Jtjne 24, 1886.] 



FOREST AND STREAM, 



427 



March, 1876.) It would be well to inoculate a chicken Or 

 rabbit with the juice of the aristolochia or some other of the 

 "antidotal" plants first, and then let the cobra bite it ; the 

 pain and terror suffered during the existing experiments 

 would be only slightly aggravated, and with a possible favor- 

 able result. *#•#****«* 

 Both evils are inflicted by a tooth, but while the bite of a 

 mad dog proceeds from a diseased state of the animal, con- 

 veying rabid saliva to the blood of the victim, the bito of a 

 venomous snake conveys deadly saliva into the blood With 

 lightning-like rapidity, the rabid saliva of the dog is weeks 

 or months "incubating" its deadly power. Both have been 

 said to be incurable, though the victims of both have fre- 

 quently recovered, because in both cases the bite might not 

 have been deep, and the patients may have had constitutional 

 vigor to overcome the danger. Fear, feeble health, and 

 nervous prostration have produced fatal results, after snake 

 bite as after dog bite, when the patient otherwise might have 

 recovered, because neither was the snake venomous nor the 

 dog rabid. Pasteur affirms that terror and nervous prostra- 

 tion have sometimes induced symptoms that have been taken 

 for rabies; and some ultratemperate editors on "the other side" 

 have set down to delirium tremens what a charitable friend 

 has attributed to mad dog-ism. Cures and antidotes alike 

 for snake bite and hydrophobia have been sought in vain, 

 and baffled human wisdom from the earliest ages — for hy- 

 drophobia even more than for serpent venom; and now that 

 a remedy for this dire malady seems well assured, may we 

 not hope that a triumph may arrive for the other also, some- 

 thing that will at length reduce the death-rate in India from 

 snake bite? 



BEAR AND MOOSE QUERIES. 



Editor Forest and Stream: 



I would be very glad if some of the old hunters who read 

 your paper would favor me with information on one or two 

 questions that are not by any means elucidated in such nat- 

 ural histories as I can refer to. 



What is the average and maximum recorded weight of the 

 grizzly bear {Ursus ' liornbilis Ord.)? One rarely hears an 

 enthusiastic sportsman estimating the weight of the grizzly 

 he recently saw or killed at much under 1,000 pounds. But 

 whenever the scales have been brought in, so far as I can 

 ascertain, it has been voted an immense bear that went over 

 500 pounds. 



What is the maximum authentic recorded height at the 

 shoulder of the moose {Alces machUs (Linne) Gray)? I should 

 say that six feet is about the average height of a bull moose, 

 but a hunter friend, a professional, who has killed a great 

 many moose in the Nipissing region, rather surprised me 

 with the following statement: "In October, 1880, Geo. Ross 

 killed in Paxton township, Muskoka, a bull moose that 

 measured 8 feet 2 inches at the shoulders, its antlers weighed 

 84 pounds and the beast made 800 pounds of clear meat. 1 

 saw and measured it myself immediately after it was killed. 

 In the same month and in the same region of Ontario I 

 myself killed a bull moose that was 7 feet 2 inches at the 

 shoulders." 



It is very difficult to know how far to credit these hunter 

 statements, but it seems to me just possible that occasionally 

 the moose may attain to such a great stature. A scientific 

 friend totally discredits the statement because the dimensions 

 given are far beyond the known limits of individual varia- 

 tion. But it must be remembered that the variation is in the 

 direction of this animal's specialization; that is, for example, 

 the chief specialization of the common mole (Scal&ps aquali- 

 eus (Linne) Coues), is its enormous hands, and they are by 

 far more variable in their proportions than any other part of 

 the animal's anatomy. So also the curlew (Numericm longi- 

 tostris Wils.), its remarkable specialization and its most 

 variable proportion is the length of the bill. Why, there- 

 fore, in this case, may not the moose be subject to extreme 

 variation in the elongation of its limbs, which probably is its 

 chief specialization. 



