May 27, 1S99.I 
Migrations at New Orleans. 
In the previous account in Forest and Stream of 
April 29, of the migrations here this spring, it was stated 
that on April 20 the weath-er was very summery, and that 
unless there should be rain and a spell of brisk weather 
there would be no visible evidence at least of any further 
migration. 
But there is no depending on the birds; one begins 
to think there is no use predicating an3rthing definite about 
them. The rain did come, it is true, but on this occasion 
the birds came before the rain. The A^ery day the other 
notes were mailed, the open meadows of Audubon Park 
were lively with the ditties of the black-throated bunting. 
This species had not been present since 1895, the cause 
of its absence being unknown to me; by April 22 the 
birds became as abundant as they were at any time. On 
the ^oth the barn swallows were really abundant for the 
first time. Another cuckoo was heard, and humming- 
birds abounded. The rain came that evening. The next 
day broke in a heavy rainstorm, and though the storm 
ended in the forenoon, the sky remained cloudy, and 
there was a good shower before sunset. The new tender 
foliage of the oaks, hackberries and pecan trees, on the 
retired and suburban streets near Audubon Park being 
now freshened by one of our typical warm, soaking spring 
rains, and being insect laden, doubtless attracted many 
birds. The last m3rrtle warbler in full plumage and sing- 
ing in a desultory way, as these late migrants usually do, 
was noted. (The date of departure of the last myrtle 
warbler here is unusuallj^ regular ; for former years it 
has been as follows : 1894, April 21 ; 1895, April 22 ; 
1896, April 15; 1897. April 27; 1898, April 21. It will be 
seen from this that with the record for this year the date 
of departure has been April 21, three times; these notes 
are the joint records of Mr. Andrew Allison and myself.) 
Worm-eating warblers were found rather commonly, 
moving about briskly and not often giving one a chance 
to see them well. This warbler is an uncommon one 
ordinarily about New Orleans. A flock of waxwings was 
observed the same day. 
April 22. — More worm-eating warblers; one olive- 
backed thrush; yellow-billed cuckoos common. 
The morning was stormy looking, but a brisk wind swept 
all traces of clouds away by noon; there was a sparkle 
and brightness in the air, and the wind was fresh but 
soft, coming from the south. 
April 23. — The "most perfect" day of the season; sky 
dazzlingly bright, and air fresh and limpid. In a grove 
of young willows, blackberries and locusts, some rare 
transient birds were seen; the Blackburnian warbler and 
a pair of the blue-winged ji-ellow warblers, also a transient 
of the yellow warbler. The last white-throated .sparrow 
was seen. 
We seemed to be enjoying a "second spring" at this 
time, but it was as ephemeral as it was delightful, and 
the next day ended this respite from our early summer. 
From April 25 to May 7 or 8 there were grov/ing indica- 
tions of summer conditions, and the summer seemed 
fairly installed by the last of these dates. 
Strange to say, however, no grasshopper sparrows were 
noted before May 9, when one was heard singing; this 
bird is ordinarily common in Audubon- Park after the 
first week in April. 
Two strange things were noted of the black-throated: 
on the night of April 28 about 10 o'clock, one was heard 
singing as loudbr as in the day. I have never heard 
that this species is a night singer. The other notable 
thing was the finding of what was undoubtedly the nest 
of one of these birds, though all appeared to leave May 6 
.or 7 all the circumstances pointed to the buntings as the 
owners of the nest, which was rather compactly built, and 
contained two light blue eggs, when some one robbed it. 
The only other species that might have similar nesting 
habits is the indigo bird, and while this species was com- 
mon a short time previous, none were present at this 
time, whereas the black-throats were all about. 
April 25. — Savanna sparrows and hummingbirds exceed- 
ingly common. Many indigo buntings were present April 
20-25. 
April 25-28. — Light migrations nightly. Yellow- 
breasted chats were heard most frequently. 
May 4. — Last Savanna sparrow. 
We shall have a long wait now before the general fall 
migration sets in, though in the latter part of July the 
waders begin to return, and movements begin among 
some of the warblers and vireos and the swallows. 
Henry H. Kopman. 
A Pennsylvania Putnam and a "Wolf, 
Gettysburg, Pa. — The last wolf seen or heard of in 
Adams county was killed by Thomas Goodman, an old 
hunter in the mountains northwest of Castletown. He 
.saw the tracks in the snow, and following them to a den in 
the rocks, the hole being large enough for a man to 
crawl in on his hands and knees, he lit a pine-knot from a 
fire kindled for that purpose, and pushing his gun, a 
muzzle-loading rifle in front of him, entered the den. 
