Feb. 9, 1895. 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
103 
minutes, when the westerly limb of the sun began to ap- 
pear again, and well do I remember "how glad I was that 
the sun was going to shine again, as all around were feel- 
ing so chilly. A cold summer followed, and no corn was 
raised in Maine. I have been thus particular in describ- 
ing this eclipse, as no one now living will ever experience 
the dread and terror that filled the hearts of their ances- 
tors in their ignorance of the cause of this phenomena. 
About this time it seems important that I should say 
something of my father's family, as there was something 
singular about it. My father's name was Stephen, he 
lived to be eighty-six years old; my mother's name was 
Mercy, she lived to be seventy-eight years old. They had 
twelve children, eleven of whom, nine boys and two girls, 
grew to be men and women. Eight of these nine boys 
were producer) at four births; their names were Joshua 
and John, George and Stephen, Paul and Silas, Samuel 
and Eli. Eli died in infancy. The single ones were 
James, Miriam, and Benjamin, and Eebecca. Eebecca, 
the youngest of the family, died at the age of seventeen 
years; the next that died was James at the age of fifty; 
the next was Stephen at the age of thirty-six— mate to 
George — the next was Paul — mate to Silas — called the 
seventh son, who, it was said, performed many cures by 
the laying on of hands, and many medicines of his own 
invention: the next was Silas — mate to Paul— who was a 
medical doctor. "While attending cholera patients in the 
city of Miamisburg, O., he took the cholera himself, and 
died in twelve hours, at the age of fifty years; the next 
was Joshua— mate to John — who was the first of the boys 
who went to Ohio in 1810, a mechanic by trade. He 
afterward joined the Mormons, went to Nauvoo, and 
there died, aged about fifty; the next was John — mate to 
Joshua — a mechanic also, who went to Ohio, but returned 
again to Maine, and in about a year after the dea.th of his 
wife and three children, died at the age of fifty-eight. 
The remainder of the family now alive, are: Miriam, now 
in her eighty-eighth year, a widow of indomitable will, 
who may outlive all the rest of the family. She has no 
children. The other two, are George and Benjamin. 
Benjamin is an architect, seventy-eight years old. He 
has had three wives, and is now a widower with three 
children, two boys and one girl. His sons are likely men, 
living in the State of Michigan. George is also a me- 
chanic, but has carried on a farm thirty years in the 
town of Freedom, county of Waldo, State of Maine. He 
is now eighty-one years old, being born Aug. 30, 1791, and 
was married March 28, 1821, to Mehitable Clifford, who 
was born in the year 1792, in the town of Candia, State 
of New Hampshire. Six children, four boys and two 
girls, compose our family; they are Amelia, Francis, 
George Warren, David "Clifford, Ben. Franklin, and 
Nancy Cordelia. 
[TO BE CONTINUED.] 
DOWN IN THE MARSH. 
The time is about October 20, 1894 ; the scene the 
Mississippi valley. A wild rice lake surrounded by 
smaller lakes with strips of timber between, the Wis- 
consin bluffs on one side and the Minnesota's on the 
other. Look sharp, and on a point extending out into 
the larger lake you will see two brown specks ; you may 
see them and you may not, for they are as near the 
color of their surrounidngs as it is possible to be ; and it 
is getting dusk. The strip of golden light that fringes 
the tops of the Minnesota bluffs is fast growing dim. 
But as we look a streak of fire darts forth, accompanied 
by the sharp crack of the nitro and the dull thud of a 
falling mallard tells the whole story. Now, dear 
reader, suppose the two brown objects above referred to 
are you and I; the reeds and rushes around about us are 
beginning to crackle, indicating the change from sun- 
shine and warmth to that of dampness and frost ; a few 
mallards are still coming in, but it's getting too dark to 
shoot with any degree of certainty and we let them drop 
into the wild rice, which they do with a contented, 
quack, safe at least for one night from the bombarding 
which has been going on all along the line. And we 
are glad of it, for we belong to the army of protection- 
ists which are fast growing. We are not pot hunters, 
and never sell any game ; and as we have enough ducks 
for our own use and a few for friends let us shoulder 
them and go to camp, which is about half a mile away 
over in the timber, beautifully situated on the bank of 
the little Zurnbro river, a stream that for its size has 
yielded a wonderful amount of fur, fin and feather in 
years gone by. Our tent is a 12x18 wall with fly, inside, 
of which are nearly all the comforts of home — a mighy 
good place to go to about this time of day or night. 
