April 1, 1886.] 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



183 



GROUSE IN THE SNOW. 



Editor Forest and Stream: 



Ever since the day, away back in the ultima Thule of my 

 memory, when I ran into the first flock of grouse and got my 

 first surprise at the flying powers of grouselings the size of 

 two-day-old chickens, no bird on the whole ^ "check list" has 

 possessed for me so much interest, or come in for so large a 

 share of my observation. Therefore, when I read the com- 

 munication of "Dry Snow" to-day, in your issue of 18th 

 iost., I thought that perhaps a word from me would be "in 

 season." First let me sav to your contributor that I come 

 not in my war paint, but as a brother woodsman who has 

 spent the major portion of his life within sound of "the 

 soughing of the pines," and whose woods-lore is not in any 

 way commensurate with his woodland experience. If when 

 we are through with this, we still differ, let us do so in the 

 kindly spirit of fellow-sportsmen, giving each other credit at 

 least tor honesty. I preface with these remarks, because I 

 must necessarily show that some of the reasoning in the com- 

 munication referred to is somewhat illogical, and I thought 

 I detected in it a slightly sarcastic undercurrent, which might 

 come to the surface when the author's opinions were con- 

 fronted with rebutting testimony. I never trail the tail of 

 my coat on the ground challenging some one to tread on it ; 

 but I have sometimes tried to make it interesting for the man 

 who raised his foot high enough to reach it when in its 

 normal position. 



"Dry Snow's" letter gives no clue as to the part of the 

 continent from wmich he writes, or which is covered by his 

 experience, but were 1 to hazard a guess, I would say: Some 

 part to the south of this and far removed from the sea-board. 

 He has evidently never seen one of our northern "ice 

 storms," loading every tree with tons of ice, and bending 

 some of the more pliant clear to the grouud. There is just 

 a breath of wind from the "noath east,"- the thermometer 

 stands at about 15°. First come four or five inches of the 

 light "goose- feathers, " then the snow becomes finer and 

 more heavy; next a few inches of hail. Then there is a lull, 

 the wind shifts a point or so to the east, and a dash of rain 

 strikes, every drop freezing the moment it touches, and it 

 keeps on till it forms a hard smooth crust, from the thick- 

 ness of a window-pane (and almost as sharp) to the strength 

 and solidity necessary to bear a loaded team. Now suppose 

 a grouse dives into the light snow before the rain comos, 

 what then? He is sealed in like an oyster in a can. If the 

 •crust be thin enough for him to break, all right; if not he 

 must die. (Begging "Dry Snow's" pardon, a grouse's head 

 is not near the surface when he burrows in the snow, for 1 

 have put my snow shoe over them many a time ; they take 

 their oxygen through two or three inches of light snow.) 



"But," says "Dry Snow," "have you any evidence?" 

 Only a little. By referring to my books, I see that Friday, 

 Jan. 29, 1886, treated us to just such a storm as described 

 above, the snowfall being about ten inches with five inches 

 of hail above that. At 3 P. M. my week's work was prac- 

 tically over, and I was six miles from home and snowshoes. 

 I started to tramp it through the sand like hail. At 4 P. M. 

 it commenced to rain, every drop that touched my rubber 

 coat freezing as it struck. Five P. M. found me still a mile 

 from home, on a much used trail leading between two popu- 

 lous settlements. 1 was staggering along with about as cer- 

 tain footing as I would have had on a pile of apples, when 

 —burr-rr-r went a grouse from the snow in the middle of 

 the road, right at my boot-toe. The next morning we skated 

 anywhere over the crust, and in two days they drove teams 

 over it. Now where would that grouse have been had I not 

 ".kicked him out of that? And supposing, for argument's 

 fgake, that he had a "diamond-borer" down there with him 

 and tunnelled out, would he not have had a gaudy chance to 

 •feed, with every bud and twig solidly encased in "ice? 



Now I will try to answer your correspondent's questions, 

 •not. however, exactly in the order they are asked. 