However, whatever doubts may be cast on the above 

 records, I have full faith in the honesty of the narrator, and 

 am very sure that the mistake, if any, is due not to deliber- 

 ate exaggeration, but rather to the baneful habit of trusting 

 one's memory, that has, ere now, led the best-meaning of 

 naturalists into lamentable error. Ernest E. T. Setqn. 



New York, June 21, 1886. 



BIRD NOTES. 



T^UTCHESS COUNTY, N. Y.— Of robins the county is 

 XJ full to such an extent that fruit growers complain bit- 

 terly of their depredations. Meadow larks are fairly numer- 

 ous, though not abundant. But the rollicking song of the 

 bobolink is seldom more heard. I saw none and only heard 

 the one trill of a single bird. The beautiful orioles also are 

 very rarely met with. This doubtless is in great measure 

 due to the late fashion of ladies' hat decoration. But to their 

 credit be it said, that through the widely pervading influ- 

 ence of the Forest and Stream, aided by the numerous 

 Audubon Societies, this cruel fashion has been almost en- 

 tirely discarded. Whether our bright plumaged birds and 

 songsters will ever again be as plenty as heretofore is prob- 

 lematical. There is one, our earliest and sweetest singers, 

 that sings right on, rain or shine, all day long, that has 

 escaped the demands of the milliner, owing to his modest 

 plumage no doubt, and that is the song sparrow. Those I 

 found almost everywhere, and 1 think they have largely in- 

 creased of late years. What has become of the chattering 

 martins? 1 have seen but one family this year. Thrushes, 

 catbirds and the frisky little wren are now seldom seen. Is 

 the miserable English sparrow responsible for their disap- 

 pearance? J. H. D. 



The Toledo Eaglet.— East Toledo, June 14,— Editor 

 Forest and Stream: The eagle hatched April 26 is seven 

 Weeks old to-day. It is about one fourth the size of a full- 

 grown eagle, and is fledgiDg nicely and assuming a fine ap- 

 pearance. It still depends on the mother to pick its food in 

 small pieces, which she puts in its moutn. While the old 

 birds have white heads and white or straw-colored beaks, 

 the young bird is black, with black head and jet black beak. 

 A week ago to-day a gentleman who claims to know every- 

 thing about birds tried to make friends with the eagles. He 

 Was warned to keep away from them; but he put his hand 

 inside the cage, when the female jumped from the nest and 

 put three talons through his right hand. He is here to-day 

 With a very sore hand, and says he will never again try to 

 make friends with the American eagle. When everything 

 "is quiet I go inside, clean out the cage and give them fresh 

 water. They pay no attention to me, but if there is any 

 body around I have no business inside the cage. — Henry 

 Htjlce. 



Bombi. — The Central Park Menagerie has a new attrac- 

 tion in Bombi, a rhinoceros just imported. The beast is ll| 

 feet long and 5} feet high;" weight, 7,000 pounds._ As he 

 stands munching hay he appears to be about as high as a 

 horse, one-third longer, and three times as thick through the 

 body. His let's are short, immensely thick, and decidedly 

 bowed; his neck and head are typical of immense power; 

 his horn was sawed off years ago, but quite a stump re- 

 mains. The armor of hide plates which protect his body 

 seem to be several inches thick. His eyes are small, his 

 mouth enormous, and his usual expression one of contemptu- 

 ous indifference. Altogether he is a marvel of ugliness, 

 toughness and strength. Even the heaviest of Barnum's 

 elephants would probably have a sorry time of it in a battle 

 with such a brute. Bombi was captured near the delta of 

 the Ganges some ten years ago by a party of hunters, who 

 shot the mother and captured the young one. For the last 

 three years he has been in the collection of Hagenbach, the 

 well-known dealer in wild beasts. The Park Commissioners 

 paid $5,000 for him. 



