306 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[April io, iQBi. 
Toads in the Howse* 
The toad spends the winter in the ground in a dormant 
condition. The warm days of Api-il soon wake him up, 
and the first business of the year is attention to the eggs 
which are destined to maintain the supply of toads. For 
this purpose toads of a given viciniti^ betake themselves 
to" the nearest pond. Though silent the rest of the year, 
their piping soou fills the air. It is thus when they 
come down to the water to lay their eggs that the mis- 
chieivous boy "lays" for them and kills by dozens, often 
destroying together with the mother the thousands of 
eggs which are needed to keep up the number of the 
species. The eggs are laid in the water, and if the weather 
is warm they hatch out in a few days into tiny black 
tadpoles. When freshly laid, the eggs resemble strings 
of black beads embedded in a clean gelatinous matter. 
It is a fascinating study for a child to watch the trans- 
formations from egg to tadpole and from tadpole to toad. 
To arrange for this the eggs should be placed in a rather 
shallow dish of water two or three inches deep with mud 
from a pond sufficient to cover the bottom and come up 
to the surface of the water on one side. A little green 
slime and a few aquatic plants will afford the tadpoles 
their natural food and keep the water fresh if it is allowed 
to stand in a sunny window. These plants obviate the 
necessity of changing the water, and the only attention 
required is to keep it from drying up. In doing this, many 
children are apt to put in too many eggs and try to raise 
too many tadpoles. The result is that all are weak and 
half-starved and are soon killed by fungus or other 
diseases. Neglect to provide mud, plants and sunshine is 
also a frequent error which frustrates the experiment. Ten 
eggs are often enough for a dish six inches in diameter, 
and not more than three or four tadpoles should be al- 
lowed to grow up in it. The rest should be put back into 
their pond soon after they hatch. If plenty of aquatic 
plants are kept in the dish, the tadpoles will require no 
further feeding. Solid food left in the water kills the 
inhabitants of the receptacle. Their natural food at this 
stage is usually stated to be exclusively vegetable, and 
consists of the microscopical plants which form the slime 
on the stems and leaves of water weeds. The "tads" can 
easily be seen scraping this off with their little horny 
jaws. As this slime is swarming with microscopical ani- 
mals, their food must contain considerable animal matter 
as well, and if water plants are not obtainable tadpoles 
may be fed on bits of bread, with now and then a piece of 
raw meat to suck at. All pieces of bread or meat should 
be carefully removed, however, before they become sour. — 
Springfield Republican. 
Proi)rietors of shooting resorts will find it profitable to advertise 
them in Forest and Stream, 
New Game in Ameiica. 
^ The muskox of Greenland and the northeastern por- 
tion of this continent known as Ellesmere Land and 
Grinnell Land has been discovered to be a different ani- 
mal from the muskox of the Barren Grounds,^ which is 
the form with which we are most familiar, if the average 
man can be said to be familiar with any form of muskox. 
In a recent publication of the American Museum of 
Natural History, Dr. J. A. Allen, curator of birds and 
mammals of that institution, describes at considerable 
length the differences between the Barren Grounds musk- 
ox and this new form, which he calls Peary's muskox, 
after the well-known explorer. It was this form which 
Peary" found in northern Greenland, and which, many 
years ago, formed a portion of the food of the unfortunate 
Greely expedition. 
From the far Southwest, in the Province of Chihuahua, 
Mexico, Dr. C. Hart Merriam, Chief of the Biological 
Survey, Washington, describes a new mountain sheep^ or 
big-horn, under the name Ovis mexicanus. The species 
is based on specimens obtained by Mr. E. W. Nelson in 
the barren desert region about Lake Santa Maria. It 
is closely related to the Northern mountain sheep, but is 
somewhat paler, has the hoofs and molar teeth larger than 
in that species, while the ears are very large. 
Dr. Merriam finds also that the mountain sheep of the 
bad land and prairie country east of the Rocky Moun- 
tains differs subspecifically from the type which came 
from the Roclqr Mountains and Alberta. The chief differ- 
ences are the great size of the molar teeth and the mas- 
siveness and depth of the lower jaw. The new form is 
called Ovis canadensis auduboni. 
From the same region in Mexico which furnished the 
new mountain sheep, Mr. Nelson brought eleven prong- 
horned antelopes, differing from the antelope of the 
North, and called by Dr. Merriam Anfilocapra americana 
mexicana. This form is characterized by paler color and 
some slight differences in the head markings. 
