JAN. 20, 1906.] 
FOREST AND STREAM. 
IOI 


in the angler’s experience when the call is for 
him to be seeking the haunts of the trout in the 
profound solitudes, tramping over the rough 
portages through old woods, canoeing on unfre- 
quented lakes where the loons call, casting the 
fly where perhaps no fly was ever cast before, 
and the unsophisticated trout leap to meet it as 
it flutters down to the surface of the water, liv- 
ing on plainest fare, sleeping on beds of balsam 
boughs in the open air under the stars—and all 
this has its own peculiar, indescribable charm; 
but then, again, one will prescribe a less active 
regimen for one’s self—and this also has its own 
compensations. 
The sagacious crows seem to have a schedule 
of all the mid-day luncheon camps of.the shores 
and islands, for wherever the rude tables are 
spread and the odor of the broiling fish rises 
they gather upon the adjacent trees, keeping up 
a lively conversation among themselves, and as 
soon as the boats push off the sable wings swoop 
down for the remnants of the feast. 
For several days in the latter part of August 
and early September we had seen toward even- 
ing large numbers of them flying, singly and in 
flocks, over the lake. We supposed they were 
crossing to high, wooded hills, but passing one 
evening in our boat, between two islands, each 
having a central ridge crowned with pines, we 
discovered the nightly rendezvous here upon 
these islands in the center of the lake. Hun- 
dreds of the crows were gathered and in riotous 
sport, now settling upon the tops of the trees, 
then rising simultaneously in the air, tumbling 
and plunging down again, headlong and sidewise, 
with ludicrous movements and vociferous caw- 
ing. Their roosting place was in the thick foli- 
age of the pines, and as the twilight came on 
they gradually ceased their antics, became quiet 
and their carnival ended, dropped noiselessly, one 
by one, from the tree tops down into the heart 
of the branches to be safely sheltered until the 
dawn. 
Leaving the boat for a day, giving the guide an 
Opportunity to ride to Athens with Solon and to 
absorb some morsels of his wisdom and perhaps 
a bottle of beer, we climb up a slope from the 
lake through cedars and maples and birches over 
a high ridge shaded by old oaks, down across a 
brook and up a ravine, and enter a small, grassy 
park in the woods—a very suitable place for the 
_ weods folk to sun themselves. One day two 
foxes walked out into this park, perhaps with 
expectation of finding a bird or a mouse in the 
thick grass. They did not know or suspect they 
were being watched from the near thicket by 
one of the Natural History Bureau. Their 
movements were natural. One of them stopped 
and scratched an ear with a hind leg, after the 
manner of a dog. Evidently they were not of 
the latest modern type, but just plain John Bur- 
roughs, red foxes. They strolled about in the 
grass, warily enough as became foxes, but quite 
at ease, and finally walked, not “loped,’ each by 
himself into the covert. No doubt they were the 
owners of the den found a day or two later by 
following the trail of some baying hounds having 
a hunt on their own account. From the park 
‘several trails lead into the deeper woods. 
There are many acorn bearing oaks among the 
trees which furnish food for the black squirrels 
that in late August were eating the yet green, 
soft fruit. The black squirrel, like the gray, is 
shy and quickly hides when approached. He is 
seen best when surprised running on the ground 
from tree to tree. Twenty miles away, near the 
St. Lawrence River, there is a colony of grays, 
but they do not seem to live heré in numbers, al- 
though one was seen as he was having a fierce 
vocal controversy with a big black on an oak. 
Porcupines are numerous. The first one we 
found was stretched at full length upon the limb 
of a tree about forty feet from the ground. True 
to the porcupine reputation for lazy indifference 
he refused to move except to elevate his quills 
when the trunk of the tree was rapped sharply 
with a club. 
We had the like experience when another 
would not budge from his perch on a tall oak, 
although the bole was vigorously thwacked. A 
young one was discovered lying on a low limb 
of a tree while the mother was walking back 
and forth on a higher branch, looking down and 
‘nature unknown to any of his race. 
calling, apparently anxious at the exposed posi- 
tion of her offspring, but her efforts failed to 
move the sleepy child, and it continued to rest, 
undisturbed by the clamor above or the possible 
danger below. It is well said of the porcupine 
that it is the most independent of all the inhabi- 
tants of the woods, for his food is easily ob- 
tained in abundance from the trees, his covering 
is ample protection from almost every other ani- 
mal, excepting man, and he can afford to be 
careless and sluggish, and venturesome in his 
wanderings. 
The woods furnished one mystery. From some 
of the oaks which bore many acorns scores of 
the outer ends or tips had been nipped off and 
were lying on the ground under the trees, or had 
lodged in falling upon the branches of adjoining 
_ trees. In every instance, so far as could be as- 
certained, the severed twigs held empty acorn 
cups. What cut them off? The black squirrel 
might have done it, but why should he? He 
could easily run out on the branches and take the 
acorn. Why should he take the trouble to sever 
twigs, as large as a lead pencil and drop them 
out of his immediate reach? 
Porcupines were seen on the same trees, but 
they are heavy and clumsy and could hardly 
reach the ends of the branches. And do they 
eat acorns? It was suggested by a guide that 
it was the work of raccoons. 
Many partridges are seen and heard while 
walking quietly on the trails, but they are wild. 
Near the head of the lake is Slack’s farm, 
where the amateur acheologist with his stout hoe 
can find under the sod evidences of Indian oc- 
cupation in,remnants of pottery and crumbled 
bones of deer. No doubt the red man fed well 
on the ancestors of the fish the white man now 
comes to angle for, and on the deer that are no 
longer found in their former haunts. Jae ae 
New York, Jan 10, 
The Abominable Evidence. 
THERE are times when one does not care to 
know the truth, times when it is positive pleasure 
to cherish a delusion until it seems so real that 
truth is not only unwelcome, but is resented as a 
disagreeable intruder. Of course there are plenty 
of plain matter-of-fact people who will not accept 
this proposition, just as there are those who 
would reject any declaration whatever. But the 
sportsman, being a lover of the woods and waters, 
is not a matter-of-fact person; in fact, he is 
oftener given to matter-of- fancy, and not unfre- 
quently loves to visit out of the way spots where 
he can imagine himself a discoverer of a bit of 
In his far 
away trips for fish or game, he often comes upon 
some stream in which he is certain no angler has 
ever wet his line, or upon a valley whose sides he 
is confident never echoed to the discharge of a 
gun before his own had broken the silence. This 
feeling gives him a sense of proprietorship in the 
spot which, if not rudely dispelled by evidence of 
man’s previous presence, will be cherished. 
This evidence takes different forms at times. It 
may be the print of a recent foot that alarms you 
in your character of Crusoe, or the blackened log 
where a camp fire burned years before, and these, 
while they suggest_the presence of man at some 
time more or less remote, do not always indicate 
the style and character of the person who has 
dared to intrude upon your solitude before it be- 
came your own. It might have been an Indian, 
and in that case it does not affect your peace of 
mind. Perhaps it was some adventurous white 

