FOREST AND STREAM. 
— — 
Cold Weather Messaj^es from the 
Woods. 
Mr. Bruin: I kind of looked for this. Yes, sir. All 
last fall I kept saying to myself: "We're going to have 
an old-timer, sure." Why? Ah, now you are asking me 
something. Maybe it was the leaves or maybe it was the 
clouds or maybe it was something else. Anyhow, I felt 
it in my bones. And so I^says, "I ain't going to get 
caught," and I went and put on an extra layer or two of 
fat. And I guess I did the right thing, all right all right. 
Oh, I ain't so slow, though some people do call me a 
^slouch. ' , 
Mr. Fox: I am a poor, innocent, guileless little fox. 
When I think of the . struggle I have had this winter I 
, am moved to tears of self-pity. How often I have had 
to go to bed cold and hungry. The snow has frozen so 
■hard that the rabbits have left no trail and the chickens 
have been kept indoors for the most part Then the 
quail, and the partridge have been getting scarcer and 
scarcer, and altogether it's been a terrible struggle. And 
it ain't right. I am sure I have done nothing to deserve 
it. - Excuse me — my tears are flowing again. 
Mr. Moose: . I haven't left my "yard" for over a. week, 
though the spruce boughs are nearly all bare. The fact 
is, I am afraid to travel. This winter has been a terror, 
and that's a fact. Tough as I am and ugly (that is to say, 
brave), it has made me as weak and timid as an old cow. 
Tf the fellows with the guns (the bad men!) were here 
now they wouldn't have to try many of their clever stunts 
^to get a crack at me. Egad ! I think I'd rather like to be 
shot. 
Mr. Caribou: I think I won't come south any more. 
What's the use? Up in the barrens it's no colder than 
(this. And food's no scarcer. For the snow here is so 
deep and. so hard that it is nearly impossible to get down 
.to the moss. I don't mind the cold if I get my belly full, 
hut it plays the dickens with me if I don't. I am reduced 
to mere skin and bone. The only decent thing about me 
is my antlers. They are a fine pair, but I think I'd give 
them for a square meal. What! Give my head? Oh, I 
must be raving. 
Mr. Squirrel: I ain't like some folks in the woods — 
1 don't leave things to chance. I keep my weather eye 
open and make provision for days like these. All winter 
I have lain snug in my hole, with a plentiful supply of 
nuts. Still, it's been a little monotonous lying so close. 
Other winters I used to have a chance to stir out once in 
a while, but never a one this. It's been a long siege, and 
I won't be sorry when the spring comes. 
Mr. Blue jay: I haven't uttered a sound for I don't 
know how long. The voice which I so loved to hear has 
become indifferent to me. I am no longer what I was. 
Cold and starvation have robbed me of my conceit — my 
assurance. I am no longer even curious. 'Tis true, my 
beautiful blue plumage shines with a new lustre, but it is 
as if to mock the skeleton beneath it. Why didn't I 
migrate in the fall? I had promptings, but ignored them 
(with my. customary conceit, thinking that I was equal 
to anything that came along). O, fool! 
Mr. Chickadee: Ha! ha! but this is jolly. The colder 
it is the better I seem to like it. You ought to have heard 
me the other day when the rocks were cracking. How 
I flew about and made the woods ring with my joyous 
cries. Pshaw ! I have no use for your chicken-hearted 
folks that fall into the dumps or give in at the first show 
of trouble or danger. Be up and at it. And don't take 
yourself too seriously, or life too seriously. None of us, 
I guess, is so very necessary, after all, and life is just what 
we choose to make it, for the most part. I saw to-day half 
a dozen of great, serious ravens lying dead in the snow, 
while I was about as lively as a June cricket. Even a 
winter like this respects a brave, cheerful bird (which I 
am, though I say it myself) . Qiickadee-dee-dee ! 
Mr. Boh White: I can stand a good deal, for I am 
naturally plump and well covered, but this is too much. 
Oh, what a winter! One cold wave after another, and 
the last always the worst. I am a mere wreck, and if I 
wasn't an old experienced bird T should be dead. I 
knew how to burrow in the snow and keep from getting 
frozen in, and I knew where a few seeds or berries might 
be found. Then I didn't get "rattled" and fly about from 
place to place and exhaust myself, so that when a sneak- 
, ing fox came along I was always able to give him the slip. 
