452 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[June 28, 1888. 



cessful as the first, and this giving of less for what they 

 received had had a happy effect on Uncle Theophile and 

 his nephews, and as Solon, Joseph and Antoine were 

 quite satisfied with what they had got for their money, 

 the utmost good humor prevailed. Sam was derided for 

 the small visible result of hi 3 expedition, but he had 

 brought back much that his companions could not see, nor 

 would have cared for could they see, wherewith he was 

 too well content to mind their jeers. 



Dart and his friends had good luck with the money 

 diggers' seine, which was yet being hauled for them, while 

 they took their ease on a log of driftwood eating their late 

 dinner of fried fish. 



"Hello, Lovel! haow du you taller* these days?" Dart 

 accosted Sam, as he sauntered over to their wagon to 

 have a closer look at old Bob. "Come an' ha' some grub 

 with us, won't ye? Lots on't — sech as 't is." 



'•No, thank ye, I haint no 'casion. I jest wanter see 

 the ol' hoss a minute. Him and his'n 's ol' frien's o' mine. 

 The ol' feller 's slick as an otter," Sam said, patting the 

 shining black side of the venerable beast, who gave him 

 a low whinny of recognition. 



"Wal, he haint starvin', an' I guess he haint tumble 

 sorry 'at he lives 'long wi' Dart stiddy your Canuck 

 over there. Say, Lovel, the's a jug of O-be-joyf'l under 

 the buff'lo, pull it aout an' take a snort; I guess it chip- 

 pers yit. 'Taint none o' Hamner's hoss medicine an' 't 

 won't kill ye in yer tracks; take a holt." 



''No, thank ye, I haint dry," Sam said. 



"Haint? Vval, it aders makes me dry tu go fishin', 

 kinder sympatuiziu' wi' the poor critters I've ketched, I 

 s'puse," Dart said as he got upon his feet, brushing the 

 crumbs from his broad breast and wiping his mouth. 

 "But I don't go often. 'F I did, an' eat 's many 's I hev 

 tu-day, the' wouldn't be no fish. If you won't take nothin' 

 solid nor wet, hev a little smoke," and opening a big blue 

 paper of tobacco, he offered it to Sam. 



"Ben here a week hevin' fun alive, Briggs an' mongst 

 'em tells me. Wish 't I'd knowed it afore. Didn't know 

 ye wa'n't t' hum till I seen ye, but I haint seen nob'dy f'm 

 your way in a fortn't," Dart went on when they had 

 lighted their pipes and seated themselves on the wagon 

 tongue. "Got fish-hungry an' thought we'd come daown 

 an' fill up 'fore hoein'. That 'ere's Putnam : mebby you do' 

 know him wi' ol' close on. Do' know why he didn't put 

 on his Sunday -go-tu-meetin's tu come fishin', but he's got 

 his thirty-five-dollar rifle in the waggin, jibe Lord knows 

 what for. wropped up in tew blankets. O, say, haint that 

 'ere young Gove livin' somewhere 'raound here? Thunder 

 in the winter! 'P you didn't make the all-firedest shot 'at 

 ever I see. Seventy-five rod if 't was a foot I" 



"You mean tu Hamner's shootin' match?" said Sam, 

 trying to wear a look of innocence with his tell-tale 

 blushes, "I didn't stioot no turkey, it was Peltier." 



"O, beeswax! You go tu grass,!" cried the giant, giv- 

 ing -Sam a gentle whack on the shoulders that nearly 

 knocked him off the wagon-tongue. "Don't ye s'pose I 

 c'n tell the mark o 1 the OP Ore Bed? Beeswax!" Then 

 he arose and dragged the jug from its seclusion. "Come! 

 Take suthin'; I ben wantin' tu treat ye ever sence, for that 

 shot done me more good 'an a quart." 



''Thank ye jest as much as if I drinked a quart, but I 

 don't never drink nothin'." 



