V 
How the Buffed Grouse Drums. • 
Ed. “Town and Country : ” 
In the February number of “Town 
and Country,” you have an interest- 
ing article upon the Rufied Grouse. 
I am a great admirer of this bird and 
have studied its habits thoroughly. 
In a heavy growth of hemlock timber 
with thick underbrush they seem to 
abound most commonly. Though they 
visit the hard timber, being very fond 
of the swelled buds of the yellow 
birch. In drumming they usually se- 
lect the trunk of a fallen hemlock 
lying nearly horizontally, though I can- 
not see why any other log or even a 
stone or knoll would not answer the 
same purpose. They take the same 
exact spot each day, facing the same 
way, as is indicated by the smooth- 
ness of the worn bark, and the drop- 
pings, which are more regular than if 
dropped from a perch above. They 
drum for a while in the early part of 
the morning, then again the latter part 
of the day ; during the middle of the 
day I cleared a pathway and protected 
with boughs any exposed portion of 
the path that I might approach them 
noiselessly and unseen. I have watch- 
ed them in close proximity and from 
each quarter, time and again, and 
I can assure you they neither strike 
the log nor their own bodies. While 
performing this exercise they stand 
erect from head to feet with wings 
[ slightly extended. In this position 
the stroke of the wings is forward, 
never downward ; being very concave 
they are brought around opposite each 
other by a quick movement ; the sound 
is produced by the concussion on the 
air, which may be described as a hol- 
low “puff, puff, puff.” At a distance 
■ of forty rods away the sound is much 
more distinct, than it is a short dis- 
tance off. Were this sound produced 
either by striking the wings to the 
log, or the bird’s body, or by meeting 
each other, the sound could be better 
described by the word “thump” or “flap’’ 
ihan as above, and would be more 
distinct near, than a short distance 
away. If disturbed many times they 
will desert their log and take another, 
;:ndif often disturbed they have no 
fixed place but will drum where they 
may happen to be. 
I M. M. WRIGHT. 
j Saratoga Springs, H. Y. ' 
NEW YORK, JANUARY 12, 1893. 
j VOL. XL.— No. a. 
/ No. 318 Beoadway, New York. 
that Afognak (or Litnik) River, is admirably adapted to 
salmon hatching, being near a safe harbor in a region 
tt here skilled labor is cheap, abounding with fairly good 
timber, and visited by salmon and trout in large numbers. 
Moreover, the river is not subject to great changes of 
level and will furnish ample supjoly of water by gravity. 
The President, at the suggestion of the Interior Depart- 
ment and the Fish Commission, has by a stroke of his pen 
effected an object, the importance of w-hich cannot easily 
be over-estimated. 
FAMILIAR ACQUAINTANCES. 
THE RUFFED GROUSE. 
The woods in tlie older parts of our country possess 
scarcely a trait of tlie primeval forest. The oldest trees 
have a comparatively youthful appearance, and are pig- 
mies in girth beside the decaying stumps of their giant 
ancestors. They are not so shagged with moss nor so 
scaled with lichens. The forest floor has lost its ancient 
carpet of ankle-deep moss and the intricate maze of fallen 
trees in every stage of decay, and looks clean-swept and 
bare. The tangle of undergrowth is gone, many of the 
siiecies wliicli composed it having quite disappeared, as 
liave many of the animals that flourished in the perennial 
sliade of the old woods. 
If in then- season one sees and hears more birds among 
their low-er interlaced branches, lie is not likely to catoli 
sight orwimd of many of the denizens of the old wilder- 
ness. .Xo startled deer bounds aw^ay before him nor bear 
shuttles awkwardiy from his feast of mast at one’s ap- 
proach, nor does one’s flesh creep at the howl of the gatli- 
ermg wolves or the jianther’s scream or the nistle of his 
stealthy footsteps. 
But as you saunter on your devious way you may iiear 
a rustle of quick feet in the dry leaves before you, and a 
sharp, msistant cry, a succession of short, liigh-pitclied 
clucks running into and again out of a querulous 
‘■ker-r-r-rC all expressing warning as much as alarm. 
Your ears gaiide your eyes to the exact point from wdiich 
the sounds apparently come, but if they are not keen and 
w ell trained, they fail to detach any animate form from 
the inanimate dun and gray of dead leaves and under- 
brush. 
