and re-crossed tracks of their game, died upon my ear, I saw that our work at least was cut out for the day.

66

Unwearying and indomitable, François stooped like a hound to the track; wearied, I must confess, blown, and often well-nigh beat, I followed in his footsteps: my only pull was that he carried the gun, and perhaps, to a certain extent, the weight brought us together." Up interminable hills, through impervious thickets, down impracticable ravines, where it was necessary to squat down upon one's snowshoes, give oneself an impetus, and so glide recklessly to the bottom, with a lively trust in Providence, and five to two on a broken neck. Ever and anon one's toe catching in a concealed root or twig, over went the sportsman, to bury face and hands and head in the deep yielding snow. N'importe! up and at it again: an Englishman must never say die!" I have often wondered what would have happened, and whether I could have gone on five minutes more and lived, had not François suddenly stopped at my last moment of breathless exhaustion, and pointing in the direction of a thicket some twenty yards ahead of me, and muttering something about "sacré orignal," Anglice "cursed moose," placed my gun in my hand, and glared on me with an expression of fiendish malice, of which I should have thought his good-humoured countenance incapable, but which was doubtless derived from his Indian ancestors. When I recovered my wind, eyesight, senses, and general self-consciousness, I descried a huge black object swaying up and down in the thicket in front of me, which on further examination proved to be the head and neck of an enormous bull-moose, blown and brought to a stand-still; but although directly fronting me, evidently unconscious of the presence of a foe. What a moment! All I had striven for all I had thought and dreamt of for weeks, within my grasp! No wonder my heart beat, and my hand shook, and I required several minutes to compose my nerves, and get up sufficient steadiness of finger to operate on the trigger. At last I covered him right between the eyes, and pulled. Bang! I confess I expected a sort of earthquake to succeed the prostration of such an enormous mass to the ground: not a bit of it; he shook his head, and appeared rather refreshed than otherwise by the attention. "Strange," thought I; "surely I cannot have missed him at twenty yards; and my gun, though a smooth-bore, and only of eighteen gauge, no great weight of metal, carries a ball that ought to kill at that distance." So I gave him the other barrel, and with no more effect. The fact is, that a moose's forehead, like that of a buffalo, is almost impervious to lead; and it was not until I reloaded my little weapon, and altering my position got broadside on, that I could make any account of my victim, which I did by shooting him through the heart.

He was a magnificent fellow; standing quite nineteen hands in height, and his head, which I now possess, measuring four feet three inches in height, from the frontal bone to the tip of the muzzle, or "mouffle," as it is technically called. I have shot many an elk since, but none of a size equal to this, my first essay; and I am forced to confess that the actual sport itself, when the novelty has worn off, must be considered as somewhat tame. You run the animal down, as an Irish friend of mine used to say, "just as you hunt a pig out of

a potato garden;" and when you have "got him safe," blown, exhausted, and powerless, you shoot him at your leisure. So much for the sport; but of the wildness of the life there can be no question. Let any man who really enjoys scenery, open air, excitement, and adventure, and whose destiny, whether influenced by fate or the Horse Guards, binds him to Canada during the winter, spend three weeks or a month with one or two pleasant companions and good fellows in the woods; I will answer for it, he will have these luxuries to the utmost, though deprived of all others, and will look back for many a year upon these wild, roving, careless days, as some of the happiest periods of his pilgrimage-some of the sweetest wild-flowers culled by the way-side in the up-hill journey of life.

THE WOODS.

BY MARTINGALE.

It has been said that every person has, in his own life, follies enough; in his own mind, troubles enough; in the performance of his duties, deficiencies enough; in his own fortunes, evils enough. We are more addicted to look to the distant and the dim, than to the advantages which lie about our own path. Every object in the great school of nature is a tutor to instruct the mind and to elevate the heart. By availing ourselves of her instruction, we reap innumerable benefits: hope assumes a diviner character, energy is reinvigorated and stimulus strengthened, and that wisdom which becomes justified becomes also imperishable.

We may linger on the margin of the river-bed, and old pools and mill-dams and water-courses and eaas and meers; on open commons and falsely called barren moors; in obscure lanes choked with thorns and briars and rank grass, which lead no one knows whither, perhaps to the ruins of some ancient chapelry, or deserted parsonage, or dilapidated and abandoned manor-house; in ancient church-yards; in the shadow of the old church tower, which has witnessed the rise and fall of generation after generation; along forest paths and wood walks and rocky cliffs, near ancient orchards and old garths and stone quarries and obscure bye-paths: every object, from the most noble to that which is deemed ignoble, is instinct with vitality and wisdom.

