Feb. 28, 1884.] 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



83 



homeward, I decided that I might as well drop in on the old 

 man and get a cold biscuit to stay my hunger till I reached 

 the cabin.' I took it for granted he would be at work in the 

 tunnel, some five hundred yards up the mountain side, but, 

 much to my surprise, when I pulled aside the tent-flap I saw 

 him inside,' rolled up in his blanket, fast asleep. Fearing he 

 might be sick— for a nap in daylight was a rare occurrence 

 with him — I shook him, and asked him if anything was the 

 matter. The first reply was a grunt, the next a growl, then 

 a request "not to bother," till, finally, when I had shaken 

 him fully awake (for I had begun to be seriously afraid that 

 his unwonted somnolency was the stupor of severe illness) I 

 drew out of him the fact that he was well enough, but 

 "mizherable sulapy." Why he should be so sleepy in the 

 middle of the day puzzled me, till he intimated that he'd been 

 up all the night before. The explanation surprised me as 

 much as the fact, and, suspecting from his curt speech and 

 evasive replies some mystery, I plied him with questions, till, 

 finally, sitting Up and filling his pipe,, he satisfied my curi- 

 osity." 



He had arrived there safely the evening before, selected 

 his camp ground, pitched his tent, and turned Mike out to 

 graze. Then, hearing some spruce grouse calling, he had 

 started out to secure a few for supper and breakfast. Leav- 

 ing his rifle behind, as he did not expect to sec any large 

 game, he took only his long-barreled .38-caliber Smith & 

 Wesson revolver, with which he could pick off a grouse's 

 head in the top of the tallest spruce. Having shot four or 

 five, he started for camp, it having, by this time, become 

 quite dusk, for darkness comes, here in these hills, almost as 

 suddenly as iu the tropics. On turning the corner of some 

 fallen rocks, at the lower end of the little glade in whose 

 upper point his tent was pitched, he came suddenly upon a 

 huge grizzly, busy, as well as he could see in the gathering 

 darkness, in digging up wild parsnip roots for his supper. 

 Before he had time to dodge back under cover of the rocks, 

 the bear had seen and started for him. 1 will let him tell 

 the rest, of the story in his own words. 



"Divil a little time had 1 to be thinkin', for it wan't twiuty 

 yarruds he wor frum me whin I first see him, but I knew 

 'twor no use thryin' to run, an' as fur fightin', me .38 wadn't 

 be a fiay-bite to* the likes av him. As luck wad have it, 

 right foruinst me was a rnajium-sized shpruce, an' oop that 

 1 wint like a wayzel, hopin' that av I didn't shtop to discuss 

 the matter wid "'im, he'd be afther re-co^-nizing me civility, 

 an' pass on, an' lave. me. Not he! Oop he cooins to the tut 

 of the three, shnuffs around it, roobs the dirthy head av 'im 

 agin it, luks up at mesilf, perched jist beyant his niche, goes 

 off, coonis back, goes through the same manayvers, an' 

 afther a while, findiu' he cudn't deludher me into anny kind 

 of a dishcushin wid 'im, falls to faydin' agin. 'Twas so 

 darruk, I cud only jist see the big black carcass av 'im, 

 wandherin' around like a naygur's shpook in a cimmytairy, 

 but 'twasn't mesilf that wor cravin' anny nayrer inshpection 

 av 'im. I wor aizy enough wher I wor for the prisint, bar 

 tin' that a six-inch limb ain't quite so comfortable a sate as a 

 pile of blankets, and that 'twud have bin more gratifyin' like 

 tomeshtummuck, avl'd had a could pratie or two alang wid 

 me. 'Howiver,' thinks I to mesilf, 'whin he's through atin', 

 he'll go aff quiet an' dacint like, an' the ould rnan'll git back 

 to camp in time to git a good shquare male, for himsilf yit.' 

 But, divil claw the oogly hide av 'im, phwat does he do, 

 when he'd got hiz own dirthy shtummuck full, but coom 

 back to the three, walk round it wanst or twicet, and thin 

 lie down about, tin yarruds from the fut av it. 



