292 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[April 11, 1896. 
friend. To my notion Mr. B. "Waters, in his work on re- 
trieving, "Fetch and Carry," does as great a service to 
sportsmanship as is offered in any book of the dog what- 
ever, in that he points out ways to that sort of friendship. 
But my dog, if I love him, must be no undersized and 
lathy field trialer, but a big, strong, handsome feJlow. 
Behold ! such were our dogs. And no bird went into 
pocket not handed there by mouth of dog. And there 
was no scrambling either for shots or for birds. Both 
dogs and men were under perfect control. Did I not say 
all was ideal? 
Last year our mainstay was old Joe, a son of famous 
Gladstone Boy; but Joe had now at last yielded to the 
weight of years, and had been gathered to his father and 
his father's pedigree before him. But we had Mr. Chap- 
man's Lemon, a fine old fellow, brother to Joe (Gladstone 
Boy — Lou), now well stricken in years also, but as good 
and sensible a dog as one ever fired a gun over. And we 
had The Boy, Dr. Taylor's handsome and high-headed 
young dog (Gladstone Boy— Echo), a F. F. V. and an all- 
day goer. This dog was a gift to Dr. Taylor from Dr. G. 
G. Ware, of Stanton, Tenn., who owned Gladstone Boy. 
Besides these setters we had Dr. Cooper's pointer Hazel on 
the first day, and on the second day we had Jack, a son 
of old Joe, yet another magnificently broken shooting dog. 
There are few parties ever better equipped even in west 
Tennessee, and that is saying a great deal. And we had 
the smoothest, nicest, most enjoyable time anybody ever 
did have out Bhooting — unless it was ourselves and friends 
on the days following. Against my companions no word 
could be said except that they wanted me to do about all 
the shooting, and my shooting was for some time of a 
very patchy sort. We bagged somewhere between 
twenty-five and thirty birds and then rode home — some 
six miles— in an air just frosty enough to make the horses 
feel good. 
The Second Day. 
On our second day we had a most welcome and desir- 
able addition to our party in the person of Dr. G. G. 
Ware, who came over from his home on Dr. Taylor's 
invitation for a day's shoot. Dr. Ware is a fine specimen 
of manhood, well preserved and vigorous, though the 
silver of time is coming faintly into his hair and beard. 
He is said to have been a remarkably fine field shot in 
his younger days, and this I can well believe, with the 
amendment that he still is such, as I had reason to know 
from my day afield with him. Indeed, all the gentlemen 
of the party were good field shots, the Southern shooter 
understanding quail above all things. But not one of 
them would fire a gun that day, leaving all the shooting 
to be done by the two guests, Dr. Ware and myself. On 
this day we were Dr. Ware, Dr. Taylor, Mr. Benj. Miles, 
Mr. Marmaduke Johnson and myself, and again Miles 
Bennett went along to handle the dogs, which on this 
day were Jack and The Boy; Dr. Ware thus having the 
pleasure of seeing two of the descendants of his favorite 
Gladstone Boy working in the field at the same time, and 
very handsomely too. 
This certainly was shooting at its very best. The day 
was simply faultless, the dogs were in good shape and 
everybody was happy. At least everybody was till we 
got into the shooting, and then I don't see how the others 
could have been absolutely happy to sit in their saddles 
and watch us shoot — and sometimes miss. Both the 
shooters would have been glad to hand over the guns to 
others for a turn; yet no, ours were the only two guns 
brought out from town at all, and the others would have 
it only that we were the actors and they the spectators. 
So they held our horses for us, and marked our birds, and 
carried our dead birds, and brought us shells, and handled 
the dogs for us, and in general treated us as though we 
were foreign dignitaries come down to buy the country. 
And Dr. Ware and myself rode and walked and shot our- 
selves through the loveliest sort of a day. When not 
actually atwork among the birds we rode along with the 
others across the brown fields and under a blue sky which 
had no chilling winds. We visited as we hunted, and the 
whole occasion seemed to me typical of what the higher 
side of sportsmanship can mean. There never was a 
pleasanter or more courteous shooting companion than 
Dr. Ware, and as I stated above, he was a fine shot, and 
therefore all the better company, for he had no excuses 
to make. My one difficulty with him was to make him 
take his turn at the points, and sometimes the only way I 
could get him to take the shot was to tell him he was 
afraid to shoot for fear he would miss I Then he would 
put up the bird and always kill it, much to the pleasure 
of us all. My recollection is that we bagged thirty-three 
birds that day, thanks chiefly to Dr. Ware's steady skill 
alike in open or cover. The birds were big, well fed and 
strong, and cut out plenty of work, always making for 
the thickest cover they could find at the first rise. I do 
not recall just how many bevies we put up, but I should 
think somewhere near a dozen; so it may be seen the 
birds were wary. 
