mute astonishment, and the latter looking at the

sun.

"It's a warm day, this," said Pete, at length; passing his hand across his brow, as he spoke, and sweeping off the heavy drops of perspiration that hung there. But receiving no answer, he began to get nettled. His native assurance, which had been damped by the mysterious deportment of the person who sat before him, revived; and screwing his courage to the sticking point, he arose, approached the silent man, and slapping him on the back, exclaimed--

"Well, stranger! don't the sun look mighty droll, away out there in the north ?"

As the heavy hand fell on his shoulder, the stranger slowly turned his face towards Pete, who recoiled several paces;---then rising, without paying our hunter any further attention, he began to pursue the trail of the deer. Pete prepared to follow, when the other, turning upon him with a stern glance, inquired--

"Who are you tracking ?"

"Not you,” replied the hunter, whose alarm had subsided, when the enemy began to retreat; and whose pride piqued, by the abruptness with which he had been treated, enabled him to assume his usual boldness of manner.

"What do you trail, then ?”

"I trail deer."

"You must not pursue them further; they are mine."

The sound of the stranger's voice broke the spell, which had hung over Pete's natural impudence, and he now shouted-

"Your deer! That's droll, too! Who ever heard of a man claiming the deer in the woods ?" "Provoke me not,-I tell you they are mine.”

"Well, now, you're a comical chap! Why, man! the deer are wild! They're jist nateral to the woods here, the same as the timber.--You might as well say the wolves, and the painters are yours, and all the rest of the wild varmants.'

"The tracks, you behold here, are those of wild deer, undoubtedly; but they are mine. I roused them from their bed, and am driving them to my home, which is not of this country."

"Could n't you take a pack or two of wolves along?" said Pete, sneeringly." We can spare you a small gang. It's mighty wolfy about here." "If you follow me any further, it is at your peril!" said the stranger.

"You don't suppose I'm to be skeer'd, do you? -You musn't come over them words agin.There's no back out in none of my breed." "I repeat"

"You had best not repeat,-I allow no man to repeat in my presence "—interrupted the irritated woodsman. "I'm Virginia born, and Kentucky raised, and, drot my skin! if I take the like of that from any man that ever wore shoe leather.”

"Desist! rash man, from altercation. I despise your threats."

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"I tell you what, stranger!" said Pete, endeavouring to imitate the coolness of the other, as to the matter of a deer or two-I don't vally them to the tantamount of this here cud of tobacco; but I'm not to be backed out of my tracks. So, keep off, stranger!-Don't come fooling about me.-I feel mighty wolfy about the head and shoulders.-Keep off! I say, or you might get hurt."

With this, the hunter, to use his own language, "squared himself, and sot his triggers,"--fully determined, either to hunt the disputed game, or be vanquished in combat. To his surprise, the stranger, without appearing to notice his preparations, advanced, and blew with his breath upon his rifle.

"Your gun is charmed!" said he. "From this time forward, you will kill no deer." And so saying, he deliberately resumed his journey.

Pete Featherton remained a moment or two, lost in confusion. He then thought he would pursue the stranger, and punish him as well for his

threats, as for the insult intended to his gun; but a little reflection induced him to change his decision. The confident manner in which that mysterious being had spoken, together with a kind of vague assurance within his own mind, that the spell had really taken effect, so unmanned and stupified him, that he quietly "took the back track," and sauntered homewards. He had not gone far, before he saw a fine buck, half concealed among the hazle bushes which beset his path, and resolving to know at once how matters stood between Brown Bess and the pretended conjurer, he took a deliberate aim, fired, and—away bounded the buck unharmed!

With a heavy heart, our mortified forester reentered his dwelling, and replaced his degraded weapon in its accustomed birth under the rafters.

"You have been long gone," said his wife ;"but where is the venison you promised me ?" Pete was constrained to confess he had shot nothing.

"That is strange !" said the lady. "I never knew you fail before."

Pete framed twenty excuses. He had felt unwell;-his rifle was out of fix-and there were not many deer stirring.

Had not Pete been a very young husband, he would have known, that the vigilant eye of a wife

is not to be deceived by feigned apologies. Mrs. Featherton saw that something had happened to her helpmate, more than he was willing to confess; and being quite as tenacious as himself, in her reluctance against being "backed out of her tracks," she advanced firmly to her object, and Pete was compelled to own, "That he believed Brown Bess was somehow sort o'charmed."

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"Now, Mr. Featherton !" said his sprightly bride, are you not ashamed to tell me such a tale as that! Ah, well! I know how it is.-You have been down at the store, shooting at a mark for half pints !"

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No, indeed!" replied the husband emphatically, I wish I may die, if I've pulled a trigger for a drop of liquor this day."

"Well, do now-that's a good dear!--tell me where you have been, and what has happened? For never did Pete Featherton, and Brown Bess, fail to get a venison any day in the year."

Soothed by this well-timed compliment, and willing, perhaps, to have the aid of counsel in this trying emergency, Pete narrated minutely to his wife, all the particulars of his meeting with the mysterious stranger. Unfortunately, the good lady was as wonder-struck as himself, and unable to give any advice. She simply prescribed bathing his feet, and going to bed; and Pete, though he