FOREST AND STREAM. 
f l 'Oaip. 1904- 
/ when the horse dashed round a corner on_ to a street 
which led out of the town. My heart gave a great 
bound of joy, for there in the distance was the track, 
and there was my gang lined up along it waiting for 
orders. Not only was the contract saved, but my hide 
as well. The old horse saved the day, and to him alone 
was all the credit due." 
I am keeping a little, old, black mare at this very 
day for the good she has done in years gone by. She 
has hauled my carriage many a time through the dark- 
est and stormiest of nights, over the roughest and nar- 
rowest of country roads, when I couldn't, for the life 
of me, see two feet in front of my face. And at such 
times she always picked the way, as I soon learned 
that she knew the road best. And never an accident 
did we meet. I have another mare full of fire and 
life, the best roadster I ever drove; she is perfectly 
fearless and I trust her on the darkest of nights to pick 
her way home, and she does it. 
I once had a young man on a farm I leased. He 
was good to draw his pay, but strenuously poor to 
earn it. But that was my fault for allowing it. He 
of the horses into town, attached to a surrey, to bring 
it back again at night. Sometimes I would drive one 
of the horses into town, attached to a surrey, to bring 
home company. If the horse happened to be one that 
the young man drove regularly, it would steer my 
company and me for every "red-eye" dispensary along 
our route. This would necessitate awkward explana- 
tions on my part, and insane hilarity on the part of 
my company, 
William H. Avis. 
HiGHflroOD, Conn. 
Pittsburg, Pa., Dec. 13— Emerson Carney, in Forest 
AND Stream, calls attention to the back-tracking faculty or 
sense of locality in horses. Any man who has traveled much 
horseback must have observed the same. Some twenty- 
eight years ago I had occasion to attend to some business 
for my uncle in Flanders. My favorite saddle horse was 
Old Brigand, a three-fourths thoroughbred English hun- 
ter, gentle, high spirited, sagacious, and very intelligent. 
Coming home, late in the evening, for I had tarried later 
with my friends than was good for me, I reached a six- 
legged crossroads called Nellekens Keer (Witch's 
Corner), where, in the Dark Ages, a poor old woman 
had been burned alive as a witch and a stake driven 
through her body. It was pitch dark, and in a deep, 
dense forest of small pole pines; one of the worst places 
tc'get lost in, as they all look alike. I forced my horse to 
gc in what I thought was the way home. After riding 
over an hour and seeing no known landmarks I knew I 
was good and lost. I knew Brigand had been there six 
or seven years before, and I turned him loose and let him 
have his own way. Coming to the crossroads, without 
hesitation he took a road which I imagined would carry 
us in an entirely diflferent direction than home, but still 
1 had sense enough to trust my old friend, and we had 
not traveled an hour when I recognized familiar land- 
marks, and putting him on a brisk lope we were soon 
home, he in his stable with a good feed, and I in bed, 
where I should have been long before. 
My maternal over grandfather, van der Meerschaut, 
had a little Cossack horse captured from the Russian in- 
vaders in 1814. The old gentleman was lame in one leg, 
as the result of a hunting accident, but withal a good 
horseman when once in the saddle. When out on his 
trips in the country on business and coming home at night 
he would frequently fall asleep in his commodious 
Cosack saddle. The horse would make a bee-line for 
home, at an easy but swift pace. Arriving there it would 
rap on the front door with its foot until the watchman 
would open the porch and take the old gentleman out of 
the saddle. My grandmother told me this happened 
almost every week. Horse and master understood each 
other. Not being able to walk very well, he would hunt 
from horseback, the horse following the setters and com- 
ing to a standstill when one of them was on a point ; 
the old gentleman guiding him entirely by pre.ssure of the 
knees and voice, and having both hands free for his fowl- 
ing piece. The horse died of old age on the place, as 
most of our servants. Peace to his ashes. 
Julius P. the Foxhunter. 
A Winter Day's Walk. 
