FOnest' AND t^TREAM. 
game, bird for the table. As an object of pursuit for the 
sportsman they are not numerous enough in any one 
locality to warrant special effort for their capture, al- 
though they are likely to be taken "en pasant" wherever 
our fresh-water fowl are found in autumn. These birds 
breed readily in captivity and are easily reared and tamed. 
Nesting and Seed Time in Pied- 
mont. 
Fayetteville, N. C, Feb. 7, — Editor Forest and 
Stream: I am writing on Feb. 7 with the temperature 
at 62 degrees at noon, and four kinds of garden flowers 
in bloom, and as many more in bud. The crocuses, daffo- 
dils, jonquils, narcissus and Japan quince are due to 
bloom four days hence ; the garden has been weeded 
and the walks are raked; the truck fields have been 
plowed and planted for a fortnight, and for greens we 
have lettuce, spinach and col lards, and in ten days 
radishes will be a drug. 
This is the entry of our Cumberland county spring 
under the warm selvedge of the Appalachian plateau. 
Pickerel and black bass take the hook and minnow bait 
on any warm day; the juncos are flocking for northward 
flight; bluejays and screech owls are nesting in the big 
oaks on posted premises, and the cheery voice of the sap 
sucker is heard in the woods wherever the gamin with his 
gun does not infest and devastate. 
There is nothing which I deplore so much as the 
slaughter of the spring birds, but no magistrate seems 
confident of his jurisdiction, or disposed to intervene. 
All the forests are so destitute of life at this period that 
I can hardly be persuaded to join the coteries of quail 
shooters who go afield day by day and bring in bags of 
thirty quail on average. 1 am becoming more and more 
a disciple and imitator of John Burroughs, for even so 
late in the season as now, when leaflets are forming on 
all the deciduous trees and shrubs, there are quite a few 
gunners from the north who are sojourning here and 
promise to remain until March i. I think, if February 
quail were spared, the annual output of birds would be 
double. So, it would gratify me more than it would the 
livery men and landlords to see these men in cloaks and 
buckram, fold their blankets now and silently depart. 
I notice from year to year the increasing dearth of 
seed-eaters and song birds here. Mockers used to perch 
on our gable ends and warble in all the variations of the 
gamut, and red birds and orchard orioles were com- 
mon ; but now the only numerous residents are the car- 
rion crows and turkey buzzards, and they fly high for 
fear of the insaliable "boy with the gun, lest he too for- 
get — lest he forget and shoot them, contrary to law and 
custom, for lack of nobler game. 
Time was when I would come back triumphant with a 
big bag from a day's hunt; but now I sneak in with 
my few sorry birds, and put my gun away with a com- 
promise with conscience. Only exceptional conditions 
will induce me to join the chase with ardor, though I 
think I will always delight to walk the tote roads after 
timber grouse in October, down in Maine, and watch the 
old cocks dust. And who wouldn't? 
Charles Hallock. 
Captain Carver's Snake Story. 
The warm weather of the middle of last month seemed 
to promise us a premature crop of snake stories. As it 
was, the rural press gave notice that several garter snakes 
had been "seen." 
Speaking of snake stories, perhaps the most remarkable 
one on record is that related in all good faith by Capt. 
Jonathan Carver in his "Three Years' Travels Through 
the Interior Parts of North America for More Than Five 
Thousand Miles," etc. 