"Ye don't never? Wal, the least might in the world 

 won't hurt ye. If you live 's long 's I hope ye will, you'll 

 git awf'l dry." said Dart, pulling out the corncob stopple 

 and swingmg the jug to his lips over his arm. "An' 

 here's a-hopesin' 'at you will. I don't see," reseating him- 

 self after tucking the jug in its nest, "haow on airth you 

 c'n stan' it wi' that Canuck o' your'n. He knows so much 

 he makes a feller feel like a tarnal fool. This ere ol' puke 

 'at's a-haulin' for us knows more 'n he orter. Ben tellvn' 

 me 'tween hauls haow 't he'd a spellhr" book — bate he can't 

 spell baker — all planned aout, an' fust he knowed aout 

 come Webster's, julluk what his'n was goin' tu be! Then 

 he said to wait a spell till the steamboat went 'long an' it 

 'ould scare all the fish in the lake in here an' we'd get the 

 aluiightydest haul! But your Mister Ant vine come over 

 an' sot aout tu tell this old dickshinary more baout fishin' 

 'an he'd ever dreanied on, and both of them got madder 'n 

 settin' hens. It was fun for us, only the bilin'-over con- 

 sait made us feel smaller 'n was comf'table. I du b'lieve 

 'at these Yankeefied Canucks thinks 'at the Alniight} r has 

 tu ask some one on 'em every mornin' what He'd orter du 

 that day. An' each one on 'em thinks he'll be the nex' one 

 ast, an' cal'lates tu be a leetle might ahead intellin'. Blast 

 'em! I wisht the' was a wall 'twixt the States an' Canady so 

 high 'at nothin' but angels could fly over it! Mighty few 

 o' these creeturs we'd seen then." 



"Wal, Antwine aint no angel, do' know 's he ever will 

 be much o' one," Sam admitted, but loyal to his com 

 rade, added in his behalf, "Arter all. I druther hev a 

 dozen sech Canucks as him, or that ol' Duffy, an' tu hev 

 one sech Yankee as them 'at 's haulin' for you, jest as 

 full o' ign'ance an' consait as any Canuck wi'aout no fun 

 nor no humern streak in 'em but what a hawg's got. 

 They be durn'd hawgs, they eat like 'em an' act like 'em 

 an' I'll bate they got brussles on the' backs longer 'n your 

 finger." 



"O, I don't dote on 'em," said Dart, "they aint mine. 

 I'm only usin' on 'em. But we've got them an' tew 

 many sech an' can't help it. But it seems 'ough we bed 

 n't orter ketch the slops o' all creation as we du." 



So they drifted into talk concerning national affairs, 

 but belonging to the same political party, there was not 

 difference enough in their views to create an interesting 

 warmth. 



In town politics, too, they found each other holding 

 the same opinion, that their last year's representative, 

 ' 'hedn't ortu die a ye'rlin' " but should be re-elected this 

 year. Then the seinecame in, and less important matters 

 gave way to the excitement of this event. 



There was a heavy job of fish-cleaning and packing to 

 be disposed of before the morrow's departure, and time 

 and tide and Uncle Tyler waited for no man, so Sam and 

 his comrades bade farewell to their townsmen and 

 voyaged across the bay to camp. 



There on the flat shore, under the willows, jack knives 

 were plied till the sands were silvered with the incessant 

 shower of scales that only ceased falling when the 

 grounded star of Split Rock shed its ray across the dark- 

 ening lake, mingling its steadfast beam with the fading 

 Reflections of the sky's afterglow. 



*Tallow. 



Rowland E. Robinson. 



Fehhisbuhgh, Vt. 



JAY, PIGEON, CAMERA. 



Editor Forest and Stream: 



It is now nearly two years since I have been able to get 

 away from business long enough for an outing in the 

 woods, and the longer I am exiled from the woods the 

 more valuable to me becomes your paper, for by its aid I 

 am able in imagination to visit my old haunts and really 

 to get much rest and refreshment in so doing. I am 

 thankful to every lover of the woods, "Yo" and "Ness- 

 muk" and Robinson and all the rest who wdl take the 

 time and trouble to write out for the rest of us their ad- 

 ventures and experiences. I read them all with the 

 greatest zest, and not a number of the Forest and 

 Stream but starts a dozen questions I would like to ask 

 or a dozen memories I would like to contribute. But 

 there are too many things to do in the world and — I do 

 not write. 