After a week of unusually sharp weather, the Satur- 
day before Christmas the mercury climbed above the 
freezing point, and during the night rain fell. 
Sunday morning the landscape was covered with an icy 
coat of mail, with rain still falling. 
About II o'clock I started for a walk in the fields and 
woods to gather evergreen to brighten the home during 
the Christmas season. 
Rain was falling in sheets, and a strong south wind 
howled so fiercely that timid ones remained under shelter. 
My path led along a country road which runs north 
and south, and my face was against the storm. I wonder 
if others feel the joy I experience in defying the 
elements ? 
Everyone enjoys a trip afield in the pleasant days of the 
year, when the sun is warm, the breeze caressing, the 
flowers are in bloom, and birds singing; but few know 
the pleasures of a walk when afield and roads are muddy 
and overflowing, streams border the highways, and the 
rain falls in a pitiless, drenching torrent. 
Along the walls on the northern sides are baby snow 
banks, which, with the earth's icy coating, are fast dis- 
appearing under the influence of the warm south wind. 
■ Have you ever noticed the winter coloring of the trees? 
On the right are a multitude of young birches with 
brown jackets, with here and there white trunks among 
the larger ones. The near-by pines and hemlocks are 
igreeri, while the hard woods, chestnuts and oaks, and 
•distant pines are dressed in black. . 
On the left in a swamp are dark alders and slimy green 
^laurels, / ^ 
The citizens of the woods seem to have remained under 
their various shelters, save here and there a hardy spar- 
row, braving the storm that he may appease his never- 
I'affing- 'hunger. ' 
Apd I am glad of his companionship as he flies from 
place to place gathering here and there a seed or so. 
As I enter the woods that ever-vigilant policeman of 
the birds, the jay, announces with a sharp scream the 
presence of an intruder. 
In the woods a thin carpet of snow covers the earth, 
a fabric of ever-varying pattern. Adder's tongue and 
bunchberry show themselves on a white ground, and at 
last I come to the evergreen running along over rocks 
and stumps, a- luxuriant growth of vine, in other places 
standing erect, like diminutive Christmas trees. Under 
the pines are partridge vines, their bright red berries 
contrasting strangely with their own green leaves. 
Mosses at the base of great trees are green as in summer. 
With hands and pockets filled with evergreen, mosses, 
and lichens, I start homeward. 
What cares one for wet and mud? Have I not wor- 
shipped in Nature's Temple? 
And long after clothes are dried and mud brushed 
away will thoughts of this day's walk to the end of 
memory remain "ever green." H. 
Worcester, Dec . 20. 
The Meadow Lark's Song. 
We reprint from last week's issue the portion of the 
notes by M. of Northside on the song of the meadow 
lark, with the musical notation which was then omitted: 
So far from being songless, the meadow lark has sev- 
eral melodious notes of varying accent and pitch. In 
spring time, when his mate is nesting, he will sit upon 
the top of a tree and will utter the flute-like strains 
nearly resembling the following musical notes: 
^nd §nn. 
All commounications intended for Forest and Stream should 
always be addressed to the Forest and Stream Publishing Co., 
New York, and not to any individual connected with the paper. 
The Game Laws in Brief 
These notes he will vary in intonations, and by descend- 
ing to a lower key. How often from childhood have I 
watched him in the early morning or after a shower when 
the sun would come out, perched on the top of a distant 
tree, with his yellow breast, in which was a black spot, 
turned toward me, while he would sing his simple but 
sweet lay ! 
In that pleasing and well written book, "Bird Neigh- 
bors," this lark is spoken of in the following language: 
"Their clear whistle, 'Spring-o'-the-year, Spring-o'-the- 
year,' rings out from the trees with varying intonation 
and accent, but always sweet and inspiring." 
