THE GROUSE.

HATTIE WASHBURN, GOODWIN, S.D.

"The grouse is a very fine bird." The sentence leaped out of the conversation and caught my wandering attention. With a quick smile I looked toward our rather corpulent guest across the table. I love birds, and a word in their praise ever fills me with pleasure, not alone because one delights in the praise of whatever he cherishes, but because the expression of such a sentiment indicates that the speaker is one who will befriend the birds or at least leave them unmolested.

"Take them when they are properly prepared," our guest continued, and I lowered my eyes to my plate in disgust. He appreciated their value only as a palatable dish to feed his fat body or possibly as a target for his gun.

Such is the general att.i.tude, it would seem, toward the grouse family, from the ruffled grouse of the wooded portions of the Eastern States to the prairie chicken of our vast plains, the dusky grouse of the mountain regions of the West and all their related species.

The drumming of the ruffled grouse so harmoniously breaking the stillness of the woodland is dear to the nature-lover; no sound is more characteristic of the prairies than the prairie chicken's melodious booking that echoes afar like the low notes of a vast organ; the dusky grouse's booming call, that may seem to come from a distance even when the bird is near by, has its place in the great symphony of nature, yet these musical sounds are being steadily and relentlessly silenced by the gun of the sportsman. By this silencing that costs the lives of countless hundreds of innocent and harmless birds, the agriculturist is being robbed of one of his most powerful allies in the endless battle against insects.

Nature has given the grouse tribe large, palatable bodies and characteristics which render them easy marks for the hunter, with only zest enough to the quest to make these birds what sportsmen call "good game." She has also endowed the grouse with food habits which should cause them to live and multiply under the protection of man. The former characteristics, however, seem most strongly to attract mankind in general, and the grouse is known as game rather than the insect-eating bird that it is.

Laws have been made for the protection of the pinnated grouse, or prairie chicken, and others of their tribe. These laws have been enforced and have aided materially in the great work of bird-protection. They have also, it is regrettable to state, been violated and ignored. Too often the land owner is too lenient; being blinded to his own interests or being keenly alive to the need of protecting the grouse within his realm, is powerless to act because of lack of evidence.

The prairie hen nests upon the ground, choosing her own nesting site, performing the duties of incubation, and rearing her young unaided by the c.o.c.k. There are few wooers in bird-life so ardent as the pinnated grouse, yet he that joins in the mating ceremony of booming morning after morning on some chosen booming-ground or fiercely contests with other males for the favor of the chosen one deserts her soon after the winning.

Thus the eggs and young, having only one protector, are unduly exposed.

Since they are always on the ground until the young are able to fly their loss is great. It is estimated that half of the prairie hens'

eggs are destroyed by fire, water and other causes. Wet seasons are very injurious to the prairie chicks, and at all times they are in danger from skunks and other prowlers, save through the cunning and courageous protection of their devoted mother.

These unavoidable dangers should appeal to the farmer to render the prairie chicken his kindness and protection whenever he can. He has few, if any, greater allies, for during the rearing of the young and throughout the summer the food of the prairie chicken consists princ.i.p.ally of insects, chiefly of the destructive gra.s.shopper. During the winter they feed upon weed-seed and scattered grain. Of course, at times the prairie chickens make slight inroads upon the crops, but these are many times repaid by the noxious weed-seeds they destroy.

The wild rose is one of the most beautiful flowers on the prairie. It is also one of the most troublesome weeds, in the destruction of which the prairie chicken has no superior, for one of their princ.i.p.al foods in winter is the wild rose fruit.

The beneficial characteristics of the prairie chicken, varied by environment and ensuing tendencies of the birds, hold true of the entire grouse family. Wherever found, the grouse are considered good game birds. Were their good works in the destruction of weeds and insects as well known as is their desirability for the table or for targets for the sportsmen, they would be regarded as one of the most valuable among the agriculturist's feathered friends.

--_Reprint from Nature and Culture._

[Ill.u.s.tration]

BUNNY.

There was once a little bunny, In a little wooden hutch; He'd a happy little master, And he loved him very much.

But that bunny wasn't happy, Tho' he'd such a pleasant home, For he thought 'twould be much nicer In the world outside to roam.

So he asked the pretty ponies, And both answered with a neigh, "Don't be silly; we should miss you, If you were to run away."

So that foolish little bunny Whispered, "Thank you, very much,"

And went back again, contented, To his little wooden hutch.

[Ill.u.s.tration: A SUMMER SCENE IN MERCER COUNTY.]

[Ill.u.s.tration: A BRANCH OF THE MAUMEE.]

OHIO'S PIONEER TREE-PLANTER.

BY CLEMENT L. MARTZOLFF, OHIO UNIVERSITY, ATHENS, OHIO.

In the year 1806, a man living in Jefferson County, happened to look out upon the Ohio River one day when he saw floating down with the tide a strange looking craft. It consisted of two ordinary canoes lashed together. The crew was one very oddly-dressed man and the cargo comprised racks of appleseeds. This singular man was John Chapman, better known as "Johnny Appleseed," from his penchant for gathering apple-seeds at the cider-presses in western Pennsylvania, bringing them to Ohio, planting them at suitable places, so when the pioneer came he would find an abundance of young apple trees ready for planting.

