328 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[Mat 21, 1885. 



whitish underneath they form with the reddish twigs a 

 piece of pleading color even without flowers, and the foliage 

 becomes bright crimson in early autumn. 



A short distance, from the Casino southward are seen some 

 specimens of the weeping poplar with their very ornamental 

 catkins. In other localities also throughout "the park ap- 

 pear the flowers of poplars, with the red tinge of their 

 anthers producing a considerable effect of color in the mass 

 in cases where the catkins are numerous. This species might 

 he more familiar than it is in New York, aside from the 

 park, as it is known to he capahle of thriving in towns in the 

 closest situations. 



The hirch (Belvla) is another of the species showing 

 flowers in the form of catkins, in which the leaves simul- 

 taneously make their appearance. While very beautiful 

 and picturesque, the common species (Balba) is found one of 

 the hardiest and most useful trees in cultivation. The 

 records of forestry represent it as forming gigantic forests 

 from the Baltic to the Eastern sea, and forests in Italy up to 

 6,000 feet altitude, while in Greenland, although of dimin- 

 ished size, it is discovered aa the only arboreal vegetation. 

 It is traced in the United States from New Brunswick to 

 Delaware. In middle regions the silver, white or common 

 birch grows from fifty to sixty feet in height; its round, 

 Blender branches — which are proverbially connected with the 

 discipline of the young — give it a trim and stately appear- 

 ance. According' to the best authorities, the birch is highly 

 useful for skirting and protecting more tender subjects, and 

 being specially desirable for clothing mountainous and ex- 

 posed districts. It has also the advantage of growing 

 quickly in bare places, although best adapted to moist situa- 

 tions. The leaves of this species, which are rapidly coming 

 forward, are ovate, acutp, somewhat deltoid. Their autum- 

 nal tints will be distinguished in rich yellow, scarlet or red. 



Along water margins and elsewhere in Central Park are 

 specimens of the different varieties of the willow or osier 

 (Salix), of which the flexible branches and long pointed 

 leaves are familiarly known, as well as the catkins issuing 

 from single scales, which are two-flowered, the calyx of four 

 little scales being inherent with the scales or bracts of the 

 catkin. Among the island shores at the lower end of the 

 park are also numerous alders, of which one variety of 

 flowers began to appear in the latter part of last summer, 

 being then perfectly formed, and thus remaining in long 

 cylindrical pendulous catkins during the winter. These 

 began to expand as early as April, being delayed like other 

 floral growths about two weeks beyond the usual time of 

 development. These are the sterile catkins, the fertile ones, 

 produced onlv in spring, being of short, ovoid form some- 

 what resembling a fir cone, the flower cup being four- 

 parted and showing four stamens. 



The flowering of the elms — which is sometimes polygam- 

 ous, showing at once sterile, fertile and perfect flowers — is 

 quickly succeeded by the peculiar fruit called samara, con- 

 taining a seed within a membranous envelope surrounded by 

 a wing-like border. The samara? or mature seeds fall to the 

 earth as the leaves expand. The species is not here repre- 

 sented by extraordinary dimensions, the celebrated giants 

 being found in the New England States, of which some 

 have been reported as measuring upward of twenty -five feet 

 in circumference. The various forms of the tree are clas- 

 sified as the Etruscan vase, tne plume, and the roundhead, 

 which shows a hemispherical top. The cherry trees have 

 also shown a profusion of white flowers at 105th street near 

 the western limits, and visible from the roadway, as also in 

 the neighborhood of the greenhouses and in different places. 

 On Sunday last thousands of dogwood flowers displayed 

 their loveliness to visitors at the East Drive and adjacent 

 w r alks, with a few specimens to be seen elsewhere in their 

 dim tinges of salmon and red enlivening the creamy tone of 

 the heart-shaped petals. 