As you are a stranger in these parts, I'll lead the way, 
for if you don't know the way out here you never would 
find our camp to-night except by accident. Of all places 
to get lost, a wild rice marsh in a dark night is the 
worst. I have been there and know whereof I speak. 
But look at the old dog as he stands there on the trail, 
wagging his tail and looking back at us, he knows it's 
time to go to camp, and if yon were to follow him he 
would take you there by the. shortest route. He did 
that very thing by me one night in a snow storni when 
I could see no trail and scarcely anything else. Now I 
am particularly anxious to get back to camp to-night, 
for there on a box at the head of my bed lie the two last 
numbers of Forest and Stream which were sent to me 
to camp to-day, one of which contains the soap story 
from the ' ' Man from Corpus Christi. • ' 
"A merrier man within the limits of becoming mirth 
I never spent an hour's talk withal."' 
And an hour later finds me reading that soap episode 
aloud to the boys, one of whom rolls out under the tent 
into the Zurnbro, and another, a late comer in, just- 
eating his supper, nearly chokes to death, and the dogs 
are barking and it seems as though pandemonium has 
broken loose generally when a head is thrust through 
the opening of the teut and a voice inquires: "What's 
the matter here, you fellows all going crazy ? ' ' 
' '.Well, pretty near i t-, ' ' said I as I recognized a neigh- 
bor* who was camped with some friends nearby. ' You 
just take this over to your camp and read it to the 
boys, ' ' and I hauded him Forest and Stream containing 
the ' ' Soap Story. ' ' He did so, and a little later, as we 
were tucking ourselves in our blankets, we could hear, 
amid the rain drops that were just beginning to patter 
on the tent, a sound of boisterous laughter pealing up 
through the woods from the camp below. 
Minnesota. WAPAHAaA. 
A TALK ABOUT PHEASANTS. 
Pheasants have attained such popularity throughout 
the country, and I receive so many letters requesting 
information on various points concerning their habits, 
that I have not the time to answer each in full. I am 
therefore going to i"equest the medium of your columns 
and give a few words of advice which may be of some 
use to amateurs of these birds. 
1 For instance, I am often asked if they are polygamous 
or monogamous; they are most decidedly the former, 
having just the same proclivities in this respect as the 
barn yard fowl, to which they are distantly related. 
In the breeding season each cock will collect a harem 
round him, by cajoling sundry hens, and depriving 
weaker brethren of their lady loves. In their company 
he will strut in burnished plumage through the glades 
in springtime, but his roving eye will ever be on the 
watch for newcomers. Should he meet another bevy of 
beauty in charge of their lord, the two males will do 
battle at once, whilst ' ' bright eyes behold their deeds, ' ' 
and at its close the vanquished will leave to his oppo- 
nent all the sweets that the victory can afford. 
Again, many persons, knowing how pheasants love 
the shade, think that these birds will inhabit the 
recesse? of large forests. It is true that the pheasant is 
essentially a woodland bird, desiring the harborage that 
wooded country affords. However, they never wander 
far into a large- forest, though roosting among the 
branches at night, and sheltering themselves therein 
during the noontide heat of summer. But it is over the 
adjacent fields that they wander morning and evening 
m search of food. They are a woodland bird, in that 
they spend much of their life within its borders, but 
the open fields are their feeding grounds, and where 
they cannot obtain an abundance of "meat and drink" 
handy they will never make an abiding place. 
I continually am asked if pheasants can stand the cold 
of the Northern States. Well, they are a success in 
Nova Scotia, and I think that is sufficient recommenda- 
tion to calm all fears in this respect. I have stocked 
one of the largest preserves in Vermont, whence I 
receive yearly most excellent accounts of the shooting 
enjoyed there. I have 1,000 birds now in front of my 
window, in the deep snow, protected solely by a few 
leafless apple trees and heaps of brush. In addition, my 
land lies on an exposed ridge. No, I do not dread the 
winter's cold at all for them, and the birds never look 
so handsome as when displaying their glossy feathers 
against the snow. During the first year that I kept 
these birds here, I had perhaps a half dozen slightly 
frost bitten, but now they are proof against any attacks 
of Jack Frost. . 
Let me urge that every game preserve should be sys- 
tematically ridded of its vermin, winged and furred. 