But whatever partakes of an ancient character, whatever is invested with that peculiarity which carries with it the stamp of age or the impress of days long since departed, distinguished for antiquity, or noted as a striking feature of vanished years, is calculated to command attention, and to produce upon the mind those impressive thoughts in comparison with which other matters vanish into thin air. If there is scarcely an object in nature, always changing yet still the same, but what is redolent of many gratifying associations, which never lose their freshness, or become devoid of interest, this is particularly the case with ancient woods, which, standing in peculiar

localities, have weathered the storms of centuries; perhaps, in some instances, the remains of those old forests, which, with their severe forest laws, and their woodwards, agisters, verderers, and so onwards, extended over almost immeasurable districts, before the axe of civilization cleared the way for the march of improvement.

It is almost impossible to disregard the power of association. The remembrance, for instance, of a single passage from the Greek authors will conjure up thoughts of the daughters of Celeus at Eluesis stepping to the well to fill their urns with water, the epoch of Croesus in Asia Minor, and of Pisitratus at Athens, the desolation committed by Xerxes, the retreat of the ten thousand, the dream of Xenophon, the aspirations of Jason of Pheræ, the confederation of Achæus, the exhortation of Isocrates, the schemes of Philip, and the victories of the great Emathian conqueror. A passage, too, from the pages of holy writ will lead the mind to the holy land, to thoughts of the wanderings of the Israelites from the land of Egypt through the desert of Arabia, of Marah and Elim, their memorable halting places, of Shechem and Bethel, of Shiloh and Jerusalem and the pool of Siloam, of the Mount of Olives, and Bethlehem, and the garden of Gethsemane. So, also, venerable woods can, with a talismanic power, conjure up scenes of by-gone days, and display to the mind's eye, as in a splendid pageant, the druidical priests of old, the ancient barons and their serfs, the bold outlaws and their companions-characters who played each his separate part in the drama of a lost age, noble men and gentle women, tyrant and slave, lord and dependent, and all those minor beings who formed the episodes of existence; characters, too, who, having passed through their day and generation, have gone down to the village church, marked by narrow brasses and monumental effigies, and taken their places in the page of history; having, perhaps, ennobled their name and race by the performance of heroic or patriotic deeds, or acts of charity and benevolence, and thus rendered the family name illustrious or venerated through all succeeding time; or, it may be, blurred and blighted their designation by acts of infamy, of tyranny, and of rapacity, and won for themselves a detested and execrable remembrance, presenting examples to be shunned, dangers to be avoided, and precedents to be wholly disregarded; while the remembrance of those who have pursued a different course, outlives, like the venerable woods, all changes in government, in forms of devotion, in modes of belief, in creeds, in liturgies, in canticles, and so onwards, link by link, in that long chain of events whose end none can tell.

The noble mansion and noble park may shine with innumerable objects of beauty-giant timber trees, masses of evergreens, ranks of laurel, interspersed with the cedar, the pine, and the holly; gorgeous flowering shrubs, pyramids of trained climbers, and cones of less aspiring creepers; shining lake, throwing back the gracefully drooping boughs of the cypress and the willow; and the very beauty of the huge Spanish chesnuts, enhanced by groups of deer resting in the grateful shadows. But the woods are the great ornaments of the country, as well as of the estate, and their proper management is the best test whether the fortunate owner rightly appreciates his own proper position, and performs his duty to the community, as well as

to himself. They are not only magnificent timber nurseries, but the homes of innumerable creatures. Here is a flourishing colony of rabbits, and there the pheasants congregate. Here, at the approach of strangers, some members of the former community rush across the riding; and there the splendid birds, with their young progeny, hurry into the dense cover; while far below, in the hollow of the sylvan realm, the cock fiuds an abiding place, and the gunner one of his greatest attractions. The summer foliage waves in a sea of rich luxuriance. And when the unclouded sun flames down the long avenues of oaks, of beeches, and of elms, dotted here and there with the solemn yew, and lights up a scene peculiarly English, the amorous coo of the dove, the chatter of the magpie, the loud laugh of the woodpecker, the call of the jay, and the subdued melody of the woodlark, give to the magnificent sanctuary its form and pressure. At every turn there is a splendid picture, and groups of flowers are the attractive vig

nettes.