Captain Carver had served gallantly through the French 
and Indian War and was present at the massacre at Fort 
William Henry, in the year 1757. His account of that 
memorable affair is one of the best we have, and is re- 
ferred to as authority by Parkman in his sketch of that 
thrilling episode. After the war, Carver traveled exten- 
sively through the Western country. His book of travels 
has been republished many times, though I imagine it 
has now become somewhat rare. My copy was published 
at Philadelphia by Key and Simpson in 1796. Carver was 
educated for the medical profession, and was well quali- 
fied to speak of the natural features and productions of the 
country. His book is one of the best of the time and 
kind; no doubt thoroughly reliable where he reports the 
results of his own observations, though he was perhaps 
too credulous in regard to matters received at second 
hand. But the reader may judge of this from the snake 
stopy, which we will allow the gallant captain to tell in 
his own words: 
_ "I observed here (between the Fox and Quisconsin 
rivers) a great number of rattlesnakes. Mons. Pinnisance, 
a French trader, told me a remarkable story concerning 
one of these reptiles, of which he said he was an eye-wit- 
ness. An Indian, belonging to the Menomonie Nation, 
having taken one of them, found means to tame it; and 
when he had done this, treated it as a deity, calling it his 
Great Father, and carrying it with him, in a box, 
wherever he went. This the Indian had done for sev- 
eral summers, when Mons. Pinnisance accidentally met 
with hint at his carrying place, just as he was setting off 
for a winter's hunt. The French gentleman was sur- 
prised, one day, to see the Indian place the box which 
contained his god on the ground, and, opening the door, 
give him his liberty, telling him, whilst he did it, to be 
sure and return by the time he himself should come back, 
which was to be in the month of May following. As this 
was_ but October, Monsieur told the Indian, whose sim- 
plicity astonished him, that he fancied he might wait long 
enough when May arrived, for the arrival of his Great 
Father. The Indian was so confident of his creature's 
obedience that he offered to lay the Frenchman a wager 
of two gallons of rum that at the time appointed he would 
come and crawl into his box. This was agreed on, aiid 
the second week in May following fixed for the determi- 
nation of the wager. At that period they both met there 
again, when the Indian set down his box and called for 
Jlis Great Father. The snake heard him not, and the time 
being now expired, he acknowledged that he had lost. 
However, without seeming to be discouraged, he offered 
to double the bet, if his Great Father came not within 
two days more. This was further agreed on, when, be- 
hold, on the second day, about I o'clock, the snake ar- 
rived, and, of his own accord, crawled into the box, 
which was placed ready for him. The French gentleman 
vouched for the truth of this story, and from the accounts 
I have often received of the docility of those creatu-es, I 
see no reason to doubt his veracity." 
Such is Carver's snake story. An irreverent friend at 
my elbow suggests that perhaps the two gallons of rum, 
while they were waiting, had something to do with the 
return of the snake. T. J. Chapman. 
Ingram, Pa. 
mt(e mid ^mt. 
The Farmer and the Sportsman. 
Editor Forest and Stream: 
A recent writer in Forest and Stream, after telling 
about a shooting trip to one of the Southern States, de- 
scribed, in a subsequent chapter, the rural hotel accom- 
modations, closing with the good-natured admonition to 
the man who keeps the hotel that "this is the nineteenth 
century," and to wake up, grasp his opportunities, better 
his service. It seemed to open up the question of the 
relation of the town man to the country man, and espe- 
cially that of the sportsman to the country man, his 
countryman. For, while the tourist whizzes past the farm 
in his Pullman car, and the commercial traveler stops 
over at the village to sell his wares to the storekeeper, 
it is only the sportsman who goes out to the farmer and 
to the farm, and thus comes to know something of his 
life and surroundings. It is true that there is lacking in 
our goA-ernmental system a farmers' bureau, the duty of 
which would be, not to distribute seeds, but to dissemin- 
nate information how to live comfortable and happy 
lives, though farmers; but could not the sportsmen do 
something in this direction, and at any rate would not 
the bare effort soften, somewhat, the asperity of the 
relations existing between the two classes? 
I do not care much about the general nature of the 
relations between the two classes myself. It does not 
affect me personally. I love the farmer, and the farmer 
loves me. We dwell together in peace. He comes 
sometimes to drive me off, but he seldom makes the 
drive. About the nearest I ever came to a flat rebuff was 
out on the Platte River one goose shooting time, 
"No," the man said, whom I accosted outside, "we 
can't keep you. (There was not another house within 
three miles, and I had just got off the train at the 
siding nearby.) There is something the matter with the 
stove, and my wife can't bake with it; the baby is sick, 
and she ain't well herself, and we have just turned away 
some hunters." And then, a little later, "Well, you might 
go and ask the 'woman'; but I know what she will say." 
