164 
impounded for watering stock, the other is an outdoor 
cellar for storing vegetables and for refuge from cyclones. 
One of the Pioneers 
Was met on the train. He now lives in Wash- 
ington, D. C, and was on a visit to his mother 
and other relatives in Iowa. His story was most 
interesting. Born in Delaware he moved to Iowa in 1849 
with his parents. As a boy he did his share of pioneer 
work. He broke the prairie with a plow cutting a fur- 
row 16 inches wide and i>4 inches deep, the plow drawn 
by twelve to sixteen steers. To feed his cattle he simply 
unyoked and turned them loose. The prairie bluestem 
grew thick in bunches and was higher than a man's head. 
At one hundred yards a man was invisible. Deer, wild 
turkey, and prairie chicken were plentiful and helped out 
the table supply. Except a few chickens these are now 
gone. In the winter he put on three pairs of trousers, 
as many shirts and stockings, and drew logs twenty-five 
to thirty miles for sawing into fence boards. He also 
drew farm products sixty to seventy miles to market. 
Pork was then worth 2^ cents a pound, and corn 6 to 8 
cents a bushel at the farm. 
Seeing a man riding a wheel plow drawn by three 
horses, the pioneer exclaimed, "He don't walk as I did." 
Then he spoke of other changes. In his boyhood schools 
were few and far betwen. After a few prosperous years 
his father sold the farm and moved many miles in order 
that the boy might have the advantages offered in an 
Academy. "Now," said he, "there is a telephone in 
nearly every farmer's house, he has the benefit of rural 
free delivery and a daily paper. Children are carried to 
graded schools in free public wagons, and under this 
graded system there are better school houses, better 
teachers, better supervisors, and better results, and all at 
less expense." After a short period at the Troy Academy, 
he had enlisted in the Union Army, July, '61, and was 
discharged August, '65. In all that time he was away 
from his company only twenty-eight days. How I hon- 
ored the veteran ! He was now 67, and at a familiar 
station went to the car door "to see if I can see any of 
the boys. Why, I feel here as if at home." 
Another pioneer of Milton, Iowa, was just returning 
with his wife from a three months' trip in Idaho, Wash- 
ington, Oregon, and Alaska. He had traveled intelli- 
gently, and was specially enthusiastic over irrigation in 
the Yakima Valley, Washington. He spoke of his trip 
"out West" as Eastern people do on going to the Mis- 
sissippi Valley. He had probably seen more. 
Southeastern Iowa as seen in going from Ottumwa to 
Burlington is attractive. The farm-houses are nearly ali 
two-story, large and tidy, the barns are spacious, wind- 
mills pump good water for the stock from deep-driven 
wells, all the surroundings are neat, and the general ap- 
pearance indicates intelligent thrift. One expects good 
looking towns and is not disappointed. 
Crossing the Mississippi eastward at Burlington, the 
sportsman's eye is soon attracted to the large number of 
ducks in Crystal Lake and adjacent waters. He sees 
many club houses and. boats, giving sure sign that the 
opportunities for shooting are appreciated. The writer 
longed to make the acquaintance of some of those clubs— 
and their game — but the "through express" did not tarry, 
and he could not. New York was reached on time, and 
the trip was over. But — : ; a , 
I ' "As the dew to the blossom, the bud to the 'pee. 
As the scent to the rose, are those memories to me." 
' ■ Juvenal. 
Rummaging Down^the Mississippi. 
Ms. Spears struck some old-time documents 'in a "de-. 
serted village" river town, and, shaking the dust of "al- 
most a century from them, exposed them to the interested 
gaze of the readers of Forest and Stream. 
I am on my way to New Orleans, and in fact am try- 
ing to forget that our train is four hours late b|f writing 
these few lines as we, while trying to "make up," are 
constantly running behind, as all late trains do. 
I was rummaging in a river town a day or two ago. I 
walked into an unpretentious art store, and, following the 
advice given on Wren's tomb in St. Paul's, I looked 
around. The proprietor was a genial, clever man, and to 
my query as to whether he had perhaps an "old master" 
or two tucked away in a dusty corner, he went behind 
and under his counter and brought forth a seventeenth 
century Dutch master which he called a Wouvermann. 
Before I had scanned it even he suggested that perhaps 
I might tell him whether it was genuine or not. Now, 
one must be careful in such cases. It is certainly shock- 
ing when a man goes to his safe and from a drawer 
within drawers takes therefrom a diamond only to be at 
once told that it is paste. 
