tJP THE RIVER. — STOHTiS ANt) SOUNDS. 247 



duetions are needed in the wilderness, and onr chat of a 

 few minutes, as we lay with the bow of our l)oat thrust 

 into the mossy bank, and as we talked trout and dcvv, was 

 a pleasant chanii'e from the conversational duet my i>uide 

 and I had kept up all the wa}' from the home-camp. 



Mile after mile up the charming Oswegatchie we slowly 

 l)addled, keenly enjo3ing- the scener}- and the delicious 

 languor of the gratified senses, swajing the slender rod 

 over ever}' promising water with expectant delight, and 

 watcliing eags'i'ly the flight and gentle descent of the feath- 

 er}' and barbed deception, but scanning at the same timt? 

 every lui-ii ;iiid winding of the narrowing river for a day- 

 light shol ill a deer. A singular bush or l)rush of dingy 

 reil was seen ahead of us, slowly crossing the stream, which 

 on closer inspection, proved to ])e a red fox, — his long, 

 bushy t;iil HorWiiig airly behind him, while his nose just 

 appetu-ed al)ove the water. Now and then a cliipnuudv or 

 a red s(piirrel silently pa(hlled his way across the river, his 

 keen, black eyes evi<lently distressed by the visi(»n we jire- 

 sented to him. The plunge of the nuiskrat disturbed the 

 silence,— one i>ersistent little fellow swimming rapidly 

 ahead of us with a large bunch of grass in his mouth, for 

 his winter home. Along the bank, we fre(pu'ntly saw the 

 feeding places of the deer; the soft, bare earth by the 

 water's edge trodden like a farm yard 



Little success rewarded our mid-chiy tisiiing, but in every 

 thing else tliis gcMitle journeying was most enjoyable. At 

 length, between three and four o'clock P. M.. about eleven 

 miles above Albany Bridge, at the "Big Flood Wood" 



