March 12, 1885.1 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



128 



^partsttjnn ^onri£L 



UNCLE LISHA'S SHOP. 



XT. 



IT WAS fairly spring; almost summer as the months go. 

 Some patches and jagged lines of snow yet gleamed 

 among the black growth on the northward steeps and in the 

 gullies of the mountains, but the lower deciduous trees were 

 in a green mist of young leaves, the woodside shade was 

 dappled with the white moose-flowers, and the grass was 

 green in the valley fields. The evenings had grown so short 

 that to make anything of a visit before bedtime, Lisha's 

 friends were obhged to come while daylight lasted. By that 

 light, when the hylas were beginning to ring their shrill 

 curfew, the old man was mitigating some customer's prospec- 

 tive torture by rasping the pegs on the inside of a boot, but 

 to see the contortions of his face, turned aside as he bent over 

 his hidden field of labor, one would think 

 that he was inflicting self-torture, and that 

 every scrape of the float was tearing the 

 shoemaker's own tough hide. He made ; 1 r , ' 



such a noise with his rasping that he first M;^'' % > 



became aware of visitors when the forms 

 of Joe Hill and Antoine darkened the 

 open doorway. Then came Pelatiah and 

 the Questioner, followed by Solon Briggs, 

 and last of all Sam Lovel came across 

 lots from Beaver Meadow Brook, bring- 

 ing a dozen fine trout strung upon a 

 birchen twig. 



"Wal, Samwill, ben a traoutin', hey?" 

 said Lisha, emptying the scrapings out of 

 the boot, and making an examination of 

 the interior with his hand while he looked 

 admiringly on the handsome fish. "Wal, 

 they 're neat ones, I swan! Ketched 

 'em in BeaV Medder Brook, did ye?" 

 Yes, Sam caught them there. "Wal, 

 they du say *t fishin' 's oncommon good 

 this year; most everybody 't goes gits a 



food string on 'em. O, dear me suz ! n' 

 haint ben yit, nor tasted no fish but salt 

 ones son last summer." 



"Bah gosh! Ah wish Ah ketch some 

 builpout or eel, bose of it, Ah don' care 

 which, me." cried Antoine. 



"Wal. Uncle Lisha, you shan't say that 

 to-mon-er night," said Sam, seating him- 

 self on the cold stove and filling his 

 pipe, "for I'm goin' to take these in to 

 Aunt Jerushy. an' you c'n hev your sheer 

 on 'em for breakfus. Ben to supper, I 

 s'pose?" 



"Why, Samwill, I'm a thaousan' times 

 'bleeged tu ye. but you'd orter keep 

 half on 'em. You'se a robbin' yerself." 



No, Sam was "cl'yed wi' trdout, an' ketched these a pup- 

 pus for Aunt Jerushy 'n' you. " 



"Wal, thank ye a thaousan' times. Yes, I ben to supper. 

 I was makin' gardin to-day, an' the smell o' the airth made 

 me hungrier 'n a bear, so Jerushy got supper airly." 



"Yes, Lisha," Solon remarked, "for a pusson of your sedi- 

 mentary ockypations the' haint nothin' more beneficient 'an 

 a gittin' aou'door," and then, turning to Sam, "Did ye ever 

 ketch traout with a fly. Sammy well?" 



"No, I didn't never, but I hev wi' bumble bees." 



"Not a ra-al fly I don't mean," Solon explained. "That 

 'ere artist feller 't was raound here summer 'fore last- 

 boarded to Joel Bartlett's a spell 'n' fixed up a paintin' shop 

 in his barn, 'stewed Joe, 'he called it — he^ uster go traoutin' 

 with a whipstock of a pole 'at took to pieces, an' hed a little 

 brass windlass onto it to wind up his line, an' a mess o' feath- 

 ers stuck on a hook for bait, 'at he called a arterfishual fly. 

 He'd skitter it top of the water, an' onct in a while the' 'd be 

 a traout fool 'nough to grab it. Then he'd wind him up, an' 

 then he'd let him scoot, 'n' then wind him up agin, an' so 

 continner on till he got him all fattygued aout." 



"O, yes! I seen him at it," said Sam, "I went a fishin' 

 with him tew three times. 'N' he was toll'able lucky tew; 

 ketched half as many 's I did. He'd tost them little feather 

 contraptions tumble handy when the brush wa'n't tew thick. 

 I sh'ld like to try it if hed the rig. He hed a hull wallet full 

 on 'em, all on 'em named, 'green ducks,' an 'hatchels,' an' I 

 d'know what all. It uster tickle me tu see him when he 

 come tu a still-pond hole, or a place where the brook tumbled 

 over the rocks, or suthiu' n'uther 't he liked the looks on. 

