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196 

FOREST AND STREAM. 

THE OLD BARN. 
——s = 
Shies shostly old barn, with its weather stained frame, 
ow 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 next, 
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-seck!”’ 
The floor, what a platform for play! 
On that fioor, 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 Lenvied 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: f 
All are gone—all are gone! and yet oft n 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 brig} t, 
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 thcir presence a glow 
That the present can never display; 
’Tis the light in the urn alabaster of youth 
That soon fades forever away. J 
And in that sweet light the heart grows pure and bright 
In the paradise smiling around; ’ 
And we wish, o’er and o’er, we weregc! ldren once more, 
And roaming that magical ground. 
Its scenes, how grotesque, and how trivial’and 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. STREET, in Appleton’s Journa!. 
<0 
A DAY WITH THE SAGE GROUSE, 
21 ELS 
HE 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 
Jeaves with the glowing tints of approaching day. A sol- 
emn stillness seems to fill 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 green conifers, others rag- 
ged and rough with immense masses of rock, and seamed 
with deep cations, between the precipitous sides of which 
hurry in spring the melted snows which gather to swell the 
yolume 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 
erowing 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, anda lover of nature may well be exercised 
it, 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 iast few years, tired of con- 
tinual ‘‘bone digging,” had determined to devote a short 
time to pleasure ulone, and our chief, Prof. M., assenting, 
had started off to have aday with the sage grouse. 
Jack N., 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. 
Joe—or to speak more respectfully, Sefior José Alleyo 
Felemanches—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 on reaching manhood commenced a series of wander- 
ings which had finally brought him to a point near Church 
Buttes, in the Rocky Mountains. There he dwelt with his 
squaw and 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 fora day or two. Rifles had been laid aside for the 
time, and we carried only our double-barrels with a sufli- 
ciency of No. Gshotand 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 itmay, 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 inextent. 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. Attimes 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 (Colaptes Mexicanus) and 
the grating note of the Clarke’s crow (Pictcorvus Columbi- 
anus), mingled with the hoarse croak of the sand hill crane 
(Grus Canadensis). 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 untilthey 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 ideaof 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 Tetraonide, 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 ismost 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. Suchin 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 boschas) 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 
fiying 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 his feet sprang a pack 
of ruffed grouse (Bonasa umbellus) which with much bustle 
flew off toward the mountains. Not swiftly enough, how 
ever, to escape his ready gun, for snapping at theynas soon 
as his fect 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 dealof 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 ata 
fourth, killing it clean at about ninety paces. The flock 
had scattered badly, and as we knew the futility of trying 
to find the birds when once frightened, we kept on down 
the stream looking fora 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 acigarette. At length we 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, whensuddenly I saw John throw 
forward his gun and fire into the water, and then stooping 
down draw for‘h a little beaver kitten about eighteen in- 
cheslong. 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 
creck 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 hyperboreus), 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 were 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 (Querguedula 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 Jong 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 mélange 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 tle 
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. 
: SB ya eo 
NARROW ESCAPES. 
ee ee 
APPENING 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 with thirty iron teeth,) across 
a newly plowed 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 wagon or plow, I thought I could do the same thing 