The Pibeated Woodpecker.— The pileated woodpecker 

 {Hylotomus pileatus) is quite often seen in this State. Here it 

 is commonly called a woodcock or cock of the woods, while 

 some assert that it is "the real English woodcock." This 

 bird is one of the handsomest of the woodpecker family, the 

 ivory-billed woodpecker (Gampephilus principalis) alone ex- 

 ceiling it in beautj\ Jts plumage is glossy black above, and 

 it has a large flaming scarlet crest which stands erect on its 

 head; underneath the wings some white feathers are seen 

 when it is flying. Its long, strong, wedge shape beak is dull 

 black; its feet are also black. Its whole length is about 

 twelve to fifteen inches. It is somewhat shy and difficult to 

 approach within close gunshot, although they often alight 

 on. trees quite near by when one is standing still. Thev make 

 a shrill, -cackling noise, somewhat resembling the biuejay. 

 When on hollow, dead trees, they make a tattoo that cau be 

 heard half a mile. They are rarely seen on the ground, and 

 never search in the earth for food like the golden winged 

 woodpecker (Golaptes miratus). I have only seen one of 

 these birds in middle and northern Wisconsin, and none in 

 Michigan. They used to be quite common in Illinois. In 

 all my rambles, during several years' residence in Florida. I 

 have never come across an ivory-billed woodpecker. I very 

 much desire to know more of this rare bird, and I would ask 

 any one who reads this article who happens to have seen and 

 killed them, or watched their nests, to give a description of 

 same. I wish those who have seen them would state the 

 fact in a short item in these columns, so that we may know 

 where they are to be found, and in what State they predom- 

 inate. — Red Wing (Glencoe, Fla,). [A correspondent in- 

 forms us that an ivory billed woodpecker was killed at Lake 

 Ohame, Ela., the past winter.] 



Habits op the Prairie Dog. — I have read with interest 

 the many letters of your correspondents about the habits of 

 the prairie dog in regard to his drinking water. Now 1 

 should like to add my mite. I know nothing whatever 

 about the animals iu their wild state, but have been watch- 

 ing the small village in the Philadelphia Zoological Garden 

 a long time. They are always supplied with water there. 

 and last week, while 1 was looking at them, I sawtwo drink- 

 ing at once, and on speaking to the keeper about it, he said 

 that be also had seen them drinking, though very seldom. 

 This is conclusive to my mind that they do drink water, and 

 I suppose in their natural state they find some means of pro- 

 curing it if it be a necessity with them.— H. H. M. (Phila- 

 delphia, May 12). ^^^ 



White Pelican on Long Island.— An adult female 

 Pelecanus erythrorhynchiis was killed May 11. at Roslyn, 

 L. I. It was seen flying about for some time by two men 

 who were gunning, and when at length it alighted in the 

 marsh, tbev approached it by way of two different creeks. 

 When the bird rose it flew within shot of William H. Setuk, 

 who killed it. 



How Many Disasters. — I must tell you about our bad 

 luck with the birds this spring. There are a good many 

 cherry, apple and pear trees around the house, and grape 

 vines too. These are the homes of robins, bluebirds, spar- 

 rows, wrens, kingbirds, yellow-breasted flycatchers, orioles, 

 yellow warblers and catbirds. Every year, and with 

 wonderful regularity, they, return to their accustomed 

 haunts. Last year I put up a new box for the bluebirds and 

 one for the wrens; both were occupied. The old bluebirds 

 and their brood have been about, at odd limes, all winter. 

 This spring I noticed a pair of them as usual, but they seemed 

 to have weakened on their house in the pear tree, and to 

 have a fancy for tbe viciuity of the "Hotel Brahma," as we 

 call the new chicken house. One day the female disappeared. 