 He'd lay daown his pole, an' back off, an' get fust one side 

 o' the brook an' then t'other, or like 'nough on a stun right 

 in the middle on 't, an' then aout with a lead pencil an' a 

 little blank 'caount book like, V begin to draw it off. He'd 

 squint an' mark an' whistle an' mark a spell, V then into 

 his pocket with book an' pencil an' go to fishin' agin. A 

 clever little creetur he was, an' took lots o' comfort bein' in 

 the woods, an' a fishin'. He tol' me 'at they ketched gret 

 big salmon up Canady way wi' them feather flies." 



"Bah gosh!" cried Antoine, pricking up his ears at the 

 mention of his native province. "Yas, Ah'll see Anglish 

 orflcy ketch dat so! O, big, big big!" 



"0, yes, sartinly," said Lisha, as he tied the straps of the 

 completed boots together with a thong of leather, "I 'xpected 

 you hed. Seen 'em ketched 't 'ould weigh a hunderd paound, 

 haint ye, Ann Twine?" 



"Wal sah, One' Lasha, not quat so big dat. Ah don' goin' 

 tol' lie 'f you want it Ah do. De bigges' one Ah'll see ketch 

 dat way he'll weigh jes' 'zackly nanty-nan paoun' an' fiftin 

 nineties, dat's all." 



"Hmph! A minny, wa'n'the?" saidLisha. "Wal, we're 

 gittin' all of a color, white folks an' Canucks, 'n' I guess 

 we'd better hev a light," whereupon he lit the candle, which 

 sputtered for some minutes before it made itself visible in the 

 twilight. 



"Wal, folks," said Sam, breaking the silence that prevailed 

 while the company watched the struggles of the feeble light, 

 "the's suthin' in these woods 'at I never seen in 'em afore." 



"Why, what on airth is it, Samwill," Lisha asked. 



" 'Taint a wolf, cause you seen one time o' the big hunt 

 four year ago. 'Taint a painter?" 



"No, 'taint a wolf nor a painter— I seen both— 'n' 'taint no 

 four-legged critter— it's Injins!" 



ye] 



heads, an' hats a top on 'em, tu, for they haint wild ones, 



but c'n talk English as well as Antwiue here, but not ekalto 

 Solon quite. Raal clever, candid sort o' fellers they be, an' 

 c'nsid'able sosherble arter you git 'quainted with 'em." 



"Haow many on 'em be "they? A hull tribe on 'em? He 

 ones an' she ones, an* poppooses on boards? Where be they, 

 an' what they drivin' on?" so Lisha strung out his questions 

 without waiting for an answer till he finished with the de- 

 mand, "Tell us all baout 'em." 



"Wal," said Sam, "ter begin 't the beginnin', I was fishin' 

 Beav' Medder Brook 't other day an' come acrast a mocker- 

 sin track in the sand, 'n' think, sez I to myself, Antwine 's a 

 fishin' ahead on me, 'n' then thinks, sez I, he don't wear 

 'em sen he got to be such a Yankee, 'n' a little f urder long I 

 seen tracks o' tew wearin' mockersins, an' putty soon I smelt 

 smoke, an' then come slap on to tew dark complected fellers 

 settin' by a fire a smoking an' watchin' a woo'chuck roastin' 

 on a stick stuck through end ways an' hit' the graouud, an' 

 behind of 'em was a gret roll o' suthin' 't I thought fust sight 

 was luther, V 't they'd ben a stealiu' from you, er less was 

 goin' to give ye a job. Then I seen 't was birch bark. I 



fflfCLE 

 L-ISHA'S 



Shop. 



says haow de du, 'n' so 'd they, but they didn't talk none 

 till I soddaown an' loaded my pipe an' giv' 'em some ter- 

 barkar. Then one on 'em says, 'ketch urn plenty fish,' look- 

 in' at my string, an' 't was a putty good un, 'n' I gin 'ein a 

 dozen to piece aout their supper. Then they begin to git 

 toll'able sosherble, an' we hed quite a visit." 



"Wal, I'll be dum'd! Samwill Lovel visitin' 'long with 

 Injins!" cried Lisha, holding up his hands. 



"Wal, he was," said Sam, "an' got c'nsid'able thick with 'em, 

 V I don't deny it. They said haow 't they 'd come clearn up 

 from Gret Auter Crik on to Hawg's Back to git bark 'at suited 

 'em to make a canew, an' was going right back nex' day. I 

 w anted turribly to see 'em make a canew, 'n' tried to coax 

 'em to du it here, 'n' I'd git some o' the teamsters to kerry 

 it daown to Vergeens for 'em when they was goin'. But 

 they thought their fam'lies 'at was camped daown there 

 would be wonderin' if they stayed away so long. I tol' 'em 

 't we'd send word by the teamsters to their folks, 'n' it come 

 inter my head what you wastellin' 'baout huntin' an' trappin' 

 daown there, 'n' 't this was a gret chance for me to git a boat 

 made. So I dickered with 'em to make me a canew, an' 

 they talked an' talked together — I tell ye, their'n 's the lan- 

 guage to talk in the woods. It don't make no more noise 'n 

 a little brook a runnin', 'n' I don't b'lieve 't 'ould skeer a fox. 