Raffed Grouse in Captivity. : 
Toledo, O., Dec. 23.~Editor Forest and Stream: A 
good many years ago — I am afraid to think how many — 
the writer undertook a series of experiments in the do- 
mestication of the rufifed grouse. The results of my 
various efforts were duly chronicled in the Forest ano 
Stream, some of whose readers will remember that while 
they were promising they were not favorably conclusive. 
A change in the location of my residence in this city 
has made it possible to continue these experiments, which 
still enlist my interest and my affections. It has always 
seemed to me that during the three or four years of my 
study along this line, I learned enough about the nature 
and habits of this grand aborigine to make these efforts 
ultimately successful. And under the circumstances I 
come to the readers of the Forest and Stream to ask 
their co-operation. If any of the readers of our paper 
has an odd bird in captivity, or knows of any which could 
be procured for this purpose, I should be under many ob- 
ligations if he will communicate with me. It is probably 
now too late to expect recently captured birds to nest the 
coming spring, but it is not too early to begin prepara- 
tions for the spring of 1905. J. B. Battelle. 
Gufdon TttimboII. 
Art, science, and good sportsmanship have suffered a 
severe loss in the death of Gurdon Trumbull, of Hart- 
ford, Conn., whose demise December 28 affects an un- 
usually wide circle of friends. Mr. Trumbull was best 
known to the readers of Forest and Stream for his 
"Names and Portraits of Birds Which Interest Gunners," 
a volume which represented a vast deal of travel, observa- 
tion and toil, and which had a great and deserved Success. 
All ornithologists will recall his notable paper on the 
"American Woodcock," which appeared in Forest and 
Stream December 11, 1890, and which contained the first 
record of a bird's power to curve the upper mandible. 
Mr. Trumbull was born in Stonington, Conn., on May 
5, 1 841, and was a brother of J. Hammond Trumbull, the 
eminent philologist, and of H. Clay Trumbull, so well 
known as a writer. He was an artist of much power, and 
made many notable paintings of fish, among which were 
"Over the Fall," "A Plunge for Life," and "A Critical 
Moment." 
Mr. Trumbull's personality was most attractive. 
Though quiet and almost shrinking in temperament, yet 
to those who knew him well he was a most interesting 
conversationalist on his favorite topic, ornithology. He 
was a keen observer and an acute reasoner, and one 
never talked with him without learning some new fact, 
in natural history., ^ • 
Mr. Trumbull was one of the most valued citizens of 
the community in which he resided. The sense of his 
loss will long be felt by his neighbors, and by all those 
who have been in any way associated with him in scientific 
work. , 
All communications for Forest and Stream must 
be directed to Forest and Stream Pub. Co., New 
York, to receive attention. We have no other office. 
is the standard authority of fish and game laws of the United! 
States and Canada. It tells everything and gives it correctly.} 
See in advertising pages list of some of the dealers who handl^ 
the Brief. | 
As it is in Tennessee. \ 
What hunter does not know of the rise in pulse on a 
bright Thanksgiving morning? 
Those of my three friends and mine, however, begarf 
to quicken on Wednesday afternoon as we hastily left': 
our offices at three o'clock (slipping out the back doorj 
with sly tugs at our dogs, whose joyous squeaks did not| 
fail to proclaim our ulterior designs). We had to pre- 
pare for a drive of twenty- four miles, and, as usual 
about this time, the first touch of winter had come, andj 
dark clouds were gathering, and a sharp wind was blow-i 
ing from the north. By four o'clock our surrey was at 
the door and several hunting friends stood by eyeing us 
enviously, inquiring of our "place," and letting fall sig- 
nificant hints for joining our party next day. These we 
ignored with glittering generalities and clattered off dowrii 
Market street like true lords of the chase. 
The drive of twenty-four miles on a road J>ke the 
Nolensville pike was not such a bad thing, as this is thej 
best of Nashville's fine system of free roads. The south 
of France, which leads the world in good roads, has 
scarcely better thoroughfares than we have here in David- 
son county. The north wind was at our backs, and so. 
the three hours we spent on the way were passed in com- 
parative comfort. 