A Lost Type. 
Oh,, for a glimpse of a natural boy— 
A boy with freckled face, 
With forehead white 'neath tangled hair 
And limbs devoid of grace; 
Whose feet toe in, while his elbows flare; 
Whose knees are patched all ways; 
Who turns as red as a lobster when 
You give him a word of praise. 
A boy who's born with an appetite; 
Who seeks the pantry shelf 
To eat his "piece" with resounding smack- 
Who isn't gone on himself; 
A "Robinson Crusoe" reading boy. 
Whose pockets bulge with trash; 
Who knows the use of rod and gun, 
And where the brook trout splash. 
It's true he'll sit in the easiest chair. 
With his hat on his tousled head; 
That his hands and feet are everywhere, 
For youth njust have room to spread. 
But he doesn't dub his father "old man," 
Nor deny his mother's call. 
Nor ridicule what his elders say, 
Or think that he knows it all. 
I' A rough and wholesome natural boy \. 
Of a good old-fashioned clay; 
God bless him, if he's still on earth, - 
For he'll make a man some day. 
— Detroit Free Press. 
rWhV did the man who wrote that entitle it "A Lost Type"? 
The- type is not. lost. That boy is still on earth.] 
Reminiscences and Things. 
I HAVE an uncle who very much resembles the charac- 
teristic portrait of Uncle Sam. As a pioneer of_ eastern 
Indiana he was one of the hunters and was a fine shot 
and knew the habits of game. He had a brolher-in-law 
of Pennsylvania descent, who likewise had ways of his 
own, as most men have; but the twain were companion- 
able, and ver-y successful, considering their facilities. 
They usually hunted together, the Pennsylvaniaii, whose 
name was Shaneyfelt, astride an old mare, and Cunning- 
ham, the taller of the two, afoot. Their larger and most 
destructive rifle was a walnut-stocked flintlock, running 
some twenty balls to the pound. This the man on horse- 
back carried, leaving a lighter gun for the one on foot. 
Deer were plentiful. However, the custom of following 
the trail often led the hunters some miles from home. 
When deer were sighted the old flintlock was brought 
into action, and a click-fiz-z-z-z-bang ! was followed by a 
commotion among the deer that usually were found in 
herds. One day while crossing a small prairie in the 
southern part of Adams county they saw two deer-— a 
doe and a buck. The doe was standing broadside, while 
the buck was looking at the hunters over the doe's back. 
Shaneyfelt, who was on horseback and carrying the old 
flintlock, said, "Here, Bill, take my gun — she shoots 
furder as yours — ^and draw on the buck's head; if she don't 
carry up you'll hit the doe." Bill took the big bore and 
aiming at the buck's forehead pulled the trigger. Shaney- 
felt sat on the old mare with his eyes riveted on the spot 
he had advised his companion to aim at. The old gun 
clicked, then fizzed, then roared, and the buck dropped in 
his tracks. The strain was too great for the Dutchman. 
As he saw the ball hit the mark he dug his heels into the 
old mare's sides, starting her at a gallop across the 
prairie and yelling at every breath, "She's down. Bill ! 
She's down. Bill !" About half-way across the prairie the 
old mare stumbled and Shaneyfelt went rolling over her 
head on the ground. Quickly regaining liis feet and pay- 
ing no attention to the mishap, he went on as fast as his 
legs would carry him, shouting, "She's down, Bill ! She's 
down. Bill 1" 
While camped at Witbeck, in the upper peninsula of 
Michigan in '92, I took a walk one Sabbath to the Michi- 
gamme River in company with Messrs. Bishop and 
Proper. After loitering a couple of hours among the 
rocks that line the stream, we started campward through 
the forest. We climbed a hiU and were in the midst of a 
thick growth of sugar, the boys something like fifty yards 
to my right, when a large buck got up directly in front of 
me and ran by the boys. He had been lying there, prob- 
ably watching my approach, and concluded that - if he 
remained I would run over him, for he was just eight 
steps from me when he flushed. Of course he saw that I 
did not have a gun. 