Well, I went in the house and took two bucketfuls of 
soot and dirt out of the under part of her stove by 
a means of ingress she did not know existed; then I 
found out what was the matter with the sick baby and 
cured that, after which a little two-year-old, who was 
crying pitifully with a burned hand, had the burn covered 
over with an airtight paste of flour and water, whereupon 
it fell asleep. I owned the house by that time, bitt I 
went on, and fixed her sewing machine, so she could use 
it once more after an idleness of several weeks. 
Yes, there was one other time. I shot a farmer. He 
was out of range, but the shot landed there or there- 
abouts and stung him. His anger was magnificent, and 
for a little time I kept my thumb on one of the hammers, 
for I really thought I would have to stand him off. He 
had a hatchet. In a little while we made up, and he 
actually called out his wife and children to see me kill 
birds a-flyin'. It's funny, for I am not smooth, "that- 
away," with anybody but farmers. It is not exactly 
germaine to the subject, but I went back there two or 
three years afterward and found the farmer out shucking 
corn. 'John," said I to my brother, who was with me 
this time, "I believe this is the man I shot up here year 
before last; let's go up and speak to him." I soon dis- 
covered that he did not recognize me. After a while I 
asked him if I might shoot on his land, and he said I 
might. I had to prod him a little, so I said: "Some 
farmers don't like it, because so many hunters are care- 
less about shooting into cattle and knocking down fence 
rails." 
"Careless! Why, stranger, it Avasn't two years ago 
that a blankety blank fool from St. Louis shot me right 
up yonder at the top of the hill." 
"You don't say so," said I. 
And we two indignant mortals stood there and abused 
the absent until my brother had to turn his face away 
and get behind a shock. You see, it isn't often I get a 
chance to abuse a man I know I can lick, so I gave it 
to him good and plenty. 
But to return to the subject, it seems to me that the 
sportsman has a mission to fulfill to the farmer, espe- 
cially if it be true, as many of us begin to suspect, as 
we grow old it is true, that it is not all of shooting to 
shoot. If we could gently persuade the farmer to live a little 
more like white folks, his improved lot would improve 
his temper. If we do not do it, who will? The only 
other man who goes out to the farm is the politician 
and the lightning rod man. 
For Instance, Missouri. 
A few generations ago, less than a century back, that 
magnificent commonwealth was a primitive wilderness; 
her forests and streams haunted only by the Indian and 
the voyageuer; her rich soil unturned save here and there 
by the pioneer, who began then to venture so far west- 
ward. There she lay, new to the world, unsullied, un- 
touched, unconquered, like tmto a monstrous Leviathan, 
its ponderous length extending across the earth, the 
horny tail dragging but part way out of the southern 
swamps, the head basking on the prairies in the North, 
awakening at the sound of the axe and the crack of the 
rifle from its sluggish, age-long dream. Alas! the world 
is thickening with fields and houses, and there are not 
many such spots left now. And the men, the men who 
have looked upon them in their virginity, clothed in the 
garb which nature wrapped them in when they were 
born to her, are fast passing away. The pioneer, the 
explorer, the land-clearer, the trapper, the immigrant, 
the primitive hardship-bearing, scantily equipped, few- 
utensiled settler — what will the world do without them 
and their moving tales, and how will the race do without 
their red blood and the strong hearts? 
This country is not yet so old but that the marks of 
the pioneer class are still visible everywhere. The ruins 
of the old fort are here yet, and the log house of the 
great-grandfather is still standing down there by the 
spring. To this day the curious pick up arrow and 
spear-flints on. the Indian battleground, and now and 
then the plowshare turns up a rusted tomahawk. But in 
most localities the ways of the pioneer have passed 
away with the passing of the generation, and the newer, 
softer amenities of civilization have taken their places. 
The log cabin has been turned into a storeroom, and the 
crane hanging in the fireplace has ceased to be the 
veritable pivot of housewifely industry it once was. The 
split-bottomed chair has dwindled into a dim memoiy, 
and even you, my brother, had well nigh forgotten the 
name of that old luxury. The crude concomitants of 
early housekeeping have given place to cook stoves and 
blue china, and the descendants of the pioneer are living 
up to the china and hiring "help" to attend to the cook- 
stove. 