Crows and Minnows. — Your correspondent "J. P. W.," 

 mentions seeing a crow apparently fishing on Richardson 

 Lake the other day. 1 have witnessed the same thing there, 

 but I have always explained it in this way: The fish taken 

 by the crows are, in my belief, the dead chubs and minnows 

 which float down from the works of the Jive-bait sportsmen. 

 Such fish are always plentiful on the surface of that lake in 

 the spring time, and I have often seen the gulls, and once or 

 twice the crows, feeding on them, II "J. P. W." is the "J. 

 P. W." I think he is, I should be very loth to question his 

 opinion on any matter concerning the lake in question, for 

 his experience there has been very extensive and he is a close 

 observer of nature. — Special. 



Address all communications to the Forest and /Stream Publish- 

 ing Co. _ 



THE TRAJECTORY TEST, 



npHE full report of the Forest aito Stream's trajectory test of hunt- 

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

 tions and the tabular summary, making in all 96 pages. For sale at 

 this office, or sent post-paid. Price 80 cents. 



IN THE OLD BACKWOODS. 



WHEN 1 first started for the great virgin forest that 

 many years ago robed with an almost unbroken sheet 

 the northern part of Wisconsin, where deer were said to be 

 abundant, the sweetness of anticipation was considerably re- 

 duced by anxiety to know what I was going to do with all 

 my game. Familiar with the shotgun and nearly every kind 

 of game upon which it is used, a ranger from childhood of 

 the eastern woods and fields, with keen eyes for hidden 

 squirrels and hares in their forms, a fair shot, too, with the 

 rifle at the target, I. quite naturally supposed that all I had 

 to do to shoot deer was to get where the deer were. The re- 

 sults seemed a matter of course. 



It was early in October that I reached a settler's cabin far 

 in the depths of the "Big Woods" of Wisconsin; just at the 

 beginning of a long spell of that Indian summer that the 

 Northwest alone can show. A dream of sunlight flooded 

 the woods, the winds were still, the leaves, all dry and crisp, 

 covered the ground so that the scamper of a squirrel over 

 them could be heard at a hundred yards. 



"There's no use of huntin' now, the woods is too noisy," 

 said my backwoods friend. 



The words fell on my ear like those of an unknown tongue. 

 Even had I comprehended them all the advice that the most 

 experienced hunters in the world could have given could not 

 have held me back. So early the next morning I turned my 

 back upon the little clearing and was soon alone in the wild- 

 erness. 



Scarcely half a mile from the house I began to find signs 

 that even the most inexperienced eye can not fail to read 

 aright. But one animal could make the narrow, sharp-toed 

 tracks that in all directions were so plain upon the spots of 

 bare ground, and in places had pressed dead leaves in the 

 soft soil beneath. Cautiously I peered around, looked down 

 the ranks of tree trunks, explored the green vistas among 

 the bushes, that filled the more open places, and gazed long 

 and earnestly around that amphitheater of the woods where 

 all things fade into a blurr of mingled form and color. Tall 

 and trim was the basswood, and grandly solemn the old 

 white oak. There was the dark, shaggy bark of the black 

 oak, the smooth, dark gray shaft of the red oak, the maple 

 all aflame above, and other ancient trees with leaves of 

 brown, crimson and gold yet unshed. With brilliant scarlet 

 the clustered head of the ginseng shone along the ground; 

 there, too, were the purple berries of the fragrant spignet; 

 ferns still green with life stood along the shady slopes; wild 

 cherries glistened with intensity of jet, and wild plums of 

 great size, some of golden hue, others of pink, looked tempt- 

 ingly at me. Yet nowhere was there anything that looked 

 like a deer. 



I listened for the sound of bounding hoofs that I had be- 

 fore heard before the hounds, the crash of brush, or the long- 

 drawn snort or plaintive bleat of which I had read. Yet I 

 heard only the drumming of the ruffed grouse, the jarring 

 of leaves beneath the spring of the squirrel, the tattoo of the 

 woodpecker on some high, dead limb, the harsh, jingling 

 note of the bluejay, or the grating notes of the raven wheel- 

 ing on high. 