That evening we hurried in before dusk, for it seemed 
that Mrs. Taylor had another of her hospitable surprises 
in store for us. The big Taylor mansion was full of 
guests, who all sat down to an old-time Southern dinner. 
In compliment to the Northerner there was a special dish 
of possum, and it was there I learned that in the South 
the possum de luxe is served whole, with a baked apple in 
his mouth. And again I had reason to marvel at what 
corn bread and sweet potatoes— and a hundred other 
thing3— can become in the hands of a genuine Southern 
cook; which latter, in my opinion, occupies a realm of her 
own in this world, and will have a separate balcony among 
the select saints in the world to come. 
Dr. Ware and Mr. Ben Miles were in fins sfccry-telling 
fettle that night, and our evening in all was the only pos- 
sible climax of so enjoyable a day. We talked of many 
things, and I remember the negro problem came up. To 
this day I carry in mind a remark I heard Mr. Miles make 
once when we were speaking of the race problem. "God 
bless the American negro," said he; "I just love hi"m» 
What would the South be without him! For my part, f 
tell my friends that if the negroes are all going to move 
to Liberia, I'm going too! I am satisfied that life without 
the negro would be a failure!" The real bearing of this 
remark would be plainer to those familiar with Southern 
life and acquainted with the genial personality of Mr. 
Miles. I am afraid if the latter had to do with our city 
darkies he wouldn't want to follow them very far if they 
were about tp be exported. • 
I should have related that an important guest that even* 
ing was Mr. T. A. Divine, of Memphis, whom Dr. Taylor 
fe&t! B§Y£J owti, but whom he had asked to come oyer wtih 
me. Mr. Divine did not arrive in time to join in the 
hunt, but, true to his promise, when we got home we 
found him in the best room in the house talking to Mrs. 
Taylor, and with a baby on each knee, each of whom was 
already calling him "Cousin Tom." The remaining fea- 
tures of Mr. Divine's introduction to Dr. Taylor were very 
simple. There is only one Tom Divine. 
The Third Day. 
On the following morning, very much to the general 
regret, Dr. Ware was obliged to return home. Mr. Divine 
also tried to go back home, but was prevented from doing 
so. He pleaded that he had brought no gun and no shoot- 
ing clothes, but every man in Brownsville off ered him his 
whole outfit, so Mr. Divine was soon equipped and we got 
him into a saddle in spite of his protests about getting 
back to business. On this day our party was made up of 
Dr. Taylor, Mr. Divine, Mr. Benjamin Miles, Dr. T. D. 
Cooper and myself, and yet again Mr. Bennett went with 
us to handle the dogs. This time we had Jack and 
Lemon, the latter being thought fit to go again after a 
day of rest. The old fellow is getting pretty old and stiff, 
and Mr. Chapman dared not ask too much of him; though 
he finished the day in elegant shape and showed himself 
again the grand bird dog. Dogs like Lemon, Jack and 
Joe may be meat dogs, but they are certainly the kind of 
dogs I should prefer to own. To shoot over such dogs, 
Eerfectly broken and perfectly handled, is the privilege of 
ut few Northern men. To make a bird dog you must 
have birds, and in the North there are now few places 
where a dog finds birds enough to learn his trade and 
keep always at it. I do not hesitate to say that the cream 
of American sport as well as of American sportsmanship 
is in the South to-day. 
On this day we made rather, a late start, and at noon 
we had just two birds in our bag, having; put up only one 
bevy, I believe. Mr. Divine was handicapped by his strange 
gun, which did not fit him and which shot too close a 
pattern for a quail gun; so that, though he is a very fine 
field shot, he was at some trouble to get the hang of things 
at first. There was a third gun in the party, but no one 
would use it, so Mr. Divine and I had to keep on at it. At 
length we quit being polite with Mr. Divine, and began 
"roasting" him when he missed, which seemed to agree 
with him. We got out some singles which had scattered 
along a little brushy gully, and Mr. Divine killed one of 
these, an overhead twister, in great shape. At first we 
all burst out into a great chorus of applause — enough to 
ruin any bird dog that ever tried to fathom the meaning 
of a human mind — and all shook hands with Mr. Divine in 
order. That was the end of his troubles, for he had found 
out his gun. I think he killed the next ten straight after 
that, and had no more trouble at all. 