But in spite of all this, I might not have pulled through 
if it hadn't been for a stroke of good luck. One day, by 
mere accident, I came upon a patch of ground swept clear 
of snow and strewn with seeds. What a delightful sur- 
prise it was, to be sure, and how I pitched in and satisfied 
my hunger. After that I hung around the place, and 
next day the apparent miracle was explained. A nice 
kindly-faced old man appeared carrying a bag, and when 
he reached the bare patch he put his hand in the bag and 
scattered more seeds. I thought I was now in Easy 
street. But, alas ! after a week or so the old man did 
not appear any more, and I suppose he was taken sick. 
However, being built a little on the strenuous order, as 
I have intimated, I struggled on and I am going to keep 
it up while there is a kick in me. But I do hope the 
spring is not far off, and if I survive how I shall make 
the meadows ring ! 
Mr. Owl: Did I hear something stir? No, dreaming 
again. Well, it's lucky I am such a good hand at sleep- 
ing, for there's nothing much else to be done this win- 
ter, and it relieves the pangs of hunger. It seems to me 
the Arctic regions have broken loose. Is the world com- 
ing to an end? I am accounted very wise and ought to 
be able to say something on that question, but I can't. 
Between ourselves, I don't know more than I should. I 
can look very wise, but that's all. It's merely a trick of 
the eyes. I have to laugh sometimes when I think how 
.people are fooled by my looks. I am a big fraud, and 
that's the candid truth. I make this confession fearing 
I may have to pass in my checks before I have another 
opportunity of easing my conscience. 
■ Mr. Jack Sparrow: yiy heye ! but ain't it cold. I 'ave 
been 'angin' around this 'ere Battery Park all winter, 
and I might as well 'ave been up in the Harctic regions. 
The park piled up with snow and the bay piled up with 
hice and the winds — great guns ! 'ow they 'ave swept 
down from the skyscrapers. Then food's been so precious 
'ard to get that starvation 'as stared me in the face twenty 
times, which those cussed cable-cars and automobiles 
are chiefly to blame. I believe they were hintroduced 
in border that we might starve. And, as I mentioned the 
skyscrapers, I believe they were hintroduced in border 
that we couldn't build. Not a hole or a corner left in 'em 
to stick a nest. But we'll build all right. Just you watch 
our building hoperations in the spring. We ain't the sort 
that can be froze out, I promise you. We don't come of 
that stock. 'Ere we are and 'ere we stick. So ta, ta ! 
(Is that a sci-ap I see over there? Yes. I guess I'll take 
a hand in.) 
The Spirit of the Woods: 
I mark with deep and solemn joy ' i i ' 
The rigor of the year; 
For everything it shall destroy 
A better will appear. 
No offspring of the lair or nest — 
No thing that is alive — . 
. Shall perish but because it's best 1 
That it should not survive. 
For Nattire's ways are always wise; _ 
Deem not that she is blind 
Or- vengeful when a creature dies: 
She's cruel to be kind. 
Frank Moonan. 
NErtT York, Feb 19. 
A Lecttife on Atctic America* 
At the American Museum of Natural History, on the 
night of Thursday, Feb. 25, Mr. Andrew J. Stone, the 
Arctic explorer, delivered an interesting lecture illus- 
trated by mainy beautiful photographs. These covered 
a wide range and consisted of Alaska scenery, animals 
and birds, natives and flowers. -Many of them were of ex- 
treme beauty and appealed very strongly to the large 
audience. 
Mr. Stone called attention especially to the import- 
ance of the study of the distribution of animal life, 
and pointed out that notwithstanding the fact that he 
had been collecting specimens in the Arctic for nine 
years, and that other trained collectors had been work- 
ing there, there were vast areas from which, as yet, no 
museum.s had any specimens of such animals as the 
bears, the moose, and the caribou. He alluded to the 
various causes which affect, or may be supposed to 
affect, the distribution of various species of animals, 
and which may have had an influence in differentiat- 
ing species and sub-species in regions similar or ad- 
jacent. 
After the lecture was over the audience was invited 
upstairs to the large mammal room of the museum, 
where a number of unmounted specimens brought back 
by Mr. Stone were displayed on the floor. Among 
these were most of the main mammals of the north 
— a large number of brown bears, black bears, white 
goats, moose, caribou of three species, a number of 
specimens of Stone's sheep; besides wolves, foxes, 
wolverines and many bird skins. These specimens 
were examined with great interest by all the visitors, 
among whom there were many big-game hunters. 
Amateur Moose Calling. 
The calling of moose is quite generally practiced by 
Indians and by many white woodsmen, but rarely by 
sportsmen. It has come to be considered the regular 
and expected thing for the man who hunts the moose in 
Nova Scotia or New Brunswick, to engage each year 
a woodsman to call for him. My own experience 
leads me to believe these sportsmen might, with much 
addition to their pleasure, some saving of expense and 
better chances of success, do their own calling. 
