BOS 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
[June 28, 1902. 
of the old savages, or could throw one to kill a flying 
bird as I have seen the Australian savages do, when, as 
almost a boy, I happened to be engaged in sheep rang- 
ing in Australia? Or how many could make fire by rub- 
bing two sticks together? Those same savages could do 
it with ease, but we could not succeed, and had to use 
the old flint and steel because our modern matches had 
scarcely come into use. And the thoughtful person who 
wanders through forest and stream, and who keeps 
his eyes open, and will read up some of the old books, 
especially those of Hugh Miller's, "The Testimony of the 
Rocks" and "Footsteps of the Creator," and the first 
works of students of natural history (written, when I 
remember the great majority of good people consid- 
ered this study was a proof of the grossest infidelity), 
and then thoughtfully study what they see or may see 
in the woods and the waters, the rocks and the trees, 
and keeping their eyes open to observe things (this is 
itself a great intellectual feat), we may find reasonable 
explanations of what we see without drawing on the 
"long bow" of our imagination. 
If any reader of Forest and Stream should visit the 
very interesting region where I am now living — living, 
not only existing or staying, and with all that this word 
living implies — it will please me to show some of these 
potholes made only by the hand of nature, and other 
things which exist within a rifle shot of my home and 
which afford me "sermons in stones, tongues in trees and 
books in ths running brooks," and which, now, near 
my fourth score of years, delight me to think over, and 
look for and hope soon to know all about in the coming 
existence, when we shall see, not darkly, but face to face. 
Henry Stewart. 
Highlands, N. C. 
What Does an Otter Dig- For? 
Last Friday, while on the farm, I noticed a num- 
ber of holes in a sandbar in the river that looked like 
bass nets, but there are no bass in the stream. On the 
following morning after a shower, I found two more 
holes dug in the bar, and the fresh tracks of an otter 
from one of the holes up to a part of the bar out of 
water, left no doubt as to what had done the digging. 
The holes were, perhaps, three feet in diameter and a 
foot in depth, situated in from one to three feet of water. 
Th otter apparently worked with is head toward the 
bank, as the sand was thrown out toward the middle 
of the river. I doubt if any lampreys can get past the 
two dams below my part of the river (Mianas) and I 
cannot think of anything beside larval lampreys that 
would lead an otter to dig holes in a sandbar. Who 
can tell what he was after? 
By the way, there were mink tracks on the same 
sandbar, trout were jumping in the rapid above the 
pool, and a quail was calling from the stone wall a few 
yards from where I was sitting. All of this in a place 
that is forty-eight minutes by rail and fifteen minutes' 
drive from Grand Central Station in New York. I can 
find fox and raccoon tracks at any time on some part 
of the farm, and partridges, quail and woodcock breed 
there every year. Robert T. Morris. 
mt[* §ag mul §nn. 
Proprietors of shooting resorts will find it profitable to advertise 
them in Forest and Stream. 
Appalachian Scrap-Books Lost, 
Asheville, N. C, June 19. — One hundred dollars re- 
ward will be paid by the undersigned to any one who 
will furnish information leading to the recovery of three 
scrapbooks filled with clippings and other printed mat- 
ter pertaining to the proposed Appalachian National 
Forest Reserve. 
These books were placed by Congressman Moodv's 
secretary on the mail box in the National Hotel in Wash- 
ington, May 6; each book being wrapped separately and 
plainly addressed (under frank of Hon. J. M. Moody) to 
Dr. C. P. Ambler, Asheville, N. C. The books have not 
arrived in Asheville, and after the most thorough in- 
vestigation by the post office authorities no trace has 
been found of the same. 
Beside containing several thousand clippings, the books 
also contained records pertaining to the work done by 
the Appalachian National Park Association. These 
records are of no intrinsic value to any one except those 
interested in the proposed Appalachian Forest Reserve. 
Address either Hon. J. M. Moody, National Hotel, 
Washington. D. C, or Dr. C. P. Ambler, Secretary A 
N. P. Association. Asheville, N. C. 
Association for the Protection of the 
Adirondacfcs. 
