NATURAL HISTORY. 



3 2 3 



and right, I have nothing to say; but to 

 those who wish to know of animals only 

 the things that are true, I say prove all 

 things and hold fast that which is good. 



Let it not be understood, however, that I 

 condemn the fiction stories of animals that 

 openly stand as fiction. On the contrary, 

 such wild animal hero-tales as "Mooswa" 

 and "The Outcasts," by W. W. Eraser, are 

 not only harmless, but healthful and bene- 

 ficial, especially to the young. It is not 

 claimed that they are true stories, and even 

 the youngest child is not betrayed into false 

 conclusions. 



AN INVESTIGATING COMMITTEE. 

 One day in early fall I started off with 

 my rifle, not so much that I intended shoot- 

 ing anything, but merely to have a friend 

 with me. It was one of those beautiful 

 Indian summer days. A cool Norther was 

 blowing, and the sky was clear, except for 

 the haze characteristic of that time of the 

 year, veiling the far distance with its soft 

 color. Those are the days when I feel 

 contented with the world, and love to roam 

 through the woods ; when all cares slip 

 from my mind, and I forget I have any 

 mission on earth save to feast my eyes on 

 the beauties of nature. They bring back 

 to mind the days of youth, and my mind 

 refuses to dwell on any thoughts except 

 pleasant ones. 



I was following a path through the 

 woods to a spring, when I saw a grey 

 squirrel, not 20 yards ahead of me, and 

 coming my way. Noting that he had not 

 seen me, I decided to see how much curi- 

 osity he possessed. I crouched on the 

 ground behind a bush on one side of the 

 path. 



As the squirrel came around the bush 

 he saw me. Curiosity got the better of his 

 discretion, and he began to investigate the 

 new object that lay in his way. He came 

 within 6 feet of me, sitting erect, 

 his paws on his breast, and turn- 

 ing his head to one side and to 

 the other. As I did not move, he considered 

 it safe to venture a little nearer. He 

 would smell the ground near me, rear up 

 on his hind legs and look, twitching his 

 ears and cocking his head. Several times 

 he came within arm's reach. 



He ventured at last to smell my shoe, 

 but still wasn't satisfied. He jumped on a 

 stump near, as if he wanted a better 

 view of me. He sat on the stump a 

 while, twitching his tail and looking me 

 over from head to foot. First he would sit 

 erect, then drop partly down, then let one 

 fore foot rest on the stump, holding the 

 other against his breast. Still his curiosity 

 seemed to have no bounds. I was getting 

 tired of lying so still, and raised to my 

 knees and holloed. Instantly the little 

 animal bounded to a sapling near the 



stump, not over 6 feet tall. He was so 

 thoroughly frightened that he took to the 

 rirst tree. I kept still on my knees a few 

 minutes. Back he came to the same stump, 

 reconnoitered a little, jumped thence to a 

 fence and went his way in the same direc- 

 tion he had been going at first. 



MUST THE QUAIL GO TOO? 

 The question, "What has become of the 

 wild pigeons that used to be here every year 

 by tens of thousands?" is often asked by 

 people who have seen these birds in their 

 flight to and from their feeding grounds 

 and roosts, but who' have never actually 

 seen the game hog at his dirty work. 



The poor pigeons disappeared about the 

 time of the advent of the breech loading 

 shot gun. Just as surely as the wild pigeon 

 disappeared before the breech-loader in the 

 hands of the game hog, just so surely are 

 our beautiful Bob Whites disappearing be- 

 fore the automatic and pump guns in the 

 hands of the same animal. That the wild 

 pigeon is gone, and that the quail is going, 

 though perhaps not so fast, as he is better 

 protected by nature, almost everyone who 

 knows anything about the subject will ad- 

 mit. The question arises, — What is the 

 remedy and how shall we proceed to pro- 

 tect Bob White before he has become ex- 

 tinct. One way is to orohibit the sale of 

 game. Then the game hog will be done 

 for. The wholesale murder for profit will 

 cease. It is as thoroughly right to legislate 

 against the sale of birds as against any 

 other evil. Would it not have been much 

 better to have saved a few wild pigeons by 

 legislation against their wholesale slaughter 

 than for that bird to have been exterminat- 

 ed? Our game laws are sufficient if prop- 

 erly enforced. What we need is a hustling 

 game warden, who will do his duty without 

 faltering ; one who will arrest his best friend 

 if caught breaking the game laws. Every 

 true sportsman should give the game warden 

 his support and influence ; and every sports- 

 man should be a warden unto himself and 

 limit his* own catch and kill. 



Max Pattison, Memphis, Tenn. 



Recreation's 9th Annual Photo Compe- 

 tition closes November 30th, and amateur 

 photographers intending to enter piu ^-es 

 should be on the alert every day for good 

 subjects. Please read carefully the list of 

 prizes and the conditions of entry, in the 

 Photo Department of Recreation. Keep 

 your eyes wide open in your travels and 

 always have your camera at hand. A prize 

 winning subject may come within your 

 reach when least expected. 



Nell — He called me his dear little lamb. 

 Bell — And then what happened? 

 Nell— He gathered me into the fold. — N. 

 Y. Evening Mail. 