 Her mate remained near by, but seemed uneasy and discon- 

 solate. We solved the mystery when we took the stove pipe 

 down, for in it was the little mother, starved to death. She 

 had mistaken the hood at the top for a new and possibly im- 

 proved style of dwelling, and once in could not get out and 

 so perished miserably. The widower has not re-wived, though 

 we are in hopes that he will return to some first love and go 

 to housekeeping in the old spot. On the 27th of April, ten 

 days before the usual time, a wren appeared. He did not 

 occupy his last year's quarters, he did not even inspect them, 

 but took up his abode in a neighboring garden, and scarcely 

 even makes a call on us. Yesterday I noticed that the 

 roof of his old home had curled up w'ith the weather, and 

 climbed the tree to nail it down, when lo, the second mystery 

 was ravelled. There, in the nest that he and Jenny Wren 

 bad built last j r ear, were the shrivelled and wasted forms of 

 their little family, three in number, lying on their backs 

 with feet extended, side by side. No wonder he moved on 

 the 1st of May. I would have done the same. One more 

 disaster and I have finished. A pair of cowbirds have been 

 making themselves quite sociable with us. They are not 

 very pretty as you know, but they are harmless and useful. 

 The female sat on a butternut tree the other day in the midst 

 of a snarl of branches, and in a thoughtless moment, "just 

 for fun," I fired a bullet breech cap in her direction, mean- 

 ing only to startle her and not expecting to come within a 

 foot of her. She was just thirty-six yards off. Did I hit 

 her? Well, I would give a dollar if I hadn't. — J. L. K. 

 (Perth Amboy, N. J., May 9). 



tywp H## m\d 



A HUNTER'S CAMP ON THE ILLINOIS. 



SOME time ago I sent to the Forest and Stream an 

 account of a camping expedition on the Illinois River, 

 in the fall of '83. Most of the same company pitched their 

 tents there in November, 1884, above Sharp's Landing and 

 within a stone's throw of the river on the right bank. We 

 missed the Senator, the Mate and the Bantling, but in their 

 places came Frank, a dominie who seemed to take naturally 

 to rubber boots and a "shake down" of dry leaves, and Roll, 

 whom we will surname the Baron, as he had evidently been 

 reading "Munchausen" just before he left home. 



Frank and the Parson were the last to arrive at camp as 

 night came down, and they blessed the Deacon, whose good 

 cooking had just been put on the table and surrounded by 

 the boys They had rowed up the river a couple of miles 

 against the sluggish current, from the landing. The water, 

 unruffled save where the feeding fish leaped up and showed 

 their shining sides, reflected every leaf and twig of the over- 

 hanging elms and willows. Nature's color box must have 

 been emptied to have stained the trees so richly. All sounds 

 were magnified, a distant train rumbled like an avalanche, 

 the voices of children laughing a mile below, a gun fired, 

 probably on the distant Sangamon, a dog barking on tbe 

 bluffs, sounded as though they might be just around the 

 next clump of willows. The evening sun shone through a 

 thin haze that made it look red and near. 



Appetites were sharp under the trees that night, and every 

 day afterward for that matter. Not a drop of rain fell on 

 the camp nor threatened it, and though a little cool at 5 

 o'clock in the morning, the outdoor dining room was used 

 clear through the week. 



With the first faint light of another day the eager hunters 

 were up and off. Tom and the Parson pulled a boat over to 

 Big Lake, and Isaac took possession of another that had 

 been hauled over the night before. The ducks streamed 

 over the lake by thousands, but not within gunshot. In 

 vain were decoys put out temptingly; the birds would not 

 decoy. The boys who crossed the river and tramped 

 through the tall grass of the "open" places were better re- 

 warded, bringing back a dozen mallards. 



By this time the Deacon had the inevitable by-laws ready. 

 Hours for meals were clearly set down, with the usual 

 penalty that for every tardiness each hunter was to forfeit 

 one duck to the cook. This is his favorite penalty, and 

 several other offenses were threatened with the same dire 

 punishment. Nor did the good Deacon propose to tolerate 

 profanity or ill temper. The one involved the transgressor 

 in potato-paring, and the other in fire-building. One fellow, 

 who had just been trying to rake Ms face dry with a rusty- 

 looking towel, wanted to add to the by-laws that towels 

 should not be used after they could stand alone. As a 

 penalty for breaking all the by-laws, a man was to have the 

 tip of his ear shot off. This regulation was suggested by 

 the fate of an old sow, who, with her following of a dozen 

 pigs, kept cruising about the tents until some one's gun went 

 off and then she went off, but left an ear behind her as a 

 keepsake for the boys. This plan for gettiug rid of the 

 swine worked better than the Baron's, who baited a big fish- 

 hook with a biscuit for them. Some way or other they did 

 not find the biscuit. 