With step as quiet as thick-soled boots, dead leaves and 

 abundance of dry twigs would permit, I moved along, wind- 

 ing through openings in brush and trying to avoid every- 

 thing that could make a noise. Cautiously I crept over huge 

 logs hollow at one end, covered with toadstools at the other, 

 and dark and green beneath, only, perhaps, to see the ruffed 

 grouse spread his banded tail, and roaring upward and on- 

 ward, fade from sight; the gray squirrel scamper to his 

 native tree, the black squirrel taking a sunbath on some out- 

 stretched limb, or both fleeing in terror from the little tyrant 

 red squirrel. Yet ever bright before fancy's eye loomed a 

 mighty buck with shining antlers of not less thau "ten 

 points," with broad chest and massive neck, glossy coat and 

 great lustrous eyes, standing in a nice open place, broadside, 

 of course — the veritable deer of the artist— distance about 

 forty yards. 



The further I went the more certain seemed the speedy 

 realization of this ravishing ideal. For everywhere the signs 

 of deer grew more plenty and more fresh; and suddenly I 

 came upon a place beside a bush where a great buck had 



pawed a square yard or more of ground clear of leaves and 

 sticks. The damp, dark soil was laid bare, and in it Were & 

 score or more of large hoof tracks whose smooth indenta- 

 tions still shone with freshness. The bush— a thorn apple-- 

 was on that side all broken, scarred and frayed, and its 

 bright little red apples were scattered upon the ground be^ 

 neath. I had heard of the deer hooking and tearing the 

 brush with their horns at this time of year, and as the sap 

 still shone fresh upon the scratches on the limbs, 1 looked 

 around in instant expectation and clutched the rifle with the 

 fondest grip of hope. The rustling foot of a northern hare 

 over the dead leaves as it sped away from the clump of 

 blackberry bushes beyond as I advanced sent a tidal wave of 

 chills along my spine, and my hand trembled so that I could 

 hardly have hit a barn without fastening myself inside and 

 stopping up the knot holes. 



Hours passed, yet that buck appeared not except in im&g: 

 ination's field, where every hour he grew larger, fatter and 

 more numerously pronged, yet on I went with faith un- 

 clouded. I looked with contempt at the Woodchuck that 

 stopped at the mouth of his hole in the butt of some old 

 tree to take a look; at me before vanishing within ; and 

 even the porcupine which I had never before seen I allowed 

 to feed undisturbed upon the topmost twigs of the lofty 

 elm. I even felt some disdain for that charming bird, the 

 ruffed grouse, that every few minutes burst with resound 

 ing wing from my path, or gazed calmly at me from the 

 thorn apple or sloe bush where he was feeding, and for that 

 lovely fish, the speckled trout, that flashed in every little 

 brook 1 crossed or stooped to drink from. My heart was 

 set upon deer, deer shot with a rifle and secured by still- 

 hunting, and I was nearly blind to all the beauties of what 

 were then the loveliest woods upon which the sun ever 

 shone. 



The sun well in the meridian, a growing feeling of vacancy 

 within and a most inviting log Anally convinced me that it 

 was time for lunch. But just as I was about to sit down 

 four deep indentations in the ground with fresh, fine soil and 

 moist leaves scattered just ahead of them caught my eye. I 

 stood for a moment as if petrified. One who has never been 

 in such a position can little imagine the feelings of the tyro 

 whose expectations have out-soared even his conceit when 

 such a reality first breaks upon him with all its chilling in' 

 tensity. I did not have to try the indentations with my 

 Angers to see if they were hoof tracks. The case was dist- 

 ressingly plain, but I could not resist a look over tke log 

 for the preceding tracks. Just over it in a little patch of 

 thin, low brush was an oval depression where the leaves and 

 grass were Aattened. The bottom of if was warm and it 

 was about Afteen feet from the tracks on the other side of 

 the log. I had heard much of "jumping a deer," bnt for the 

 first time had an idea of what it generally means. 