So I turned to my art dealer and asked him if he 
really wanted to know just what I thought of his prize-— 
in fact, the truth. He said he did, and would be greatly 
obliged were I to say just exactly what I thought. And 
then and there I showed him why it was not a Wouver- 
mann, but a copy, and not a good copy at that. And, 
surprising to relate, my opinion was ndther combated 
nor was it accepted with anything but the best of i^ace. 
"Are you fond of the old school of painters?" he 
queried. - 
"I am," said I, "passionately so." 
"Well," said he, "there is an old gentleman in town 
who kas about seventy-five old masters of all the schools 
—Spanish, Italian, French, Dutch, etc. He has a Murillo, 
a couple of Rubens, a Jordaens, a Vernet, three Salvator 
Rosas, a Hondekoeter, a Wouvermann, a Turner, and 
many others that I cannot recall. He has them stacked 
up in his home and has been a lifetime accumulating 
them one by one. I know he would be more than pleased 
to, have you visit him and go over his treasures with 
him. If you would like, I'll give you his address and a 
card to him." And it was not long thereafter before I 
was knocking at the collector's door. The card and my 
statement that I collected such things myself were open 
sesames for me. 
And seated in a sparsely furnished room I saw — faces 
to the wall and unf ramed— many canvasses that showed 
the dust, dirt, and g-rime of many years. The old gentle- 
man had a way of introducing each painting. wopl^ 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
take it up in his hand with the back towards me and play 
a sort of Wagnerian motif in words before he put its 
face towards me. For instance, holding a canvas 30 by 36, 
he began : "You know Rubens spent some time in Italy." 
"Yes, I knew that." "Well, whilst there he was influenced 
by the Italian masters to a certain degree. You will 
notice that in this painting," and suiting the action to 
the word he exposed the painting to my sight. "David, 
the Psalmist," a picture that enraptured you with the 
first gaze. The drawing and treatment certainly by and 
of Rubens, but the coloring of a Tintorretto, and I sat 
and drank in its beauties. * * * And now here come 
some friends. An injunction is put upon my scratching 
on the train, and I must quit and swap fishing yarns 
with them, because to attempt to write further would be 
simply useless. So adieu to the "old masters" and au 
revoir. Charles Cristadoro. 
— ^ — 
One-Sided Statements. 
Editor Forest and Stream: 
I wonder why scientific writers are so frequently heed- 
less—even reckless ? By scientific writers I mean all who 
(whether scientists or not) attempt to contribute to our 
store of general knowledge. 
In order to seem impartial, I must correct myself first ; 
and then I beg to be permitted to attack the motes in 
some of my brethren's eyes. 
First — In my first article on the "glass snake," I inti- 
mated that the reptile might continue unjointing until 
"only the head and neck" remained ! I meant head, neck, 
and stomach — it cannot unjoint in or in front of the 
vital organs and live. I have no excuse for the mistake, 
saving that, as the creature is so nearly all tail I, for the 
moment, forgot that it possessed a body with lungs, heart, 
etc. I have felt much mortified since noticing the error, 
for I pride myself on my exactness, and desire, above all 
things, to be considered absolutely reliable. 
Second — Some other writer (in some farm journal), 
quite a long while ago, in praising birds for their assist- 
ance to agriculture, in addition to giving them their well- 
deserved credit for destroying insects, added that they 
do equal good in eating weed seeds, thus helping to keep 
these also in check, for "birds never void undigested 
seeds." If he had said "seldom" instead of "never," I'd 
have felt better satisfied. They do, most of them (prob- 
ably all of the seed-eaters), "void undigested seeds" occa- 
sionally—often enough and ubiquitously enough to scat- 
ter plants into places where probably not many of them 
would ever otherwise appear. Indeed, I believe they 
sometimes take seeds purposely as physic. But, "how- 
ever or wherefore," by their means seeds that are not 
likely to be carried by other animals nor blown thither by 
the wind, are planted very thickly, not only in neglected 
places,, high or low, but in well-tilled fields. Nor do I, 
although a fcrmer, hold this "agin 'em." Rather I re- 
joice jat it; The up-to-date agriculturist does not consider 
weeds an"" unmitigated nuisance. Without them the world 
would soon become a desert, in spite of man's best efforts 
to retain the soil — ^yea, it would never have become the 
delightful old world it is to-day. True, we don't want to 
allow them their own way entirely ; we must restrain 
them somewhat; but the labor of keeping them "down" 
is well rewarded. I do not refer to the benefit of com- 
pulsory cultivation, a threadbare and nauseous maxim ; 
they loosen the soil, whether plowed Under or left lying 
upon the surface, help to retain the moisture, and, by their 
decomposition, enrich and augment the soil. Take the 
world over, man could not procure nor manufacture 
fertilizers in sufficient bulk to take their place. But, as 
if this were not enough, they are undoubted blessings in 
other ways too numerous to describe. Not the least of 
their good offices, in my opinion, is their habit of fur- 
nishing food and cover for the soul-cheering and beauti- 
ful birds that plant them. I fear almost all birds would 
soon became extinct without them, considering their 
many and powerful enemies. Then, of course, the weeds 
would rapidly diminish also (for probably none of them 
are so vile but some insect can be found to eat them) ; 
and so would all cultivated crops, despite man's mightiest 
efforts with chemicals and implements ! A lion cannot 
defend himself entirely from insects, however he may 
defy "a foeman worthy of his" — teeth! 