To-day, however. I find myself with a little enforced 

 leisure while waiting for a train, and having just laid 

 down your issue of May 31, I venture to say a word about 

 my old friend and companion of many a hunt, the Canada 

 jay, and to ask Mr. Geo. Bird Grinnell if it is not identi- 

 cal with his Rocky Mounta n jay. If I were at home I 

 could answer my own question in two minutes, I suppose, 

 but my main purpese is to speak of the Canada jay as 

 I have known lnm in the deep woods and on the caribou 

 bogs of Maine. There every year for many an autumn 

 his rattling call and saucy whistle have greeted me on 

 my arrival at my camping ground, and I have become 

 familiar with every trick recounted by the writer 

 quoted by Mr. Grinnell, and many more besides. Pour 

 of these gray jays have, for a half dozen years mounted 

 guard over my book shelves in the "den" where I have 

 gathered many miscellaneous trophies of the hunt. It 

 was a poor reward of their confidence to shoot them, per- 

 haps; but I wanted them for just this purpose, and they 

 have been good companions. I wonder if any one ever 

 — I will not say tamed the Canada jay, for it is so devoid 

 of fear to begin with — but kept it in confinement as its 

 more shy and showy brother the bluejay is often kept, 

 and how it bore captivity. It is, as every hunter knows, 

 generally called in Maine the moose bird, and is said to 

 warn the moose of the hunter's approach. 



Its meat-eating and meat-stealing abilities are amazing 

 and beyond belief, and often provoke its destruction at 

 the hands of lumbermen. One method of killing it I 

 have never seen described. It is called the "moose bird 

 flip." A long shingle or cedar "split" is thrust through 

 a crevice between two logs of the lumber camp, and 

 balanced so as to sustain on the portion which projects 

 outside the camp the weight of a bit of pork and the 

 moose bird. Standing inside the camp the slayer, look- 

 ing out through the cracks or being told by an outsider 

 when the bird has alighted on the meat, strikes a down- 

 ward blow with a club on the inside portion of the split 

 and the luckless bird is tossed 50ft. into the air with 

 breath and life knocked out of him. 



It is natural for this jay to set up a clatter whenever he 

 discovers a human being, and hence I have no doubt 

 that many a time at a critical moment on a moose hunt 

 its racket has spoiled the chances of the hunter. Can 

 any one testify as to this? 



The Canada jay has been agreeable company to me 

 during many a lonely hour while waiting behind a blind 

 on a caribou bog. For aught I know he has been respon- 

 sible for the scarcity of caribou, but, however friendly to 

 the living caribou, I can testify to his fondness for the 

 caribou dead. A half dozen moose birds will in a halt 

 day so strip half a caribou carcass that the hunter will 

 need to be very short of meat indeed to try to get any- 

 thing more from it. 



While my pen is at it I want to echo the question, 

 "Where are the wild pigeons?" In my boyhood in New 

 Hampshire I used to see fairly large flocks and be able 

 every year to secure a few, and that was but a few years 

 after the great flights of which every one told, when 

 these birds were netted by the thousand. Now I doubt 

 if a wild pigeon is seen in New England. When a young 

 man I used to see in Illinois and Wisconsin marvellous 

 flights of migrating pigeons going over in long flocks, 

 75yds. deep, and stretching out of sight both ways over 

 the open prairie country, and squadron succeeding 

 squadron almost every five minutes for two or three days, 

 the roar of their wiiigs sounding like the rush of many 

 waters. In those days I used to hear of great pigeon 

 roosts in Kentucky and Wisconsin. Does any one see 

 such migrating hosts in these days? I very much fear 

 that the settling of the country leaves them no place half 

 secure enough for breeding and that pitiless slaughter 

 has made those marvelous flocks a thing of the past. 



