30 LETTERS FROM THE BACKWOODS. 



of trees, sleep out the long winter. Panthers are 

 now and then met, but they are shy of man, and 

 their sinister faces seldom intrude on his march 

 through the forest. Otters and sables are found, 

 and the American eagle here soars in his native free- 

 dom, lord of the mountain crag. Many a savage 

 fight occurs in this wilderness between the hunters 

 and wild animals. A cow moose, with her calf be- 

 side her, will fight either dogs or men with desperate 

 ferocity, and a wounded deer will sometimes turn at 

 bay. 



The lakes and streams are full of fish — trout of 

 the finest quality ; and as long as one keeps by the 

 water-courses, he need not fear starvation. It is im- 

 possible, however, to get food on the mountains. 

 There all is still, solemn, and deserted, and one 

 moves amid the gigantic forms of nature as if he 

 were treading on the ruins of a past world. The 

 thunder breaking over their summits is the only 

 sound that disturbs their repose. The river borne in 

 their bosom seems afraid to speak aloud till it has 

 reached the valley below ; wdiile the forest folds them 

 in with its drapery of green in majestic silence. The 

 only bold thing there is the wind, which shakes their 

 green crests with a despotic hand, and shouts aloud 

 or whispers low, as suits its own erratic mood. 



