THE 



[Entered According to Act of Congress, in the year 1879, by the Forest and Stream Publishing Company, in the Offlee of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.! 



NEW YORK, THURSDAY, MARCH 18,1880. 



CONTENTS. 



Answers to Correspondents , 129 



Boston Notes ; Cortland Archers; "Rounders" In Archery- • 135 



Editoriaxi:— 

 Removal; Notes; Wild Bice for the Kangeleya; America at 

 Berlin : Our Alaska Letter 130 



EiSB Culture:— 

 The .Movements of Salmon in the Sea 126 



Oamh Rm anii Gus :- 

 Shooting Notes; Hummer Woodcock Shooting; Live Quail; 

 Where logo Next Winter; Largo vs. .Small Borea ; Into 

 the Dismal Swamp ; Sport About Sardis, Miss.; Shooting 

 Matches 133 



Game Protection :— 

 Migratory Quail in Pennsylvania ; Should the Gun be Taxed? 131 



The Kennel:— 



bomethine M , , ■., i . -rd and Dog Croaking; Entries tor 



the Derby 13S 



Misoellaisv:- —.*.., 

 Southern Wood Notes; A Sanguinary Deer Hunt; Lost in 

 the Maine Woods 133 



Natural History:— 

 Notes on tiie Pine Grosbeak; White Deer; Bird Notes from. 



Pennsylvania; About the Bohemian Waiving; Beaver 

 Catching in it, 1; ,.: i : Prairie Chickens Drinking; Cat and 

 Kaitlesuake; How to Handle Skunks; Collision Between 

 a Bluebird and a Locomotive 125 



Publishers' Dupartment — .... 136 



The Rifle:— 

 The "Palmn" Conditions ; Range aud Gallery ; Velocity of 

 Bifle Balls; Whut a Hunter Knows ., 133 



Sea. and River Pishing:— 

 TheOpenin ■ !'■■■■.■.:, ,,-j -...■■ i, '.v;-,. Will Tell iiin;' \ 



._' I .■.! •. I t lee "'■ i, Tl ■,, [;;|i Cir.,1.1,: W ,l-i \..y,- 



BruuswickSaiinuti tueers ; Keev We found and fished the 



South Fork , 127 



Woman's Column:— 

 In Search of Perns 136 



Yachting and Canoeing :— 



. 1 1 ■ ■ ■ . ■ i .=cl iT« hts Measuremeri '■■■■■•. post "Cats;" A Reply 

 to " Corinthian;" Lncapsizable Boats; Yachting News 135 



!#»%//« 



fafos. 



WHETHER in the tangled thickets of spice wood 

 in Indiana or Kentucky, the home of the ruffed 

 grouse, or in the somber silence of a Southern pine for- 

 est, there is a beauty in the forest, trackless and illimit- 

 able, that can only be surpassed by the solemn expanse 

 of ocean itself ; and, indeed, there is a great similarity 

 between the dwellers hi the woods and the reckless sail- 

 ors who brave death in every form upon the mighty deep. 

 At this season of the year one can see vast numbers of 

 doves feeding on the grass seeds in the cotton patches, or 

 on the few cow peas that have been left by the hogs in 

 the corn-fields. They afford very fine shooting, for 

 they go like the wind, and none but a hard-hitting, 

 close-shooting gun will bring them to grass. 



I have been much amused at the discussions that have 

 been going on in Forest and Stream anent the hold- 

 ing on a bird, when a cross Bitot or ahead. As all the 

 shots at doves aro cross shots, these gentlemen, were they 

 to shoot here, would have a '"beggarly account of 

 empty" shells and no birds. At forty yards, or further, 

 I aim from three to five feet ahead of my bird, and 

 even then I sometimes shoot behind. En passant, I 

 remark that the only successful way to kill either quail, 

 ducks, or doves is the "swing." Follow the course of 

 your bird, throw the gun ahead, and pull trigger si mid. 

 taneously, All tins talk about "snap" shooting and 

 deliberate shooting is all "bosh." Deliberate prompti- 

 tude is the rule, and he who departs from it can never 

 shoot well, nor even make an average shot. Some 

 writers say that you must have the sight in front of 

 your bird. I have never found any use for the sight 

 on my gun. I never see it when I shoot. Nor do I 

 believe any but a "poke shot" ever does. See that your 

 gun is on a line with the bird, for goodness' sake ; pull 

 trigger, and don't, I beg, "poke !" 



Following in the wake of the flocks of doves are a 

 great variety of liawkB aud other predaeeoufl birds. 

 From the stately buzzard hawk, down to the tiny "blue 

 darter," they swarm over all the fields. There is a hawk 

 here called the "rabbit hawk," of which I have never 

 killed but one specimen, and that being similar to your 

 marsh hawk, but with a greater breadth of wing, and 

 a much larger and finer bird. Indeed, a specim I 

 wounded very severely was almost eagle-Like in size, I 



was sitting on the banks of a little stream, bathing my 

 hands and face, after a long tramp after quail, when, 

 happening to look at my dog, I saw from his eager looks 

 that he saw some bird in the air. To snatch my gun 

 and look up was the work of a moment. Coming down, 

 sailing along with no perceptible motion of his wings, 

 was a huge bird, with square head and fierce, yellow 

 eyes. I had no time to change my shells, so I gave 

 him each barrel in succession. He "fell like a stone to 

 the second barrel, but the 8s were not heavy enough. 

