5o 



THE ATLANTIC SLOPE NATURALIST. 



a projecting cliff at Kajitori promon- 

 tory, in the province of Kii. Unfor- 

 tunately the birdlings became the ob- 

 jects of a cruel design on the part of 

 a snake residing nearby. One day, 

 this snake made bold to come out of 

 its hole and make a luncheon of them, 

 before the parent birds had time to 

 fight for their young. The bulbuts 

 then flew away shrieking sadly and 

 presently came back, one of them car- 

 rying a slug in its beak. They saw 

 the snake had returned into its hole 

 and thither they brought the worm. 

 In a way that they knew, they 

 shoved the slug into the hole and 

 waited to see the effect of their opera- 

 tion. It was no time before they saw 

 their children's murderer stagger — if 

 a snake can stagger — out of its hole in 

 a dying condition. Down came the 

 birds and soon despatched the wicked 

 reptile with their sharp bills, trium- 

 phantly avenging their little ones." 



Ants ? Yes, there are a few and sev- 

 eral subspecies. An antologist would 

 make his fortune in Luzon Island 

 alone. There are white ants, black 

 ants, brown ants, brown and blacks, 

 big ants, little ants, jumping ants — 

 well, there is no use to name all of 

 them. 



One delightful species build nests of 

 leaves, which appear to be held in a 

 bunch by a sort of web. This kind is 

 always looking for trouble. The busi- 

 ness end is ready for use in short no- 

 tice, and while you stand in the shade 

 of a tree looking for some bird, ants 

 by dozens swarm over your neck and 

 arms. Half a dozen or so will sting 

 you before you can get them all off. 

 They even try to drill a gun if they 

 happen to get on it. 



To the collector, the most trouble- 

 some species is a minute ant that comes 

 into the houses and eats any and all 

 sorts of soft material. Bird's skin 

 when fresh are especially subject to 

 attack and ruin. Plenty of naptha- 

 line is the best preventative. 



Red-Letter Days on the Caloosahatch.ee. 



By W. J. Hoxie, Savannah, Ga. 



I should have explained to the readers 

 of The Atlantic Slope Naturalist, 

 that my recent visit to Florida was 

 not in the role of a naturalist, but as 

 a railroad man, employed in the con- 

 struction of a new line from Punta 

 Gorda to Fort Myers. A description 

 of the hardships of the trip wou"'d not 

 be of any interest in these pages, but 

 the "Red Letter Days," that came in 

 at times — mostly Sundays — and occa- 

 sionally breakdowns in the pile driver, 

 gave me the much coveted opportuni- 

 ties to indulge my old taste for ram- 

 bles and collecting. 



I had no gun, but only an old rifle 

 of the "Hunter's Pet" style, but with- 

 out any skeleton stock. In this I used 

 the dust shot cartridges so dear to the 

 heart of owners of auxiliary barrels, 

 but I must truly say that the combin- 

 ation did not work well. To my sur- 

 prise one day, I found in the outfit a 

 tall young Cracker who was the very 

 best shot with a rifle that I have ever 

 seen and the feats he performed with 

 the "Baby" as my weapon was chris- 

 tened in the camp, were the wonder 

 of all the boys. Off days we took to 

 the woods together and seldom failed 

 to replenish the larder, as well as to 

 secure something of more than com- 

 mon interest to me. We had to use 

 ball cartridges mostly, for my supply 

 of shot gave out very early in the 

 game. His skill was such, however, 

 that it was very little detriment, and 

 I have some nice fox squirrel skins 

 that he killed without a hole in them. 

 He could "bark" everything that was 

 ' ' barkable, ' ' even some warblers and 

 woodpeckers. 



Over to the east of the camp was a 

 piece of flat woods through which some 

 little branches wound their way down 

 to the Caloosahatchee. This was our 

 playground — Jim and I, and Trash. 

 Trash was my dog. I found him sick 

 and nearly dead in the woods and 

 brought him to camp, where he was 





