146 
ounce should preserve its high temperature in the 
severest cold. This insusGcptibility to cold in the ex- 
posed parts of the body is manifested also in the feet 
of waterfowl, who rest on the frozen ice without the 
slightest inconvenience. 
With regard to the natural covering of feathers and 
hair which so perfectly protects animals, it is obvious 
that its efficacy depends upon the absolute non-con- 
ducting power of the air which is entangled between 
the interstices of the feathers or hair, and consequently 
prevents the escape of the heat natural to the body of the 
animal. This is often ignored by practical men, who 
keep animals as they think from suffering from cold, 
while they are exposing them to much greater evils 
than if they allowed them to stay in a state of nature. 
Let me take a few examples. Pheasants are much more 
delicate, naturally, than common fowls. If reared nat- 
urally by the parent birds, pheasants are never in a house 
or under any shelter in their lives. Raised under proper 
-natural conditions, they never have roup, cold, disease, 
or any ailment. Can as much be said of those that are 
reared under hens in coops? Take again the common fowls 
that are so carefully shut up in hen houses and pro- 
tected from cold. Is their plumage or condition at all 
equal to that of those which are reared semi-wild in 
the open without ever being in a house in thek 
lives? Turkeys, as we know, are usually regarded by 
the farmers' wives as the most delicate of all poultry. 
They are about the hardiest, as those who rear them 
wild in the forests of th€ north of Scotland know full 
well. The interlacement of the webbing of the feathers, 
and their position in layers one over the other, with 
an exceedingly thin stratum of air between each, not 
only perfectly protects them from cold, but also from 
the inroad of rain. All the small birds that during the 
last disastrous summer have had to roost out in the trees 
in the open have been drenched nearly every day and 
night, and yet have not suffered. 
A singular example of the slight appreciation of the 
non-conducting power of animal covering has just been 
made manifest. The glove makers have recently dis- 
covered that no thick, clumsily manufactured glove, 
preventing the movement of the human fingers, is equal 
to the thin skin of an animal, provided the hair is not 
rernoved, but turned inside so as to form a natural 
lining to the glove. Thus constructed, a glove is far 
superior to any artificially manufactured. In fact, it 
would be difficult, if not impossible, to construct a 
woven material whose power of preventing the escape 
of heat would be equal to that of a skin and fur of 
equal stoutness: Many other illustfations will present 
themselves to every observer of nature.— W. B. Teget- 
meier, in London Field. 
The Attitudinizing Woodcock. 
One evening in November, many years ago, a country 
friend brought a live cock woodcock to my house in 
Byron, Illinois. A spent shot had made his capture possi- 
ble; in fact, one could not see that he was hurt in any 
way, after a sharp, scrutinizing search under a powerful 
light on the kitchen table. All at once the beautiful 
creature slipped from my hand, and, assuming the air, 
mien, and ways of a turkey gobbler in the mating season, 
proceeded to strut about on the table in the circle of 
powerful light. It was one of the strangest, wildest, most 
beautiful sights the writer ever beheld. After a solid 
hour's performance, the little audience decided that no 
taxidermical touch should ever desecrate that beautiful 
feathered form, and the bird was gently slipped into the 
pocket of an old hunting coat, carried a mile out of town 
into the country, and turned loose in the edge of a 
hundred-acre cornfield, into which he quickly scuttled. 
Dr. A. J. Woodcock. 
Canvasbacfc Shooting. 
Towards the middle of October, when the later frosts 
have browned the earth with November tints and turned 
the crimson autumn leaves to sombre yellow and ruSset, 
there comes a day that is gray and cold, accompanied 
by a roaring northeast wind and a threatening, stormy 
sky. Some time before its wintry blast has been felt by 
those ensconced within the limits of civilization, it has 
stirred the wildfowl from their northern haunts, and the 
migration to new feeding and warmer climes has 
commenced. 
It is now that the sportsman's eye turns eagerly toward 
some coveted shooting resort, where he knows of a wide 
blue bay surrounded by acres of marsh land interlaced 
with numerous waterways, and which this change of 
weather has undoubtedly filled with ducks. Thus, when 
the impulse moves, action follows, so one wet, blustery 
evening, the Veteran and I packed our shooting para- 
phernalia and started for the West, where we anticipated 
bagging more than one plump old canvasback before our 
return. 
Arrived at our destination, we found the snug little 
hunting lodge situated on a large island in the marsh 
all in readiness, with every comfort at hand that could 
be wished for, and this, together with the cordial greet- 
ings of friends, old and new, proved a warm welcome. 