,(1) "Did any person ever find the remains of a grouse that 

 had been crusted in and killed by a fox?" In the winter of 

 1868, 1 was one day on the road to the logging-woods. There 

 had been a thin sleet crust, and the merest suspicion of a 

 fine snow over it. Any "down Easter" will recognise the 

 picture at a glance. 1 picked up a bunch of black feathers 

 from the crust, and saw it was from the ruff of a grouse. 

 As I advanced 1 saw more feathers blowing around till about 

 100 yards from where I saw the first bunch, I came on the 

 scene of a woodlaud tragedy, about three feet to one side of 

 the trail. The mark made by the bird when it went into 

 the snow could bo distinctly seen. The footprints of rey- 

 nard straight down the log trail were as plainly visible in 

 the light, frosty snow. He had turned aside just before he 

 came to the bird, which had burst through the crust fully 

 three feet from where it went in the snow, but too late to 

 escape. Whether the fox scented the bird or recognised the 

 mark, I can only conjecture. 



I have snowshoed thousands of miles through the woods, 

 and even now I am lame from an eight-mile tramp yesterday 

 in a rain storm, when the snow accumulated on the rear 

 part of the shoe, till its weight reminded one of the prover- 

 bial "leaden heel of justice." I once worked six months, and 

 the gross amount of my wages was just ten cents a mile for 

 the tramping done between ' stations, and I had to work 

 .thirty-five hours per week besides. So I am not speaking 

 rashly when I say "thousands," and the above is all the 

 •direct evidence. I have collected. To some it may seem like 

 the "Behold this walrus tooth," of Othere, the Saxon dis- 

 coverer of the North Cape; but to me it is conclusive. We 

 should remember that if we knew the remains of a grouse 

 were in a certain piece of woods an acre in extent, we might 

 have trouble in findiug them. Anyway, it goes a long dis- 

 tance to show that a man may spend the greater part of his 

 life in the woods and yet not know all about it. Had I not 

 gone to the woods on that particular morning when a boy, 

 and been traveling at an unseemly time when a man, it 

 would have been all supposition with me. 



(2) "Does Nature make any such blunders?" In my 

 opinion Nature never blunders. Every one knows that 

 tender birds, as vireos, for instance, often migrate north 

 before the cold weather is over and get frozen to death, and 

 that ducks and geese sometimes get "frozen in," but are 

 these to be stamped as "blunders" of Nature, or exceptional 

 misapplications of the instinct that Nature gave these" birds? 

 To me "nature" in the above connection simply means God, 

 who, the poet tells us, "moves in a mysterious way his 

 wonders to perform." He gives His dumb creatures a good 

 general fund of instinct; but He doesnot fortify them against 

 exceptional circumstances. He would not leave the grouse 

 liable to be crusted in at eveiy thaw, but He would permit 

 them to perish in an occasional sleet storm, coming once in 

 seven or eight years, and as well might He do so, as to allow 

 them to fall to the gun of some sportsman or in the snare of 

 some pot-hunter. 



(3) 'Tf the snow is dry can a crust form over it?" Yes, see 

 above. 



(4) "The exact number that came under your observation? ' 

 Also answered above. 



(5) "How many hens did you ever see go in swimming?'* 

 Though the last sounds strangely like what the late lamented 

 "Josh Billings," the prince of phonetic spellers, would call 

 "sarkasm," I will do my best to answer. I can't tell the 

 exact number, but I assure your correspondent that I have 

 often seen them do it — not the mud-hen either, but the com- 

 mou domestic fowl. However, it was like the grouse being 

 frozen in — they had no vote in the matter. Perhays your 

 contributor wouldjjsay it was because Nature had "blundered" 

 in not either paralyzing the arms of sundry small boys and 

 old women, who put them in "to take the set out of 'em;" 

 or giving said individuals brains enough to know better than 

 to adopt such a course. 



So in my misty mind melt the arguments of "Dry Snow," 

 and with a hearty parting shake of the hand I will let my- 

 self down on that last sentence by quoting a remark from 

 the immortal Mrs. Edgar: "Sure we be till be havin' our 

 jokes." L. 1. Flower. 



