196 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



THE OLD BARN. 



THE ghostly old barn, with its weather stained frame. 

 o w often it rises to view ! 

 In its narrow, green lane, cut in parallel tracks, 

 Where the heavy farm wagon rolled through. 

 Its broad folding doors, and the stable door nest, * 



And the roof soaring upward in gloom, 

 Save the network of light from the knot holes and chinks, 

 Which scarce could the darkness illume, 



The hay mow, how fragrant and welcome its scent! 



How soft and elastic the hay! 

 The nooks, what safe coverts for "hide-and-go-seek!" 



The floor, what a platform for play ! 

 On that fiqor, like the beat of the pulse went the flail: 



And the huskers, the corn how they hulled! 

 And, when ceased the husking, how merry the dance 



Till the stars in the daybreak were dulled! 



Next the yellow brimmed oat bin the straw cutter stood, 



The barrel of chaff by its side; 

 And a cast-away plough, broken off at the top. 



With clay stains all over it dyed. 

 A space, a cleft grindstone, a saw buck and cask, 



With a brace of bright pitchforks, stood near; 

 And I envied the strength that the loads to the loft 



With their crescent bent handles could rear. 



The old barn is gone, like thejpast with its dreams, 



Which crowded, chaotic, my brain: 

 All are gone — all are gone! and yet often I wish 



I could live in their Eden again, 

 Though the barn, low and dark, is a dwelling of mark 



And the lane is a street wide and bright, 

 Yet I long to go back to that paradise track, 



All flashing and living with light. • 



All are gone — all are gone ! the soft pictures I draw 



Not one has Time's cruelty spared: 

 All are gone; and I wonder and smile to myself 



That for such things I ever have cared. 

 Yet, somehow they bear in their presence a glow 



That the present can never display ; 

 'Tis the light in the urn alabaster of youth 



That soon fades forever away. 



And in that sweet light the heart grows pure and bright 



In the paradise smilinc; around; 

 And we wish, o'er and o'er, w r e were^children once more, 



And roaming that magical ground . 

 Its scenes, how grotesque, and how trivial jtnd tame! 



And yet, as upon it we dwell, 

 Like the pool of Bethesda, it freshens the heart, 

 And brightens our thoughts with a spell. 



Alfred B. Strekt, in Appletoii's Journal. 



-♦•^- 



A DAY WITH THE SAGE GROUSE. 



THE cool mists of an October night are still hanging 

 heavily over the valley, and rosy fingered Aurora, 

 hastening from the East, is only commencing to paint the 

 leaves with the glowing tints of approaching day. A sol- 

 emn stillness seems to till the air. The varied sounds of 

 animal life have not yet commenced to make themselves 

 heard; the very brook by which we stand babbles with a 

 subdued murmur which serves to make more impressive 

 the universal calm. 



We are camped by a pleasant stream among the Uintah 

 Mountains in Wyoming. North, south, east and west the 

 eye rests upon mountains piled on mountains. Some cov- 

 ered to their summits with dark t green conifers, others rag- 

 ged and rough with immense masses of rock, and seamed 

 with deep canons, between the precipitous sides of which 

 hurry in spring the melted snows which gather to swell the 

 volume of the mighty Colorado as it sweeps toward the 

 Pacific. Still on every side, but farther away, lofty and 

 now glistening, as one by one they are touched by the 

 growing light, rise others, crowned with eternal snows. 

 Untrodden as yet by the foot of man, they know none* of 

 the larger forms of' animal life, save the sure-footed moun- 

 tain sheep and the snow-loving ptarmigan. Truly it is a 

 grand scene, and a lover of nature may well be exercised 

 if, for the time, he forgets all else in contemplating it. 



But my reveries are soon rudely " disturbed by the clatter 

 of dishes, and turning I see that Joe is commencing to pre- 

 pare, breakfast. And here let me tell you who Joe is, and 

 how I happened to be in the Uintah Mountains. 



Four of us, members of one of the numerous scientific 

 exploring expeditions of the last few years, tired of con- 

 tinual "bone digging," had determined to devote a short 

 time to pleasure alone, and our chief, Prof. M., assenting, 

 had started off to have a day with the sage grouse. 



