FOREST AND STREAM. 
[April 25, 1896. 
tive, impertinent, ubiquitous little scamp, with much the 
same chit-r-r-r as bis Eastern congener, but with in addi- 
tion a funny little squeal of inquiry, or alarm, or anger, 
or all three; and the suddenness with which he disap- 
pears at sbort notice, or ratber no notice, is a perpetual 
source of wonder and amusement to me, and I never lose 
opportunity for enjoyable entertainment in permitting 
' him to approach quite close as I sit or stand motionless, 
and then suddenly jumping see him just simply vanish. 
He never lacks a place to disappear instanter, and the 
completeness with which he does it beats any lightning 
transformation that ever was and is just "too funny for 
anything," He just scatters. See him as he mounts the 
log on one end of which you sit. "Heyo!" he says, 
"what's this? Never saw that thing before." And then 
he begins to squeal and approach cautiously. He isn't 
coming too fast. Every time he utters his little short 
squeal he jumps jerkily forward or straight up and down, 
and every time he jumps he jerks his tail. Littje by little 
he approaches, with his hindlegs stretched backward to 
the fullest extent, a sort of drag on hiB front legs, lest they 
carry him too far into danger. Every now and then 
panic seizes him, and he whirls a few feet rearward with 
redoubled squeals and begins over again. Oh, how curi- 
ous he is. He'd give his last fir cone to know what that 
monstrosity is up there, and he is just about scared to 
death over it at the same time, and be is mad all over at 
himself and the monster into the bargain. How bright 
his eyes are, and the tips of his ears almost touch each 
other, which adds to the intensity of the qui vive, while 
the whole of his little frame quivers witn excitement. 
Now, when he is within 6 or 8ft., make a sudden motion, 
and where is he? Vacancy has swallowed him, and 
before you have fairly determined which side of the log 
he vanished at, up pops bis head, and he ppits out that 
squeal again, intensified by rage and baffled curiosity. 
He is a very funny fellow. At times he is the wariest of 
squirrels, and at others I have walked very slowly and 
cautiously within full view of him as he sat on a log eat- 
ing to within 8ft. of him, and watched him for minutes 
with great pleasure. True, before I had got so close he 
had backed off once or twice, but he returned and re- 
sumed his meal. It is interesting to watch him cutting 
off cones from the trees and dropping them to the 
ground. He does not eat his meals in the trees, but cuts 
quantities at a time, and descending eats them at his lei- 
sure, taking them to some favorite stump or logr, where 
* piles of hulls show what an appetite he has. When he 
gets fairly engaged in cutting cones, the energy and at- 
tention to business he shows, and rapidity with which he 
gets around the top of the tree, fairly raining down 
cones, is very entertaining. 
It is not to be wondered at that he cuts quantities at a 
time. He shows excellent judgment, for it is a good 
ways to the top of one of these firs, and he can't afford to 
make the trip more than once or twice a month. He is 
not quite as long bodied as his Eastern cousin, his tail is 
not as long, and his coat is darker; but in his mental and 
moral make- up he is very closely related. There goes 
one now across the creek on that log jam, just flying, and 
— oho! here's another mink track coming out of this same 
jam and meandering along the stream side, sometimes in 
the snow and again in the edge of the water. He's tak- 
ing it leisurely here, pottering along in and out, crawling 
under logs and brush, and here and there giving me the 
slip by wading in the water. Now I wonder what's 
started him, for he is on the keen jump, going across 
stream on this log with big leaps, but never a slip. I'd 
not like to risk it at such a pace. But there's no hurry. 
The track won't run away, and I'll — Wait a minute. 
(That's just what I will.) What'B tuning up here along 
the creek so early in the season ? The song of the brook 
partly drowns the other, and I can't just locate it for a 
moment, but now — Well, if I ever! I never did. There 
on a stick of drift that has lodged in midstream, where 
the rapids are running swiftly and noisily, just washing 
the upper side of the stick, stands a water ousel with his 
toes in the water trying to outsing the stream in the most 
delightful duet that ever entranced the woodland; but he 
can't succeed; more's the pity, and some of the lower, 
sweeter notes are lost to my ear. Oh, the little darling! 
Did anything ever equal that entertainment amid such 
surroundings ? Many times have I seen him on different 
streams, always stopping to watch and admire him, for 
there's no bird that so winsomely appeals to me as this 
bonny, soncy sprite of air and water. But though I have 
often heard his chirpy greeting, never before have I 
known that he possessed the power of song, or listened to 
his delicious melodies. It is a revelation that is as sweet 
and enjoyable as is possible to imagine. Gun ? What ? 