Jkmskg, N. B., Canada, March 35. 



TAXIDERMISTS AND MILLINERS' 

 AGENTS. 



Editor Forest and Stream: 



I have cut the inclosed article from the Boston Globe of 

 recent date, and forward same hoping you will insert it in 

 your columns. It is from the prominent taxidermist in Bos- 

 ton, and is also the voice not only of a class who are sup- 

 posed to be "dead set" against protection, but it is also the 

 "ground tier" of the Massachusetts Association of Taxider- 

 mists and Ornithologists, a society recently formed, and 

 which includes every taxidermist in Boston but one, and 

 some out of town, besides numerous true sportsmen: 



"I would like to say a few words in defense of the taxi- 

 dermists, and show that they are not such a class of bird 

 destroyers as Fish Commissioner Lathrop and others tried to 

 make them appear before the Fish and Game Committee at 

 the State House, on Wednesday last. The bill presented by 

 the Massachusetts Fish and Game Association, for the better 

 preservation of our singing birds, is a good bill, and all 

 legitimate taxidermists are in favor of doing what they can 

 to have a stop put to the wearing of birds on hats or any 

 part of a lady's dress. I, for one, would like to see the 

 ladies discontinue the use of birds as dress trimmings; if 

 they will do this, there will be no need to make laws to pre- 

 serve our birds, as there would be none killed by men who 

 now make their living by collecting birds for the milliners ; 

 and, as birds increase very rapidly, the loss of the few used 

 in the interests of science would not be felt. I have been 

 in business in Boston for the past seventeen years ; have had 

 a permit to collect birds, and the largest number collected 

 in one year was some thirty-six or thirty-seven specimens, 

 out of which there were some hawks and butcher birds. Of 

 course, in this thirty-six or thirty-seven birds I do not in- 

 clude game birds killed in open season. Now it" is a well- 

 known fact that the sparrow hawk, sharp-shinned hawk, 

 pigeon hawk, Cooper hawk and butcher bird make their 

 living mostly off our small song and insectivorous birds, and 

 when it is computed that every pigeon and sharp-shinned 

 hawk kills on an average at least two birds per day (and 

 they hunt Sundays as well as week days), it will be seen 

 that the taxidermist who offers to buy all kinds of hawks, 

 owls, weasels, etc., is doing more to save the birds than de- 

 stroy them. There is one thing the Association of Taxider- 

 mists and Ornithologists wishes the public to understand, 

 and that is the difference between a legitimate taxidermist 

 and a milliner's collector. A legitimate taxidermist has 

 nothing to do with millinery collections. — Charles L. Good- 

 ale, Taxidermist." 



The one taxidermist not in the association is one who goes 

 to Florida as much for numbers as for good specimens. It 

 is for the purpose of protecting legitimate taxidermists (upon 

 whom science largely depends), and to show the difference 

 between the slaughterer and true scientific taxidermists. It 

 is a very commendable association. I take pleasure in in- 

 dorsing them. Raymond Lee Newcomb. 



Salem, Mass. 



Sparrow vs. Robin. — Editor Forest and Stream: In your 

 issue of the 18th inst., my attention was attracted to the 

 clipping from the Boston Advertiser, in which they venture 

 "to say that not one among ten thousand pretended friends of 

 our birds ever saw an English sparrow kill or maim a native 

 sonffster." This calls to mind a tragedy I witnessed while 

 in Erie, and one that was looked upon by a score or more of 

 other people : The trees in the park have a number of boxes 

 for the birds, all of which the sparrows have taken posses- 

 sion of. One afternoon while sitting there, I noticed a robin 

 singing on a tree. Soon a sparrow stuck his head out of a 

 box and began scolding. Finding that did not stop the song, 

 he sounded his war cry and was soon surrounded by others 

 of his clan, when a pitched battle was immediately engaged 

 in and carried on with such vigor that they drove the robin 

 to the ground, and by picking and flying against him from 

 all sides soon reduced him to submission. When we drove 

 the sparrows away the robin was so badly used up he could 

 neither stand nor fly, and was carried off by one of the spec- 

 tators. On another occasion I heard a great commotion 

 among the sparrows in our yard, and looking out saw them 

 attack one of their own species that had a broken leg and 

 pick it to death. I am much pleased with the stand the 

 Forest and Stream has taken in regard to bird protec- 

 tion, and hope the Audubon movement may go on until the 

 slaughter of birds for their plumage is abolished.— One op 

 the Ten Thousand. 