 Before I could reload he rose and flew off with a ra- 

 pidity of which I could scarcely believe so large a bird 

 capable. I am sure that he never caught another rabbit. 

 I am very sure that at about twenty yards, the distance 

 that I tired at him, I have killed mallards stone dead 

 with the same gun and the same size of shot. I should 

 like very much to see this bird dead, for they are very 

 rare indeed in the South 



The "blue darter" (Falco minor) is the most destruc- 

 tive of all our birds of prey, Not much larger than a 

 quail, they possess great muscular power, and can cany 

 off a dove with no trouble whatever. Woe to the covey 

 of quail that this little robber finds in the open. One 

 gone, day after day he feasts upon them, until not a 

 solitary one is left to pipe his cheerful Bob White in the 

 morning, or call in plaintive notes in the eventide. He 

 has eaten them all. No wonder the sportsman hates him. 

 No wonder he crouches down by the fence and waits by 

 the hour for his arrowy form to shoot over him. And 

 then, with what real joy he sees the cloud of feathers 

 float down the wind, and knows that the spoiler is laid 

 low. The 8s do the work for him very effectually. 



There is another species of hawk here fully as destruc- 

 tive as the "darter," but in another direction. He is 

 called in the South, par excellence, the "chicken hawk," 

 and woe to the brood of little or big chickens that this 

 Isbmaelite bird finds wandering from the farm-house, 

 from under the watchful eye of the good wife. He 

 swoops down in the quiet gray of the morning, ere the 

 farmer's boys have fully opened their eyes, and the chick- 

 ens are fondly looking for those worms of which they 

 dreamed during the stilly watches of the summer night. 

 What a hurrah ! Aunt Dinah, the black cook, sallies 

 forth with a broom ; Jake, her son, with a stool, upon 

 which he has been sleepily nodding ; her daughter, Cleo- 

 patra, with the frying-pan ; the farmer, with a rusty 

 double gun, shouting, "Where is he ; where is he?" the 

 dog, Bose, with an intelligent appreciation of the exigen- 

 cies of the situation, having in the meantime seized J ake 

 by the leg, while the audacious cause of all this uproar is 

 sailing off with a chicken in his claws, which he will 

 pick and eat with a serene contempt for Aunt Dinah, 

 Jake, Cleopatra, the farmer and Bose. He repeats the ex- 

 periment next morning with precisely the same result, 

 only varied as to the actors in the tragedy, for Bose, with 

 an impartiality highly to be commended, bites Aunt 

 Diuah the next time, and then next morning bites Cleo- 

 patra, and so on until he gets back to Jake. 



As you walk over our pine woods you will see little, 

 curious mounds of fresh earth thrown up at almost reg- 

 ular intervals. These are the homes of the "salaman- 

 der," a little rodent, allied in species to the prairie dog. 

 They are very shy, and not many Southerners have ever 

 seen one. I was shooting quail one evening, and sent my 

 dog, a mere puppy, to briug me a dead bird. As he gave 

 the supposed bird into my hand several birds rose near 

 me, and while marking them down I took hold of what 

 I thought was a bird. A sharp bite, that met through my 

 thumb, convinced me immediately that it was no quail. 

 In an agony of pain, 1 flung it on the ground, killing it 

 instantly. It was my intention to mount the specimen, 

 but our cat made her supper on him, while I was eating 

 mine. I regret it very much, for I have never seen one 

 of them since that time. That they must bo enthely 

 vegetable feeders, I think admits of no doubt ; but, as 

 they work entirely in the night, it is almost impossible to 

 find out much about their habits, They are singular 

 little animals, and would well repay scientific investiga- 

 tion were it not for the causes mentioned above : their 

 extreme shyness and their nocturnal habits, I have 

 never seen any monograph about them, and I would be 

 delighted to hear from some one on the subject. 



Of all American forests, the "piny" woods show 

 least bird life. You may travel miles upon miles, and 

 see nothing in the shape of a bird, unless you are quail- 

 hunting, and then the coveys are not very plentiful. 

 Occasionally you may hear the shrill trumpet of the blue 

 jay, or the complaining, querulous note of the tom-tit, 

 but solemn, weird stillness reigns over all things. 



Sometimes a " fox-squirrel," your common red squirrel, 

 will elevate his tail and career with railroad speed 

 through the wire grass. He means business, this foxy 

 denizen of the "piny" woods, and does not mean that 

 any shotgun — choke bore or any other bore — shall bring 

 hi in to bag. He is so tough, and selects such outrage- 

 ously tall pines, that the wise sportsman rather avoids 

 collision with him and pretends not to see him as he sits 

 enthroned on the very topmost bough of the tallest pine 

 in a radius of a mile, with his flag-like tail waving in de- 

 fiauco to the breeze and to the gentleman with the shot- 



gun below, who, with a deep sigh over the limited capa- 

 bilities of shotguns, " passeth." Yet, again and again 

 have I killed them, but often with an expenditure of 

 ammunition not at all in agreement with the value of the 

 game. The only satisfactory method of shooting them 

 IB with the rifle. Then you fool Mr. Squirrel, indeed I 

 For, as the whip-like report rings upon the still air, you 

 see him quiver for a moment upon the limb, and then 

 fall sheer a hundred feet without touching a limb. 