We had a great deal of sport that day, and a great deal 
of fun too. We got into some great bird country, and 
found birds until Mr. Divine and I fairly begged the 
others to get down and do some shooting. Late in the 
evening we got into a great open field of sedge and corn 
nearly a mile square, as grand a shooting place as ever 
lay out of doors. Here we soon had a big bevy scattered 
out in the sedge, and under threats of quitting on the part 
of the active members the third gun was brought into 
action, on this basis, that the man missing his second bird 
must give up the gun and also submit to what is tech- 
nically known as a "bumping." Miles Bennett had been 
having all the work and none of the fun for a long time, 
and we prevailed on him to try a shot or so. He started 
off in hot style, but in a rise where Mr. Divine killed a 
double he missed right and left, and this ended his career. 
He was led to a fence and properly punished. There was 
hesitation among the others as to who should take the 
gun, but Mr. Chapman ventured. His reign was brief 
and inglorious, and not much more could be said for Dr. 
Cooper, who soon found himself receiving the condign 
punishment he had been ready to inflict on others. There 
remained then only Dr. Taylor and Mr. Miles. 
"Gentlemen," said Dr. Taylor, "I have to introduce to 
you the best quail shot in Tennessee, commonly known 
in these parts as Bogardus, on account of his matchless 
skill in wing shooting." Loud cries of "Hear! Hear!" 
and "Bogardus! Bogardus!" greeted this, but Mr. Miles 
was not elated at the reception. 
"No, thank you, gentlemen," said he, "I don't care to 
shoot. Go ahead, go ahead." 
"He never killed more than six quail in a whole day in 
all his life," whispered Dr. Taylor to me. "We'll just 
have some fun with him." So then he bo renewed his 
flattery of "Bogardus," and the rest of us so joined in, 
that at length with great reluctance that worthy con- 
sented to take the gun. There were no birds located just 
at that time, but in less than quarter of an hour we 
marked down a fine bevy in the sedge. At this we heard 
a suppressed groan from our victim, but he kept a good 
face upon it, and at length crawled down off his horse to 
go up to the dogs when they pointed. He made a pre- 
tense of forgetting his shells, but we stopped the proces- 
sion till he got in line, and then the three guns went on 
up to the dogs. About half the bevy went up at once, 
and in such shape that each man had fair shots. The 
best I could claim was a wing-tipped, down far off. Mr. 
Divine only got one of his two. But "Bogardus!" Well, 
"Bogardus" got both of his! 
We walked on in again, and again we got fair shots all 
around. I got nothing, Mr. Divine got nothing. But 
once again "Bogardus" killed his double, and did it in 
excellent time too. The rest of us looked at each other, 
and we felt pretty sick, but we didn't say anything. The 
expression of surprise on Dr. Taylor's face was a study. 
"Ah-h-h!" said Bogardus, drawing a long breath, "this 
reminds me of old times. Now, gentlemen, what say 
you if we follow the scattered birds into the cover along 
the gully?" 
We meekly consented, feeling that our confidence had 
been misplaced. In the edge of the thicket a bird got up 
which I allowed I would kill at a certain point, but before 
I had begun to shoot "Bogardus" smashed the bird down 
with a center charge. 
"Myfavorite shot," Baid he, calmly. "Let us go a little 
further along the thicket." So we scattered out, and 
worked along up the narrow cover which lined a flat and 
marshy little draw. The birds were scattered all through 
this and we put them up constantly. "Bogardus's" gun 
kept up its deadly work. He sbot at every bird, and if 
we didn't kill it he did. The joke at length, became too 
funny, and Dr. Taylor called a halt to allow all hands to 
laugh properly, 
f'gouor bright now, Ben, Mjlee," m\$ be, f %qw 4& 
you happen to do it? You know mighty well you never 
did such shooting in all your life before." 
"Blessed if I know," said Mr. Miles, wiping the sweat 
off his forehead (for he had been working hard). "But I 
do know that I had it all figured out that if I did miss 
my first birds I was going to throw down the gun and 
break for the tall brush in that ravine yonder, and 
then I don't reckon you'd have seen me any more to-day." 
We all had to apologize to Mr. Miles for the joke we 
intended to play on him, and which he really played on 
us. It was a long time before he gave us any peace about 
it afterward. By the time we got done laughing we were 
tired. By this time we thought we must have killed a 
good many birds, and, although it was early, we left our 
scattered birds, called in the dogs and started home. 
"I think we've got enough," said Mr. Divine. "I never 
had a better day's sport in my life." We found we had 
forty-five birds this time, which surely was a great 
plenty, and was crowding close enough for me the limit 
of twenty-five birds a day which I always set on my own 
gun — not that my gun did half the work, nor Mr. Divine's. 