The Parson and Tom went back to the lake, and had 

 little better luck than in the morning. Clouds of mallards 

 and bluebills rose out of range from among the "yawker" 

 nuts upon which they were feeding. But it is one thing to 

 see ducks, and another thing to get a chance to shoot at 

 them. The mud hens were innumerable. As they ran 

 along the water for a rod or two, spatting the surface with 

 their swiftly-moving feet to give themselves a "rise," they 

 made a terrible clatter and commotion. Tom managed to 

 restrain himself from shooting but a single time, though 

 that was enough to diminish the multitude by one. not an 

 easy thing to do always, for though the bird looks as large 

 as a good-sized duck, its body is really small. But the 

 Deacon outdid the crowd on the mud hen business. An 

 hour's hunting at a pull usually satisfied this philosophical 

 student of human nature. At the end of the hour he was 

 generally quite content, no matter what his luck, to return 

 to camp, and fill out the day in devising some new con- 



venience or viand for the nimrods. Remember, he was no 

 hired cook, but filled that office because he loves camp life 

 and his fellow men. Lots of the milk of human kindness 

 has the Deacon. 



But to return to his mud hen which is getting out of sight, 

 which it did most effectually, as the sequel will show. 

 Tramping along the shores of Big Lake, he discovered what 

 he thought to be a duck, but which was really a mud hen. 

 He blazed away and the bird keeled over, but only to revive 

 and start for the tall weeds which fringed the lake a few 

 rods from shore. He couldn't bear the thought of losing 

 that, his first and only bird, so in he dashed, regardless of 

 the cold bath, and the game was soon his. That was glory 

 enough for one day, and he went to camp. John was there 

 when the Deacon arrived, and he told of bis proud entry. 

 With a gleam of triumph in his eye he put the trophy of his 

 marksmanship on the ground, and both were looking at it. 

 It began to draw itself together. Suddenly it stood up. Tbe 

 Deacon grabbed wildly as the bird started." Away they both 

 went, and if ever a mud hen made tall tracks for deep water 

 that one did, and it got there. 



Did you ever sleep in a "sardine" bed? that is, with half 

 a dozen men or so in a row? Good enough iu cold weather, 

 but on a warm night, whew! It came near being purgatory 

 one night. John on one side and Frank on the other, were 

 anxious for me not to get cold, and 1 didn't. But on the 

 whole, our nights averaged more sleep to the man, I'll ven- 

 ture, than if we had been at home on spring mattrasses. 



The next day Tom and the Parson stubbornly stuck to the 

 lake, and were still unlucky. The Parson make a good sink- 

 box by taking an empty coal oil barrel, and staking it down 

 in about three feet of water and at the edge of some thick 

 grass. Four stout stakes with crotches at the top, were used 

 to hold it down. The only trouble with it was, it seemed 

 too far away from the ducks. Tom's live ducks had been 

 brought out to reinforce the wooden decoys. An old hen 

 mallard was tied in the grass where she could not see the 

 others, and she kept up an incessant quacking. But it did 

 no good. The birds would not decoy. Just at dusk they 

 came plumping in from every quarter, and then the guns 

 grew warm. A dozen ducks were soon tumbled upon the 

 water, but only half of them could be found in the dark. 



The rest of the boys came back, each with a string of 

 ducks. Steve declared he would have had another bird, but 

 just as he was about to shoot it, an enormous mosquito, 

 which had seized his ear, jerked his head around so as to 

 make him miss his mark. Frank insisted that he, too, would 

 have brought in one duck more, but just as he was about to 

 shoot it, he discovered it was not a duck, but a gallinipper. 