Articles of incorporating the Association for the Pro- 
tection of the Adirondacks, with headquarters in New 
York City, were filed June 20 with the Secretary of 
State. It is proposed to aid, by all proper means, in 
the preservation of the Adirondack forests, waters, game 
and fish, and to maintain healthful conditions in the Adi- 
rondack region. The directors of the association for the 
first year are the following: John G. Agar, Edwin A. 
McAlpin, William G. De Witt. Henry S Harper 
Warren Higley, Henry E. Howland, A. M. Hunting- 
ton Edwm S. Martson, Edward H. Litchfield, Abraham 
G. Mills, J. Pierpont Morgan, William A. Read. Henry 
C. Potter, Whitelaw Reid, William G. Rockefeller 
Char es A. Tatum, Alfred G. Vanderbilt, William g' 
Verplanck, W. Seward Webb, Alfred L. White William 
C Whitney, of New York City; Timothy L. Woodruff 
of Brooklyn; Robert C. Pruyn and Dr. Samuel B. Ward' 
of Albany; Thomas S. Walker, of Long Lake; William 
Barbour of Paterson; Titus Sheard, of Little Falls- 
James MacNaughton, of Tahawus; Henry Phinns of 
Pittsburg; W. Charles R. Christy, of Stamford 
J Take inventory of the good tilings in this issue 
V of Forest and Stream. Recall what a fund was 
2 given last week. Count on what is to come next 
f week. Was there ever in all the world a more 
5 abundant weekly store of sportsmen's reading f 
Big Game vs. Birds. 
Ilditor Forest and Stream: 
I was quite stirprised at such a vigorous attack on my 
expressing a preference for bird shooting, but I think my 
sporting brother of far-off West Virginia rather unfair in 
omitting the very part of his quotation from my article 
that would have given our readers the only real animus 
of my mild attack on big-game hunters. 
T have been reading so many reports of moose hunts 
where the hunters frankly admitted that only now and 
then a dead shot was made, that I aimed a shaft at tender- 
feet who know 7 nothing about the business, but rush into 
the woods after trophies and who, if the} r could see no 
part of the animal except the paunch, in their buck-fever- 
ish excitement would fire at that with the only result of 
useless murder. 
I have no fault to find with such big-game hunters as 
brother Carney; in fact, I confess that I'd shoot a bag 
full of big game myself if I could be sure of making 
successful shots; but I could not yield my preference for 
bird shooting. - - '• * •* /' 
"Every one to his taste." I have a brother who al- 
most scorns a gun, and cares for nothing but fish. 
I have read a few reports of moose hunts that were 
interesting, but I have oftener read column after column 
that recorded only a long tramp through the woods with- 
out an incident, and that is why I skip them now. 
When Lewis Hopkins gives an account of his quail 
hunts with his Well-trained dogs, it is a batch of interest- 
ing incident from going out to coming in, for me, 
I rather like a little friendly warfare now and then j it 
makes life spicy; but I think brother Carney wrong in 
asserting that the proportion of birds that go off wounded 
is as great as in the case of his big beasts. I have been 
an enthusiastic bird shooter during a whole long life 
(and though time has ended my shooting career, I am 
enthusiastic yet), and I think that nine out of ten ate 
instantly killed, while I have come to the conclusion that 
nine out of ten of the moose tribe get away in a damaged 
condition. 
There is no doubt that greater interest is felt in the 
suffering of an elephant or a moose than in that of 
smaller game, though they suffer no more, but we may 
carry that idea down to our daily walks where We crush 
out the lives of insects by the thousand, but it can't be 
helped, and we give ourselves no trouble about it. 
If we see a butterfly or a beetle tangled in a spider's 
web and his life being slowly eaten out, We take no 
thought of liberating it. because it is so small, but we 
cannot bear to see a horse or a dog abused. 
If brother Carney thinks bird hunters do not find the 
rapturous pleasure in roaming through the fields and 
woods that he does in the wilder regions, he is altogether 
wrong. One perfectly still and lovely Indian summer 
day when I lived in Boston I picked up my gun after 
dinner, got on a Providence train and jumped off at the 
first station that looked wild enough to harbor a bird. I 
walked across a narrow meadow to a thicket, and had 
hardly entered it when a woodcock whistled up. 
