A DEER CHASE. 135 



fire, and eating venison already killed, than waiting 

 for that which was yet running on the mountain. 

 Mitchell climbed a cedar and stood looking over 

 the broken top to catch the first cry of the hounds 

 as they opened on the track, while I sat with my 

 back against a hemlock, my rifle across my lap, 

 and my coat collar turned up over my ears, wish- 

 ing it was over with, and thinking the while of 

 breakfast, as my eye turned ever and anon, most 

 wistfully down the lake, where R ffe was row- 

 ing backwards and forwards from the camp to a 

 rock in the water, on which we had spread our 

 venison, killed the day before. The dry east wind 

 proved too strong — the dogs could not follow the 

 scent, and soon appeared again, trotting along the 

 shore with the hunter. 



It was not long after this, before I was discussing 

 a noble trout, that lay, fresh from the pan, along 

 my bark plate. 



After breakfast, our little fleet of three skiffs, 

 was launched, and we paddled slowly up the lake. 

 In the mean time, the east wind, which always 

 poisons me, died away, and this beautiful sheet of 



