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consequence as Bonaparte did when he had conquered the Austrians in the famous field of Austerlitz.

Excited by this triumph of skill and my new gun, we continued to push forward, though it was now snowing fast; and the ground was already covered to the depth of two or three inches. Frequently meeting with some kind of game, though we got little of it, we traversed one ridge after another, until we were involved in a sea of small and thickly wooded ridges and ravines, that crowned the top of the mountain. Scarcely heeding the course we took, or thinking of return, we proceeded for several hours. At last we came to a small hill, and it was agreed between Bill and myself that he should take the valley on one side, and I on the other, and we would meet beyond it.

I had not gone far before a rabbit rushed by me with prodigious bounds, and entered a thicket at a little distance. I followed it, but as I approached, it plunged farther into the bushes. Intent upon the pursuit, and guided by its footsteps in the snow, I pursued it from place to place, from thicket to thicket, but without being able to get a shot at it. At last it disappeared amid a heap of stones. As these were loose and not large, I began to pull them away, expecting every moment to reach the object of my pursuit. But after working here for some time, I was obliged to give up the effort in despair, and leaving the place, I set out to join my companion. So intent had I been upon my object, that I had not marked my route or noticed the lapse of time. As soon as I began to think of joining him, however, I became conscious that I had gone a considerable distance out of my way, and had spent a long time in the chase of the rabbit. I therefore proceeded with as much rapidity as the rugged nature of the ground and the dense

forest would allow, and in the direction, as I supposed, toward the extremity of the ridge, where Bill and I were to meet.

It was not long, however, before I became assured that I had lost my wayand that, instead of approaching the point designated, I had wandered a great way from it. I now began to retrace my steps, and for a time was guided by my tracks in the snow. But the storm had set in in earnest. The large flakes fell thick and fast, filling the air with a dense cloud, and seeming to pour down upon the earth as if shovelled from some reservoir in the skies. In a few minutes after I had passed along, my tracks were completely covered up, and no trace of them could be seen.

In any

My situation was now serious, and I began to consider what was to be done. The advice of my uncle came to my mind, and the warning of the grizzly old woman crept over me with a sort of shudder. I fired my gun, hoping to make Bill hear it, and waited in breathless anxiety for a reply. But the wind was roaring in the tops of the tall trees, and neither the mountain nor the tempest seemed to heed my distress, any more than if I had been an insect. I was never in my life so struck with my utter helplessness. I was not accustomed to take care of myself. difficulty heretofore, I had hitherto always found some one to extricate me. But I was now alone. No one was here to aid me. At first I gave way to despair. I threw my gun to the ground in a pet, and lay down myself, and with bitter lamentations bewailed my fate. But the gray, gnarled old trees and sturdy rocks around took not the slightest notice of my distress. I fancied that I could almost see them smile at my vain wailings. They did not, at any rate, rush to my relief, and soothe my agony. For once, I was

obliged to rely upon myself; and it was a stern lesson, which I have never forgotten.

After a few moments, I rose from the ground, brushed off the snow from my clothes, and began seriously to devise some plan of action. But here, again, my habit of dependence came in my way. Little accustomed to think or act for myself in any emergency, I was a poor hand for contrivance. My convenient friend, Bill Keeler, had been accustomed always to save me the trouble of making any mental or bodily exertion. O how ardently did I now wish that he was with me! How did I fill the mountain with cries of his name! But there was no return. Even the throat of the mountain, that had ever before been so ready with its echoes, was now choked up with the thickening shower of snow. Nothing could be heard but one deafening roar of the gale, chafing the uneasy tops of the trees.

I concluded to set out in what seemed to me the direction of my home, and to push straight forward till I was extricated from the wilds of the mountain. I began to put this scheme in execution, and for more than an hour I plodded on through the woods. I proceeded with considerable rapidity for a time, but the snow was now a foot in depth, and as it impeded my progress, so it diminished my strength. I was, at length, obliged to slacken my pace, and finally, being completely wearied out, I sat down beneath the branches of a large hemlock tree, to rest myself. This spot was so sheltered by the thickly woven branches as to be free from snow, and here I continued for some time. When I got up to proceed, I found my limbs so stiffened that it was difficult for me to move. At the same time a dizziness came over me, and I fell to the ground.