I was alone, not even a dog for a companion, as my 
motive was merely a delightful stroll through the quiet 
woods. I picked up my treasure and had hardly started 
when another got up and shared the same fate. I went 
a few yards further and bagged another, and very natur- 
ally thought I was going to be loaded down with wood- 
cock, but I walked' over every foot of that little thicket 
without finding another bird. 
I strolled quietly on through another part of the wood, 
enjoying the walk as much as a poet could, feeling all 
the while that no bird could get away from me if he got 
up near enough. Suddenly a partridge boomed Up. and 
I stopped him, and in my quiet walk I got two more, and 
did not make a single miss, which was quite remarkable— 
for me. 
I went home the proud possessor of three woodcock 
and three partridges, killed within a few minutes' ride 
from Boston, and if any one ever enjoyed a moose hunt 
more than I enjoyed that lovely afternoon, I would have 
liked to see his happy face, Didymus. 
St. Augustine, June 18 
Editor Forest and Stream: 
It takes all kinds of people to make up this world! 
Reading the letter of Mr. Carney in your issue of June 4 
regarding the remarks of Didymus upon the relative 
merits of quail and large game hunters, one cannot but 
be thankful that men differ in their hunting tastes as well 
as their friendships, their passions, their business, their 
locations, their pleasures and even their foes. Suppose 
we all preferred to shoot quail and would shoot nothing 
else 
* ; — -a iJT 
or suppose we all could afford and would shoot 
ii jthing but moose? Fortunately, it is arranged that some 
prefer the one and some the other. Just as it is with most 
everything else. Most of us think that there is only one 
girl in the world, and still we do not throw stones at the 
other fellow because he prefers some other girl to ours. 
Didymus must not accuse us of "murdering a moose" 
while he only "drops his bird." It is hardly consistent 
for the "pot to call the kettle black." 
There is probably more life taken in one day's hunt by 
Didymus among the quail than by all the moose hunters 
in the world together in the same length of time. Didy- 
mus goes to the field with dogs to assist him, and carries 
from fifty to seventy-five shells loaded with shot. He 
turns his shot loose and frequently kills even more than 
he intended, while many birds escape with broken legs or 
perforated intestines. The big-game hunter takes from 
eight to ten shells (rifle) and may be out two or three 
weeks without firing a shot. He cannot depend upon 
dogs. It is his own prowess, patience and skill which 
must win. Many, many the moose hunter who returns 
empty-handed after weeks of days and nights spent in 
the woods. No hunting within sight of the hotel or 
within sound of the farmer's dinner bell for him; no 
soft bed under roof; more likely he spends the night 
without fire or tent in a country of bogs, swamps, mud 
and seemingly constant rains. What little grub he eats 
he has carried in his bag for days and cooks it himself. 
Small game he sees in abundance, but passes it by be- 
cause the moose hunter never makes an unnecessary noise. 
Didymus is never out of sight of the chimney tops; he 
never gets air that is not tainted with barnyard smells and 
cur-dog howls. His saddle horse or his carriage follows 
within call or beckon. His dogs find the game and shows 
him within a foot or two where it lies. Didymus turns 
loose between 500 and 1,000 bullets as the bird rise and 
"drops his bird." The big-game hunter goes hundreds 
of miles from the railroad ; he carries nothing but the 
most actual necessities, and these he totes on his back, 
perhaps together with a canoe; he takes the rain, the 
cold, the night, the mud, the water, the brush, the mos- 
quitoes and flies, he cuts his own trails, starves, strains, 
fords rivers, lives in the solitude of the Avilderness for 
weeks alone, or with a single companion; allows hun- 
dreds of opportunities for killing small game to go un- 
heeded ; sticks to his purpose, maybe to spend a month in 
the woods without even firing his gun, maybe to go home 
empty-handed, but sure to be back another year, and yet 
Didymus will gloat over his bag of twenty or thirty quail 
all "dropped" in a day (with many more dying and 
suffering in the field), and deliberately call us "murderer." 
Did Didymus ever stop to think that not one in five of 
the men who go moose hunting get their moose, on an 
average, without spending two seasons at the job? What 
has he done in the two seasons thus spent by the moose 
hunter? How many quail has he ''dropped"? 