So, too, are the things of this day passing away, and 
yet do we not cling to them? Are we not the creatures 
of habit, cleaving to our old ways, even as the de- 
scendants of the early Missourians cleave, too fondly per-^ 
haps, to theirs? For this is true: that wherever I have 
wandered in Missouri, down stream in my skiff, along 
the ridge with my rifle, the hounds and the winter camp 
wagon, or among the settlements with my shotgun and 
pointer, I have seen that the life of the Missouri farmer 
is made harder than need be by this settlement, this cleav- 
ing unto habit. When he drives to market or to church, 
instead of a comfortable surrey, a nimble team and a 
good road, he, his wife and his daughters ride in the 
farm wagon, behind the plow horses, over the same road 
Kit Carson traveled. The old folks sit on the spring 
seat and the young folks on chairs in the rear, and all 
seem to ride by with an air of conscious dignity. 
And on down the whole gamut of farm life, it is the 
same continuous round of discomfort. Plenty of lumber, 
but small and inconvenient houses. Abundance of fuel, 
but no such thing as a farmhouse heated throughout with 
a furnace, so that its inmates may not be subjected to a 
constant succession of colds and coughs. Good water, 
but it must all be "packed" up to the house in buckets. 
Numerous springs, but few spring houses where milk 
may be turned into good butter. Plenty of food, but 
horrible cookery; this last in itself enough to hopelessly 
damn any community less favored by nature. The only 
relaxation, an occasional dance or religious revival; the 
only intellectual uplifting, a political mass meeting. And 
they are so hungry for spiritual food that they even read 
the long murder trials in the papers, and can tell you 
more particulars of the last one, I dare say, than the 
judge who tried the case. 
There are no circulating public school libraries in 
Missouri. The unavoidable inference is that the State 
law-makers have been too much taken up with strictly 
political business to take account of any such crying, 
pitiful need of the common people, for the State has 
the money. I happen to know of two or three such 
libraries now being sent about in Missouri by the 
Wednesday (Women's) Club of St. Louis; but the State 
should have them by the hundred. 
But I must stop, else some one will torture a feeling 
of friendly solicitude for the Missouri farmer into a dis- 
position to criticize and detract, and still I maintain that 
a missionary might travel a long way before he came to 
a country where he could so easily teach the people how 
to escape one-half of all the ills they suffer, absolutely 
without cost. George Kennedy. 
North Ferrisburgh, Vt. — Editor Forest and Stream: 
I am very glad that Mr. John R. Allen has asked for 
a constitution and by-laws for the purpose of forming an 
association of farmers for the protection of game. It has 
brought out just what we have been looking for for the 
same purpose. 
I am much in favor of this plan of protection, and think 
if properly managed such an association can accomplish 
much good. 
The $5 gun license spoken of by Lexden in the same 
Issue I am not in favor of. Not that I would be obliged 
to lay Mass Smith one side on account of the tax, but 
I do not like the principal in tree America, And I 
know of good honest sportsmen here who do not have 
the time to go shooting perhaps more than once each 
season, and I for one would much dislike to see any 
brother sportsman barred from one day of pleasure with 
the gun for the reason that he could not afford a $5 
gun license for one day of shooting. 
The farmers and sportsmen here have formed just such 
an association as Mr. Allen speaks of, and we are look- 
ing forward to much good resulting from it. 
Two so-called sportsmen from Boston, hunted on 
ground governed by the association last fall, and when 
warned off repaid the farmer for his shooting with a 
volley of abuse. Wardens Ramsey and Allen were im- 
mediately notified, but the Boston "gentlemen" had 
taken the first southbound train. However, they were 
followed to Bristol, a distance of fifteen miles. They 
gave bail in the sum of $30 to appear for trial, but it is 
needless to say they did not appear. 
This same party have tried to get exclusive shooting 
privilege from sorne of the farmers by paying taxes on 
the farm, etc., but have met with poor success. 
Gentlemen in future, as in the past, will have no trouble 
in getting a permit from the farmer to visit his covers 
for game, and I am _ firm in the belief that if the farmer 
and sportsman will join, and can have the assistance of 
such a warden as Mr. Ramsey has proved to be in this 
section, we will see the supply of game increase and 
many of the shot-out covers again restocked. 
Ferri», 