JackN., Johnny G. and Jim R, three royal fellows, 

 with myself made up the quartette, and we had taken Joe 

 along to cook and keep camp. 



j oe — or to speak more respectfully, Sehor Jose Alleyo 

 Felemanehcs— belonged to that much despised class denom- 

 inated in frontier parlance, "greasers." Born in Califor- 

 nia long before it became a part of the United States, he 

 had onmiching manhood commenced a series of wander- 

 ings which lntd finally brought him to a point near Church 

 Buttes in the Ilocky Mountains. There he dwelt with his 

 fjquawand two or three half-breed children, and tended 

 half a dozen horses and as many cows, which constituted 

 his sole possessions. He was a merry, good-natured fellow 

 and a very favorable specimen of his class. 



We had left the main camp on the afternoon of the pre- 

 vious day, and travelling fifteen miles before evening, had 

 reached a point about ten miles from our shooting ground. 

 Our outfit was of the lightest, as we expected to be away 

 only for a dav or two. Kifies had been laid aside for the 

 time and we" carried only our double-barrels with a suffi- 

 ciency of No. G shot and C. & H. powder. Tents had been 

 left behind as an unnecessary luxury, and a single pack 

 mule employed instead of a wagon, on account of the 

 roughness of the trail, sufficed to carry all our effects. 



A shout from Joe soon aroused the remaining sleepers, 

 and a few minutes were devoted to a hasty toilet. Then 

 comes breakfast, consisting of trout caught from the 

 stream the evening before, and ducks shot on the march. 

 That over and the pipes lighted, we collect our horses, 

 which have been grazing over the creek bottom, and saddling 

 them and packing our mule we are soon under way. 



How delicious is the fresh morning air, how invigorating 

 and exhilerating! Some one has said that each breath of 

 that mountain air is equivalent to one glass of champagne 

 in its effects on one's spirits, and I think the comparison 

 not inapt. Be that as it may, I know that our little party 

 was in a most hilarious frame of mind, and laugh, jest and 

 song enlivened the march as we rode briskly on, while Joe 

 and the pack mule followed gravely in the rear. 



Our destination was a little park in the mountains on the 

 banks of the same creek on which we had camped. At 

 this point the bottom was wider than usual, and the bluffs 

 which bordered it, instead of forming merely the lowest 

 benches of the foot-hills, stretched out in a plain several 

 miles in extent. On ell sides, except where the stream en- 

 tered and passed out, the mountains rose in a stately wall, 

 forbidding and impassable. This plain, intersected by one 

 or two small brooks and covered with sage brush, was 

 where we expected to find the grouse. 



To reach this park the trail followed the bed of the 

 creek and unfolded to our delighted gaze, new scenes of 

 beauty at almost every step. At times the creek widening 

 would spread out into a placid lake, fringed with tall cot- 

 tonwoods, whose glossy frondage glistened like silver in 

 the morning sun, and disturbed only by the movement of 

 some water bird startled at our approach, or the spring of 

 a trout after his prey. Again the mountains would close 

 together, and we would pass between lofty precipices so 

 near to one another as almost to shut out the light of day. 

 The stream murmured pleasantly over its stony bed, the 

 sharp cry of the Western flicker (Golaptes Mexicanus) and 

 the grating note of the Clarke's crow (Picicorvus Columbi- 

 cmus), mingled with the hoarse croak of the sand hill crane 

 (Grm Cmiadensis). No sounds but those of nature broke 

 the peaceful quiet of that happy valley. 



Entranced by the beauty of the scene, our boisterous 

 humor soon softened into a more contemplative mood, and 

 we rode silently along until we reached the park, where, 

 we made camp and prepared for action. Dividing our 

 forces we started off in opposite directions. Each pair was 

 to follow the plain along its edge, skirting the base of the 

 mountains until they reached one of the little brooks that 

 entered it at various, points. This they were to follow 

 down, beating on both sides until they came to the main 

 stream. Jack and Jimmy went south and John and myself 

 north. And now, before we start our game, let me give 

 you some idea of cne of the finest and at the same time one 

 of the least known of our game birds. 