"'Ahha'.'sez I, * 'tis that ye're up to, is it? Goin'to 

 shtarve me out, are ye? Will, will, av I kape whisht, may- 

 be j^e'll be taking a giutale afther-dinuer nap, afther a wdiile, 

 an' thin Til deludher ) T e, an' slip dowm off the three onbe- 

 kuownst to ye, an' av I can git back to camp an' git hould of 

 ould Betsey, I'll be afther poompin the could lead into the 

 ongrateful carcass of ye, till yez are as ded as Paddy Burns's 

 pig, and then yez'll have rayson to regrit that ye caused a 

 dacint man to make a shpectac/deav himself, sliquattin' oop 

 a three in this style, like a haythin moonkey on a limb.' So 

 afther a bit, whin I thought the fine shupper he'd been atin 

 had put him to shlape, 1 begins to lit mesilf dowm aizy, but 

 afore I'd shlipped down a fut, oop gits the murtherin' blag- 

 gard, an' shtarts towards me. 'Twas wonderful how quick 

 1 changed me mind, an' concluded 'twasn't so very uncom- 

 fortable in the three afther all. 'Twas only play in' 'possum 

 he waz, or maybe i'd been too precipitous like, so, whin he 

 lay down agin, I made up me mind I'd give 'im plenty of 

 time this time, afore I thryed 'im agin. So I waited an' 

 waited, till my whole back was that sore wid the limbs a 

 cuttin' into it, that I cudn't shtand it no longer, so I re- 

 payted the exsbperiment, but 'twas not the taste use in the 

 worruld, he was at the fut avthe three agin, afore I'd shlid 

 down a yarrud. So I makes up me mind to 'accipt the in- 

 ivitayblc,' as I hear ye say wanst, an' so I reshoomed me 

 original position, trustin' that, when daylight came, and 

 he saw how lane an' tough I waz, he'd abandon the 

 sayge an' layve me in payee. So there I sits asthraddle 

 av that limb all that bliss'td night, till the ligs av me was so 

 cramped they had no faylins lift, an' the teeth av me was 

 broke, be raison av me jaws cbatterin' so wid the could, an' 

 I was that shtiff wid the frosht I was afraid I'd shnap in two 

 like an ishickle, an' I was gittin' so hungry I could almost 

 ate me boots; an' was thinkin' sayriously of takin' an early 

 breakfast on could grouse. Will, whin 1 was almosht ready 

 to dhrop aff me perch wdd fatigue, an' hunger, an' could , it 

 began to lighten a little in the ayste, an pretty soon 'twas 

 light enough for me to see the forrum of me oogler jailer, 

 plainly, lyin' close to the fut avthe three." Here he paused, 

 re-lit his pipe, which had gone out in the heat of his narra- 

 tion, and puffed away quietly with the air of one who has 

 just finished a good story. 



"Well, how did you get away?" 



"On me ligs, av coorse.'" 



"Did the bear leave you, when day came?" 



"Hot a bit av it." 



"You don't mean to say you came down the tree and 

 walked off. while the bear stood and looked at you?" 



"Av coorse not," 



"You certainly didn't kill him?" 



"Wid a. 88? Har-r-dly !" 



"Well, how did you do it?" 



"Will yez shware, by the blissid bones of the howly 

 St, Pathrick, that yez'll nivir till, av I disclose to you the 

 Baycret av me escape?" 



"What secret can there be about it?" 



"Nivir you moind; not anither worrud do yez get from 

 Jimmy O'Brien, till ye promise yez'll niver say a worrud to 

 the byes, concarnin' the houl thransaction. " 



"Well, well, all right; drive on." 



"Will, thin, 'twas no bear at all, at all, but that divil's 

 uaygur of a burro, Mick 



im[nl Wi$t° r U* 



PROTECT THE SMALL BIRDS. 



Eii.iiof Forest and Stream: 



For several years I have watched the decrease in numbers 

 of our singing* birds, and have wondered what our energetic 

 collectors will find to prey upon a hundred years hence. 