In the year '78 my father and I were footing it to the 
home of a friend at the southwest edge of the Cranberry 
Prairie, in Mercer county, Ohio. When within a couple 
of miles of our destination we saw where two deer had 
crossed the road going north. As we wished to go north 
of east, we followed their trail in that direction. I don't 
know how far we had gone, but it was woods everywhere 
— fine open woods, and some of the largest trees that 
grew in the middle West. "Look out, now! They have 
separated here and have lain dpwn not far away," said 
father. There was a fallen elm about 200 yards away, 
and I think yet it was the pioneer of all the elms. It was 
east of us, and had fallen to the south. It lay about two 
feet otT the ground, and when one of those deer sprang 
up between us and the log and taking a few preparatory 
bounds cleared the log like a bird, I stood in open- 
moutked amazement. That was the first deer I had 
seen, and hoping for another glimpse I ran to the fallen 
tree, and stepping on a limb near the lower part of the 
trunk tried to see over, but my head did not come to a 
level with the top of the log, though I was a man in 
stature. 
The next day while passing betweeen the reed-covered 
prairie and willow and prickly ash thickets, a terrible 
commotion among the snow-covered willows brought me 
to a sudden halt. I saw the bushes s\yaying for a few 
seconds, then the diminishing sounds of a fleeing animal 
told me that I was neither in danger nor likely to see 
any game to shoot. 
Curiosity prompted me to investigate, and I found the 
fresh beds of a large buck under a thick growth of willows 
that had been bent over by an accumulation of snow until 
their tops almost touched the ground. The buck fright- 
ened at my approach had made tracks, and when I parted 
the torn and shredded willows and stepped the dis- 
tance, I found he had cleared 21 feet the first jump. A 
railroad passes by where our host's house stood. A fine 
gravelled road crosses the outlet to the prairie. The 
prairie is a cornfield. 
Six of us were" camped by the side of a mud road in 
the southeast part of Paulding county, Ohio. We had a 
mule team and wagon, but no tent. We made a bark 
shelter by a large log with a log fire a few feet away. 
One morning I seated myself on the root of a large up- 
turned tree near a ditch in the woods, where deer had a 
crossing. I had a muzzleloading rifle, and up to that 
day had had no opportunity to try it. I sat at my look- 
out from about 8 until 10 A. M., at which time I concluded 
to give it up. I walked to the crossing to see if any 
deer had used it in the night, then went on up the ditch 
some fifty j-^ards and returned as I heard a shot at carnp. 
I started to go back, when a dark object seemed to glide 
through the brus4i and stop behind a large tree. It seemed 
to me like a half-hour that I stood there with gun in 
left hand, my right grasping the grip, thumb on cock and 
finger on trigger, tnen a deer's nose was pushed past the 
tree and a deer's eye took in the situation. 
Slowly I began to raise the gun, and had the breech 
nearly to my shoulder when one leap of the deer cleared 
the ditch and a second bound hid it from view behind 
the root on which I had spent the morning. 
While twisting and winding between cedar and tama- 
rack swamps last fall within a couple of miles of Witbeck 
Station, Mich., I heard a faint sound of man and saw. It 
was swamp and hill and hill and swamp, some of the 
swamp open and covered with a coarse grass, but mostly 
with dense cedar or tamarack. Finally I struck a wagon 
road that for crookedness would hold its own with any 
politician of the age. When I struck the chopped-out road 
I was west of the man and saw. After tramping awhile 
I was north of them, and presently I found myself east of 
them, so fearing that I had started toward the wrong 
eiad of the road, I left it and went up hill to a small 
chopping that shortly came to view. Here I found an old 
man, grizzled and'feeble, trying to cut and split cordwood. 
Neither his strength nor his tools were able to accom- 
plish much. He worked mostly while on his knees or on 
one knee, and seemed to be so stiff and sore as to be able 
to move only by a great physical effort. I trid to engage 
him in conversation, but he could not converse in Eng- 
lish, so after satisfying myself that the old man was 
being offered as a sacrifice, without concluding a theory 
as to its being voluntary or not, I walked out into the 
clearing, which at best did not exceed one and a half 
acres. Before I crossed it I discovered that the ground 
was literally cut up with deer tracks. Then I stopped and 
looked back at the old man down on his knees sawing a 
black birch limb, and then my mind went 500 miles 
south and dwelt on books, notes, walls and things, where 
deer come not to cut up the earth, and I wondered if he 
knew. Yes, I wondered if the old man knew what a 
city man bred from a race of hunters found to enjoy in 
the woods. 