Pete, the Veteran's old and faithful punter of many 
years, gave us glowing accounts of the hundreds of can- 
vasbacks swarming in the bay. "I never see so much 
ducks," he said. "Clouds of 'em," giving emphasis to 
his words with a thoroughly French gesture and waving 
of stout arms. "But you bet we'll burn those ole fellers 
come a good wind 'long I" For several days the weather 
continued mild, with scarcely a breath of wind from any 
point, and of course these conditions were decidedly un- 
favorable for duck shooting. The birds, in fact, re- 
mained out on the lake during the day, sleeping lazily in 
the sun, and not coming back to the bay until nearly 
dark, when they fed all night to their heart's " content 
undisturbed. Pete was unconsolable, abusing the weather 
in strong terms, and going around with a distressed 
countenance. "Did you ever See such a bad luck," he mut- 
tered continually to himself; and not until one evening 
when ominous clouds had banked up in the south did his 
face brighten. 
"We are going to have a change, I think," said the 
Veteran, whose eye and weather calculations are as good 
as a barometer, "and if it rains there is a chance that the 
wind may shift to the northwest and blow hard." 
"Then you bet I be down here afore daylight," re- 
marked Pete, with growing jubilation, "an' wake you 
folks up early, so's we can get a good whack at them 
ducks while they're stirrin' round." Before turning in 
that night I went to the door of the cottage and took a 
survey of the weather. A gentle rain was falling with a 
soft murmuring patter on the roof, and far out in the 
marshes I could hear the quacking of some old mallard 
as he called to his mates in a distant, misty pond hole. 
It was pitch dark the following morning when I awoke 
to hear Pete clattering and clumping around the next 
room, making fires and conversing with himself in low 
suppressed tones. The warm glow of the stoves and a 
fragrant aroma from the kitchen caused everyone to turn 
out in short order, for Al, our faithful adherent of the 
culinary department, had been astir early. 
"Where are we going?" I asked the Veteran across the 
breakfast table, at which we were seated enjoying a hot, 
tasty repast. ' 
"I think we will take East Point," he answered; "if 
we don't do well we can shift to Middle Point." 
"All ready," announced Pete, at this moment poking 
his head in the door with a beaming smile. "We must 
get 'long pretty quick, fer it's stopped rainin'. You bet 
J take plenty of decoys, too," he added with a significant nod. 
Fifteen minutes later we were pulling down the gray, 
squall-swept river that emptied into the bay some dis- 
tance below, our duck boats running easily before the 
stiff northwest wind, while we breathed in deeply the 
cold bracing air, for, as Pete had said, the rain was over, 
and several lurid streaks of golden sky broke the dark 
clouds in the eastern horizon. As we came within sight 
of the bay, two or three hundred mud hens jumped from 
the water and spattered awkwardly over its surface to a 
place of safety. But beyond these was the sight that 
made us hold our breaths with wonder, and experience 
those remarkable sensations to which all sportsmen are 
subject when any large quantity of game presents itself 
to the vision. With a roar louder than an express train, 
a cloud of canvasbacks arose from the water, their silvery 
plumage flashing and gleaming as they swept around the 
bay in several great columns, and, finally uniting in one 
body, they streamed off toward the lake. 
"What'd I tell you?" commented Pete, with a satisfied 
grin. "An' if we don't ketch 'em to-day I make a big 
mistake." The Veteran concluded that the best place 
to set out at would be Middle Point, and this decision 
proved a wise one, as few birds worked by East Point 
during the day. 
"Hey! you Billy, hurry up with them decoy," shouted 
Pete to his sturdy offspring, who was coming in the rear 
with a boat full of wooden treasures. "How you want 
'em set?" he continued, addressing the Veteran, for by 
this time we had reached the point and commenced 
preparations. 
"Put a good bunch well to the leeward," he answered, 
"and string the rest out in front." With these directions 
carried into effect, there appeared as tempting a raft of 
decoys as any duck's eye would wish to fall upon. Our 
boats lay side by side, well concealed by "blow-guns" and 
mats of wild celery strewn over the sterns, while we were 
snugly hidden behind this warm shehering screen. - 
"Get in the grass, Pete, quick!" called the Veteran, 
sharply. "There's a bunch of ducks heading up this 
way." At his words I looked down the bay where I 
could see a number of birds circling around in large and 
small flocks. One of these, a bunch of fifteen or twenty 
canvasbacks, had separated from the main body and were 
pointed straight for our decoys, lowering as they drew 
nearer. "Keep down," said the Veteran, "and let them 
swing around again before you shoot." Swish went the 
soft whistle of wings, as the birds passed overhead, still 
keeping rather high, and I heard Pete give several low 
coaxing calls m the grass behind us. "Now they're com- 
ing," whispered the Veteran. "Get ready," he added, and 
the ominous click of safeties pushed forward followed. 