A.n interesting account of a day's birds' nesting in your 

 issue of Jan. 31, has attracted my attention, and I think 

 illustrates the mania now raging among ornithologists for the 

 possession of immense series of birds' eggs and skins. I 

 quote a few sentences from the above mentioned article: 

 "We have already taken six eggs from this nest (that of 

 Ardca virescens) four on the 7th day of May, two more on 

 May 25, and to-day, June 4, we find three more. The nest 

 we carefully leave, expecting to get a dozen more eggs from 

 it at least, and then add both nest and bird to our collec- 

 tion." Again, "We take the first, containing four as pretty 

 eggs as ever gladdened the eye of an oologist, and then an- 

 other and another, until our arms arc full, Biding ashore 

 we deposit our treasures, and wading iu, we collect more, 

 until want of carrying space cries hold ! enough 1" It seems 

 to me that such wholesale collecting cannot but eventually 

 seriously diminish the number of our birds. 



I see no necessity for killing the birds during nesting time, 

 save for the purpose of absolute identification, for if killed 

 during migration or before nesting time, it allows time for 

 the mate to remote and rear a brood before the season is too 

 far advanced. It seems to me that the protection of our 

 insect-eating friends is a serious necessity, and a line sfoould 

 be drawn somewhere to limit the inroads made upon them. 

 Of course the number of birds sacrificed for scientific pur- 

 poses is small compared with the slaughter for millinery 

 purposes, which is assuming vast proportions. The beauti- 

 ful cedar bird {Ampelis eedrorum), formerly abundant in 

 the vicinity of Boston, has become comparatively rare. The 

 Baltimore oriole (Icti'vus galhvla), whose gorgeous plumage 

 contrasts so beautifully with the rich green of the elms in 

 our suburbs, has of late visibly decreased in numbers. No 

 mansion now is considered fashionably furnished if not 

 possessed of several owls usually mounted in horrible atti- 

 tudes upon a half moon or with wings painfully distended 

 high over the back. This robs the farmer of his best 

 mouser. 



While visiting the Museum of Comparative Zoology, at 

 Cambridge, one afternoon, I heard a young lady remark 

 while examining the birds, "What a horrid shame it is to 

 kill these poor little dears. " Glancing at her dainty hat I 

 beheld thereto attached a bird most wonderfully constructed 

 and composed of portions of at least two or three lovely 

 denizens of the tropics. 1 thought at the time that there was 

 a chance for missionary work among the fair sex. If the 

 ladies could be induced to take interest in the matter and re- 

 fuse to wear birds or feathers it would be an immense step 

 in the right direction. 



The State of Maine has made vigorous movements toward 

 the protection of insectivorous birds. In Massachusetts it is 

 proposed to put into the hands of the fish and game protec- 

 tive associations the matter of licenses and to impose a bond 

 so heavy as to confine the permit to responsible parties. That 

 this plan may succeed is the devout prayer of Mebm n. 



WINTER BIRD NOTES. 



r pHE signs of the birds seem to point to an early spring; 

 X and now that this season is at hand we hope that col- 

 lectors and observers all over the country will give us the 

 benefit of their notes, and will tell us of the arrival of the 

 birds. If this were done systematically the amount of valu- 

 able information accumulated would be very great. We 

 shall hope to hear from many of our readers, and shall pub- 

 lish from week to week the observations which are sent in. 



Hornellsville, N. Y., Feb. 3.— Kingfishers, blackbirds and 

 meadow larks have been here all the winter. Cannot well 

 understand bow they «an live, as it has been a severe winter. 

 Ice sixteen inches thick in the river, snow two feet deep on 

 the level, good sleighing since Dec. 18, and the temperature 

 often 20° below zero. Bluejays, many of them are seen 

 around the farmhouses. I saw two large owls trying to 

 catch English sparrows one evening last week, right in the 

 outskirts of the city. On Saturday, Jan. 26, I saw about a 

 dozen robins, which we all think here is a very strange cir- 

 cumstance, as Friday night at 11 o'clock it was 23 below. 

 On Saturday and Sunday it was quite cold, but the robins 

 were siuging. Have seen none since the 28th. Heavy rains 

 and thawing to-day. — J. Otis Fellows. 



Washington, Litchfield County, Conn., Feb. 4. — A robin 

 was noticed at this place on the morning of the 3d inst. Is 

 it not rather early for them in New England, even in this 

 southern locality"? Pine grosbeaks are abundant here.— 

 J. D. G. 



_ Ithaca. N. Y., Feb. 5.— On the 2d of February a man, 

 living near a spring brook, saw a bird on the bank, which 

 he thought was a woodcock. He killed it, and it proved to 

 be an English snipe. When he fired only one bird was in 

 sight, but at the report of his gun eleven more rose and flew. 