With startling suddenness out of the monotony of life- 
less color in an eddying flurry of dead leaves, fanned to 
erratic flight by his wing-beats, the ruffed grouse bursts 
into view ill full flight -ndth the first strokes of his thund- 
ering pinions, and you have a brief vision of untamed 
nature as it was in the old days. On either side of the 
vanishing brown nebula the ancient mossed and licheried 
trunks rear themselves again, above it their lofty ramage 
veils the sky, beneath it lie the deep, noiseless cushion of 
moss, shrubs and plants that the old wmod-rangers knew 
and the moose browsed on and the tangled trunks of 
fallen trees. You almost fancy that you hear the long- 
ago silenced voices of the woods, so vividly does this wild 
spirit for an instant conjure up before you a vision of the 
old wild world whereof he is a survival. 
Acquaintance with civilized man has not tamed him, 
but made him the wilder. He deigns to feed upon your 
apple tree buds and buckwheat and woodside clover, not 
as a gift, but a begrudged compensation for what you 
have taken from him, and gives you therefor not even 
the thanks of familiarity, and notwithstanding his ac- 
quaintance with generations of your race he will not 
suffer you to come so near to him as he would your 
grandfather. 
If, wlien tlie leaves are falling, you find him in your 
barnyard, garden or out-house, or on your porch, do not 
think he has any intention of associating with you or 
your plebian poultry. You can only wonder where he 
found refuge from the painted shower when all his world 
was wooded. 
If he invites your attendance at his drum solo it is 
only to fool you with tlie sight of an empty stage, for 
you must be as stealthy and keen-eyed as a lynx if you 
see his proud display of distended ruff and wide spread 
of baired tail and accelerated beat of wings that mimic 
thunder, or see even the leafy curtain of his stage flut- 
ter in the wind of his swift exit. 
How the definite recognition of his motionless form 
evades you, so perfectly are his colors merged into those 
of his environment, whether it be in the flush greenness 
of summer, the painted hues of autumn or its later faded^ 
dun and gray, or in the whiteness of winter. Among one 
Olathe other he is but R cjot of deafl leaves, a kifQt u^xin a 
branch, the gray stump of a sapling protruding from the 
snow, or covered deep in the unmarked whiteness, he 
bursts from it like a mine exploded at your feet, leaving 
you agape till he has vanished from your sight and your 
ears have caugiit the last flick of his wings against the dry 
brandies. 
In Maj', his mate sits on her nest, indistinguishable 
among the brown leaves and gray branches about herself. 
Later when you surprise her with her brood, how con- 
spicuous she makes herself, fluttering and staggering 
along tlie ground, while her callow chicks, old in cunning 
though so lately their eyes first belield the world, scatter- 
ing in every direction like a shattered globule of quick- 
silver and magically disappearing where there is no aij- 
parent hiding-place. 
Did they con the first lesson of safety in the dark cham- 
ber of the egg, or absorb it with the warmth of the brood- 
ing breast that gave them life? 
Listen, and out of the silence which follows the noisy 
dispersion of the family you will hear the low sibilant 
voice of tlie mother calling her children to her or caution- 
ing them to continued hiding, and perhaps you may see 
lier alertly skulking among the underbrush still uttering 
that tender, persuasive cry, so faint that the chirp of a 
cricket might overbear it. 
Scatter her brood when tlie members are half grown and 
cihnost as strong of wing as herself, and you presently 
hear her softly oalling tliem and assuring them of her con- 
tinued care. 
Witli many other things that make you aware of the 
eliangmg season, you note the dispersion of this wildwood 
family. Eacli member is now shifting for itself in mat- 
ters of seeking food, safety, pleasure and comfort. 
\ oil will come upon one in the ferny undergrowth of 
the lowland woods wiiere he is consorting with woodcock, 
frighten another from liis feast on the fenceside elder- 
berries, scare one in tlie tliick sliadows of the evergreens, 
anotlier on the sparsely wooded steep of a rocky hillside^ 
and later liear the drum beat of a young cock that the soft 
Indian summer lias fooled into springtime love-making, 
and each has tlie alertness tliat complete self-dependence 
has enforced. 
Still, you may come upon tliem gathered in social 
groups, yet each going liis own way when flushed. Upon 
rare occasions you may surprise a grand convention of all 
the grouse of the region congregated on the sunny lee of 
a hillside. 
It is a sight and sound to remember long, though for 
the moment you forget the gun in yom- hands, when by 
ones, twos and dozens the dusky forms burst away up 
wind, down wind, across wind, signalling their departure 
with volleys of intermittant and continuous thunder. 
Not many times in your life, will you see this, yet if but 
once, you will be thankful that you have not outlived all 
the old world’s wildness. 
A? 