As this letter is a scrap-bag, let me throw in a word 

 about "hunting with a camera." The enterprise of the 

 Forest and Strfam and the efforts of Mr. E. Hof er to 

 secure photographs of the big game in the Yellowstone 

 Park seem to me Worthy of all possible praise and to be 

 imitated at once by every one who is in position to do so. 

 What would not one give to see photographs of the great 

 buffalo herds of the past, blackening the plains for miles, 

 or of the elk or antelope as they were to be found only a 

 few years ago, I wonder if the readers of the Forkst and 

 Stream know of a fine piece of "hunting: with a camera" 

 performed by F. H. Chapin in the Rocky Mountains 

 and described in a paper read the past winter before the 

 Appalachian Club, of Boston. Part of this paper was 

 printed in the last issue of the club publication "Appla- 

 chia," with a reproduction of one of the photographs, viz., 

 that of an enormous silver-tip grizzly bear taken on the 

 rocks near the summit of Long's Peak in Colorado. Two 

 other photographs were taken, one of them a striking 

 and admirable one of three Rocky Mountain sheep, and 

 reproductions of these were shown by a stereopticon to 

 the club. By all means let every sportsman who can 

 possibly do so arm himself with camera as well as Win- 

 chester, and count a good photograph of a live animal in 

 its native wildness and grace a greater prize than its 

 dead body, and a far greater proof of the hunter's skill 

 and address. 



It makes one wince with regret to think of the scenes 

 he might have made permanent for the delight of others 

 for all time if the detective's camera and instantaneous 

 photography had only been in vogue a few years earlier. 

 What would not I give, for instance, for a photograph of 

 the mating tournament of prairie chickens which I once 



by careful approach enjoyed, and which, with present 

 appliances, might have been with perfect ease captured 

 by the camera. 



Once for twenty minutes I watched a monster moose 

 wading in the edge of a pond, feeding on lily pads, swim- 

 ming across the mouth of a creek, striding out and shak- 

 ing the water from his mighty hide, listening, with head 

 and antlers thrown back and one foot lifted, in attitude 

 most dramatic and superb; and all within camera shot! 

 Those noble antlers now hang above thedoor of my "den," 

 before referred to, but no one can share with me that 

 never-to-be forgotten picture. 



All hail, then, to the camera, the new weapon — not of 

 the pot-hunter, but of the sportsman— and may its devo- 

 tees increase! 



One more scrap. Driving to-day in this town I met a 

 man and a barefoot boy carrying fishing pole and a string 

 of nine brook trout, all of them of good size and three of 

 them weighing very nearly, if not quite, one pound each. 



The trout were freshly caught, the owners would not 

 tell in what brook, but only "hack here a- ways," pointing 

 up the bank of what is known as "Five-mile River. 

 Evidently there are good trout in Connecticut yet for 

 those who know where to find them. 



Yet another question, suggested by the account in your 

 last issue of the killing of a moose by lightning. Some 

 years ago my guide showed me in the Maine woods a tall 

 but slender white buch with the mark of a lightning bolt 

 from top to bottom. He showed it to me as a great curi- 

 osity, saying that it was the only instance he ever knew 

 of lightning striking white birch." The next year in pass- 

 ing the same place he again called my attention to the 

 tree, saying that it was an old belief among woodsmen 

 that lightning would never strike a birch. Has any 

 reader of Forest and Stream ever heard of such belief ? 



Ebeemee. 



Putnam, Conn., June 2. 



WRENS IN A COFFEE-POT. 



Editor Forest and Stream: 



Some time ago two wrens entered my cabin through 

 some of the numerous cracks, and set to work exploring 

 it. I sat still at my table watching them, Their be- 

 havior showed that they were hunting a place to nest. 