 Wal, fin'ly they 'greed to, an' nex' day they went at my 

 canew." 



"Shaw!" said Lisha. "Why, Samwill, them Injin canews 

 is tottlisher'n aboard sot up aidgeways! You can't du 

 nothin' in one on 'em, only tip over. You haint uster no 

 kinder boat, say nothin' baout them aigshell consarns. 'D 

 ye ever see one ? I hev, but never ondertook ridin' one on 

 'em." 



"No, I never did, but I'm goin' tu in a few days. I guess 

 I c'n navoygate it. I 've crossed the Notch Pond stan'in' up 

 on a saw lawg with my gun, more 'n onct, 'n I guess a 

 canew haint much tottlisher 'n a rollin' lawg. Wal, I've 

 hed a good time watchin' on 'em make it for three days, 'n' 

 I tell ye its curous to see 'em. Furst thing they made a 

 frame the len'th an' shape the canew 's goin' to be on top — 

 jes tew strips of ash fastened together to the ends, an' bars 

 acrost, so"— illustrating his description with a diagram 

 drawn on the floor with a bit of coal while all gathered about 

 him. ' 'Then they laid it daown on a level place they'd 

 fixed an' drove stakes clus to it agin the ends o' the cross 

 bars all 'raound, an' one to each end o' the frame. Then 

 they pulled up the stakes an' took the frame away, keepin' 

 the stake holes clear of dirt very car'f'l, an' spread the bark 

 daown on the place, an' then sot the frame back on jest 

 ezackly where it was afore, an' put some cedar strips on 't, 

 an' big stuns top o' them. Then they slit the bark from the 

 aidge up to the frame every onct in a little ways, so, all 

 raound' an' bent up the bark an' sot the stakes back in the 

 holes, an' tied a bark cord acrost from top to top. Then they 

 sewed up the slits, lappin' the bark over, ye see, an' sewin' 

 it wi' black spruce ruts peeled an' split intew, V they're jest 



they cal'late to raise the frame to the top 

 put some raves on aoutside and fasten 'em together an' then 

 line the hull consarn wi' flat strips o' cedar drove in tight. 

 'N' then when they git the seams all daubed wi' spruce gum 



an' taller melted together it '11 be all ready for me to " 



"tip over," said Lisha, completing the sentence for him. 



"Waal, now, I guess not," Sam drawled, "but 'baout the 

 fust o' next week you c'n all come over to the Forge Pond an' 

 see." 



"Wal sah, Sam, Ah tol' you," said Antoine, "you wan' 



git good big lawg, an' Ah'll mek it you a canoe was good for 

 sometings, me. Dat was damn sight gre' deal better for you 

 as dot negg shell Injin mek it." 



Lisha snorted a contemptuous "Hmph! 'T would be a 

 putty-lookin' thing, Ann Twine. Guess 't 'ould look 's much 

 like a stun boat 's anything. But 't 'ould be eomp'ny 

 for ye, Samwill, for l" ha' no daoubt 't 'ould laugh and 

 talk" 



"Wal sah, he look lak stun boat, he look good deal lak de 

 boot you mek it, One' Lasha. Den prob'ly you call it ver' 

 han'some. don't it?" 



"O, shet up, you " cried Lisha, shakiug his hammer at 



the grinning Canadian. "I could make a gre't sight better 

 boat aouten iuther 'n you can aouten wood, I'll bate ye. I've 

 hearn tell 't the Injins way aout West makes boats aouten 

 luther, er bufflo hides anyway." 



"Uncle Lisher," said Joe Hill suddenly, "is the' anything 



o' this story 't 1 hearn 'em talkin' over 't the store t'other day? 



Lemme see, was 't Wednesday or Thursday last week, or 



was 't Friday? Yes 'twas Friday, I know, 'cause M'ri sent 



by me for a codfish, an' they hedn't 



got none, 'n' so we didn't hev' none for 



dinner Sat'day, 'n' hed t' eat traout. 



Wal, they was tellin', some on 'em, haow 



't you was a talkin' o' sellin' aout 'n' 



goin' t' the 'Hio." 



"Hey?" cried Lisha, giving a great 

 start. "O. sho! Ye can't tell nothin' 

 by what ye hear over to that 'ere dum 

 store. When they haint talkin' 'baout 

 hosses, 'n' when they be, they're a lyin' 

 an' gossipin' wus 'n a passel o' women to 

 a quiltin'." 



