IN THE PAUGUS WOODS. 
Just opposite our house, which stood on the 
north side of the road, facing south towards 
Paugus, was a black forest of spruces. Into 
this we plunged on Tuesday morning, not 
knowing what might lie within. The silence of 
the gloom was broken by the sound of falling 
bits of ice and drops of melting snow. Bird 
notes, too, could be heard, and now and then 
a red squirrel chattered. The trunks of the 
trees stood closely together, and thousands of 
small dead branches radiated from the trunks 
and interlaced, opposing our progress. The 
crashing of these twigs as we broke through 
them, accompanied by the crunching of the 
snow-crust under our feet, noisily announced 
our coming. At intervals we found masses of 
fallen timber, the wreck of fierce storms, and 
brooks covered with thin ice and misleading 
snow, through which we slumped into cold water 
beneath. Every few paces rabbit tracks dotted 
the soft film of snow which lay upon the crust. 
If the tracks which we crossed during our three 
or four mile walk could have been measured in 