With tense nerves and pounding heart I lay motionless 
until through the open slits of the screen I saw the noble 
old ducks, some with set, curved pinions, and others 
slowly hovering, crowding over the decoys. Then I 
picked out one of those tempting marks and fired. Rip! 
bang! spoke the Veteran's right and left at the same 
instant, and three birds collapsed, striking the water and 
sending a shower of spray into the air, while I succeeded 
111 knocking over a fourth as he swung by, bafHing against 
the wind. 
"There is a tie for you," I said to my companion, as 
Pete, pushed out to retrieve the fallen ducks that were 
drifting rapidly across the bay before the stiff white- 
capped breeze. 
"Pretty good beginning," he answered, and we both 
settled down comfortably in our boats ready for the next 
flock. I have no doubt but that a person looking in on 
us would have seen a pair of very pleased countenances 
reclining behind the screens at that moment. Some little 
time after this I happened to glance over toward the 
lake, which is divided from the bay by a narrow strip 
of beach, and saw a long string of birds that I took to 
be geese winging their way across the sky in a north- 
westerly direction. 
"That is a nice bunch of swan," said the Veteran, an- 
swering the question that was on my lips. Stretched 
out_ in single file they beat slowly and heavily in the wind' 
their bodies showing dark against the gray Novembei 
clouds, for evidently they were all young birds, as we 
could detect no white ones among the flock. These were 
the first swan I had ever seen, and the sight gave me a 
pleasant thrill of delight. 
"Mark ahead !" roared Pete suddenly from his place of 
concealment, where he was keeping a sharp eye on the 
bay, and simultaneously with that announcement, guns 
were tightly gripped, and we both slid doWn in the boats 
well out of sight. Flying low over the water came a 
string of ducks, and swinging around to the leeward they 
sailed up against the wind in fine style. It seemed as if 
one drake with bowed wings and long graceful neck 
hung almost over the stern of my boat when I raised to 
shoot. Then, as four barrels belched out, he crumpled 
and fell, together with another bird that lay floating on 
its back, while a third, crippled, swam in the decoys. 
"Hurry up and shoot that 'crip' over again," the Veteran 
said, and while I vainly endeavored to load with my 
fingers all thumbs, he had a fresh cartridge in, and the 
canvasback's troubles were over. 
"We ought to have killed seven or eight," he said, ad- 
dressing me. "The only trouble was they came in too 
close, and were scattered so that you couldn't get more 
than one bird in range at a time." 
"My second was a clean miss," I rejoined, "and I had 
a first rate shot, too." 
"I see a duck fall out in der bay," put in Pete at this 
moment, pushing in the grass within speaking distance. 
"Mebbe I kin get him ; might as well try," he added, and 
then without warning disappeared from sight in his 
capacious punt boat, while the Veteran ejaculated, "Mark 
left ! Here's a single duck coming in right over the 
decoys." 
"Give it to him," I whispered breathlessly. 
"No, you shoot," he answered, "and hold well ahead." 
"He's going like a bullet," I returned, "so be all ready 
in case I miss." 
However, though the ill-fated canvasback received 
some of the contents of my second barrel, it only seemed 
to urge him faster, when the Veteran, with a difficult 
right-hand swing centered him in a charge of shot. 
Lunch time at hand, we both did full justice to muskrat 
sandwiches and a bottle of cider, our appetites sharpened 
by the sweet, cold, sparkling air. Pete, who had gone 
after the crippled duck, returned shortly and added an- 
other bird to the score. 
Once during the afternoon a flock of some fifty canvas- 
backs swung in to the decoys. I had sat up in the boat 
to watch a string of geese passing overhead, listening 
with enjoyment to their wild, weird honks, when a cry 
of "Mark left !" made me duck quickly and seize my gun. 
A minute later the air seemed alive with birds — sturdy 
bodies and long, slim, outstretched necks. Instinctively 
I managed to single out a pair and killed them with the 
first barrel, but only succeeded in dusting one with the 
second, as I did not lead quite enough. The Veteran 
made two excellent doubles, however, crippling a third 
that eventually escaped, and we were well Satisfied when 
Pete brought in six plump, heavy silver-backs. 
When the ducks were not flying we would lie back 
comfortably and enjoy the beauty of the clouds. Low in 
the western horizon they were arranged in long billowy 
folds, broken by streaks of gold that stretched across 
froni north to south, and through these seams and 
crevices in the dark blue-black zenith streamed 
radiating shafts of clear, brilliant sunshine. At 
intervals it would burst forth in full glory, flood- 
ing the gray white-capped bay with light, while a 
minute later another dark curtain of clouds caused the 
landscape to assume a stern, sombre aspect. As all good 
sportsmen know, the pleasures of shooting, whether with 