Third — But birds are not the only important destroyers 
of insects, as many writers seem to imply. Bats, toads, 
and all sorts of reptiles are mighty warriors against them. 
Besides, they have unrelenting enemies within their own 
kingdom — spiders and stinging insects chiefly; of whom 
the hornet is chief of chiefs. If I were asked to name, on 
my own responsibility, the particular creature most 
destructive of the greatest variety of insects, I would un- 
hesitatingly and emphatically cry out "the lizard." And 
the reason I want it to glitter in the_ public eye in big 
capitals is because it is such a despised and unappre- 
ciated little creature. Men who are disposed to look 
upon it (like Mr. Hay) without prejudice, are very 
scarce. At first sight almost everybody fears or hates it. 
But the careful and just observer soon learns actually to 
admire and like it. See ! it isn't half so much like a snake 
as you thought ! It watches you with one eye and a fly 
with the other (a snake can't do that) . There's a comical 
expression in the eye covering you, and you soon find 
yourself amused most agreeably, and wondering what is 
causing that swarm of flying ants to disappear so rapidly; 
hundreds of them are creeping out of the cells in that 
rotten stump upon which the lizard is so merrily bobbing 
up and down, yet very few of them fly away ! Presently 
you are of the opinion that he must be snapping up 
several of the insects at every bob of his tireless head; 
but his tongue (very large though it be) is thrust out 
and in so rapidly — if the weather is hot, the hotter the 
better for the lizard — that you will seldom see it. And, 
unless frightened off, he will keep up his work so long 
that you will avow he has swallowed ten times as many 
as any bird of his size could have swallowed in twice as 
long a time I Unlike the snake, his digestion is so rapid 
t^^t He seems never to need to stop and wait for either 
t^EB. 6, 1964. 
appetite or capacity! And if you will let him; go fishing 
with y©u, you will find that he is able and willing to 
defend you from flies or mosquitoes better than any other 
creature of any size— in daytime ; at night you'd better 
cultivate the friendship of bats! 
But this is the common gray lizard, the boldest and 
most sun-loving of the family, and if your favorite fish- 
ing haunt is dark with shade, I'd commend to you the 
chameleon-like Anolis, which is timid in unbroken light, 
and prefers shady iihrubbery to sunny stumps. It is 
commonly' a bright green, but I warn you that it may 
change suddenly to "old gold," bright, velvety brown, or 
a fiery red! This I consider the most remarkable of all 
our lizards. I sometimes call it "the flying lizard," be- 
cause, whether with the aid of the crimson membrane at. 
its throat (serving as a parachute) or otherwise, it some- 
times executes the most prodigious leaps, or flights, from 
one bough to another, fearlessly alighting, maybe. 'on 'a 
single leaf that looks too frail to support the weight of a 
grasshopper. 
Though a lively enemy to grasshoppers, he is perfectly 
harmless to man (this being true of the gray lizard also, 
which is often spotted like a rattlesnake, and the striped 
"racer," which is called "scorpion" by -the superstitious), 
and deserves to rank even higher than birds in our esti- 
mation. _ He is not likely to be considered a grain " or 
fruit "thief" even by the stingiest farmer, as he lives en- 
tirely, so far as I can find out, upon insects. The gray 
and green varieties, after being gently handled a few 
times, lose all fear of man, and will work wherever they 
are placed, if they have sufficient light and warmth, and 
no birds or fowls are in sight. They fear all birds, froin 
the hugest gobbler to the tiniest hummingbird. Yet, so 
keen, quick, and unerring is their eye, I have never known 
one to mistake any butterfly or moth, however large Or 
near-by, for a bird. 
