100 LETTERS FROM THE BACKWOODS. 



murky atmosphere, and all was silent, as a great 

 forest without wind always is, for 



"The streams were staid and the maples still/' 



It was a fine morning for the huntsman, who delights 

 above all things in the cry of the hounds as they 

 open on the track. As the forest this morning rang 

 and echoed with their deep baying as they struck the 

 fresh track, I did not wonder at the excitement often 

 witnessed in the chase, and involuntarily there came to 

 my mind the opening lines of the Lady of the Lake ; 



The stag at eve had drunk his fill 



Where danced the moon on Morna's rill, 



And deep his midnight lair had made 



In lone Glcnartney's hazel shade ; 



But when the sun his beacon red 



Had kindled on Benvoirlich's head, 



The deep-mouthed bloodhound's heavy bay 



Resounded up the rocky way ; 



And faint from farther distance borne 



"Were heard the clanging hoof and horn. 



Several deer were driven this morning, but none 

 killed, as most of the hunters were gentlemen from 

 New York, to whom the sight of a deer was a new 

 object, and what the hunters call the ''buck fever" 

 is not an uncommon thing with them. The exhibi- 

 tions they frequently make is very ludicrous. It 

 was here Mr. Delmonico, of the famous eating-house 

 of New York, was found dead. A shot was heard 

 during the day on the stand which he occupied, and 

 after the hunters had all come in he was missiu^i;. 