 The boys may have been telling yarns, I can't say. The 

 mosquitoes were quite large this last fall. The Notary and 

 Isaac came back as usual with a moderately good string of 

 birds. The regularity of the thing soon began to make the 

 sapling, where they hung their game, bend with a new kind 

 of fruit. 



The next morning all crossed lo the tall grass. All the 

 rest of the shooting was done here. The grass reached some- 

 times to the waist, sometimes to the shoulders. It grew 

 where, in spring, there are shallow lakes; and there was in 

 November, though there is not in midsummer, six inches or 

 a foot of water. Here the mallards were. lying, alone or in 

 pairs. It was slavish work to walk them up. but if a man 

 had wind and muscle enough to stick to it, he could, in a 

 day, get many fine shots, the huge birds rising at. thirty or 

 forty yards and going away across the top of tbe grass. 



Some of us concluded that luck, as well as good shooting 

 and staying powers as a walker, helped John to make the 

 best score in the camp. Four of us one afternoon walked 

 abreast through tbe elbow brush and grass. The first bird 

 that rose must have been almost walked over by Frank and 

 the Baron. It rose when we had passed on out of range; 

 and then "Kismet"— it was fate— it circled back to the right 

 of our line, and came square to John. Of course it tumbled 

 at his feet. In an hour he had all he wanted to carry. The 

 Baron declared that John shot some birds so high that they 

 had time to spoil before they struck the ground, and added 

 his favorite exclamation, "Or I'm a liar." Of course no one 

 denied it— that is that the ducks were killed high. 



By this time some of the boys were getting sore arms. 

 Heavy loadiug made their guns set hard, and they began to 

 wear what some one dubbed "bustles"— a padding of news- 

 paper tied just where the rebounding stock struck the arm; 

 not a bad idea, by the way, if your gun should some time 

 take a kicking spell. 



Part of the last evening was spent in listening to a sermon 

 from Frank. This was a new way perhaps to close up a 

 hunting expedition, but the boys insisted on it, and, seated 

 on a camp stool, Frank talked to us in a brotherly way that 

 did us all good. Steve, Isaac and the Notary had dropped 

 down the river in the afternoon, and the rest followed the 

 next morning. The hum was over. We would hear no 

 more the Baron's "Bet your neck," John's familiar "Now 

 listen to me," nor the Notary's hearty laugh, unless perchance 

 a passing year should biing us all together again. For this 

 we went home heartily wishing. Richard Gear Hobbs. 



QUINCY, ill. 



THAT MAINE VENISON. 



Editor Forest mid Stream: 



I see in last issue of Forest and Stream you call 

 attention to the report of 2,700 pounds steaks of veuisou, 

 hindquarters, having been hauled into Kingfield for ship- 

 ment during the month of April. I must say, if this is cor- 

 rect, it is a disgrace to Maine, but I think there must be 

 another side to this story. Protection has enemies, and some 

 where we least expect. There have been a number of com- 

 munications during the last six months, purporting to be 

 from friends— some from Massachusetts, I think— which 

 have shown our border protection, or properly, our game 

 wardens, in bad light; in short, the object seemed to be to 

 find fault, Some things, I feel, were not properly repre- 

 sented I know the lumbermen are not all poachers, 

 especially those that operate, but that there is a class of law- 

 breakers' throughout the whole State that nothing save the 

 full enforcement of the law can prevent from destroying all 

 our fish and game I know too well, but is faultfindiug with 

 a few officials to correct this wrong? Our Commissioners 

 are doing their best to save our game this spring, and, as a 

 rule, throughout the State the Jaws have been well enforced. 

 Yet many deer have been stolen, for it has been an unusually 

 hard spriu«- on account of the long time the crust continued, 

 and the large number of idle men. In Washington county 

 the wardens have been active since January, and have saved 

 the game, and now the prospects for all sorts of game is 

 better than for years ; but the wardens were backed by the 

 citizens, and all criticism of the ways and means used does 

 not come from the friends of protection, but from its enemies. 