Our little nephew, Chester M., claims all the lizards on 
the farm — and in the forest, too — and will not allow 
even his dearest dog or cat to kill or worry one if he can 
interfere in time. He often brings them into the house 
and puts them in the windows to catch the flies. He is 
now nearly seven, but began petting lizards when about 
two. He is not one of your "morbid" kind; he has a 
natural and wholesome fear of snakes; but evidently sees 
no resemblance between them and lizards. He knows 
more about the latter than does many a man with a 
reputation for knowledge and culture. - 
Fourth — Someone has lately published the startling 
statement that "The lower animals have no sense of 
humor or play; true, kittens and puppies frolic a little, 
aimlessly and rnechanically ; but only human beings really 
play." I ought not to include this in "one-sided state- 
ments," pe_^ap.S, for from my viewpoint it is wholly 
error. An'd I sadly recall that L also — long ago-*ma-d"e 
a statemient- in a paper with a very large ciretllation, 
that seemed to imply that I Considered animals lacking in 
imagination. But I was arguing that man's imaginative 
power (instead of his mere material knowledge) formed 
the real basis of his supremacy over brutes; and I still 
adhere to that, but must insist that there can be no 
reasonable doubt that brutes do possess imagination and 
humor, although in less degree than man does. Not .a 
few species, merely, but nearly all animals are playful 
when comfortable and free; and not only while in in-, 
fancy, but often in full maturity, and occasionally even in- 
old age. Some of them show quite respectable cleverness 
and ingenuity in their comic representations, stratagems, 
and deceptions; and successfully affect, or mimic, all the* 
emotions common to man— rage, fear, bravado, joy, sur- 
prise, grief, shame, disgust, indifference..: I can't under- 
stand how any close observer can doubt any of this. X, 
hope to illustrate all this most convincingly in the series 
of animal stories I am at present undertaking — stories of 
"real life," too. 
The chief cause of so much ignorance concerning ani- 
mals is a "race prejudice;" there are many men — religious 
ones, too, more's the pity! — who seem to think.it neces- 
sary to belittle animals in order to prove man's possession 
of a soul, and to emphasize the divinity of the Bible, and 
to excuse themselves for killing animals! Now I,j.a 
Christian^ — and a minister, too, if that counts — see no such 
need, and wonder day and night how any conscientious 
person can be so absurd. Man may be better or. worse 
than a brute. At the creation God pronounced them 611 
"good!" L. R. M0RPHEW.S 
Hot Springs, Ark^ , , 
/'Not Science/' 
Editor Forest and Stream : ' 
The papers of Portsmouth, N. H., report the Rev. 
Wm. J. Long as recently lecturing there before the Graf- 
fort Club on "Animals and Animal Life." ' One hestitatest' 
to attach much weight to any newspaper report of what 
a man says, because the best of them may err, and the" 
worst arc sure to, but in the present- instance the report" 
is of so extraordinary a nature that it i? certain some one 
has blundered, and it seems our right if "not to ques- 
tion why," to find out who has done it. If Mr-. Long had 
not written over his own name so much natural history 
that, as he is reported to say, "is not science," and one 
has merely to cite his statement several titries repeated 
in "K'dunk, the Fat One," recently published in the Out-' 
look that the glowworm and the firefly .are ; one and the 
same creature, we should lay this .i^nhe|itatingly to the 
reporter. ; 
The newspaper (I suppose it is the Portsmouth Chron- 
icle for Jan'. 21, but the slip is sent me without date or 
heading) says : "He advanced the idea that they [ani- 
mals] know no such thing as mental or physical pain, 
and that their existence is care free and happy." Now, 
while no one knows all that passes in the mind of an 
animal, it seems but fair to judge them by the same 
standard that we apply to a child too young to talk. 
When a child cries for its mother we admit that he feels 
mental pain; but -jyhO; has not heard people say when a 
dog whines or howlsl, when taken away from his home, 
"He is crying for.iais master?" Who has not heard a 
dog howl by the" 'hour in a most lonesome, heart-broken 
way -when the family are away, and he is left alone? 
Does lie not feel mental pain ? A young beaver will cry 
for its mother almost exactly as a child does,' and for 'the 
same reason. 