It was not till the next day that I had any consciousness of existence. When

I awoke, I was in a dark, rocky cavern, with a grizzly old woman by my side. At first, I fancied it all to be some strange dream, and expected to awake and find myself in my comfortable bed at my uncle's. But pretty soon, remembrances of the preceding day came back, and guessing at the truth, I asked"Is that you, Sarah?" "It is me," said the old woman; "and you are in my cave." "And have saved my you life, then?" said I, half rising from my recumbent position. "Yes-yes," said she; "I found you beneath the hemlock, and I brought you here. But you must be quiet, for you have suffered, and need care and rest."

I need not attempt to tell how gratefully I thanked the poor old hermitess, and how I begged pardon for my impertinence on the preceding morning. I then began to inquire about other things -the depth of the snow; whether anything was known of my companion; and how and when I could return to my uncle. In reply, I was told that there was at least four feet of snow on the ground; that it was therefore impossible to attempt to leave the cave; that Bill Keeler, being an expert woodsman, had no doubt found his way home; and that in all probability I was given up by my friends as lost.

I was obliged to be content with this recital, though it left me much cause of anxiety, especially on account of my companion, for whom I entertained a sincere affection. Being, however, in some degree pacified, I began to consider my condition. Here I was, in a cave formed by nature in a rock, and my only companion was a gray old dame, her long hair almost as white as the snow-drift, her form bent, her eyes bleared and colorless, her face brown and wrinkled. Beside all this, she was esteemed a witch, and while feared and shunned by mankind, she was regarded

as the familiar companion of the wild fox and the rattlesnake.

Nor was this all that rendered my situation singular. There was no fire in the place I inhabited, yet, strange to say, I did not suffer from the cold. Nor were there any articles of furniture. The only food that was given to me consisted of butternuts and walnuts, with a little dried beef and bread which Old Sarah had brought from the village. For two days and two nights I remained at this place, the greater part of the time lying upon the bottom of the cave on my back, with only a ray of light admitted through the cleft of the rock, which served as a door, and which was partially closed by two large pieces of bark. On the third day I was looking from the mouth of the cave upon the scene around, when I saw a figure at a considerable distance, attempting to make its way through the snow, in the direction of the cave. At first sight I knew it to be Bill Keeler! I clambered upon the top of a rock, and shouted with all my might. I was soon discovered, and my shout was answered by Bill's well-known voice. It was a happy moment for us both. I threw up my arms in ecstasy, and Bill did the same, jumping up and down in the deep snow, as if he were light as a feather. He continued to work his way toward us, and in half an hour we were in each other's arms. For a short time I thought the fellow was stark mad. He rolled in the snow as you sometimes see an overjoyed and frisky dog-then he exclaimed, "I told 'em so! I told 'em so! I knew we should find you here!" Then the poor fellow got up, and looking me in the face, burst into an uncontrollable fit of tears.

I was myself deeply affected, and Old Sarah's eyes, that had seemed dry with the scorching of sorrow and time, were now overflowing. When I noticed her

sympathy, however, she shrunk from notice, and retired to her cave. Bill then related all that had happened; how he hunted for me on the mountain till midnight, and then, with a broken heart, went home for help; how he had since toiled for my discovery and deliverance, and how, against the expectations of everybody, he had a sort of presentiment that I should be found in the shelter of Old Sarah's cave. He farther told me that my uncle and four men were coming, and would soon be with us.

I need not give the details of what followed. It is enough to say, that my uncle soon arrived, with sufficient assistance to take me home, though the depth of the snow rendered it exceedingly dif ficult to proceed. I left Old Sarah with abundant thanks, and an offer of money, which, however, she steadily refused. At last I reached home. Not a word was said to remind me of my obstinacy and folly, in going upon a sporting expedition, against counsel and advice; nothing but rejoicing at my return was heard or seen. My uncle invited in the neighbors at evening; there was hot flip in abundance, and ginger and cider for those who liked it. Tom Crotchet, the fiddler, was called, young and old went to dancing, and the merriest night that ever was known, was that in which young Bob Merry who was lost in the mountain, came to life, having been two days and two nights in the cave of "Old Sarah the hermitess."