This was the mission of "Johnny Appleseed" who conscientiously believed it had been heaven sent. He was deeply religious and his faith taught him he could live as complete a life in thus serving his fellow-men, as in perhaps some higher (?) sphere of usefulness. Certainly the result of his labors proved a great blessing to the Ohio pioneer.

Very little is known of Johnny Appleseed before he came to Ohio. He was born in Springfield, Ma.s.sachusetts, in the opening of the Revolutionary War, 1775. As a boy he loved to roam the woods, searching for plants and flowers. He was a lover of nature in all its forms. He studied the birds as well as the flowers. He loved the song of the brook as he did that of the birds. At night he would lie upon his back and gaze into the sky and whether he studied flowers or stars, brooks or birds, he saw G.o.d's hand-writing in them all. It is thought he came westward with his half-brother about the year 1801, and located somewhere about Pittsburgh. His father, Nathaniel Chapman, shortly afterward became one of the residents of Marietta and later moved to Duck Creek, in Washington county, where he died. "Johnny" never spoke much about his previous life. It was said by some that he had been once disappointed in love and this accounted for his never marrying and for living the life he did. This is not probable. Such stories are told about every old bachelor and since they are so common, they lose their value.

What educational advantages our tree-planter enjoyed, we do not know, either. But it is certain he possessed a fair knowledge of the rudiments of learning. He was a great reader for one of his time and his mode of life, and moreover, he was a clear thinker.

There are some who would call "Johnny Appleseed" "queer;" others, "freakish;" again, "eccentric," etc. This peculiar, odd personage may be described by all these terms. But the ruling pa.s.sion of his life was to plant apple-seeds, because he loved to see trees grow and because he loved his fellow-men. The world has often been made better because there was a man who possessed but one idea, and he worked it for all it was worth.

"Johnny's" methods were to keep up with the van of pioneerdom and move along with it to the westward. So we find him in the early years of the century in western Pennsylvania, then in Ohio, and after forty-five years of service to mankind, he dies and is buried near Ft. Wayne in Indiana.

His nurseries were usually located in the moist land along some stream.

Here he would plant the seeds, surround the patch with a brush fence and wander off to plant another one elsewhere. Returning at intervals to prune and care for them, he would soon have thrifty trees growing all over the country.

He did not plant these trees for money, but the pioneer got them oftentimes for old clothes, although his usual price for each tree was "a fip-penny-bit."

The first nursery Johnny planted in Ohio was on George's Run in Jefferson county. Others he planted along the river front, when he moved into the interior of the state. For years he lived in a little rude hut in Richland county near the present town of Perrysville, from where he operated his nurseries in the counties of Richland, Ashland, Wayne, Knox, and Tuscarawas.

On his journeys across the country he usually camped in the woods, although the pioneer latch-string was always hanging out for "Apple-seed John." He carried his cooking utensils with him. His mush-pan serving him for a hat. When he would accept the hospitality of a friend, he preferred making his bed on the floor. He wore few clothes and went bare-footed the most of his time, even when the weather was quite cold. For a coat a coffee sack with holes cut for neck and arms was ample.

There were plenty of Indians in those days and they were troublesome, too, since several ma.s.sacres occurred in that region. But they never did any harm to our hero. No doubt they thought he was quite a "Medicine Man." Once, during the War of 1812, when the red-men were at their depredations and all the people were flocking to the Mansfield block-house for protection, it was necessary to get a message to Mt.

Vernon, asking for the a.s.sistance of the militia. It was thirty miles away and the trip had to be made in the night. Johnny volunteered his services. Bare-footed and bare-headed he made his way along the forest trails, where wild animals and probably wild Indians were lurking. The next morning he had returned and with him was the needed help.

He loved everything that lived. He harmed no animal, and if he found any that were wounded or mis-treated, he would care for them as best he could. Once when a snake had bitten him, he instinctively killed it. He never quite forgave himself for this "unG.o.dly pa.s.sion."

He, as has already been stated, was deeply religious. He was a disciple of Emanuel Swedenborg, and he always carried some religious books about with him, in the bosom of his shirt. These books he would give away.

Often he would divide a book into several pieces, so it would go farther. When he visited the pioneers, he would always hold worship and discuss religious subjects with them.

But Johnny was getting old. The first trees he planted had for years been bearing fruit. Still he kept planting and caring for new nurseries. Once in Ft. Wayne he heard that some cattle had broken into one of them and were destroying his trees. The distance was twenty miles. He started at once to protect his property. It was in the early spring of 1845. The weather was raw and the trip was too much for him.

He sought shelter at a pioneer home, partook of a bowl of bread and milk for his supper, and before retiring for the night as usual held worship.

The family never forgot that evening. How the simple-minded old man read from the Book, "Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see G.o.d." Then he prayed and as he spoke with G.o.d, he grew eloquent. His words made a deep impression on all who heard him.

In the morning he was found to have a high fever. Pneumonia had developed during the night. A physician was called, but the age of the man and the exposure to which he had subjected himself for so many years were against him. With the sunshine of joy and satisfaction upon his countenance as though his dying eyes were already looking into the new Jerusalem, "G.o.d's finger touched him and he slept."