492 AUDUBON 



ings can never be like those of the poor woodsman. Poor, 

 I ought not to call him, for nature and industry bounti- 

 fully supply all his wants ; the woods and rivers produce 

 his chief dainties, and his toils are his pleasures. 



Now mark him ! the bold Kentuckian is on his feet ; 

 his sons and the stranger prepare for the march. Horns 

 and rifles are in requisition. The good man opens the 

 wooden-hinged door, and sends forth a blast loud enough 

 to scare a Wolf. The Raccoons scamper away from the 

 corn-fields, break through the fences, and hie to the 

 woods. The hunter has taken an axe from the wood-pile, 

 and returning, assures us that the night is fine, and that 

 we shall have rare sport. He blows through his rifle to 

 ascertain that it is clear, examines his flint, and thrusts 

 a feather into the touch-hole. To a leathern bag swung 

 at his side is attached a powder-horn ; his sheath-knife is 

 there also; below hangs a narrow strip of homespun 

 linen. He takes from his bag a bullet, pulls with his ' 

 teeth the wooden stopper from his powder-horn, lays the 

 ball on one hand, and with the other pours the powder 

 upon it until it is just overtopped. Raising the horn to 

 his mouth, he again closes it with the stopper, and re- 

 stores it to its place. He introduces the powder into the 

 tube; springs the box of his gun, greases the "patch" 

 over with some melted tallow, or damps it; then places 

 it on the honey-combed muzzle of his piece. The bullet 

 is placed on the patch over the bore, and pressed with the 

 handle of the knife, which now trims the edge of the 

 linen. The elastic hickory rod, held with both hands, 

 smoothly pushes the ball to its bed ; once, twice, thrice has 

 it rebounded. The rifle leaps as it were into the hunter's 

 arms, the feather is drawn from the touch-hole, the powder 

 fills the pan, which is closed. "Now I'm ready," cries 

 the woodsman. His companions say the same. Hardly 

 more than a minute has elapsed. I wish, reader, you had 

 seen this fine fellow — but hark! the dogs are barking. 



