d leaves so bright a line in its wake?--it is a noble
stag. Look at the broad chest, with which he breasts the water so
gallantly; see how proudly he carries his antlered head; he has no fear
in those lonely solitudes--he has never heard the crack of the hunter's
rifle--he heeds not the sharp twang of that bowstring, till the arrow
rankles in his neck, and the crimson flood dyes the water around him--he
turns, but it is only to present a surer mark for the arrow of the old
hunter's bow; and now the noble beast turns to bay, and the canoe is
rapidly launched by the hand of the Indian girl--her eye flashes with
the excitement--her whole soul is in the chase--she stands up in the
canoe, and steers it full upon the wounded buck, while a shower of blows
are dealt upon his head and neck with the paddle. Catharine buries her
face in her hands--she cannot bear to look upon the sufferings of the
noble animal. She will never make a huntress--her heart is cast in too
soft a mould. See they have towed the deer ashore, and Jacob is in
all his glory,--the little squaw is an Indian at heart--see with
what expertness she helps the old man; and now the great business
is completed, and the venison is stowed away at the bottom of the
canoe--they wash their hands in the river and come at Catharine's
summons to eat her breakfast.

The sun is now rising high above the pine-trees, the morning mist is
also rising and rolling off like a golden veil as it catches those
glorious rays--the whole earth seems wakening into new life--the dew
has brightened every leaf and washed each tiny flower-cup--the pines and
balsams give out their resinous fragrance--the aspens flutter and dance
in the morning breeze and return a mimic shower of dew-drops to the
stream--the shores become lower and flatter--the trees less lofty and
more mossy--the stream expands and wide beds of rushes spread out on
either side--what beds of snowy water-lilies--how splendid the rose
tint of those perseicarias that glow so brightly in the morning sun--the
rushes look like a green meadow, but the treacherous water lies deep
below their grassy leaves--the deer delights in these verdant aquatic
fields, and see what flocks of red-wings rise from among them as the
canoe passes near--their bright shoulder-knots glance like flashes of
lightning in the sun-beams.

This low swampy island, filled with driftwood, these grey hoary trees,
half choked and killed with grey moss and lichens--tho