The sage grouse (Centrocercus Urophasianus), which is the 

 largest of the North American Tetraomckz, is found only 

 west of the Rocky Mountains, and then only upon those 

 sterile plains which produce the wild sage (Artemisia). 

 Upon this plant it feeds, and from this fact its flesh is fre- 

 quently so bitter as to be almost uneatable. In the fall of 

 the year, however, they frequent the borders of streams 

 and feed upon berries, insects, and the leaves of various 

 plants, and at that time the flesh of the young birds is ten- 

 der and is most delicious eating. The very old birds are 

 always tough, bitter and unpalatable. 



The birds congregate in packs of from ten to fifty, get up 

 rather hurriedly, and when fairly started fly with great 

 swiftness and for a considerable distance. After being put 

 up once they prefer running or hiding to flying a second 

 time, and will lie very close. I have never known of their 

 being hunted with dogs, nor indeed do I believe that any 

 dog could or would face the sage brush and cactus among 

 which they are found. 



The male bird is over two and one-half feet long. The 

 upper parts are variegated with black, brown and yellowish 

 gray, the sides of the lower part of the neck are whitish 

 and are furnished with curious stiff feathers, each of which 

 terminates in a long hair or bristle. The lower part of the 

 breast and the abdomen are black. The females and young 

 males of the first autumn are smaller and lack the stiff neck 

 and feathers of the old males. Such in brief are some of 

 the principal characteristics of this fine grouse. 



A brisk walk of two miles brought John and myself to 

 the foot-hills and to the locality where we might expect to 

 find birds. The numerous ravines which run down from 

 the mountains, bringing the waters of winter and spring 

 from the high ground, were still moist and were filled with 

 a luxuriant growth of vegetation. Here were occasional 

 pools frequented by ducks, and on the margins of which 

 we noticed the tracks of deer, elk and bear. 



The first of these pools which we approached was cov- 

 ered with mallards (Anas bosclias) and black ducks (Anas 

 obscura). Carefully drawing near, we had advanced within 

 easy gunshot before being perceived* by the birds, and as 

 they sprang up were enabled to give our four barrels, drop- 

 ping two in the water and two more in the high grass. To 

 have lain in wait here for the ducks that were continually 

 flying would have been grand sport; but eager to get at the 

 grouse, we merely stopped to pick up our birds and then 

 pushed on. As we walked along the faint echoes of dis- 

 tant shots saluted our ears and notified us that our com- 

 rades on the other side of the valley were already at work. 

 We reached the brook, and John, pushing aside the wil- 

 lows which at this point lined its banks, was stepping 

 across it, when almost from under bis feet sprang a pack 

 of ruffed grouse (Bona&a umbelhts) which with much bustle 



flew off toward the mountains. Not swiftly enough, how 

 ever, to escape his ready gun, for snapping at them as soon 

 as his feet touched the opposite bank, the last bird turned 

 neatly over to the shot, while his companions with hurried 

 flappings disappeared up the ravine. 



Before proceeding far down the stream we came, upon 

 the first flock of sage grouse. There were only about a 

 dozen of them, but beckoning John over, we went toward 

 them. They paid little attention to us until we were with- 

 in forty yards of them, but then seemed to avoid flying 

 and would have crept off through the bush. As soon, how- 

 ever, as they lost the hope of escaping unobserved they got 

 up with a good deal of noise, uttering a clucking cry, not 

 unlike that of a hen when frightened. 



The old cock that flew first fell to John's right barrel, and 

 the two next I stopped before they had got far, while John, 

 who shot beautifully all that day, made a long shot at a 

 fourth, killing it clean at about ninety paces. The flock 

 had scattered badly, and as we knew^ the futility of trying 

 to And the birds when once frightened, we kept on down 

 the stream looking for a fresh lot. 