Can't hunt without a gun? Why, a gun would be as 
much out of place here as a battery of artillery in the 
presence of the angelic choir. 
Sing away, sweet birdie! May no murderous hawk or 
owl with deadly claw and beak ever spy you out. May 
no prowling ornithologist with wicked gun ever take the 
trail that intersects yours, but may you live always to 
charm the nymphs and sprites of woods and waters, and 
all people who delight in contemplation of such a blithe- 
some creation that is "a thing of beauty and a joy for- 
ever." 
But I wonder where our mink has gone. We'll go and 
see. Softly across this barkless slippery cedar log now, 
for we are not as sure-footed as the mink, and a souse 
into that chilly water wouldn't be relished. But hold on 
a minute. See that trout in the deep pool below you; 
isn't he a beauty? A foot long, if an inch. And there's 
another and another, smaller, to be sure, but just as 
pretty. Rainbows they are, playing slowly about, with 
here and there young salmon of 8 or 10in. keeping them 
company. They'll keep though until April, unless pome 
darting mink fastens on them with his sharp teeth. Let 
us hope to have his pelt stretching before he does it. To 
that end let us follow his track again. Here he jumps off 
the log and pokes about some stranded drift; tben wan- 
ders up the shore and disappears in a dense tangle of 
treetop, vine -maple, briers and devil's walking-stick, 
which is too much for us; so we'll circum-walk it, only to 
find the track mounting a log that slants downward, 
hanging over a pool about 6in. above it. Minkie has 
clearly taken water here, near which is a big upturned 
root in the edge of the stream, and, though we search 
each border up and down, his track is nowhere to be 
found. So we are at the end of our string once more. 
But there are two mink in the stream at all events, and 
in? v get into a trap one of these days. 
Quite a detour fails to unmask any cat tracks. He has 
evidently gone to other foraging grounds for his rabbit, 
and as he is a great roamer it's of small use to search for 
him. I don't think we'll go homeward the way we came 
— too brushy. The trail's just outside on the old logging 
road, where twenty years and more ago there was a 
dense wilderness here, and loggers denuded the forests of 
the huger trees without notification to Uncle Sam. The 
land wasn't surveyed, and he was too far off anyway. 
Branch skidways run all about to accessible points, the 
logs rotted wholly or rotting in their beds, and the roads 
almost or quite obliterated by rank growth of maple, fir, 
cedar or alder — for growth is rapid in this damp climate 
— and a few years suffice to blot out evidences of man's 
devastation, save where the huge stumps stand, almost 
indestructible, the holes in which, for the chopping 
boards, still remain; and one can still see in fancy the 
stalwart woodsman 6 or 8ft. from the ground, one on 
each side the tree, wielding the axe or huge crosscut saw 
from their perches as bp curely and effectively as though 
they were, with their Eastern brother "fallers," on terra 
firma. 
See this dainty little track here crossing the trail? It 
emerges from beneath one end of a rotten log, and disap- 
pears beneath part of the same log on the other side, and 
is made by the deermouse or kangaroo mouse, the latter 
name being most appropriate. He is a beautiful little 
fellow, with very long hindlegs and short fore, like his 
namesake, and can jump surprisingly for such a wee 
beast. There is a rabbit or hare track leading off into the 
thicket, the big furry feet making as large atrack or larger 
than a fox's: but he is welcome to his tracks — we don't want 
them, and don't begrudge the cat any satisfaction he can 
get out of the other puss ; for the latter is very poor prov- 
ender for "we all," and the disproportion between size 
and length of legs is laughable. He is a very poor substi- 
tute for the fat little cottontail of the East, but I don't 
know that it's his fault, for his rations are restricted, He 
can't line hiB ribs with sai-lal brush and such trash. 
But what is that note that comes "winding o'er the 
lea," as it were? What sound is it that Bwells and dies 
away upon the ambient air? Why doth it cause the 
inner man to leap in response, and the weary feet to 
quicken with new strength ? 
It is the horn, the joyous horn, the winding horn of tin, 
Which gude wife puts unto her lips, to call the hungry in, 
or something like that. Hurry up or we'll be late. 
Washington, March. O. O. S. 
Since writing the above I have secured the lovely nest 
of an ousel, which I accidentally spied on the almost per- 
pendicular face of a rock wall alongside a 30ft. fall of 
water, where the flying drops and spray almost curtained 
the mossy home of the little darling, which it was then 
engaged in building, or I should not have taken it. It 
was about as large as a half peck measure, and so placed 
that the entrance was overhung by a hood to shield it, 
and is a thing of beauty and a curiosity, I assure you, 
built entirely of moss excepting the nest lining. 