The Sparrow Hawk in Winter.— Washington, D. O, 

 March 27. — Editor Forest ami Stream: In your issue of March 

 25 Mr. Henshaw says of the sparrow hawk after twenty years 

 study of birds, "He lives almost exclusively on grasshoppers 

 and crickets." What does he do for grub in the winter time? 

 Does he keep a silo or a cannery? About here there are some 

 seven mouths in twelve when there are a few classic "crickets 

 on hearth stones" around and nary "brown old grasshopper." 

 What does poor sparverius do then ? Hop in the barn to keep 

 himself warm, and hide his head under his wing, poor thing? 

 I merely ask for information. — M. G. Ellzey, M. D. 



A Woodcbuck in the Snow. — East Auburn, Me., March 

 22. — Is it not uncommon for woodchucks to come out of their 

 holes when there are two feet of snow on the ground ? Some 

 children sliding on the crust near this place found one on the 

 snow, and tried to kill it by crushing it under their sleds.— 



§mtft §ng ut[A §nq. 



Address all communications to the Forest and Stream Publish- 

 ing Co. 



THE TRAJECTORY TEST, 



qpiIE full report of the Forest and Stream's trajectory test of hunt- 

 log rifles has been issued in pamphlet form, with the illustra- 

 tions and the tabular summary, making in all 90 pages. For sale at 

 this office, or sent post-paid. Price 50 cents. 



RECOLLECTIONS OF A SPORTSMAN.-i. 



I CANNOT begin these reminiscences better than by 

 quoting from the much worn "Old Oaken Bucket:" 

 "How dear to my heart are the scenes of my childhood, 

 When fond recollection presents them to view." 



Only I should substitute the word boyhood for childhood, 

 for it was in boyhood that my natural fondness for field 

 sports became a passion, that led me to study the habits of 

 birds and animals as a naturalist, as well as a"sport3man. I 

 took delight in watching the quail pair, nest, and raise their 

 young; and spent hours of moonlight nights in the early 

 spring, during the first flight northward of the woodcock, 

 quietly watching tbem feeding, pairing, and performing their 

 interesting gyrations, as from the time they left the ground 

 whistling upward, until they reached the desired elevation 

 to perform the "chip, chip, chip" act in mid-air; then drop- 

 ping suddenly to the ground, announcing their arrival by the 

 usual guttural note. The whole process of nesting, hatch- 

 ing and raising their little brood was of great interest to me. 

 To learn the call notes of various birds until I could almost 

 call them at will; to witness the battles between the red and 

 giay squirrels; their loves and jealousies during the breeding 

 season; performing of a delicate surgical operation by the 

 old males upon the young ones, was the delight and pastime 

 of many an hour. The study of woodcraft, the location of 

 animals' dens, squirrel and bee trees, were not so well known 

 to any boy of my acquaintance. Yet, I doubt not, many of 

 your readers have found amusement and instruction in the 

 same way, and perhaps obtained greater proficiency. Such 

 will agree with me in believing, in spite of the croaker's and 

 money-grubber's cry of wasted time, we have what many 

 of them would like to buy, but cannot, what nature gives to 

 her ardent admirers — contentment and a field for enjoy- 

 ment beyond the comprehension of those whom nature has 

 not taught. 



