A DINNER SCENE. 47 



Well, here we are, in the heart of the forest, five of 

 us, bumping along in a lumber wagon over a road 

 you would declare a civilized team could not travel.* 

 Now straining up a steep ascent — now whang to 

 the axle-tree between the rocks, and now lying at an 

 angle of forty-five degrees, and again carefully lifting 







ourselves over a fallen tree, we tumble and bang 

 along at the enormous rate of two miles an hour. 

 By dint of persuasion, the use of the whip, and a 

 thousand " he-ups," we have acquired this velocity, and 

 been able to keep it for the last seven hours. But 

 man and beast grow weary — it is one o'clock, and as 

 the forest is but half traversed, a dinner must be 

 had in some way. In three minutes the horses are 

 unhitched, and eating from the wagon — in three more 

 a cheerful fire is crackling in the woods, and our 

 knapsacks are scattered around, disgorging their con- 

 tents. Here is a bit of pork, here some ham, tongue, 

 anchovy-paste, bread, &c, &c, strung along like a 

 column of infantry, on a moss-covered log, and each 

 one with his pocket-knife is doing his devoirs. We 

 eat with an appetite that would throw a French cook 

 into ecstacies, did he but shut his eyes to our bill of 



• It has been improved since, and is now quite good. 