What he would give to be allowed to remain, in the 
woods an indefinite period ! 
To ignore business and wander about, figuring out the 
weight of the deer that made this track or that, noting the 
great Northern woodpecker as it drummed the stubs in 
search of worms or in answer to its mate, watching the 
saucy little squirrel make an evening meal from the ker- 
nels of a pine cone, or a partridge picking buds from the 
topmost branches of a hard maple. To-daj' the little 
clearing stands out in relief. I see the deer tracks, I hear 
the trickling and bubbling of the water among the cedar 
roots. The walk to camp is realistic. The greeting of 
comrades genuine. 
It is not a dream — it's memory. 
G. W. Cunningham. 
After the Woodchuck* 
The hunting of the woodchuck furnishes the inveterate 
powder-burner with sport outside of game seasons, and 
so enables him to go shooting well nigh the year round. 
By the time the law ends his shotgun practice on duck 
and snipe in the spring, if he has been so unwise as to 
persecute them at that season, the woodchuck is abroad, 
foraging in the new grass of meadow and pasture and 
presenting a tempting target for the sportsman's rifle. 
The judicious shooter, however, looking to the chances 
of future sport, Avill no more kill the quadruped in the 
spring than the bird. He needs in his business the crop 
of young and reckless chucks now being produced. They 
will help out his scores later in the season, when the wary 
old ones hunt their holes at sight of the prowling marks- 
man. Furthermore, a proper humanity will restrain him 
from killing the mother of the family while the chucklets 
are still too young to live on grass, as they are until 
pretty well through the spring. I have found them in 
the middle of May none too well able to dispense with 
their original nourishment. Unfortunately, about this 
date grass and weeds get so high as to hide the animals 
more or less and materially interfere with the shooting, 
and the best of it comes after haying. 
So woodchuck hunting is essentially a stammer sport, 
for the lazy creature, having got fat on the meadow's 
second growth, generally takes to his nest by the time the 
fall game shooting has fairly begun, thereby losing one 
or two of the months when, if he only knew it, it is best 
worth while to be above groimd. Hunting gains as well 
as loses some charms by being done in the summer. The 
air, if not exhilarating, is balmy. The woodchuck hunter 
misses the stimulating hint of frost that goes with an 
autumn morning or evening, but he escapes the bleakness 
of the duck hunter's favorite days, and travels over grass 
rather than snow. He sees nature at her loveliest. No 
one knows better than he how the glory of the summer 
broods over our Northern hills, even before the calendar 
calls for it. He follows the cow paths to the springs and 
rests with the cattle in the shade of green trees. He 
walks among the daisies and sneaks through the rank 
corn to some advantageous firing point. He sniffs the 
new-mown hay and marks the billows that travel with 
the breeze across the oats. The crow and the meadow- 
lark know him. The marsh hawk is out hunting with 
him, and the jolly jingle of the bobolink is in his ears. 
If he lifts his gaze from the little sand heap which he 
is momentarily expecting to see crowned with a wood- 
chuck's head, he may watch the cottony clouds drifting 
across a blue sky and trailing their refreshing shadows 
over some near-by wheat fields or perhaps some great 
upland far away. It is not all of hunting woodchucks to 
hunt. 
Yet there is good hunting needed if one is to score 
high on old chucks that have been hunted before, and 
this gives zest to the sport and makes it worthy of pur- 
suit. One must often do some very respectable stalking 
to get a fair shot at a gray clover-fed veteran that knows 
what it means when the rifle snaps out yonder and the 
gravel jumps close beside him. Nor will it do to be 
shaky or careless in the shooting. The top of a wood- 
cluick's head is a small mark, and to hit it at a fair 
distance is a trick worthy of the marksman's steel. 
While the woodchuck is often stupid or foolhardy, he is 
sometimes wild as a hawk, and chases himself to his hole 
when his enemy is yet a long way off. His most fatal 
weakness is to underestimate the speed of bullets and to 
fancy he can get from the mouth to the bottom of his 
burrow any moment he pleases, and that he is therefore 
safe in looking out from his sand heap or "peek .hole," no 
matter what he sees. Curiosity brings many a chuck to 
grief by luring him to his sally-port when he ought to- 
have stayed down in his bomb-proof. Generally old 
woodchucks in a hunted region are pretty well able to 
take care of themselves. In my neighborhood some of 