trapper, and, if so, you are but little affected.. But 
if instead of the recent footprint or the more an- 
cient remains of a camp-fire, the abhorrent sar- 
dine box or the tin covering of the pressed corned 
beef meets the eye, then the woeful doubt that 
perhaps a sportsman tourist has been before you 
rises to disturb your dreams of being the Colum- 
bus of a miniature new world. Still, there is a 
possibility that the sardine box or the tin wrapper 
of the cartilaginous beef may have been part of 
the stores of the sinewy trapper, who, intent only 
on getting his furs, never stopped to enjoy the 
beauties of your solitude, to fish in your streams, 
nor to shoot in the valley which you feel to be 
yours by right of discovery. The knowledge of 
this possibility will, after the first shock is over 
and you have recovered from it, soon assume the 
position of a wholesome fact and you will have 
no doubt of its truth. While it may thus appear 
that some other white man has been before you, 
you are still the Columbus and he simply the 
Norseman, whose name is unknown. He may 
have seen the spot, but who was he? A semi- 
mythical adventurer whose very name is un- 
known, while even your little brothers know 
yours! 
But, suppose that the proof of man’s previous 
presence in your new world should take the shape 
of a tomato-can set upon a stump and riddled 
with bullet holes? Your heart sinks at the 
abominable evidence. Fellows of your own 
stripe have been there before you! They have 
had as little regard for your feelings as you had 
for those who might visit your last camp, where 
you left the same abominable evidence for all to 
see. You think they might have had the decency 
to throw the thing away, if not to bury it, for- 
getful that you left your well-riddled tomato-can 
upon the stump near your last camp-fire, and even 
took pains to replace it after the final bullet from 
your repeating rifle had knocked it down. You 
think long upon this subject and resolve that if 
you do practice upon the insensible tomato can 
in the wilderness, you will see in future that the 
abominable evidence of your target practice in 
places presumed to be “‘untrodden” will never be 
obtruded upon the vision of those who are so un- 
fortunate as to be second on the field of your 
explorations, 
We have seen the trail from Kansas City to 
New Mexico, when it was the only way of travel 
between those points, so lined with sardine boxes 
that if the grass should ever grow over the wagon 
road it could be accurately located by them. We 
have seen the tin coverings of occasional dainties 
left by the frugal trappers from Hudson’s Bay 
to Puget Sound, and have beheld a label from a 
can of peaches lying in the bottom of a small 
stream in Ontanagon which we thought was un- 
known to tourists, and may have come from some 
Indian trading post; but the riddled tomato-can 
ostentatiously mounted upon a stump never al- 
lows any play of imagination as to who left it. 
It shows the presence of men with more ammuni- 
tion than they care to take back. It proves the 
presence of holiday tourists, and is, in fact, the 
abominable evidence of target shooting in the 
sacred domain of solitude. 

Graves Meadow. 
Ir is only a small green spot in the woods of 
southern Vermont, in the town of Stratton, lying 
on the eastern slope of the Green Mountains. 
Perhaps it is forty rods long by fifteen or twenty 
in width. A clear mountain stream runs through 
it, fringed part of the way with alders. Its name 
even is known to only a few hundred in that 
thinly settled region; but it is to a limited few a 
famous place. For the last half a century or 
more, indeed since the days of the early settlers, 
it has probably yielded the fishermen more trout 
than any other place of its size in all New Eng- 
land. It has peculiar natural advantages in this 
respect. Above it and below it for half a mile in 
either direction are alder swamps, so dense and 
tangled as to bid defiance to any but the most 
persistent angler. There the trout lay and breed 
in comparative security, and from them the little 
meadow is constantly stocked. In my younger 
days, long, long ago, it was no unusual thing to 
take a hundred fine trout from this place. The 
supply seemed inexhaustible. The next day after 
being thoroughly fished it would swarm with a 
new lot. I remember once taking forty-four 
from a small “hole” in half an hour, They would 
probably average over seven inches in length. 
Even at this day, when most of the trout 
streams in that vicinity are depleted by constant 
fishing, Graves Meadow is making a heroic effort 
to maintain its old reputation. Last May I took 
about thirty trout of legal size (six inches) from 
its waters. Having during a long life enjoyed 
many pleasant hours in this beautiful spot, I think 
the least I can do is to endeavor to preserve its 
memory before the greedy lumbermen shall have 
destroyed this old landmark. Bak. Bi 
