136 



WILD SPORTS IN THE SOUTH. 



hard faces that were staring at me but now. I drink the water, I 

 smell the odour of the moss, I lean my face against the cool beech 

 trunk ; every sense is drinking in the religion of nature, and the 

 soul, forgetting itself, goes up in the million-coloured, million- 

 formed works of creation, through their instincts, their changes, 

 and their birth, to that pervading Essence that made them all and 

 guides them all, and placed me among them all — a very little thing 

 in this wonderful place. And then comes forth the Muskrat ; 

 he swims out to an apple tossed into the stream, and, smell- 

 ing it an instant, takes it in his mouth, and bears it away to 

 yonder stone. He sees you now ; a moment's pause ; he is watch- 

 ing you; perchance he sees that softening heart that has come 

 over you with the teachings of the hour, and does not fear you. 

 He goes on munching his apple, while his whiskers move up and 

 down with every movement of his grave cheek. His keen eyes 

 wink with satisfaction. When he has finished his meal he passes 

 his hand over his face, and dresses his robe a moment He looks 

 up the stream and down, but there is nothing there save a flock of 

 wood-duck, halting for a day on their southern migration. He 

 looks at you ; do you see his contentment, his happy face, his 

 honest ways — enough of labour to provide him a home — enough 

 of leisure to learn the world his God has made ? He moves into 

 the water, and, bowing low his head to his now cheerful friend, he 

 bids the day and you good-night 



When I had finished my history, I looked around upon my 

 auditors, and found they were all asleep. 