 They peeped into every nook and corner, and finally left 

 in a way that seemed to show that they thought they 

 might be able to find better quarters elsewhere. How- 

 ever, in half an hour they returned and began their 

 examinations as before. This time they seemed to reach 

 the conclusion that my cabin would be a desirable place, 

 provided I would move out of it. Having no intention 

 to do this, but wishing to do all I could to please the little 

 birds, I seized an old coffee pot and hung it on a tree near 

 my door, tying it firmly so that the wind would not 

 shake it. In a little while the wrens discovered it and 

 entered it. It appeared to strike them at once as a 

 charming place, a veritable palace, suitable as a residence 

 of the most exacting aristocrats. From their maneuvers 

 they evidently thought they had struck it very rich, and 

 blessed their stars for so good fortune. I must confess 

 that I too felt quite a degree of pleasure in perceiving 

 how happy I had made my little visitors. And yet it had 

 all been done simply by fastening an old worn-out coffee- 

 pot in a tree. 



In a little while they were busy transporting leaves 

 into the coffee-pot, the male laboring as heartily as the 

 female. This shows that he perfectly understood what 

 was going to take place, and what duty demanded of 

 him as a little man. Next day the nest was finished, -and 

 it was curious to observe how soft and comfortable they 

 had made it Inside they had lined it thickly with bits 

 of feathers, shreds of wool, and downy substances picked 

 from the wild flowers: so that to the finger it felt like 

 rich velvet. The next day I found a tiny egg in the nest, 

 and another the day following. After this I failed to 

 count the eggs; for when I looked again a few days 

 afterward the little dame was sitting, and I wordd not 

 disturb her. The eggs were white sprinkled with little 

 brown spots, and they seemed to me very cute. 



Now the capers of the little man began to amuse me. 

 Before this, so far as I had known, he had been songless, 

 but now I w r as frequently called to my door to listen to 

 his singing. He would perch on a branch just above the 

 coffee-pot, and pour out strain after strain of most honeyed 

 sweetness, of such melody as no language could give an 

 idea of. He was singing to his love to cheer her in her long 

 and tedious sitting, and that Ms strains warmed and 

 thrilled her little heart with drops of the sweetest pleas- 

 ure, permeating every nerve of it, who can doubt? I do 

 not doubt that while she was drinking these in her little 

 heart was almost bursting with nuptial love, and with 

 the conviction that her little man was just the darUngest 

 love of a fellow in all the world. After thus singing a 

 while he would dart away into the woods. 



Only three or four days after the sitting began, I was 

 surprised to see one of them enter the coffee-pot with a 

 worm in his bill. I thought it marvelous that their eggs 

 should hatch so soon. I waited until this wren had flown 

 away, and then went to the nest expecting to see it full 

 of their babies; but instead, there sat the little dame. 

 And this shows that the thoughtfid little man was not 

 only making music to cheer her little heart, but was feed- 

 ing her while she sat, so that she should have no troubles 

 or cares while engaged in that business. I watched him 

 much afterward, and often saw him bearing in his bill 

 some choice bit for her. I dare say whenever he found a 

 particularly choice morsel iu the woods he never ate it 

 himself, but immediately hurried off, with his heart full 

 of happiness, to bear it to his lady love. He is indeed a 

 model little husband, and she a most true and affection- 

 ate little wife. What happiness must reign in their 

 household! 



And now that their little ones have come, I learn yet 

 another way of this gallant and faithful little fellow. 

 Both now engage in feeding then- young; for I judge 

 that the little wife out of her loving heart thinks it would 

 be too hard a task for her little man to feed the whole 

 family without help from her. Therefore she sets to 

 work equally with him, and between the two no doubt 

 the little ones are fed. They usually start from the nest 

 together, but it seldom happens that they return together. 

 When the little man returns first and has delivered his 

 offerings to the nestlings, he jumps out on a branch and 

 waits for his mate. If she comes not verv soon, he grows 

 impatient and calls for her very distinctly. Her name 

 by which he knows her seems to be Titty-tee; for he calls 

 out in a most musical voice as loud as he can: "Titty- 



