an AUVUN’I’HIKE IN THE MACIt-
WOOIJSi
]iY t!. A. STEPHENS.
Wiien the writer was a boy, lie
Ih ed in ivlaine, in a backwoods
ncigliborliaod on the boi’dcv.s of a
forcist, ivhich was called tlie ‘groat
woods,’ and sonietiincs the ‘Can
ada woods,’ because it stretched
northward towardt. the lakes and
into Canada.
j\Iy nearest noigdibor a,nd con
fidential comrade in those days,
was a lad of about niy own age,
named 'J’homas Edwards. With
the exco])tion of nine or ten weeks
of school in the winter, ire had to
work on a farm throng'h the r'Car,
and work pretty hard, too.
But wo generally were permit
ted, if we worketl ivell, a fort
night in the fall, ivhen we could
limit and trap up in the great
ivoods., Froipiently we were al
lowed two or three days to fish
after the ‘spring’s work’ was done,
that is to sai', about the first of
June. This is the time when the
brook trout of ?ilainc bite most
eagerlw, and are in the be.st con
dition for eating.
One of these trout-fishing days,
Tom nnd I had gone throngli tlie
woods to ‘Black Brook,'’ three or
four miles above the home neigh-
horh'ood, We took our dog with
us. This dog had come to us
nearly starved one day when we
were in the forest, ite probabh'
had belonged to some hunter, and
liad lost his ma.ster, for he was
well trained. Wo used sometimes
to think that jierhaps his master
had been killed, or lost and starv
ed to deafh in the great woods.
■We had heard of such things hap-
jieniug ; and there were stories of
jianthers, woli'os and “Indian
devils” being met with in tliat e.x-
feiisivo wilderne.ss, the limits oi
which no one knew.
Wo set off early in the inoni-
Sng, taking with us our stiff but
liglit cedar fishing-poles, and an
old tin spiee-box full of “angle
worms.” In less than an hour af
ter leaving the cleared land, we
came to the month of t!ie brook,
baited our hooks, and dropped
fliem in. It was our purpose to
fish uj) this brook for about two
miles, then cross a high ridge to
tlie eastward, and fish down an-
ffher brook rvaieli runs into a
sinal! l.iko called Clear Water
Bond; ivliero we had an old boat.
Wc find followed the brook for
Iialf a mile or more,- when, all at
otieev W'o heard liover begin to
bark excitedly, and in a dilferent
tone from that we were aceus-
tomedi to hear when he barked at
stpiirrels.
“He’s after something!” Tom
sailed to me from the other side
of the b-rook.
We Ksfenei.s moment. Rot'er
Wa's barking Hko’ a fury,—dia-rk-
jng and running. Wc could hear
a great snapping and smashing of
the- ary undergrowth of alder ten
er a dozen rods off. Then the
barking stopped, and we heard
Rover give one of his long howls.
“ Treed him!” shouted Tom,
coming acro.ss the brook on an
old log a little above me.
We dropped our poles and ran
towards- the spot where Rover
seemed to be.
Just on the edge of the alder
swamp, wliere the upland of thy
ridge began, we caught sight of
his white coat. He was standing
under a second-growth jioplar
(years before, there iiad been a
forest fire here), about a foot
through at tlie root; but the in-
terveuiug tree tojjs were so thick
that wc could not see into the
poplar top till ive were close un
der it. Rover ivas looking up at
.something, lie turned Ids head
fi;)r an instant when he lieard us
coining, a.n(l wagged his tail, but
kept his ex'es in the tree top.
“Iledgeliog !” Tom s.aid, as wo
hurried up. “No, it i.sn’t. Vv'hat
is that ?” for we had cang'lit a
glimpse throngli tlie little silver}'
leaves of the poplar, now just un
folding, of something black and
shaggy among the pale green
limbs.-
Eagerly enough, '.ve stared,
and crept forward, and peered,
and peered, first this side, then
that, without getting too near.