 Most of them have been killed since. I also saw the same 

 evening a robin. We have had an unusually severe winter. 

 The ground has been covered with snow from six to ten 

 inches deep, since the 25th of December, and cold all the time, 

 which makes the occurrence something unusual. — W. H. W. 

 [The occurrence of snipe near Ithaca at this season is quite 

 unusual, though not without precedent. As we have fre- 

 quently remarked, the cold does not appear to be always the 

 moving cause of the southward journeying of snipe and 

 woodcock. So long as the feeding grounds of these birds 

 remain open a few of them will remain with us and brave 

 even the severest weather.] 



Perth Amboy, N. J., Feb. 15.— St. Valentine's Day was 

 signalized here by a thuuder shower, during which "a tree 

 toad chirruped merrily. And when it was over, a bluebird, 

 on the top of the old pear tree, gave us a, snatch of a spring 

 soug, while the mercury touched" 62'\ To-day it indicated 

 but 2? , and the toad and bluebird— where are they? Two 

 immense flocks of bluebirds were also seen, flying- south- 

 west, Could they have foreseen the cold wave?— J. L. K. 



Fcrrisburgh, Vt.. Feb. 11.— We are just at the tail end 

 of a big thaw which has nearly spoiled the sleighing and set 

 the brooks a-roaring. A few crows have been hanging about 

 here all winter in spite of deep snow and severe coldTan un- 

 usual thing for them to do in these parts. I think I told you 

 of the grosbeaks bei»g here. — R. E. Pi. 



Irvington, N. J, — While walking in the woods on Jan. 20 



I was aurprised to hear what sounded like a robin, and while 

 looking for it another one flew into a. tree near by. I have 

 seen them here in New Jersey in the latter part of 'February, 

 but never in midwinter. The thermometer registered 15 , 

 and tlie earth was covered with six inches of snow, yet the 

 bird was in no way affected by it. I have known them to be 

 so benumbed with the same 'degree of cold as to be 08 

 caught in the hand. Like the late breeding of squirrels, it's 

 another sign of a mild winter.— F. H. B. 



New York, Jan. 13.— While out the other day in New 

 Jersey on a snow-shoe tramp for the purpose of feeding 

 quail, wc came, across a flock of a dozen wild pigeons. It if! 

 very unusual to see them at this time of the year, and dur- 

 ing so severe a storm. — W. Holberton. 



Manton, R. I., Jan. 21.— A friend and myself went out 

 without guns the other day and found the remaius of two 

 coveys of quail within a half-mile, seven birds in one and 

 five in the other. They seemed strong and in good feed 

 ground. On our trip I saw quite a large flock of robins and 

 about a dozeu pine grosbeaks and some gray linnets. Tak- 

 ing the weather as we have had it so far this winter, I 

 thought it strange to see so many robins; they all looked 

 fat and strong. They have been seen a number of times 

 this winter in cedar trees near my house. We have a good 

 lot of partridges (ruffed grouse) left over, but gunners are 

 bunting them every day that the weather will aliow them to 

 get out, and they go some very bad days at that. The law 

 is wrong to allow them to kill partridge up to the first of 

 February. — T. M. Aldricu. 



Barrie, Ont., Feb. 7. — Iu your last number for January 

 I read an article on late snipe, a Wilson snipe that was shot 

 on Dec. 23, 1883, at Cleveland, O. Allow me to tell you 

 about a Wilson snipe shot here on Jan. 23, 1884, by a Mr. 

 Vair on his stream, Barrie, Ontario, and where we have three 

 feet of suow r and the thermometer 36 degrees below zero. A 

 more perfect bird I never saw; it was in good plumage and 

 as fat as butter. I may still say it was in such good condi- 

 tion that we have decided to have it put up by our taxider- 

 mist, Mr. Wright.— S. D. Beatty. 



FORESTS AND FLOODS. 