The pheasant, after its second month, always slumbers 
on a branch oat of harm's way, and therefore is not 
such an easy prey to their foes as quail and other game 
that roost on the ground. But during their early 
infancy they are defenceless against snakes, minks, 
weasels, hawks, and all such depredators. Trap all 
ditches, culvers, hedges, stonewalls and streams unceas- 
ingly, especially during the winter. Such labor will be 
found to be amply repaid when the bag is counted up 
in the autumn. I heard that at Tuxedo Park, owing to 
the persistent trapping by their late gamekeeper, the 
head of partridges had wonderfully increased. 
So many persons insist on having the pure Chinese 
pheasant (Phasianus torquatus) in preference to any 
other that I must reiterate my words of caution about 
these birds. In no country where pheasant shooting has 
assumed the rank of a national pastime have the Chinese 
variety been permitted to usurp the place of the dark 
necked English pheasant (Phasianus calchicus). In 
England the cross between these two breeds, termed the 
English ring-necked pheasant, is very common, but 
even there many of the best sportsmen have eliminated 
all trace of the Chinese bird from their coverts. On the 
Continent, in most places the dark-necked bird is alone 
known. Every authority agrees in condemning the 
pure Chinese pheasant. It is a tremendous wanderer, 
here to-day and there to-morrow. This evil propensity 
does not belong to the English bird, and even in the 
cross is not so conspicuous. This half-breed is as fertile 
and hardy as the pure Chinese, but larger and less of a 
tramp. I believe that the pure English pheasant would 
flourish here, but as it is said to be less strong than the 
Chinese I do not advise the propagation of the former 
as much as I denounce that of the latter. In a word, 
the English ring-necked pheasant is the kind to rear 
throughout the length and breadth of the States for 
sporting purposes, as it combines all the best qualities 
of both parents and discards their drawbacks. 
As regards the size of the Chinese pheasant, I do not 
find that specimens I have seen from Oregon compare 
with those I have here, and I imported myself. Per- 
haps I may be thought to view them with a prejudiced 
eye, but I have heard others make the same remark. I 
fancy that years of careful rearing and selection of stock 
and abundant feeding have originated a finer strain than 
the wild bird. I cannot say I have had a very large 
number from Oregon to compare with mine 1|f but the 
opinions of several people I have consulted coincides 
with my own. Roughly, I should say that the average 
weight of the pure English pheasant was nearly a pound 
more than that of the pure Chinese, the cross between 
the two approaching nearer to the former in this 
respect. The Chinese pheasant is a great runner - , he 
gets over the country with his legs, not his wings, and 
does not care to fly till forced to. I own that he may 
rise quicker than the heavier built English bird, but 
who shoots a pheasant till well on the wing except boys 
and pot hunters? The English pheasant lies far better 
to a dog and will not commence his leg work till he 
has been flushed and flown his bolt. 
Another point I am often asked is, if the eggs will 
deteriorate in fertility during a long jonrney. This just 
depends on the way they are packed. I have sent eggs 
on a four days' jaunt that hatched out better than some 
bought by the same personronly twenty miles away. 
And the same with birds. Experience in dispatching 
and such matters renders disappointment at the other 
end almost unknown, except when the treatment on the 
road has been brutal or lengthy delays have caused the 
utmost precautions to "gang agley. " Where eggs 
have not given a proper return I have seldom found it 
attributable to aught else but carelessness on the part of 
the purchaser. This subject is too long to enter on now, 
but I will just give these few words of advice ; 
Alwasy have the sitting hens waiting for the eggs, 
not vice versa. 
Give the eggs a day's rest after unpacking them. 
Never place the hen on. them till she is quite firm on 
her nest, and never in the daytime. 
Keep the eggs clean, the nest airy and the hen quiet. 
Verb. sap. These are the fundamental truths which 
every hen wife knows, and many pheasant rearers 
ignore. After the sale of many thousands of eggs dur- 
ing the season, I generally get one or two letters of com- 
plaint, but on investigating the source of such discontent 
I always find it attriubtable to the neglect of the above 
sine qua nons. When I have letters to prove that from 
eggs I have sold such results are frequent as 95 birds out 
of 100 eggs, 289 out of 300, 450 out of 500, and 800 out 
of 1,000, I feel I know whereof I am speaking. Another 
word of warning : Many people buy eggs late in the 
season, when they are cheapest, and thereby think that 
they are creating a saving. It is the dearest possible 
plan. As the season advances the cocks lose their vigor, 
the hens lack shell forming material, and the young 
birds are far harder to rear. Skill and experience can 
in some degree counteract such difficulties, but they 1 
exist all the same. 