Presently ivo beg'an to niitke out
its shape, and caught sight of its
head,
“It’s a fisher-cat!” cried Tom.
It looked rather savage, witli
its ears lai;l fiat on its head, and
its long claw.s clutching round the
branch on wliich it was crouch
ing, It is a creature of the wea
sel kind Cmustila Canadensis, or
Pennant’s marten), about_the size
of art otter,, but more muscular,
liaving short, thick legs, and a.
rather long body. Wo had caught
one the fall before in a traj), and
its skill had brosglit us seven
dollars.
"0 how I wish we had Si gun
here!” exclaimed Tom. “ Ilis
skin wouldn’t fetch so much lunv
as in the fall, but it would bring
tliree or four dollars.”
Three or four dollai-s was quite
a sum of money with us in those
days. But it would take two or
tln'oc hours to go back and get a
gun ; and tlie croaturo would ve
ry likely escape before the weap
on was obtained.
“If we could only get him out
of the tree down here on to the
ground,” said Tom, “Rover would
pounce on liim, and we miglit
give him a blow with a club and
knock liiin over.”
So with our jack-knives ive cut
two heavy green sticks. “Now
get stones,” says Tom, “and lot
them fly at him. Rerliajis you
can drive h.im down. Rover and
I ivill take care of him when ho
comes!”
A woodchuck had dug' his hole
in the hill-side near by ; in the
dirt thrown out, there was plenty
of small stones. With these I be-
gas- to pielt the lish.er in the tree.
One ortwohit tho animal and
made him growl; but he w'ouidn’t
stir. Tho distance was too' far
for tho creature to leap into the
adjoining; tree tops,- and ho evi
dently did- not like the looks- of
I’om and the dog underneath. At
last Tom exclaimed, “'V/lio’s
afraid of a fisher ? Let’s elirnb up
and knock him down !”
But 1 did not like this idea,
“He’ll dig your eyes out, Tom,”
I said,
“Nonsense ! I ain’t afraid of
him. Let him dig I I’ll have his
hide off him in spite of his teeth !”
And oil' 'came Tom’s liome-
niade frock, which buttoned tight
round his waist. 'Pying- a knot
in. one of the sleeves, he slipped
Ills club through it, then with the
other sleeve and the waistband,
tied the frock about his middle ;
for to climb the poplar, lie must
needs have both arms free, and
he wanted tho club to use after
getting within reach of the ani
mal.
“Now he ready for him, yon
and Rover !” Tom exhorted me ;
anil, clasping botli arms about
the trunk, began to ‘hog it” (as
baclcwood.s boy's say) up tho
tree, Tom was an ailept at climb
ing trees in this way, and went
np readily enough.,
Tho fisher was in the neigh
borhood of thirty-five feet from
the ground, and it must have
been all of tiventy-five feet uj) to
the first limbs. 1 I'emoinlier that,
as Tom climbed, the club dan
gled behind him and clattered
against tho tree.
Seeing Toni’s head coming up,
tho animal snarled and chattered
its teeth, and kept making mo
tions as if to jump at him ; but it
took more than a fisher’s gro'.id-
ing to scare Tom Edwards in
those days.
Getting liis feet on the lower
branches, he drew lihnself up,
reached for his club, and took a
look at the game. Had the boast
leaped at him, they must assur
edly iiave both tumbled down to-
getiier. And now, with the fish
er snuffling and growling, and
making little starts towards him,
Tom jiroceeded to draw himself
up with his left hand from branch
to branch, holding his club, rea
dy to strike, ill Ids riglit.
Just as he was about to swing
the club, tho creature whirled
round, and sprang n'p higher
among the very' topmost limbs.
“0 you'll soon come to the end
of that road I” I could hear Tom
muttering to him.
'i’hey had now got so far up
among the twigs and leaves that
I could not well follow their mo
tions ; but I could see Tom’s
boots step]iing on the branches,
and yiresently heard a whack, and
a yelp, and saw the fisher come
tearing down through tlie twigs.