After going some distance he saw two bright spots some 
loft. ahead, and taking the rifle he shot for the space 
between the bright spots. After shooting he dropped the 
rifle and drew a large hunting knife in anticipation of an 
attack from the mate. But after waiting some time and 
not hearing anything, he moved on to the place where 
the bright spots had been, and found he had shot the 
wolf between the eyes, killing it instantly. He watched 
the den for several weeks after, but not seeing any 
others, he knew he had killed the last one in the South 
]\Iountains. This was about the year 1857. In size, it was 
about as large as a shepherd dog. a little longer in the 
legs and gray in cqlor. This was the last wolf heard or 
seen in our county. ' F. M. B. 
An Opossum on his Dignity, 
MiLHURST, N. J., May 15.— Last Sunday while strolling 
through the fields in a lonely place, I saw a big possum 
out in an open grassy meadow leisurely coming toward 
ine ; and as I was then behind a clump of bushes, it didn't 
happen to see me. As soon as it got suitably near, I 
picked up a stick and ran out and hit it a number of light 
blows, which caused it to stop, and it then commenced 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
growling and bristling up, but not offering to move oil. 
How 1 would like to have had some one present with a 
camera at the time. 
Then the idea came to me that, as it kept headed tu- 
Avard me in a sideling way and kept the one position 
mostly, I would just make a rough sketch of the little 
varmint. So luckily, having a letter and a bit of a pencil 
I sat myself down in the grass within 5ft. of it and com- 
menced sketching, while it kept up a continual snarling 
and growling, somewhat as a small dog would, at the same 
time humping its back and bristling up for all it was 
worth. As soon as it offered to change its position I 
would give it a gentle tap with the stick, when it would 
assume the sideling position again. Thus keeping it so 
for a short time, I managed to make the enclosed sketch. 
T was never more amused in my life. The very idea of 
sitting flat in the grass on a bright, sunshiny day out in a 
meadow within sft. of a snarling and bristling possum 
and making a sketch of it ! The whole affair was simply 
ludicrous. 
Having rnade the drawing, and thanking the little 
animal for its kindness in keeping so reasonably quiet 
while having its picture taken, I bade it good-day, and re- 
sumed my strolling in one direction, and looking back a 
moment afterward, saw the fat marsupial awkwardly 
waddling off through the grass in another. 
A. L. Lyon. 
'mqe l§^q und 0nn. 
In the Rockies.— IL 
{Continued /rotn page 886.) 
"A horse! A horse! My kingdom for a horse!" 
Onw.yrd and upward our pack train traveled steadily 
throughout the long and laborious day; after another late 
start the following morning. Late that a'fternoon we came 
to an ideal camping place in a meadow beside a stream, 
and Chad, our guide, suggested making camp. But it 
still lacked a couple of hours until dark, and being anxious 
to reach our journey's end, we insisted upon pushing on. 
For a short distance we followed the tortuous course of 
the stream, now finding a precarious footing upon its 
crumbling banks, and now stemming its swift current. 
Then we were compelled to abandon it by the beetling 
bluffs, which shut in upon it, and struck up the moun- 
tain side. Our guide and packer were loath to leave it, 
but Dan and I were insistent. 
We wound along well worn game trails, zigzagging 
back and forth upon the precipitous mountain side, until 
we reached the summit of the ridge, where we found a 
highway, in the literal sense, which we traveled 'for many 
miles, with our horizon widened to limits inconceivable 
by the man who has never breathed the high thin atmos- 
phere ^f tho.se dizzy heights. The distant peaks cut 
the sky line sharp and clear as a cameo, and upon their 
scarped sides we could see each stunted bush that clung to 
the savage slope, each rock with rigorous distinctness of 
outline. 
The sun lingers long and lovingly upon the mountain 
tops, and before it had set for us on that high ridge, night 
had already come to the canons below us. Disliking to 
climb down that mountain side only to have to climb 
backup it again in the morning, we pressed on hoping to 
come to the end of the ridge, but at last the shadows of 
night gloomed about us, and we saw we would have to 
undertake the descent, or camp for the night among the 
bleak rocks without wood for fuel, pasture for our horses, 
or water for either them or ourselves. Then we heartily 
berated ourselves for not listening to our guide's advice 
earlier. 
