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RECREA T10N. 



NATURAL HISTORY NOTES. 



Few who live in towns and cities can imagine 

 the tragedies enacted, under cover of darkness, by 

 many of the furred and feathered creatures in- 

 habiting the fields and woods; and even he who 

 lives among them is continually learning some- 

 thing new. I once had a mink trap set in 

 some open timber bordering a river, in Washing- 

 ton, and on visiting it one morning, found evi- 

 dence of a royal battle having been fought some 

 time during the night. A small hawk, of a kind 

 that appears after sunset, had essayed to sample 

 the bit of nice fresh venison, but its plans were 

 foiled by the trap gripping its toes. Misfortunes 

 never come singly, and another imp of darkness 

 in the shape of a large owl, happened to espy its 

 unfortunate comrade and fiercely attacked it. 

 The ground for some distance around was 

 strewn with feathers, mostly those of the hawk, 

 which had fought bravely, as tufts of the soft, 

 fluffy plumage of the owl attested. The remnant 

 of the hawk — most of it having been eaten by the 

 victor — was deposited with the bait, and the very 

 next day I found a large owl serenely perched on 

 the balance pole, to which the trap was attached, 

 and guiltily blinking at me in the sunlight. Dire 

 and speedy vengeance followed, but until that 

 time I never knew that owls and hawks, that pass 

 in night, were such deadly enemies. 



One would think a skunk would be safe 

 from attack at any time, but a somewhat similar 

 case to the above once occurred in Mon- 

 tana. The fowl house was occasionally raided 

 by skunks, and measures of reprisal were ac- 

 cordingly resorted to, a couple of steel traps being 

 arranged for their benefit. Several captures were 

 made and the victims promptly slain, but I found, 

 on one occasion, that the last operation had been 

 performed for me. An enemy of my ill-smell- 

 ing captive had happened along, and took a 

 mean advantage of its predicament. Nothing 

 but a fore paw remained in the trap. The rest 

 had disappeared, apparently into the stomach of 

 the assailant, and the broken sticks, torn-up 

 ground and sundry other indications, all pointed 

 to a violent difference of opinion between a trapped 

 skunk and — what ? I learned next day. The 

 thing that ate skunks o' nights had returned. 

 Like the immortal Oliver, it hankered after more, 

 but never got it, and a snarling, large-sized 

 badger, of hostile mien and fetid odor, occupied 

 the place of its victim and shared its untimely 

 end by being brained instanter. 



The ways of wild creatures in their native 

 haunts are full of interest to me, and whenever 

 an opportunity of noting their habits unobserved 

 presents itself, I always take advantage of it. 

 Quite recently one such occurred. I was lately 

 up on the British Columbia coast, in a small 

 yacht, and one calm day, when at anchor in Bur- 

 rard Inlet, I saw a young loon rise close alongside. 

 There was no sign of fear in its bright, beady eyes, 

 for I was in the cabin watching it intently out of 

 the window. All seeming quiet, it dived after 

 its breakfast, and the instant it disappeared a 

 whole shoal of little fish broke the placid surface 

 of the water, evidently being in mortal terror. 



The loon made for the thickest of them, the long, 

 slender mandibles closed over a victim, and then 

 it reappeared on the surface, licking its lips as it 

 were, with extreme satisfaction. Twice more 

 was this performance repeated, within six feet of 

 my eyes, and the perfectly mirror-like clearness 

 of the water allowed every movement to be seen. 

 The marvelous rapidity of the bird, as it dived 

 aftar its prey, was a perfect revelation to me, for 

 the swift, gliding, fish-like movement resembled 

 the rush of a bull trout harrying a shoal of min- 

 nows ; neither wings nor feet seemed to be 

 brought into play, and I learned on this occa- 

 sion how a loon obtains its food. 



Charles Greenwood. 



Editor Recreation. Ropesville, Tex. 



We have, by all odds, the sportsman's paradise 

 down here. Florida cannot be compared to it. 

 There is no month of the year when fish, of some 

 species, are not biting sufficiently fast to suit the 

 most nervous. In March tarpon are on our bays 

 in great schools, and I have counted as many as 

 400 strikes at the troll in one day. Unlike Florida, 

 we do not have to fish all day for a strike, but 

 the tarpon strike all day. Last fall three sports- 

 men, from Wisconsin, landed 12 tarpon in one 

 day. One landed five, one four, and one three, 

 besides several jack or cabbillio. Trout, red- 

 fish, Spanish mackerel, jack, crokers, pompano 

 and many others bite well the year round. Last 

 fall I captured one jewfish that weighed 408 

 pounds. In the spring of '94 I landed one weigh- 

 ing 556 pounds, and during the season I judge 

 that no less than 200 jewfish were landed, ten 

 being taken in less than two hours by parties 

 from San Antonio. 



I am located at Ropesville, near Aransas Pass. 

 Three years ago our fishing grounds were hardly 

 known to sportsmen. To-day they are con- 

 sidered the best in the world. 



F. D. Perrenot. 



" What do you think of the woman question, 

 major?" asked the judge. 



" I think it is asked much more often than is 

 necessary, judge." 



" What do you mean ?" 



" I am speaking of the woman question. I 

 understand that to be the subject of your in- 

 quiry.'' 



" But what do you understand to be the 

 woman question ?" 



" Is my hat on straight?" 



— Pittsburgh Chronicle Telegraph. 



We have been very much pleased at the num- 

 ber of mail inquiries we have received from our 

 ad. in Recreation. We have every reason to 

 believe that it is a valuable medium for adver- 

 tisers, and one whose value is rapidly increasing. 

 The publication as a magazine speaks for itself. 

 Spratt's Patent, Ltd. 



Cresar's Wife — You seem ill at ease, my lord. 

 What vexes you ? 



Caesar — I dreamed last night, Cornelia, that 

 the American papers, 1,900 years from now, 

 after they had got tired of Napoleon Bonaparte, 

 began printing a lot of fake stories about me. — 

 Oakland {la.) Acorn. 



