging roads and ancient trails. 

 To merely walk through that grand corridor 

 would be a treat for any lover of the world 

 beautiful; but to walk through with gun at the 

 ready and a grouse apt to spring any moment, 

 to dart into the corridor and speed the length of 

 it in full view, was — well, it was one of those 

 higher walks of life so frequently mentioned in 

 print, yet so seldom thoroughly enjoyed. That 

 corridor used to be good for sometimes half a 

 dozen birds, and in it, considering the beauty of 

 the surroundings and everything, the writer en- 

 joyed the finest grouse-shooting he has ever 

 known. It had variety too, for now and then a 

 wise bird would go boring up the height, or take 

 a dive into the ravine and fall dead, away below, 

 which, of course, meant a risky descent and a 

 return climb worthy of a youthful politician, or a 

 rib-nosed mandrill, or anything that aspires to 

 climb. 



In Michigan there is a region — the natives 

 call it the " Popples." There the poplar brush is 

 reasonable, and a man may get fair chances and 

 many of them before the sun sinks below the 

 black forest line. In other places most of the 

 shooting must needs be done in the big woods, 

 or about their borders. There is, or perhaps 

 there was, one rare good bit where a slashing for 