Two more flocks had been found from which we had se- 

 cured five birds, when noticing that it was long past noon, 

 lunch was suggested. It was a scanty meal, consisting of 

 the remains of our breakfast, but it was heartily enjoyed 

 and at its close a pleasant lazy half hour was spent in the 

 enjoyment of a cigarette. At length w r e rose to our feet 

 about to resume our guns, when a splash was heard in the 

 brook below which we knew must have been made by a 

 beaver. Stepping quietly down to the water's edge we 

 were looking about for it, when suddenly I saw John throw 

 f orw r ard his gun and fire into the water, and then stooping 

 down draw forTi a little beaver kitten about eighteen in- 

 ches long. John had fired at it as he saw it swimming 

 under the water without exactly knowing what it was he 

 shot. With a sigh for his untimely fate the little fellow 

 was added to our bag and we hurried forward. 



The birds seemed to become more numerous as we ap- 

 proached the main stream. We no longer crossed over 

 when a flock was discovered, but each shot what he could 

 of those on his own side, ' At last when we reached the 

 creek and sat down to rest and count our birds, we found 

 John's bag to consist of seventeen sage grouse, two ducks, 

 one ruffed grouse, and the little beaver. I had not done 

 quite so well, having only sixteen sage grouse, two ducks 

 and a snow goose (Anser 7iyperboreus), that scared by John 

 had flown from the brook and crossed before me within 

 easy gun shot. The thirty-nine birds made a pretty heavy 

 bag, and with what we expected our companions to bring 

 in would be enough to supply the main camp with birds 

 for some days. 



As we w r ere gathering up our game we heard a faint 

 shout, and turning saw Jack and Jim hastening toward us. 

 They were fairly loaded down with birds, and in answer to 

 our inquiries, produced twelve mallards and black ducks, 

 twenty-one sage grouse, three ruffed grouse, and five blue 

 winged teal (Querquedula discors). The teal had all fallen 

 at a single shot which Jimmy had fired into the flock as they 

 rose from the water. The numbers of ducks that our 

 friends had seen at the head of the stream had caused them 

 to linger there so long that they had finally been forced by 

 the approach of night to hurry toward camp, rather neg- 

 lecting the grouse, although from their account these must 

 have been as plentiful on their ground as on ours. 



We were soon in camp, where we found Joe, who had 

 not passed the day in idleness. A dozen or more silvery 

 trout lay upon the grass, and near them the saddle and 

 hams of a yearling buck, which Joe had killed while on 

 his fishing excursion down the creek. He had prepared 

 everything for supper, and ere long the savory odors that 

 rose from our camp fire would have attracted men less hun- 

 gry than we were. 



Fish, flesh and fowl, together with the little beaver— a» 

 sort of melange of the two former — combined to allay the 

 "rage of hunger," and we sat around the fire talking of the 

 day and its incidents, of by-gone years and future plans. 

 From time to time college songs, so well known 'neath the 

 grand old elms of New Haven, but new to these regions, 

 broke the stillness of the clear night air and were echoed 

 back from the mountains in a grand refrain. But at 

 length the camp grew more quiet, the fire burned down, and 

 knocking the ashes from our pipes we wrapped our blank- 

 ets around us and one by one lay down to dream of our 

 day with the sage grouse. Ornis. 



NARROW ESCAPES. 



HAPPENING to be conversing with some friends on 

 the narrow escapes from death which are continually 

 occurring among men, I was induced to narrate the sub- 

 joined incidents in my own experience. 



The first occurred when I was a boy in Michigan, and 

 was to this effect, With a view of punishing me for some 

 disobedience, my father had sent me to one of his farms, 

 where, under the instruction of a worthy Englishman, I 

 was expected to become learned in the science of agricul- 

 ture. For one week I had devoted my evenings to the 

 story of' Eugene Aram, and my days to the free and healthy 

 employment of driving two yoke of oxen; (attached to an 

 immense harrow, ornamented w r ith thirty iron teeth,) across 

 a newly plow T ed field. It was about noon, and the old tin 

 horn had summoned me and the other workmen to dinner. 

 Having often seen teamsters step in between yoked oxen 

 for the purpose of unfastening the chain that hooked them 

 to a w r agon or plow, I thought I could do the same tiring 