As I have stated, "it takes all kinds of men to make 
up the world." I'm glad it does. It would be an awful 
foolish old world if every one in it was as big a fool as T ; 
and if they were all like Didymus — well, I like him, and 
want him to come again; but as long as we kill, we are all 
tarred with the same stick. 
"The pot must not call the kettle black." 
C. P. Ambler. 
Ashevjlle, N. C, June 20. 
Why I Do Not Hunt Deef. 
Troy, N Y., June 20. — Ed'rioi' Fdrc'st dud Stream: 
Having been interested in reading the artidk by Didymus 
in yotif issue of April 19, and the handsome reply to k by 
Mr. Carney, Julie 14, with your kind permission I would 
like to "shy my castor into the ting." 
I think Mr. Carney gives a comprehensive and truthful 
statement of the case. I fully agree with hifr). Neverthe- 
less, I Would not shoot a deer any sooner than J would 
fire at a sheep ifl a pert, or knock over a calf in a barn- 
yard. I will relate how this sentiment came to me. la 
the early sixties, accompanied by Iffy bf'otbef, I was 
camped on Chateaugay Lake, late in the season. Of 
course We Were after deer. One fine crisp morning we 
took our position OH a runway near Indian Point. The 
dogs had been put out on the ridge early and theft' was 
music in the air. Sometimes things happen when you 
least expect them, especially with greenhorns. We were 
seated on the bank smoking our pipes and admiring the 
morning, when a fawn shot by us so quickly that (he- 
eye could scarcely follow him. He took to the Water 
and started to swim across the lake. 
We rushed for our boat, but the guide with us said 
"Wait." 
We let the animal get fifteen or twenty rods from the 
shore and then started. When we came alongside we 
ran the boat over him a couple of times just to duck 
him, so that he would not be too smart; then we got 
him aboard, and I held his hind legs and my brother 
clung to the forelegs; our guide tied them. We took our 
baby ashore and turned him .loose in an 'old unused 
shanty near our camp. We stood looking at the white- 
spotted little beauty, when he came to me and put his 
nose against me, foiled up his great expressive eyes, and 
with a dumb eloquence surpassing the power of words, 
begged me to be merciful. I walked away from him. and 
he followed me up and down the room several times, as 
though he felt that I might protect and save him. I 
then and there resolved never again to molest a deer, and 
I never have. 
Well, I took my pet home with nie to the city, as I had 
a large yard back of my house. I fenced it and built in 
one corner a snug house for the stranger. I kept him all 
winter, and my menageriei although smalJ, attracted 
much attention. My children, and in fact all the family 
("including a yellow dog), played with the fawn, Jind he 
became quite tame. 
The following April a very curious thing happened. We' 
had a few warm days and my house was overrun with 
deer flies — gray backs, about four times as large as a- 
house fly, and they were a nuisance. Where they came 
from is a mystery I have never been able to solve'. Can- 
any of your readers tell ? We see potato bugs and grass- 
hoppers in the city, but never before nor since have S 
seen a deer fly. 
I was obliged to close my show and give the outfit to 
a friend in the country. He kept the deer several years 
and let him run loose with his cattle in the pasture, and 
when the cows came home at night the deer came also. 
His experience of wild life had been so short that he 
showed no inclination to return to it. He would wander 
all over the village, and every one knew "Patchin's deer." 
One unlucky day he attempted to climb a flight of stairs 
outside the grainery : thej r were covered with ice ; he: 
slipped and broke his leg. so it was necessary to kill him.- 
Now as to the ethics of sport. It seems to me that the 
pursuit for sport, of anything that has life, is' cruel. It 
cannot be otherwise. If there was no resistance or 
effort to escape, there would be no fun. We kill salmon 
and other game fish with fine tackle, and the longer Jhe 
struggle the keener the delight, and more prolonged HUaC 
agony. Our hunters hound deer, and our nobility houn^ 
foxes. We would not tolerate a bull fight in this cqun. 
try, yet the sport is so dear to the hearts of all classes in, 
Spain, that the Government itself is powerless to stop it. 
Man has always been a sportsman and doubtless always; 
will be, as long as there remains anything to be pursued/ 
Yet, we are growing wiser and, better, more humane and 
tender-hearted. Some pefso»s to-day equip, themselves ' 