It clung with its claws to every
thing in its w'ay, and its nails rip
ped Ihi'ougli the liark.
“Take him ! Hit him !” Tom
shouted down. “He’s got b}-
me !” and ho threw his club after
the creature.
From the lower branche.? the
fislier partly fell, partly leap, and
struck tho ground among dry
leaves a few foot out from tho
root. Rover jumped on him with
a great bark of reprobation, 'and
I sprang -to strike with my stick.
But they grappled and flew round
so, and raised su.ch a storm of
leaves, that I could not get in a
blow' till they' iiad rolled over
each other a score of times, at
least.
“Bite him ! Bite him !” Tom
kept roaring to ns, as he slid
down, out of the pojilar.
At length they rolled into the
hollow of an up-turtied root, with
the fisher cm top ; and I manag
ed to deal the creature a: stroke
on the head wliich stunned it.
By this time, Tom came rusiiing
up with Ids own clu-b, and 'we
soon put an end to the fight.
But jioor Rover was sadly
scratched and bitten. His nose
was badly split, and. he. had. bites
and scratches on Ills shoulders
and breast, which were SO so're
by the next day that lie (iOnld
hardly move witlumt yelling. In
deed, there are few dogs that arc
a match for a ti.she'f iff d fair
fight I nnd there are really not
many old hunters who would
have cared to climb up there as
Tom did.
Wo skinned tlie aiiimai ivith
our jack-knives, and carried the
hide home. I remombei that wi-
stufied it with straw, and Inmg it
in an out-houso to cure. But a
kind of black ljug got into it dar
ing the oumnior and spoiled it.
So ive lost'our anticipated three
or four dnllans.
Su rsat! Holt'.iiia lirau'cr.
I saw my wife pull out the bot
tom drawer of the old family bu
reau tills evening, and i went
softly out and wandered up and
down until I knew that she had
shut it up and gone to her seiving.
Wo have some things laid away
in tho draw'er wliich the gold c f
kings could not buy, and yet
tlicy are relic.s wliicii grieves us
until our lieart ate sore. 1 hav
en’t dared to look at them for a
year, but I remember each article,
riiore are two worn shoes, a lit
tle chip hat with part of the
brim gone, some stockings, pants,
a coat, two or three spools, bits
of crockeiy, a whip and several
toy.s. Wife—poor thing-—goes
to that drawer every' day of her
life and prays over it, a'ftd lets
her tears fall Upon the preeious
articles, but I dare not go.
Sometimes we .spieak of little
Jack, hut not oftert, It has been
a long- fimoj but somehow ive
can’t get over grieving. lie was
such a burst of sunshine into onr
lives that his going away' has
been like covering onr every day
existence I'.'ifh a i lill. Sometimo.s
when we sit alone of an evening,
I writing- and she sewing, a chikl
on the street will call out as our
boy used to, and we both start
up -with beating hearts and a wild
liope only to find tlie darkness more
of a burden than over.
It is so still and quiet now. I
look up at the window where his
blue eyes used to sparkle at iny
coming, but lie is not there. I
listened for his- jiattering feet, his
merry shout,-- and Ins ringing
laugh but tljere is no sound. There
’s no one to climb over my knee,
no one to search my' pockets and
tease me for presents, and I never
find the cliairs turned ovei', the
broom down, or ropes tied to the
door k-nob.
I ivant som-e one to tense me
for my knife; to ride on my shoul-
doi'S ; to lose my' irikc ;' to follow
me to tho gate wlion I go, a-n.d to
be there, to mett 'me wli-oii I come,
to call “good night” from the lit
tle bed, now empty. And wife
she misses him still more; there
are no little feet to wash; no
prayers to say; no voice teasing
for lumps of sugar or sobbing for
tho pain of a hurt toe ; and she
would give her life almost, to
awake at midnigJit and look
across to- the crib nnd .see our boy'
there as he used to be.
So- we pi'esei-v'e our rblics,- and
when we are dead we liopo tliat
strangers will handle them ten
derly', if they shed no tears over
them.— Waverhj 3Iagazine.