HOW BUZZARDS SAIL AND PUZZLE US. 
O. H. Hampton's query about the sailing flight of birds 
doubtless will bring to you a barrel of letters from scien- 
tists telling all about it in scientific language, but I ven- 
ture to try my hand at it in plain, matter-of-fact English, 
and hope that it will be clear, though unscientific. 
To begin with an object lesson: I've forgotten if O, H. 
H. lives in Chicago or California, but will ask him to 
climb up a fourteen-story block or shin up a big tree, 
whichever is most convenient, taking with him a big um- 
brella and the baby, or in default of the latter, the family 
cat. Let him tie the two together and drop them over- 
board, and if the umbrella is strong he will be agreeahly 
surprised by the safe arrival on earth of the whole outfit, 
if the parachute is spread open when launched, and the 
baby is tied to the handle and not to the point. The 
curved pinion of the umbrella will so deaden the descent 
that it will gravitate earthward but slowly, compared to 
more compact things, 
Next, let him take a kite, a good big one, and send it 
skyward some breezy day. That kite weighs some- 
thing. Gravitation works against it all the time. Yet 
it goes upward and even against the wind within certain 
string limits! 
Next, take a buzzard — theoretically, that is. For san- 
itary reasons personal handling is not advised. He is half 
a mile up. The wind you may be dead sure is blowing, 
for it always is blowing at some altitude, whatever it may 
be doing nearer to or further from the earth. 
Buzzy's wings are spread and curved, umbrella-like. It 
doesn't annihilate his gravity, but it does reduce his down- 
ward speed. The wind approaches. He lifts his neck, 
and, as though hung on gimbals, tilts his body slightly. 
What is left of his weight acts like the tension of the kite 
string. The wind, striking his upturned expanse, sweeps 
under him. The weight pulls down. The wind pushes 
up. The bird moves onward fast or slow, according to 
the strength of the wind or his own wishes. If weight 
and wind are balanced just right buzzy stays stationary. 
If wind is the stronger, the bird as he moves for ward aleo 
ascends. In his lifetime of practice he knows perfectly 
how to adjust his weight and angle to the wind so as to 
do what he wishes with it. For example, compare the 
perfectly involuntary balancing of a bicyclist on his 
wheel, which seems so unstable a thing, yet is so reli- 
ably upright under trained guidance. It is all a matter 
of balance. Buzzy rides "hands off," tilted forward or 
backward according to the need of the moment, flat- 
tening his wings in a gust, curving them hollow in a 
lull. 
Seems to me O. H. H. lives in Florida or some such 
place, where big trees and houses are not. Well, let him 
take a cypress shingle, weight one edge of it slightly, bore 
a hole in it near the middle, reeve a string — a fishline — 
through it and heave it into the water. Then let him 
walk along the bank pulling at the string, and observe. 
The weight of the buzzard is represented by his pulling 
on the cord. Let him walk up stream, or against the tide. 
The rush of the water represents the wind. If the angle 
of string an d shingle are right he will see it has a tendency 
to shoot outward and away from him as he goes on. In 
other words, he has transferred the buzzard's problem 
from the perpendicular to the horizontal. If he pulls 
harder than the water (gravitation represented), shingle 
comes in. If tide pulls harder (wind represented), shingle 
goes out. If the pulling force was not fastened to the 
bank, shingle would keep on going out indefintiely till it 
struck the other shore. O. H. H., isn't this clear as Mis- 
sissippi mud? J. P. T. 
ABOUT SERPENT NATURE. 
Shasta Mountains, California.— According to time- 
honored records, it is early in the season to offer stories 
about snakes. Truths about snakes, however, when they 
may be additions to natural history, should be always in 
season. I admit being so ordinarily human that 1 have 
always been adverse to almost all snakes I have neglect- 
ed few opportunities of bruising the heads of such ser- 
pents as have come under my immediate notice. Instinct- 
ively I hate snakes, and (in the tone of Shylock) "Hates 
any man the thing he would kill?" * * * "Wouldst 
have a serpent sting thee twice?" 
Not to rely entirely upon the inclination of "instinct" 
(for I believe that even our instincts may be, to a great 
extpnt, formed by education and circumstances), I have, I 
fear, confirmed my hatred of snakes by a fair share of 
observation and reason. I hate the appearance of snakes, 
I loathe their habits, and they are the only things in a nat- 
ural wilderness that I have dreaded and feared. In the 
scheme of nature they may perform functions of which I 
am ignorant; I know some of them catch mice, gophers 
and other rodents; a lover of nature may learn to consider 
some snakes beautiful; they were endowed with life by 
the Creator. 