"One' Lasha, if you goin' on 'Hio, Ah 

 wan' you show me de way Ah'll fin' dat 

 Conchety Point you tol' me good whal 

 'go. Ah wan' go dar den." 



"When yer time comes you'll go there, 

 Ann Twine, 'thaout me showin', jist the 

 same as spirits finds their way to heaven 

 an' t'other place. Say, Samwill, where 

 d' ye keep yer Injin show? Der ye 'low 

 anybody to see it?" 



"O, yes," said Sam, "you c'n see 'm 

 for nothin'; but I wouldn't go all to 

 onct, if I was you fellers. I kinder 

 guess they don't like bein' gawped at no 

 better 'n we du. They're camped daown 

 on Beav' Medder Brook, a little ways 

 'bove the swamp. They'se a makin' a 

 few baskits, an' bow-arrcrs for boys, 

 evenin's, an' most likely they be raound 

 peddlin'on 'em 'fore long." Then, going 

 over to light his pipe at the candle, he 

 whispered, "I'll come over in the mor- 

 nin' an' you V I'll go an' see 'em, if 

 you're a min'tu." Then aloud, "Wal, 

 boys, I'm a goin' hum. Any on ye 

 wanter ride 'long wi' me?" 

 By this time the candle had burned down until the wick fell 

 over the edge of the holder, and it flickered and left the shop 

 in darkness before the rumble of Sam's wagon had died away. 



CAMPING IN CALIFORNIA. 



FEW residents of the Eastern States would care to go as 

 far as California for sport, the trip being quite a" long 

 one and the expense very considerable. But for any one 

 who contemplates such a trip and who is fond of sport, it 

 would be well to select that season which will permit the use 

 of the rod and gun in addition to the pleasures of mere sight- 

 seeing. Winter is the time usually chosen, but unless upon 

 the score of ill-health, it is by no means the best season. The 

 only attraction the winter months offer the sportsman is 

 ducking, a sport affording much excitement, but accompanied 

 by so many discomforts, that it is not to be compared with 

 upland and mountain shooting either in its benefits or its 

 pleasures. 



The season for ducks closes March 15, and from that time 

 until July there is no shooting of any sort. With the open- 

 ing of summer the valleys and mountains are opened to those 

 who wish to ramble amid nature's most charming scenes 

 with gun in hand. Indeed, it is during the summer months 

 that one sees by far the most attractive feature of California 

 life. During that season the mountains are filled with camp- 

 ers of both sexes. The Yosemiie Valley presents the appear- 

 ance of a great camp ground, while all through the Sierras 

 and the Coast Range campers wander in great numbers, 

 pitching their tents near some crystal spring, or upon the 

 banks of the wild streams that rush down from the snow- 

 capped Sierras. 



Our Eastern mountains can in no way compare with the 

 Sierras in beauty or grandeur. They seem but ridges and 

 hills, and their forests appear stunted in growth when con- 

 trasted with the mountains of the far West. One who has 

 wandered through the mighty forests of the Sierras and 

 gazed in awe upon the giant trees that are clad in deepest 

 green, can never again find that charm in the Eastern moun- 

 tains which they once possessed for him. Whether we are 

 climbing the steep trail up the sides of the vast canon, stand- 

 ing by the torrent that is lashed into foam in its mad descent, 

 or wandering amid the deep solitude of the forest, it is ever 

 the same, nature greets us in her grandest and most sublime 

 forms, and we may commune for a time with something 

 higher and nobler than the frivolous world we have left be- 

 hind. 



Added to the charms of scenery, which no pen can paint, 

 the Sierras possess a climate exactly suited to outdoor life. 

 The air is salubrious and fragrant with the grateful odor of 

 the pine. _ Rain storms are exceedingly rare in summer, and 

 it is in this particular that the climate is so much superior to 

 that of the Alleghany and Rocky Mountains, where thunder 

 storms are of daily occurrence. In the Sierras one may 

 camp out for weeks without fear of rain or dampness. 



But the sportsman demands something more than all this; 

 he must have game. The writings of Van Dyke have made 

 us familiar with the beautiful quail of California. Though 

 not so desirable as our own species, he is much handsomer 

 and affords fair sport. Grouse and deer are abundant, and 

 should the camper wish to interview a grizzly he will be 

 able to do so. I may say to such a one that all the old 

 hunters I talked with seemed to be very unanimous in the 

 sentiment that grizzlies were very unpleasant customers to 

 meet with. _ As for myself, I had not lost any bears and, 

 therefore, did not look for any. Trout streams are numer- 

 ous and well stocked. 



The most charming mountain resort it was my fortune to 



