THE LUNCH. 57 



ing of a moose in a distant gorge — how lonely the 

 deep echo sounded. 



At length we all came to a halt on the rocks, and 

 prepared for dinner, and no one was more glad than 

 myself to rest. A blazing fire was kindled of dry logs, 

 and soon each one had his piece of fat pork on a long 

 stick, and was holding it over the flame. I counted 

 four pieces all coming to a focus before I added mine 

 to the list. Putting them together was a capital ar- 

 rangement, for the fat dropping off into the fire in- 

 creased the blaze, and hence facilitated the cooking. 

 Dipping my slice every few seconds into the river to 

 freshen it, and then laying it upon my bread to pre- 

 serve the gravy, I at length had the satisfaction of 

 seeing it well done. It was eaten with an appetite, 

 that quite alarmed me, for it indicated such a radical 

 change in my notions and taste, that I was afraid I 

 might turn into something monstrous. 



Soon after, our packs were all slung again, and we 

 on the march. We continued diving deeper and deeper 

 into the hills, until we at last reached the base of 

 the mountain, and the foot of a lofty cataract. I have 

 climbed the Alps and Appenines, but never found foot 

 and eye in such requisition before. It was literally 