But may hot the gophers, mice and rodents upon which 
they prey be more important to the natural good of the 
world than the snakes? Is there any creature that man 
may not learn to admire, to love and protect? We cannot 
exist a day without interfering with some natural con- 
dition. If we have a salad for dinner we may consume 
whole colonies of creatures that would otherwise have 
fulfilled some part in the great natural plan. 
But let me get a little closer to these snakes. From the 
great boas in South American or African jungles, ay, 
from the very serpent in the Garden of Eden who played 
such an important part in our earliest annals, to the musi- 
cal rattler of our prairies and mountains, and the veno- 
mous moccasin, asp or adder, even to the little garden or 
garter snake, can anything more to their credit be said 
than I have written? They have had time enough since 
the serpent's interview with Eve to have manifested their 
beBt traits. No, they have always been serpents. They 
seek the most harmless and defenseless creatures for their 
prey. With loathsome stealth they still Blide through 
grass and foliage, underneath flowers and fruits, noiseless 
grovelers, notorious for deceit and cunning, knowing no 
fairness, mercy or pity. 
They drop from their screens upon defenseless creatures, 
taken by surprise, and strangle or crush them in their 
slimy coils; endowed with poison, they lie in the pleaBant- 
est places and under the fairest flowers, venomous and 
deadly, waiting for a chance to sting or strike. Cowards 
they are, always ready to flee or bide, and only seeking 
harmless or unwary victims. The most insignificant and 
harmless of the serpent tribe is but a robber of the nests 
of small birds, the murderer of fledgelings or lizards. If 
he is supposed to benefit man by destroying gophers or 
mice, or frogs and fish, he does even this in the most 
loathsome and cowardly manner; penning his victims in a 
hole in the ground or taking the young, in their nests, he 
swallows them alive. 
I do not wish to destroy anything needlessly, and will 
not take the life of any creature merely to see it die. In- 
deed I have not found it in my heart to kill all snakes. If 
I kill one that is not venomous I do so conscientiously — 
and not for merely selfish reasons. If I kill a mole or a 
gopher for destruction in my garden, I do it reluctantly, 
and usually find some use for the little carcass by feeding 
it to the cat or the poultry. But there are sins of omis- 
sion as well as commission. If I find a snake swallowing 
a nest of fledgeling birds am I humane to pass by uncon- 
cerned? Ransacker. 
Migration of Humming Birds. 
Editor Forest and Stream: 
I would like to ask if any of the Forest and Stream 
readers know anything about the migratory habits of the 
humming birds. I do not remember having seen in a list 
of birds killed by flying against exposed lights the hum- 
ming bird's name, which leads me to believe that they do 
not fly at night. Do they fly in large or small flocks, 
alone or in pairs? Raymond S. Spears. 
Brooklyn, N. Y. 
[Nothing very definite or detailed is known, we fancy, 
about the migration of the hummers. They go and they 
come. We are under the impression that migration takes 
place for the most part during the daytime, because the 
little fellows consume so much time in passing from our 
southern border to the latitude of New York. It is nearly 
six weeks from the time they enter the United States 
until they reach their northern homes. Again in the far 
West we have seen regular flights of various species of 
hummers passing up the canons and along the mountain 
Bides, which were evidently composed of migrating bands 
and not merely groups in search of food. It is stated (but 
we do not know with how much truth) that in the Missis- 
sippi Valley the hummers appear in localities with the 
opening of the buckeye flowers. At Sing Sing and in 
southern Connecticut people look for them when the 
cherry blooms are in their prime.] 
Stinging Snake. 
Jennings, Calcasieu Parish, La., April 9. — Editor Forest 
and Stream: I inclose you the extreme tip of tail of the 
so-called Btinging snake, concerning the existence of 
which thera was some controversy a year or two since in 
the columns of your paper. 
I killed the reptile from which this member was takeD 
while out with a bunting party of residents to-day on the 
prairie near this place. The specimen was about 5 ft. 
long, of black color on the upper portion of body, with 
red cross-bars underneath extending about halfway 
up the sides. When attacked the snake lashed out 
savagely with its tail, thrashing that member forward to- 
ward the head — a peculiar action or movement I have 
never before observed in any of the family here or else- 
where. 
In killing it the head was so mutilated by shot that I 