We were blundering down the steep and savage slope in 
the dark. I was in advance with Chad, the pack hor.ses 
following us, and behind them urging on, were Dan, and 
"Toad," the packer. Half-way down the mountain side 
grew steeper, and we dismounted, leading our horses,, and 
carefully feeling our way. 
Suddenly our horses careened madly backward with 
a frightened snort. I clung to the bridle rein, and was 
jerked off my feet. Within a few feet of us in the dark- 
ness sounded a loud, startled "hough," and in the direction 
it came from there was a scrambling in the bushes. A 
strong, half-human odor assailed our nostrils. We had 
walked upon a bear, who had probably mistook us for a 
band of elk coming down the mountain side, and who, 
upon discovering his mistake, humped himself off as badly 
frightened as were our horses. In an instant everyone of 
them had broken loose and stampeded, and we were left 
alone on the side of the steep mountain in the dark, and 
without even our rifles, which were in their boots on 
the saddles. 
We sat down and listened to the sounds of the stampede 
dying away in the distance, and pursued by the frantic 
guide and packer, who yelled and raved far in the rear. 
When they returned empty handed, we took an in- 
ventory, and found that we mustered one revolver witli- 
out any ammunition for it, some flies and fishhooks, and 
a hunting knife apiece — not a very consoling outlook for 
four hungry hunters adrift in the wilds a hundred miles 
from the nearest habitation. 
The moon was coming up, and by the aid of its pale 
light we got down off the mountain without further acci- 
dent, and built a big fire of sage brush and aspen boughs 
beside the stream, supping sumptuously upon cold water. 
While coming down an incident happened that illustrated 
what_ a practical woodsman our guide was. Chad, who 
was in the lead, suddenly halted us with an exclamation, 
and while we were fumbling for matches, informed us 
that there were Indians about — his foot had struck the 
impress of an Indian's moccasined foot in a soft spot. 
Striking a match we saw it there plainly outlined, but 
the moment it gleamed under the light he gave an ex- 
clamation of disgust, berating himself for not having 
thought of the bear we had met higher up. A bear's hind 
foot leaves an imprint almost identical to that of an In- 
dian, and this it was. 
Needless to sav. we slept little that night, but shivered 
around the fire. the air biting like a bulldog, and our faces 
burned to a crisp, while chills were tobogganing up and 
down our spines. With the first streak of day we were 
off, and trailed the horses until noon before" we found 
405 
them. Having learned the wisdom of making haste .slow- 
ly, we went into camp right there, and after a hearty 
meal Dan went to sleep. 1 stretched out to do the same, 
but got interested in watching Chad, who was a past 
grand master in the art of- fly-fishing. 
In front of our camp the stream swept by swiftly 
though sullenly, for the channel was deep. Parting the 
willows Chad made a cast, the fly flitted over the surface, 
there was a shimmer, a gleam of light flashing out from 
under the steep shelving bank, a swirl, a dash down 
stream, and at the touch of the steel a speckled beauty 
flashed into fvdl view. The rod quivered and bent, the 
reel sang, and again and again the surface seethed as his 
sinewy form shot into view, until at last, completely spent, 
the game fish floated feebly lip on its mottled side. 
Then I took off my hat — not in deference, but in 
search of a black gnat, the fly that Chad h?d found 
successful. No morocco-bound fly-book bulges out the 
breast pocket of the angler for mountain trout. He who 
voyages through the Rockies on the hurricane deck of a 
cayuse discards all ephemeral refinements. I know full 
well that many a tale is told, many a recollection is 
written in the few pages of the fly-book — pages that no 
pen has ever marred — that friendliest of faces, and sweet- 
est sylvan scenes, and sounds of running streams are im- 
prisoned between its covers, and that each worn and 
ragged fly with its scars of honest battle, has a tale to tell 
of many triumphs. But for practical utility the old cam- 
paigner knows a fly-book worth two of that. It bulges out 
no pocket, it is never lost, or left in the bottom of the 
pack, but it is always with him, carried on his head. 
Around the crown of his soft slouch hat he winds a couple 
of long gut leaders, and there they stay until wanted. In 
the leather sweat band on the inside he sticks the point of 
the hooks and they are safe, shielded between the swat 
band and the felt. They are arranged around the cir- 
cumference of the band, and the gut snells radiate toward 
the center like the spokes of a wagon wheel. They keep 
in better order than they would in any fly-book, and the 
wearer never knows they are there until he looks for them. 
