ich some call lion-heart,
and others snake-head. We steeped this yerb in milk which we made him
drink. The doctor had been sent for, and when he came applied hartshorn;
but I believe that opening the wound and letting the blood flow was the
most effectual remedy. The leg was terribly swollen, and for ten days we
thought the little fellow in great danger, but after that he became better
and finally recovered."

"How do you know that it was a copper-head that bit him?"

"We sent to the place where he was at play, found the snake, and killed
it. A violent rain had fallen just before, and it had probably washed him
down from the mountain-side."

"The boy appears very healthy now."

"Much better than before; he was formerly delicate, and troubled with an
eruption, but that has disappeared, and he has become hardy and fond of
the open air."

We dined at the hotel and left the Water Gap. As we passed out of its jaws
we met a man in a little wagon, carrying behind him the carcass of a deer
he had just killed. They are hunted, at this time of the year, and killed
in considerable numbers in the extensive forests to the north of this
place. A drive of four miles over hill and valley brought us to
Stroudsburg, on the banks of the Pocano--a place of which I shall speak in
my next letter.

Letter XLII.

An Excursion to the Water Gap.

Easton, Penn., _October_ 24, 1846.

My yesterday's letter left me at Stroudsburg, about four miles west of the
Delaware. It is a pleasant village, situated on the banks of the Pocano.
From this stream the inhabitants have diverted a considerable portion of
the water, bringing the current through this village in a canal, making it
to dive under the road and rise again on the opposite side, after which it
hastens to turn a cluster of mills. To the north is seen the summit of the
Pocano mountain, where this stream has its springs, with woods stretching
down its sides and covering the adjacent country. Here, about nine miles
to the north of the village, deer haunt and are hunted. I heard of one man
who had already killed nine of these animals within two or three weeks. A
traveller from Wyoming county, whom I met at our inn, gave me some account
of the winter life of the deer.

"They inhabit," he said, "the swamps of mountain-laurel thickets, through
which a man would find it almost impossible to make his way. The
laurel-bushes, and the hemlocks scattered among them, intercept the sno