There is a nuisance to the quail shooter here which 

 you Northern sportsmen know nothing about. I mean a 

 little bird having a tail longer, in proportion to their 

 size, than the proudest of all peacocks; a true sparrow, 

 called here the " swamp sparrow," but no more like the 

 swamp sparrow of Kentucky than he is like a wild tur- 

 key. Any bird dog will take their scont, and I have 

 seen the "best-trained pointers come to a dead point on 

 them, You should see the look of shame and indigna- 

 tion that crosses the dog's honest face when the game is 

 flushed and found to be a sparrow. He hangs his head 

 with a mental determination never to allow himself to 

 be thus trapped again, but the very next one he falls 

 again. 



We have had no snipe-shooting here for a long time. 

 In fact, such an impetus has beeu given to sport of late, 

 and so much have most men improved in their shooting, 

 that the Northern sportsmen do not leave many snipe, for 

 us of the South. The national game bird is Bob White, 

 loved of all generous sportsmen. 



A December quail is the hardest bird to hit, and being 

 hit, the hardest bird to bring to bag for his size in the 

 world. The man who can kill them can kill anything, 

 You kill seven or eight in succession, and you phnne your- 

 self that you are going to redeem that miserable shooting 

 that you did in the branch the other day. For, eiitre nous, 

 you missed fully that many or more in the thick coyer. 

 You walk along with elastic steps, and lo ! another point. 

 You walls up your bird and you shoot ; shoot with all 

 your skill at that little fast diminishing point, and you 

 are not rewarded with a single feather. You go on, and 

 directly you shoot again, and this time the feathers float 

 down the wind in a little cloud, but your bird only flies 

 with accelerated speed. Next time you lire at fifteen or 

 twenty yards and your bird is torn all to pieces. Thus 

 you shoot all day, but while makiug a fair bag you won- 

 der why you cannot make your uniform doubles, as you 

 did in October. No man can do it. The best field shot 

 in the world can make hut few doubles on December 

 quail. Not any with whom I have ever shot. 



Many writers for your paper state that they kill most 

 of their quail within twenty-five yards. Such men do 

 not need any but the most ordinary guns. A good gun 

 will render all birds killed at that distance worthless for 

 eating, or nearly so. My own opinioii is that if sports- 

 men were to use No. 6 instead of No. 8 in their choke- 

 bores the shooting would be much more satisfactory. 

 Then deliberate shooting in the open will be the rule, and 

 not the exception. But I have yet to see the gun, no 

 matter who the maker, that will uniformly make a good 

 target with No. 6 at forty yards. If thrown close enough 

 there is a want of penetration. For such a gun, if any 

 gun-maker will make mo a cheap and good one, I will 

 pay him for it and make him famous all over the world. 



In concluding this rather rambling and decidedly 

 desultory article I must congratulate you upon the last 

 number of your paper. Full of all that is of interest to 

 the sportsman, it goes beyond that, and is full of interest 

 to all genial, hearty men. The man who wrote the article 

 last fall about Southern quail-shooting has been there, 

 and here's the hand of " gude fellowship" to him, and an 

 earnest invitation, should he ever come down my way, to 

 come and see me. To him, and to such as he, the latch- 

 string always hangs outside. St. Clair. 



Lawtonville, Ga., Jan. 21st. 



A SANGUIN ARY D EER HUNT. 



But I never chose to put more tt 

 piece; and in this manner, lieintr a «-o< 

 considerable quantity of srame.— Bex 



THERE were two of us. The first clause of the sen- 

 tence I have quoted from that delightful book, 

 Cellini's "Memoirs," hits me very well, for I shoot al- 

 ways a rifle; but my companion — well, the Captain, is 

 something like one of the speakers in a conversation in 

 the last number of Punch :— 

 Old Boy— What's vour lather? 



New Hoy— Poei, painter, sculptor, architect aud musician. 

 Old Bov— Crimini 1 is he great? 

 New Uoy -The greatest that ever Uved. 

 Old Boy— I never 1 And what are vou going to he? 

 New Boy— The same as my father, only e real er. 

 Were he interrogated he ought to answer — although he 

 would not, as his motlesty rfts astride the pyramid of 

 his perfections in tiie mysteries of wood and water craft, 

 looking as big as any of the pile— something in this way ; 

 "Shoot any with a rifle?" 

 " Good as they make 'em." 

 "How are vou with the shot gun?" 

 " I can handle a shot gnu twice as well as I can a rifle." 



(I know he killed xn pheasants last fall.) 

 " Ever do anything with a fly ?" 