It was in boyhood, in the year 1861, that I first became 

 possessed of a double barrel gun — muzzleloader of course, as 

 it was before the days of breechloaders— an English gun, 

 costing fifteen pounds sterling, handsomely ornamented in 

 German silver. Shortly afterward I secured a fine double- 

 nose English pointer, Dash by name, a dog of large bone 

 and muscle, great endurance and untiring energy. From 

 that time I have unblushingly acknowledged myself a sports- 

 man. Previously, my proclivities in that direction had been 

 limited to a narrow field, bounded on all sides by the fears 

 of my parents, and securely fenced in by my inability to 

 command the necessary amount of currency, then known as 

 shinplasters, to gratify my desires. My experience, there- 

 fore, had been much the same as other boys with a single 

 barrel gun and an inborn love of sport. First firing at the 

 ice house door from a rest, feeling proud to find it hit fair 

 and square. Next firing from a rest again into a flock of 

 blackbirds, being delighted to see five tall to the ground, 

 only one of which proved to be dead, the wounded ones ap- 

 pealing strongly to boyish sympathy. It was easy merely to 

 pull a trigger, dealing] death and suffering to a number at 

 one stroke, but when it came to picking up the wounded, 

 and putting them out of misery it could hardly be called 

 pleasure. 



Then came the delights of squirrel hunting. 1 use the 

 word hunting because there is more of hunting than shoot- 

 ing in this sport, the pitting of cunniug against cunning in- 

 stead of skill in the use of the gun. I shall never forget a 

 certain wood in Middlesex county, N. J., containing a large 

 number of shellbark hickory trees, where I killed hundreds 

 of squirrels. I would rise before day and quietly creep to a 

 good position among the shcllbarks, generally near cross 

 fences, and silently wait until just as day was fairly break- 

 ing, I would suddenly hear and see a great commotion in 

 some neighboring treetop, when it took but an instant for 

 me to change my position to within gunshot, as silently as 

 an Indian follows the trail. The next moment the report of 

 my gun would echo and re-echo through the wood, break- 

 ing the profound stillness of early morning. A squirrel, 

 sometimes two, would come tumbling through the branches, 

 catching and hanging for a second or two, falling limp and 

 dead to the grouud, the victim of a charge of No. 4 shot, 

 which had been carefully spit upon "for luck." There was 

 an ancient tradition among the boys of Middlesex that to 

 spit on the shot made it. carry closer and stronger. At any 

 rate my old single barrel, after I adopted this practice, got 

 into the habit of "fetching" almost every time she spoke. I 

 might, however, qualify this assertion by saying I had not 

 then attempted wing-shooting, and thought it a great demon- 

 stration of skill when I killed a squirrel jumping from tree 

 to tree or running along the fence. There was also in the 

 wood I speak of a number of tail dead trees, famous resorts 

 for high holders, or flickers, many of which found their way 

 into my game bag. As I have already said, I started ou 

 these hunts before daybreak, usually remaining in the woods 

 an hour or so, returning home in time to snatch a hurried 

 breakfast, do my farm chores, and get to school by 9 o'clock, 

 rarely scoring less than four to six squirrels and several high- 

 holders, robins, or a dove or two. If luck was poor in the 

 morning, an hour in the evening brought my bag up to the 

 average. 



I soon contracted the habit of keeping my gun always near 

 me while at work about the farm and firing at robius, crows, 

 doves, etc., as they happened to fly within range. I soon 

 had the satisfaction of being able to make certain wing-shots 

 with great accuracy. This knowledge I kept to myself, fully 

 realizing that until I could stop quail, woodcock and grouse 

 I had better keep quiet. I frequently tried them, but as such 

 birds were generally in the thickest cover, ray gun long and 

 unwieldy, I never got a feather, and seldom even a chance 

 to shoot at the revelation of brown streak before it had dis- 

 appeared. 



I was invited on several occasions to join hunting parties 

 who had fine dogs and guns, whose bags of game made me 

 almost green with envy. 1 always declined, determined not 

 to be laughed at, secretly believing were I as well fixed as 

 they I could soon learn. I had one great advantage over 

 them ; I could always find the game, even when dogs had 



