336 DEER HUNTING. 



pair of trowsers of the same material. His feet are well moccassined ; he 

 wears a belt round his waist ; his heavy rifle is resting on his brawny 

 shoulder ; on one side hangs his ball-pouch, surmounted by the horn of 

 an ancient Buffalo, once the terror of the herd, but now containing a 

 pound of the best gunpowder ; his butcher knife is scabbarded in the 

 same strap ; and behind is a tomahawk, the handle of which has been 

 thrust through his girdle. He walks with so rapid a step, that pro- 

 bably few men, besides ourselves, that is, myself and my kind reader, 

 could follow him, unless for a short distance, in their anxiety to witness 

 his ruthless deeds. He stops, looks at the flint of his gun, its priming, 

 and the leather cover of the lock, then glances his eye towards the sky, 

 to judge of the course most likely to lead him to the game. 



The heavens are clear, the red glare of the morning sun gleams 

 through the lower branches of the lofty trees, the dew hangs in pearly 

 drops at the top of every leaf. Already has the emerald hue of the fo- 

 liage been converted into the more glowing tints of our autumnal months. 

 A slight frost appears on the fence-rails of his little corn-field. As he 

 proceeds, he looks to the dead fohage under his feet, in search of the 

 well known traces of a buck's hoof. Now he bends toward the ground, 

 on which something has attracted his attention. See ! he alters his course, 

 increases his speed, and will soon reach the opposite hill. Now, he moves 

 with caution, stops at almost every tree, and peeps forward, as if already 

 within shooting distance of the game. He advances again, but how very 

 slowly ! He has reached the declivity, upon which the sun shines in all 

 its growing splendour; — but mark him ! he takes the gun from his shoulder, 

 has already thrown aside the leathern cover of the lock, and is wiping 

 the edge of his flint with his tongue. Now he stands like a monumental 

 figure, perhaps measuring the distance that lies between him and the 

 game, which he has in view. His rifle is slowly raised, the report follows, 

 and he runs. Let us run also. Shall I speak to him, and ask him the 

 result of this first essay ? Assuredly, reader, for I know him well. 



" Pray, friend, what have you killed ?'"' for to say, " what have you 

 shot at .'*'" might imply the possibility of his having missed, and so might 

 hurt his feelings ? " Nothing but a Buck." " And where is it ?" " Oh, 

 it has taken a jump or sOj but I settled it, and will soon be with it. My 

 ball struck, and must have gone through his heart." We arrive at the 

 spot, where the animal had laid itself down among the grass in a thicket 

 of grape-vines, sumachs, and spruce-bushes, where it intended to repose 