I have worn a hat full of. flies for six weeks, night and 
day, even sleeping in it, and found them always in fine 
order and available when wanted. Vou never know when 
you leave camp when you will get back or what you will 
want. Always carry a little bag of salt and a hat full o£ 
flies, and if you get lost you could subsist on trout even 
if your ammunition gave out. Many a morning have I 
hunted without success, and whiled away the middle of 
the day, when the game quits moving, fishing for the 
speckled beauties with a rod culled from some clump of 
alders. 
I found the fly I_ wanted, and waded down to the foot 
of the riffle, whisking the fly as I went just to test the 
spring of the rod and to see that my wrist had not yet 
lost its cunning. Now for a good beginning. Where 
the curving stream SAveeps against yon steep bank the 
water has a bluer tinge, a greater depth, and under- 
neath that overhanging rock is a A^eritable den for some 
old seclusive savage to lay in wait, and watch for au.ght 
that might travel down the liquid hi.ghway past his lair. 
With 4oft. of line out I can barely reach it, but though 
the cast proves abortive it confirms my hopes. There 
was a line of light flitting through the water as if some 
spent sunbeam sought the depths. With greater care I 
cast again. Again that splendid rise. Eager to gain 
the prize, I strike, and by the shades of Walton lose 
him. For one fleeting instant the hook held, and then 
the pole straightened out, the line was lax, and the fish 
had felt the steel and was gone. Hoping against hope 
I cast the fly far below, and brin.g it skitting over the 
surface. That was a game fish. The sting of the hook 
seemed to merely rouse his wratli, and rushing from his 
lair he made sure work of the audacious insect. The 
upward rush carried him high above the surface, a 
glimpse of silver and gold, set with round ruby dots, a 
splash and the vision vanishes. But only for an instant. 
The weight of the fish's descent comes down upon the 
rod. and the hook, well mouthed, is driven home. 
Without that fi.sh I feel that life is not worth living. 
All considerations pale beside the desire to have him. 
Oh, for a'Stift'er rod and stouter tackle! The savage in- 
stinct mounts supreme. Long dormant, it seethes in the 
blood, the same thirst for conquest that thrilled our no- 
madic forefathers, hunters and fishermen all their days, 
to whom success meant food and life; failure, starvation 
and death. That instinct guides my hand while the lis- 
some rod bends in bowlike curves and my nerves vi- 
brate to every motion of the fish, transmitted through 
the bamboo electrically. 
At last the tension lessens. _ Fewer and feebler grow 
his rushes, and between them I draw a free breath. 
Succumbing only to complete exhaustion, incapable of 
another effort, the great trout is brought to land. I lay 
him gasping upon the green sward, full 2ft. of matchless 
coloring. 
A footfall behind me, and the clanking of the camp 
kettles, and I turn to confront Toad, the packer, who 
has come down for a pail of water. He gazes admiringly 
upon the fish — not with the eye of an angler, laut look- 
ing solely to its culinary properties. He swoops down 
upon it, and before it is through kiclcing it is in the fry- 
ing pan. 
Down the stream, as the shades of night steal out 
from the mountain side, I stumble over the slippery, 
rock-strewn bottom, battling with that world of waters, 
and escaping a ducking more through good luck than 
skill or strength. No trout streams on earth can com- 
pare with those of the Rocky Mountains. As limpid as 
liquid cry,stal, as swift as a mill-race throughout their 
length, as cold as the melting snow which feed them, it 
is no wonder that their tenants of the freehold are strong 
and quick and game. And then, they have the weight — 
weight which the fisher for fingerling brook trout wots 
not of. I have bearded both in their watery wilds, and 
know whereof I speak. I have heard the effete Eastern 
angler, who never saw a mountain trout, say, "Yes, 
they are larger, but then they are coarser, and not so 
game as our brook trout." It is . a downright pleasure 
to see such a one tackle a big trout in a mountain tor- 
r£nt, and at one and the same time smash his tackle, and 
change his mind, No other rises more fiercely to the 
fly, or fights faster, or longer. And upon the table, in 
the opinion of epicureans, he yields place to neither fish 
nor flesh. But to appreciate him as he should he, you 