I am not sure that I did not appear to share in this mirth; but in truth I felt too sober and solemn for hilarity. The whole adventure had sunk deep into my mind, and though I did not immediately understand its full effect upon my character, I had at least determined never again to scorn the advice of those more experienced than myself. I had also been made in some degree aware of that

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The Great Northern Diver, or Loon.

THE genus to which this bird belongs are all of a large size, and entirely aquatic; they are seldom on land, and, although they have great power, they seldom fly. The construction of their feet at once points out their facility of diving and their ability to pass rapidly through the water; the legs are placed far back, and the muscles possess great power; and the whole plumage of the bird is close and rigid, presenting a smooth and almost solid resistance to the waves in swimming or diving.

The Great Northern Diver measures two feet and ten inches in length, and four feet six inches in the expanse of the wings; the bill is strong, of a glossy black, and nearly five inches long. It

is met with in the north of Europe, and is common at Hudson's Bay, as well as along the Atlantic border of the United States. It is commonly found in pairs, and procures its food, which consists wholly of fish, in the deepest water, diving for a length of time with astonishing ease and rapidity. It is restless before a storm, and its cry, which foretells a tempest, is like the shrill barking of a dog and may be heard at the distance of a mile. It is a migratory bird, always departing for warmer regions when, its fishing grounds are obstructed with ice. It is difficult to kill these birds, as they easily elude their pursuers by their astonishing faculty of diving.

The people of some parts of Russia

tan the breasts of this bird, and prepare them in such a manner as to preserve the down upon them; they then sew them together, and sell them for pelisses, caps, &c. The articles made of them are very warm, and perfectly impervious to rain or moisture, which renders them very desirable in the severe climates where they are used. The Greenlanders also make use of these skins for clothing, and at the mouth of the Columbia river, Lewis and Clarke saw numbers of robes made of them.

The Laplanders cover their heads with a cap made of the skin of this bird -which they call loom, a word signifying lame, and which they apply to it because it is awkward in walking.

The loon is not gregarious, but, as before said, is generally found in pairs. Its aversion to society is proved by the fact, mentioned by travellers, that only one pair and their young are found on one sheet of water. The nest is usually on the edges of small islands, or on the margin of a fresh-water lake or pond. It contains two large brown eggs.

In building its nest, the loon usually seeks a situation at once secluded and

difficult of access. She also defends her nest, and especially her young, with great courage and vigor. She strikes with her wings, and thrusts with her sharp bill as a soldier does with his bayonet. It is, therefore, by no means easy to capture the nests or the young of this bird.

Mr. Nuttall gives the following account of a young bird of this kind which he obtained in the salt marsh at Chelsea, and transferred to a fish-pond. "He made a good deal of plaint, and would sometimes wander out of his more natural element, and hide and bask in the grass. On these occasions, he lay very still until nearly approached, and then slid into the pond and uttered his usual plaint. When out at any distance,

he made the same cautious efforts to hide, and would commonly defend himself, in great anger, by darting at the intruder, and striking powerfully with his dagger-like bill. This bird, with a pink-colored iris like the albinos, appeared to suffer from the glare of broad daylight, and was inclined to hide from its effects, but became very active towards the dusk of evening. The pupil of the eye in this individual, like that of nocturnal animals, appeared indeed dilatable; and this one often put down his head and eyes, into the water to observe the situation of his prey.

"This bird was a most expert and indefatigable diver, and would remain down sometimes for several minutes, often swimming under water, and as it were flying with the velocity of an arrow in the air. Though at length inclined to be docile, and showing no alarm when visited, it constantly betrayed its wandering habit, and every night was found to have waddled to some hiding-place, where it seemed to prefer hunger to the loss of liberty, and never could be restrained from exercising its instinct to move onwards to some secure or more suitable asylum."

Mr. Nuttall makes the following remarks in respect to the voice of the loon: "Far out at sea in winter, and in the great western lakes, particularly Huron and Michigan, in summer, I have often heard, on a fine, calm morning, the sad and wolfish call of the solitary loon, which, like a dismal echo, seems slowly to invade the ear, and, rising as it proceeds, dies away in the air. This boding sound to mariners, supposed to be indicative of a storm, may be heard sometimes for two or three miles, when the bird itself is invisible, or reduced almost to a speck in the distance. The aborigines, nearly as superstitious as sailors, dislike to hear the cry of the loon, considering the bird,

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