FOR many years thereafter the flood in the Ohio River of 

 1832 was called by the settlers along its banks the "great 

 flood." Its like was unknown to the oldest inhabitant! It 

 was fifteen years till another comparable with it occurred, 

 and the flood of 1847 was not as high as that of 1832. But 

 within the last three years there have been two surpassing 

 that of fifty-two years ago — the one now on being the most 

 destructive of all. And yet the news gives no reason to 

 believe that the water discharged from the clouds this year 

 equals the discharges of 1832 and 1847. In 1832 the rains 

 continued in torrents for several weeks; this year for not 

 more than half or a third of that time. There is an apparent 

 mystery in this which will set millions of people to thinking, 

 more especially those who inhabit the banks and rich 

 "bottoms" of that most beautiful river, and whose property 

 is in peril of periodical destruction from these rapidly 

 increasing occurrences. 



The Ohio in its length — 1,000 miles — is a river of the third 

 class for America, and of the second class compared with 

 European rivers. After the Missouri it is the chief tributary 

 of the Mississippi, discharging more water than either the 

 Arkansas or the Red River, though not as long as either of 

 these. It is formed by the Alleghany and Monongahela, 

 both rising in the Alleghany Mountains, and fed by snows 

 till as late as the middle of May. Below the junction of 

 these two mountain streams, which is at Pittsburgh, the prin- 

 cipal affluents of the Ohio are the Scioto, Kanawha, Big and 

 Little Miami, Kentucky, Wabash, Cumberland, and Tennes- 

 see. These affluents drain three-fourths of the State of Ohio, 

 more than half of Indiana and Kentucky, nearly all of Ten- 

 nessee and West Virginia, and, including the Alleghany and 

 Monongahela, half of Pennsylvania and a considerable part 

 of Virginia. The area of drainage into the Ohio can hardly 

 be less than 100,000 square miles, and of this at least six- 

 sevenths, probably nine-tenths, was sixty years ago covered 

 by dense forest. The original prairie lands of the Ohio 

 were insignificant. Forest was the prevailing quality of the 

 land along the Scioto, the two Miamis, all" through Ken- 

 tucky, Tennessee, Western Pennsylvania, and Virginia, and 

 Indiana from the old National Road southward was covered 

 by beech, walnut, poplar, and oak, with but here and there 

 a small "clearing." The rain that fell upon these forests 

 sunk into a thick stratum of leaves, the deposit of ages, and 

 was there retained for weeks alter it fell, finding its way 

 slowly into creeks and rivers, which accordingly rose slowly. 

 Within the. present generation the whole region from the 

 Little Miami to far west of Indianapolis and thence south to 

 the Ohio was comparatively a swamp from the beginning of 

 the spring rains till as late as the middle of June. The rule, 

 with some modification, extended to the whole area drained 

 by the Ohio. Now all is changed, It is safe to say that 

 four-fifths of the primeval forests that covered the Ohio val- 

 as far back as 1820 have been cut away — for railway ties, 

 fences, fuel, lumber, and timber for houses and barns — con- 

 verted, so to speak, into railways, farms, villages and towns. 

 These are, to be sure, not inconsiderable compensations for 

 the losses by floods, but they are the cause of them all the same. 

 We search in vain for any other cause. The Ohio is not 

 filled up in its bed, as are the Sacramento and San Joaquin, 

 by detritus. It is navigable now from its head to its moutb 

 by boats of as deep a draft as plied upon it thirty years ago. 

 Its banks arc as high as ever and as far apart. * It is as 

 capable of carrying as much water now as when the Indians 

 hunted in its woods. The difference is that it is now called 

 on to discharge in a week the same quantity of water that it 

 formerly received in a month or six weeks. The leafy forest 

 reservoirs are cut away. When an eight or ten inch rain 

 fell half a century ago, more than half of it was held back 

 from the rivulets and rivers by these reservoirs. Now all 

 goes at once, and if the rivers cannot contain the influx, of 

 course their banks are overflowed, and farms, villages, and 

 towns swept away. 



This is the common-sense explanation of the mystery. 

 The compensation of the flood calamities is found in the 

 exchange of the primitive unproductive forests for farms, 

 orchards, meadows, flocks, and herds, and the other con 

 comitants of the tiling we name "progress." The partial 

 remedy against these wholesale destructions by flood lies in 

 the restoration of the denuded forests as far as is consistent 

 with that cultivation of the soil which the increasing popu 

 latiou of the country demands. It is a remedy which might 

 be more practically and profitably enforced in the valleys 

 of the Sacramento and San Joaquin than in the States 

 drained by the Ohio. Tree culture in our valleys, while 



