WE-NEN-GWAY. 291 



I quote a couplet from Tennyson's "Maud" as I recall the 

 combined odors: 



"The woodbine spices are wafted abroad 

 And the musk of the roses blown." 



The family consisted of Mme. Dirty-face and two 

 girls of sixteen and eighteen, and three young boys. By 

 a most convenient arrangement the parlor, sitting-room, 

 bedroom, dining-room and kitchen were all on one floor, 

 with no partition nor stairs to climb when the head of 

 the house came home with a load. I took this all in at 

 a glance the architectural beauties, I mean the odors 

 came in through a different sense. When I described it 

 to Henry Neaville I could only compare it to a flavor 

 met in boyhood days when I dug up a nest of young 

 woodchucks. 



"Yes," said Henry, "I've been in a wigwam in winter, 

 but the flavor, as I remember it, was more of an orni- 

 thological character, and seemed to resemble that of a 

 nest of young woodpeckers." 



Dirty-face took down a couple of spears and an axe, 

 and we went up the lake to an open air-hole, where it was 

 probable that a spring boiled up from the bottom and 

 kept the ice from forming over its warmer waters. He 

 advanced cautiously, and sounded the ice with the poll of 

 his axe until it broke; he chipped off the edge which 

 would not bear us, and we had firm footing at the margin 

 of the water. His spears were not like the gig which 

 Guyon and I used, but were made with a single point 

 with two barbs, like an arrow-head; they appeared to be 

 made from saw blades, and were fastened in clefts in the 

 handles, which were of some heavy wood. Our ice cut> 

 ting had scared away any fish which might be near, so 

 we waited and smoked. The snow on the ice prevented 