My knowledge of moose hunting by calling has been 
gained by seven annual trips to the Miramichi country 
of New Brunswick. The first two years I was guided 
by James Fowler, of Doaktown, an expert moose 
caller, and from him I learned to call. In 1899 I made 
the first hunt depending on my own calling, and sound- 
ed the horn all my voice would bear for nearly two 
.weeks before receiving any answer. By that time I 
had become very suspicious of my calling, but subse- 
quent experience has led me to believe the season was 
not far enough advanced. Guides naturally want to 
make the season of their employment as long as pos- 
sible, and often get their parties into camp as early 
as the law is off, or Sept 15. It is, however, a rare 
thing for a moose to come to a call earlier than Sept. 
20, and the chances are not good before the 22d or 
23d. From these dates for ten days is the best time, 
though if I were in the woods and had not secured any 
moose I would continue to call till Oct. 10. 
In the five years I have called, I have secured five 
moose — all the laws allows. The first year I practiced 
daily as much as my voice would stand for three 
months before the hunting season, and other years, 
■ three or four weeks. Thus I learned to sound the 
same note every time, and in a measure strengthened 
AND OUN 
my throat to stand the strain of calling which is very 
considerable, especially to one who is unaccustomed to 
singing or public speaking. Most sportsmen who 
have any opportunity to hear a caller can acquire this 
simple art. If I have been able so to do, sure any 
man may, for I have no ear for music, cannot keep 
the tune of the simplest melody, have a delicate throat 
and an untrained voice. Still I have been successful 
with the birch horn, and have found in it a keener 
pleasure than in any other line of sport. 
When one has learned the call there is still much to 
learn about moose calling. No two moose decoy alike. 
One will come in quietly, yet boldly and close; an- 
other will come crashing through the bushes and blow- 
downs, answering at every step and striking his horns 
against the trees. This is the kind of moose not to 
hunt if you are afraid of a noise. Yet another will 
circle in caution, or come noisily till near, and then 
circle and come quietly. 
It is quite usual in a good moose country for two 
bulls to live in one section, as in the valley of a small 
brook. These are usually one big moose, and a spike- 
horn of two to four years. They consort together in 
harmony through the summer and early fall, but quarrel 
when the rutting season comes; and the hide of the 
smaller will show the marks of the horns of the larger. 
In 1902 my camp was located on an unnamed little 
stream, flowing into the Dungarvon River. Near this 
camp was a steep hillside, burned nearly bare, to which 
early one morning I went to call. At first sound of 
the horn a moose answered from the green woods 
below, and I looked for him to come in sight at the 
edge of the timber. Some minutes had passed in sil- 
ence when a challenging grunt caused me to turn, and, 
there behind me on the bare hillside was a wild look- 
ing spikehorn just eighteen yards from me. That so 
large an animal could have come in so close without 
making noise enough to be heard seems impossible, 
but this he had done, and how long he had stood there 
is only matter of conjecture. Another year I had lo- 
cated my camp on a tributary of the Renous. The 
second morning in camp I went alone to a little beaver 
meadow close to the tote road and called at daybreak. 
Almost at first a moose answered from up the beaver 
brook, and not coming as fast as I desired, I called to 
hurry him, when another answered from the same di- 
rection, so that I had the two coming tandem. The 
first was the larger one, and he had a hard time getting 
his horns through the alders. When he was pretty 
near, and yet not in sight he circled to the right, and 
as he ceased to make any noise I thought he had be- 
come frightened and gone away, as called moose some- 
times will. The smaller moose still came on and was 
nearly to the edge of the thick growth when I heard 
a grunt behind me, and turned to see the first and 
larger moose looking* out of the bushes at the other 
side of the meadow. His head I now have, and it 
shows the animal to have been an old one with a 
twenty-six point head, and no doubt he was very wise 
in many ways of avoiding the hunter. 
Hunting by calling can be made very easy. My way 
is to call from 4 or 4:30 in the afternoon, as late as thcr 
rifle sights show plainly, and from daybreak or a little 
earlier, till about 8 o'clock in the morning. This gives 
all the middle of the day for reading, and the rest a 
busy man needs when on his vacation. As nothing is 
worse for moose calling than to have men moving 
about a country and tracking it up, I always stay in 
camp through the middle of the day and insist on my 
men doing the same. 
It is well to call in the morning at the same place 
one has called the night before, as a moose may be 