The farmhouse where we were" entertained was a model; 
of its kind ; roomy and rambling, its generous proportions 
were enjoyed at every hand, and no more so than in the 
great fireplace. This was built after the old-fashioned; 
models where logs were logs and where men were men; 
to handle them. The one which was glowing and crack- 
ling and singing its paradoxical song of content as we. 
came in must have been put in place by some such man, 
for it made an armful and must have burned all night. 
Then came supper, which must needs be cooked f reshi 
for us as the supper time had passed. Here hot biscuits,; 
ham and sausage and gravy (that relic of the old time), 
and jam, jelly, and preserves were lavished on us in such 
profusion that indigestion hovered on every plate and^ 
went with us to our big comfortable rooms, where wood 
fires also burned. Our valiant dreams were only broken 
by cock crowing, and this pleasant sound seemed to 
crown our impression of the country and we rolled out 
of our feathered nest very blithely. "How's the weather, 
Willie T," we asked our host. "Bright and clear," and 
then our spirits rose to the eighteen degrees above zero 
v/hich the thermometer registered. The smoking things 
at .breakfast, the chaff and chatter and the high anticipa- 
tions of the day warmed us to the frosty start through 
the meadow to the upland pasture, where two coveys of 
quail were known to use. Our three dogs soon got the 
trail and led us to a brush pile surrounded by sedge. Here 
they got up in singles and in the hurry of this first brush 
I somehow managed to "wipe the eye" of Jimmie, who 
shot too quick. This he did not forgive until late in the 
afternoon, when he did the same thing to me. These 
coveys were small and wild, and I believe we only got; 
four birds. 
Next we went by the schoolhouse to get some educated 
quail which our small boy (they are always along and 
always have marvelous things to tell) assured us awaited 
our coming. But our young gentleman had made no 
calculation for holidays, and^ the birds evidently had, and 
so we left them to enjoy in peace their Thanksgiving 
feast of ragweed and sorghum seed on some sunny 
southern hillside. 
Next came the question of permits, and we stopped at 
the village store to add a few more names to our written 
permission to hunt. The later law of Tennessee is an 
interesting innovation in the South, and is already doing 
more good than any game law this section has ever 
known. Other Southern States are quite apt to follow 
us, and it would seem that our heretofore plentiful sup- 
ply of game will be continued and increased. One great 
result obtained is the education of the public as to obey- 
ing laws in general. There are many others besides those 
relating to game protection which have long been dead. 
This one has become a very live one, indeed, as evidenced 
by the great number of convictions since the season ^ 
opened on November i. 
One of the most telling provisions of the law makes, 
it finable to hunt on anyone's land except by written per- 
mission. The fine is placed at $25 as a minimum, 
and the game warden reporting the hunter gets one-half 
of this amount. Another provision prohibits the sale of 
game birds or shipping them through or into the State. 
Written permits are therefore very much to be desired, 
and the one we looked after as closely as our cartridge 
bag read something like this : "We, the undersigned 
landowners of Davidson county, Tennessee, hereby grant 
permission to and friends to hunt on our lands; 
during the season of 1903-4." A good number of signa- ■ 
tures had already been obtained, but two new ones were 1 
added as we sat for a few moments around the social j 
store stove, One man not only signed but agreed to go 
with us and point out the coveys. This we_ thought very ' 
unselfish until we heard him speak of his fine young 
dog, which needed just a little more experience to make; 
him a prize winner. We had seen such promising pups j, 
before, and always associated witb visions of flushed s 
coveys and bad language. However, there was no help i 
for it, and his sprightly novice always got there before ' 
the rest of the dogs and realized our worst fears, racing i 
after the flying targets, yelping out his glee at having 
done the thing just right "The great trouble," his owner 
explained, "is in keeping up with him." A™jd smothered > 
execrations we agreed that this was the point where we > 
had failed of our duty. The quail were so rji^ttled th4li ! 