Another question frequently put to me is, What is the 
right kind of pheasant to cross with the game fowl. 
My reply always is, "Don't. " A pheasant and a game 
fowl are each noble birds ; the sterile hybrid loses the 
best features of each, a bad game bird, a worthless fowl. 
I heard of a man once in Scotland whose fancy ran on 
this mixture, but his name never gained celebrity, and 
I expect his craze is spent long years ago, as well as his 
money. Pheasants are lovely fighters in the breeding 
season, so are tomcats ; but neither of them are of use 
at the stud to progagate nondescripts inheriting their 
pugnacity. A pheasant, a game fowl and a cat are 
most excellent each in their way ; so leave well enough 
alone. The only kinds of pheasants that will breed 
with the game*fowl are the English, the Chinese and 
the Japanese T( Phasianus versicolor), which are very 
closely related to each other, and are distantly con- 
nected, with the game fowl through the jungle cock, 
which is said to be the primeval ancestor of the world- 
wide barnyard rooster. 
With your permission, I will return to the discussion 
of these birds again shortly, and hope that mean- 
while others may recount their experience with the 
Phasianidae. Yebneb de Guise. 
Mahwah, N. J. 
A SPARROW TRAGEDY. 
A tragedy in bird-life came under our observation last 
spring in which the punishment most certainly did "fit 
the crime," and no particle of sympathy stirred our 
breast for the victim. It happened in this way: 
A bird-box had been put up at the end of a grape arbor 
for the express accommodation of a pair of house wrens, 
who visitpd the garden every May. For three or four 
weeks previous to the coming of the wrens the quarrel- 
some English sparrows had fought among themselves 
time and time again for the possession of the bird-box. 
But no matter who was the victor, he was unable to 
utilize his hard won prize, for with a wisdom born of ex- 
perience, we had made the entrance to the box so small 
that the broad-shouldered foreigners could not get in. At 
last the clay came when the wrens arrived from their 
southern home, and light glad we were to hear again 
their joyous little song and to watch their lively antics. 
They were exceedingly sociable and seemed to know 
no fear; one would hop up to the kitchen door and 
perched on the edge of the step, look in, flirt his short tail 
and chatter away as if to say: "I'm, not afraid, you're 
big and smart, but you can't catch me!" And how they 
would scold when "Topsy," the old black cat, would get 
up from her nap in the wood-shed and slowly walk up the 
garden-path. After£niany animated discussions and 
several examinations of the bird-box, both inside and 
out, it was deemed satisfactory by the pair and building 
operations begun; or rather we should say the furnishing 
of the house was begun. It was interesting to watch the 
tiny feathered home-makers. One would fly up to the 
little round hole with a long stick in his bill, held in the 
center. Of course, he could not enter with it in that posi- 
tion — at right angles tortus body — so carefully working it 
along in Ms bill until 'he could hold it by the end, he 
would dive in, pulling at in with him. At other times 
his mate would meet him at the door and relieve him of 
his burden, arranging it indoors to suit her own fancy. 
This peaceful state of affairs did not last long, for one 
of the "rats of the air," as a writer has very aptly dubbed 
the English sparrows, discovered the wrens at work, and 
with a wild war-whoop fell upon them. They in em- 
phatic language told the sparrow to attend to his own 
affairs, but he continued his attacks until the wrens, tor- 
mented, beyond endurance, turned on him, gave him a 
good thrashing, and compelled him to fly for his life. 
Maddened by his defeat, in less time than it takes to write 
it the burly fighter returned to the scene with a dozen 
"hoodlums" like himself. Outnumbered now, the wrens 
were forced to retire from their half-completed home, 
taking refuge in a pea-patch in the garden. 
The sparrow mob, after yelling themselves hoarse over 
their victory, seemed determined that they would get 
inside the wrens' home this time, and to that end the 
leader made a dash at the little door. Unable to force 
himself in further than his shoulders, he attempted to 
back out. And now were the wrens avenged! In some 
way the sparrow's bead became wedged fast in the tiny 
door, and there he was, a prisoner. Alarmed by his wild 
struggles for freedom, his one-time friends flew off and 
left him to his fate. Ready to aid him in his lawless at- 
tack on the innocent wrens they desert him as soon as he 
gets into trouble himself. 
"Whether be died of remorse, or chagrin, or starvation, 