Without stopping to think how such a large animal as a 

 deer could have thus taken the alarm and bounded away in 

 such open woods without my seeing or hearing it, I started 

 on the trail, looking keenly down every dark lane among the 

 tree trunks, and giving at every flirt of a squirrel's tail or 

 burst of a grouse a convulsive jerk of the rifle, the reaction 

 of which gave me an ague for the next Ave minutes. But 

 the tracks of the deer showed it still in full bound, now 

 clearing Afteen now twenty feet at a spring, now going clear 

 over a bush which could have been easily avoided, now 

 skipping the trunk of a fallen tree that it would have been as 

 easy to pass under. 



Suddenly three or four new sets of tracks joined the Arst 

 ones, and a moment's investigation showed that a doe and 

 two fawns had started from a neighboring thicket and gone 

 off with the other deer, alarmed, no doubt, by its running. 



I hate to confess it, but I was actually verdant enough to 

 think that my chances for a shot were now increased instead 

 of diminished, and full of conAdenee I started on the trail, 

 In about four hundred yards the length of the jump began 

 to decrease and they suddenly ceased. Just at the end were 

 a few faint tracks where the deer had turned half around 

 and stood still for a moment. Bidding my struggling heart 

 be still I looked cautiously around. I cannot resist a smile 

 as I write it, but I really expected to see no less than four 

 deer — all looking at me — in some open place, as I had so 

 often seen them in pictures. 



Instead of that my eye quickly caught some more freshly 

 ploed up dirt in some brush about twenty feet away, and 

 on went the trail again with longer jumps than before. And 

 so I followed it mile after mile, Anding plenty of places 

 where the deer had stopped and turned around and then run 

 on again with long jumps, until the sinking sun warned me 

 home. Yet I saw no deer and heard no sound of bounding 

 hoofs. 



Day after day for about a week I roamed the woods with 

 about the same results. Tracks of deer were everywhere. 

 On the points of ridges, in little clumps of brush and in old 

 windfalls were fresh beds of deer, often warm, with the 

 tracks ef long, leaping feet leading away from them. Once 

 I heard the thump of feet upon the ground over a ridge, but 

 by the time I got there I could see no signs of game except 

 the soft, dark, moist earth and dead leaves scattered about 

 by the sharp-toed feet of a descending deer. Along little 

 creek bottoms where grass grew long and the wild cherries 

 were rank, were places where the bears had rolled and played 

 and fed, yet vainly I sought a glimpse of the shaggy coat. 

 Here the old one had turned over a log to look for grubs, and 

 there she and the cubs had been f eeding upon the oak-clad 

 ridges, where the acorns lay thick upon the ground. But, 

 as with deer, my chances seemed in inverse proportion to 

 the number of tracks I found. 



Before I had the faintest glimpse of a deer, November 

 came, and with it that radiant change which here is so much 

 greater than in the East. Chilly were the days and cold 

 enough the nights; when the sun shone at ail it was with a 

 wan, paleface; the wind sang through creaking trees and 

 snowAakes rode the blasts. The woods, of late so spangled 

 with color, seemed sorrowful and subdued. The ruffed 

 grouse had nearly hushed his drum and the squirrel rarely 

 appeared except during sunny noons. The jay was still 

 heard in the oak where the acorns yet clung, the raven 

 croaked from the lofty pine, the woodpecker beat his tattoo 

 as before, and sometimes a buzzard was seen in the sycamore 

 by the creek ; but nearly all other birds were gone. The 

 trees were now quite bare of leaves; the low bushes beneath 

 were nearly the same, and in any direction I could see twice 

 as far as before. The carpet of dried leaves and sticks was 

 now softened down by heavy rains and made no such noise 

 as before; and my thick-soled boots were now replaced by 

 soft moccasins that made an almost noiseless step. What 

 wonder then that all the strings of hope were at concert 

 pitch as 1 again threaded the woods? 



It was at the heighth of what hunters call "running time," 

 the surest time they all say to kill a deer. "Now the merest 