It was the deadly weapon of Bogardus that brought up 
the count so rapidly ! 
So this is how they go quail shooting in Tennessee. 
Can one be blamed for growing enthusiastic over it and 
over the friends who made it possible in such perfection 
for an alien ? Can one be blamed for using the expres- 
sion I found in a letter from an Eastern man to-day: ' I 
never was South but once, and I have never wanted to go 
there again but once — and that was all the time !" 
909 Security Building, Chicago. E. HOUGH. 
STARLING BOXES. 
Editor Forest and Stream: 
Eef erring to recent articles on the European starling, 
and especially to the one of Albert W. Schiele in your 
issue of March 28 on their nest in a hollow branch in Pdl- 
ham Park, would it not be worth while, in order to in- 
duce them to nest, to do as we did, and undoubtedly do 
now, in Saxony, viz. : to erect nest boxes for them? 
These boxes are 6 or 8in. square, 12 t j I5in. high, made 
of slabs with the bark side out, built like a Bhed, with 
sloping roof, the front of the roof projecting 3 or 4in. be- 
yond the box to protect the entrance hole, which is 2^in . 
in diameter, and bored three-fourths of the height of the 
box from the bottom, with a 4in. peg under it for the 
starlings to light upon. A hollow log of suitable size is 
used when handy, with the same kind of a roof. These 
nest boxes are fastened onto a smooth-peeled pole to 
make it difficult for the cats to climb up, and erected in 
the trees so that they are just over tops of the leaves. 
These nest boxes would be occupied for years in succes- 
sion by apparently the same pair of starlings, and woe to 
the intruding sparrow that had taken possession of it 
while the starlings were absent on their winter migration, 
for the starling is not afraid of that pest, the sparrow. 
There were one or two starling boxes in every orchard 
in the outskirts of the towns, and the country village 
orchards were full of them. It was considered a down- 
right sin to kill a starling, and the little speckled black- 
coats knew it too. 
Starlings are great insect eaters, and in their feeding 
and general actions are the counterpart, except in color, 
of our American robins, and, like them, they are fond of 
a cherry or plum or grape, but in consideration of their 
great value as insect destroyers, some ripe fruit is gladly 
granted them. 
After all, why not foster our native robin? C. G. 
WOODLAND BIRD NOTES. 
New Kochelle, N. Y., March 31. — No sooner does the 
snow disappear and the sun shine warm than a flush of 
green overspreads the ground, the trees to bud, and the 
birds to become numerous; so that, in spite of our treach- 
erous weather, we can well believe that 
"Sweet daughter of a rough and stormy aire, 
Hoar winter's blooming child, delightful spring," 
has arrived at last. 
On a fine, springlike day (March 28) I went for a ramble 
and a collecting tour through the woods. I found birds 
very numerous, and was surprised to see insect life begin 
to appear in the shape of butterflies, bees and flies. 
Through the air numerous flocks of birds were flying. 
Among them I could distinguish robins, bluebirds, gold- 
finches, and what is quite rare in this locality, a flock of 
cedar waxwings. 
On every telegraph line I came to was perched a phoebe 
merrily repeating its own name in the sunshine. In a 
certain pine grove I came across I found many fox spar- 
rows and juncos (snowbirds), and was delighted to hear 
their song. The song of the fox sparrow is, as near as 1 
can make out, similar to that of the Baltimore oriole, and 
upon hearing it the first time I thought it was of that 
bird until I found my mistake. We might say that his 
song is like a wild flower, and if it could fall to the ground 
and take root it would probably spring forth as hepaticas 
or something similar. The fox sparrow, which is not only 
the most handsome of the sparrow family, but also the 
best singer, has a peculiar habit of scratching in the 
ground for food, not like a hen, with one foot at a time, 
but with both at once in a funny little spasm. 
To keep the fox sparrow company the junco also sang 
a little, but his song did not compare with the other. It 
was simply a chirping and twittering like the chirping 
sparrow's, but louder and clearer. I have taken particu- 
lar pains to note the songs of these birds, because it is said 
that our migrants and winter residents do not sing until 
they reach their Northern homeB. Perhaps it was the 
fine day that made these birds so far forget themselves as 
to sing before they ought. To cap the climax, I captured 
on my way home a fine male specimen of a pine warbler 
(Dendroica vigorsii), which is said to be a very rare mi- 
grant in this locality, and it is only on very wild parts of 
Long Island where it is a rare summer resident. It ar- 
rives — if it does at all— about April 10, and its taking so 
early in the year, I think, is quite unusual. It is a pity 
that tbepe interesting little specimens cannot find our cli- 
mate mora, convenient to spend their summers than the. 