SIOSfOIE A'OSlSt BlISSSESS.
It is a gdo'd sign foheii a hmti
is p'ftiud of hi.s ri'ork Or his call-'
ing. Yet nothing is inOrtS Coni-'
mou than to hbar iKeh finling'
fault con; tantly with their ■( d;'-'
tieular bnsii.e;i.‘-'',- and deeming
themselves unfortunate becauso
fast'-jiied to it ly' the necessity'
of gaining- a livelilio'ifil. in this
way men fret, and laborioush' dc'-'
.stroy' all their eoinfoi-t in tho
Mi.-rir, or they change their biisi--
iiQss. am! go on misemljiy, shift
ing from 'jne .thing to another till
i-lio g'ravc or tiic poor-house givc.s
them a-fas:, giip. But while a( ~,
casionally' a imin falls in liib bt-
caiise he is not in the })laco fitted
for Ids jieculiar talent, it happens-
ton times oftener tliat failure re-
.sults from neglect and even con
tempt cf an honest business. A
man siio'ild j.irrt hi.t heart into
everything that ho does. There
is no profession that has not its
peculiar cares and vexations. Not
man will escape an-noyauco by
changing his'hu.sine.s9. No rne-
chrnic'al buSino''3S isf altcgc'ihcr
iigroetible. Gomfoe'rco, in its '
eudies.s varieties; is at'fected, like'
all other pursuits, witii trials, un
welcome Jdtite, and sjiirit-ti’.-ipg'
necessities. It is the very wan
tonness of folly for a man to
search out the frets and burdens
of his calling, and give his mind
everyv day to a consideration of
them. Tliey belong to hurnau
life. They' are inoviteble. Brood-'
ing over them only (tiveS theiii
strength. On tlie othe* hand, a
mail has power given ttf hin'i tiV
shed beauty a'nd pleasure on tho
homeliest foil, if he is wise. Let
a nian adopt his business and
identify' it witli pleasant associa-'
tiims} .for Hea'fon has given us
imagination, not alone to make irs-
poets, but to enable all men to'
beautify lioinely' things. Iletift -
vai'ini h will coveruj) iiuuimerablo'
evils and defects. Lo’ok at the'
good things. Accept your lot aa-
a man doe.s a piece of rugged
ground',■ ;\.nd begins to get out the
rocks and roots, or deepen and
mellow the soil, to eni'ich and
plant it.- There is- sometliiug iii-
ilio most forbi'ldii'.g a'vocatii'U-
aroiind wh.icli a man may t''.vlnii
pleasant fancies, out of'vf'ljich ho'
may develop an liottest pride.—"-
Marmfaclurer md Builder.-
Tho eolebralq-:! Father’Ig'naii-'
us, ju,st before p:.‘eac!n:cg his sort
inon, gave' o'.A the v,’e!i-k';iowu‘
hymn of Dr. Watts, “’When I sur
vey the wondrous cross,” t-ha last
ver.se o-f v/hicli is very cxpves'-
sive:
tVf-..s t:-..; M-b'>!
- ;iiift'-'i
'niihire ivm’ir,-
■I'l'tf'nr too siiiall
VYh
;Ty s'-ui, ipy in'P, iny a:..
lie li vmn v. as onJed- tlio
'preaciicv tiroso, ana sIvOYvIy re-
peatofl tiio last iiiic. ‘DoinandiH
my souly my life my all’ Thou
iooking .roum^, lie added, Isii g'.’
chat. Do you knew that alt.^ *
getlier you iiavo only put fifte''U
shillings (three doiiars) into tho'
bag t.bi'B- morning.!’ 'ilio clTect
of such a coininont 6\\ such a fact
may bo well iniagiiiod.—Selectea.
Whatever ow pla-co allo+-^'l t'V
us by Providence, us, ‘.i
the post of honor and-duty. God-
estimates us, hot by the positioih
wo are in, but by th.e way ini*
which we'flli it—T.