Threading the way through many bye-paths, the noiseless footsteps approach the brow of a sudden and steep declivity, and a scene is presented no less beautiful in itself than characteristic of the country. On each hand a belt of plantings, an off-shoot as it were from the mighty wood itself, with here and there the wild cherry tossing its blossoms to the breeze, stretch their wings and leave an opening immediately in front. The prospect spreads over many a thousand roods of richly cultivated ground, inclosed corn-fields, green meadows and pastures, and sober fallows, chequered with flying shadows, as the fleecy clouds go sailing past. Near a bed of osiers shines the broad mill-dam, with, at its extremity, the roof of the mill itself only just visible. Nearer, are white homesteads, with their adjacent rick-yards, farm premises, and blooming orchards; while the tower of the village church rises above a mass of congregated sycamores. Far away, over undulating ground and sunny slopes, appears the old Hall, with its curious turrets, quaint gables and wings and roof-windows: the snug family mansion of a timehonoured race. And beyond this striking object, placed on the rising ground, stands the modern seat of the country gentleman, commanding a view of the whole district, but sheltered from the northern blast by giant elms, the home, time out of mind, of the aristocratic rooks.

Immediately beneath the feet is a rugged slope, with shattered crags, assuming every variety of form, as if some impetuous torrent, tearing itself onwards, had rushed below, and, in its headlong course, laid bare each striking prominence which had opposed its progress. These are decorated with an array of bright green ferns, with their broad leaves shining and drooping, and as long as a Roman sword. There are, too, innumerable lichens and patches of mosses ; some crowning the summits with their delicate tracery, and others nestling in declivity, nook, or recess, all presenting an array of the richest luxuriance, and a rarity which the botanist loves. Ancient yews, also, clinging and anchored to the interstices of these rugged crags, in a manner truly marvellous to behold, spread their solemn plumes around, and afford a remarkably striking contrast to the brilliant bright green below. Amongst these craggy fastnesses, the

foxes have formed their dens in perfect security, defying all the power of their enemies to dig them out, or of terrier to "draw" them; a spot so secure that it has often proved the refuge of many a gallant old fox, when severely pressed by an equally gallant pack in a long and bursting run; and a spot, too, which has often been rashly threatened with the vengeance of the faithful keeper, but judiciously preserved by the injunction of the owner: "That man, whoever he may be, whether woodman or keeper, who attempts to disturb the crags in Windcliffe Wood, remains not another day in my service." If, however, during the sunlight hours of summer, the ear of the visitor to these woodland realms is charmed by the chorus-melodies of the migratory strangers, in addition to those which are natives of the scene, and his eye delighted with groups of wood flowers, from the primrose to the wild hyacinth; he knows that each cycle of the seasons, never destitute of interest, brings its own peculiarities and its own attractions. Admitting this truth, it is not destitute of instruction; confessing its importance, it is pregnant with gratification.

Even in winter, all is not barrenness around. The verinilion berries of the holly, the dark red fruit of the thorn, dear to the fieldfare, the green-hued produce of the ivy, attractive to the wood-pigeon, and the light-coloured globes of the mistletoe, the favourite of the thrush, though living the life of the parasite, give attractions to the scene; while the evergreen foliage of some of these afford a secure asylum in severe weather to those feathered tribes which remain with us through the rigours and inclemencies of winter.

Nor are the winter woods, even divested of their summer glory, destitute of interest and gratification. They have, it is true, laid aside their varied robes for the sleep of winter; true also, to the casual observer at least, they present not those many attractions as is the case during the splendour of summer, or the rich decay of autumn. But the unclouded sun can still light up a scene, which, although deprived of the varied foliage above, with their peculiar shadows below, as well as of flowers around, with their many hues and generous perfume, and the melody of those summer visitors which have taken their departure for skies more serene, and habitations more congenial, is peculiar to the season, and manifests the unerring goodness of the Power whose wisdom is seen in the correct adaptation of one thing to another. The habits and instincts of these migratory visitors, even contrasted with the summer wanderers, abound with interest, because they are calculated to engage the attention as completing that chain of mystery with regard to migration, which seems past finding out; that innate law which directs them over trackless oceans, enables them to endure the fatigue of long journeys, and to search for that change of climate, which, while it provides them with their necessary food, fulfils, at the same time, the beneficial purposes for which they were created.

A far different scene is presented after the prevalence of a heavy snow storm. The ridings are almost choked, and the flakes festoon the branches in every direction. The firs and larches, the hollies and yews, have become like the sheeted dead. Not a sound is heard in any direction, not even your own foot-fall. It is as though all nature had expired. It is a scene of impressive silence, the awful silence