never face. You talk of fright-ay, I felt it in that moment as I never knew or felt since-not for myself, but for him, as I saw him tottering on that tree limb, and the horrid death awaiting him below. I seized my gun from the snow, and clubbing it, rushed in upon the rearing and striking moose, with a wild shout to attract him from his intended victim overhead.

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George,' I roared out, for your life, my dear, dear boy, hold on for a few moments, and all will be right. Keep looking upwards to the sky, and you will get your strength again, while I will drive the moose off you.' My shouts, as I expected, brought the animal directly upon me. He charged furiously, and ere I could raise the gunstock to make a blow at him, he struck at me with his fore feet, missing my head, but tearing the front of my caput with his sharp hoofs, throwing me down, and driving one of his fore legs through the net-work of my snow-shoe. In his struggling to free himself from the hamper of the shoe, and being weakened with his previous wounds and loss of blood, he fell over me in the snow, and floundered about, almost dislocating my leg with his efforts to free himself from the snow-shoe. Just at this moment my hand rested upon the tomahawk dropped by George from the tree. This had a sharp steel ferule at the handle-end, (as I always have my tomahawks fitted up in this way,) and grasping it firmly, for life or death was on the game in hand, I plunged it repeatedly up to the sharp axe-head, wood and all, in the brute's body, wherever I could get a blow. And, to come to a short close of my long story, when George came down from the tree, after recovering his strength and courage by the simple means I pointed out to him, he found Mister Moose in a way of becoming speedily defunct, and myself pretty well used up after the rough-and-tumble work I had gone through. This Bull Moose was the immensely large one, the killing of which has given me some character among the hunter folk; and I shall certainly remember it, more for the cursed fright I got in the affair, than on the score of its fixing upon me the appellation of The Moose Hunter.""

DEER HUNTING.

THE different modes of destroying deer are probably too well understood and too successfully practised in the United States; for notwithstanding the almost incredible abundance of these beautiful animals in our forests and prairies, such havoc is carried on amongst them, that, in a few centuries, they will probably be as scarce in America, as the Great Bustard now is in Britain.

We have three modes of hunting deer, each varying in some degree, in the different states and districts. The first is termed Still Hunting, and is by far the most destructive. The second is called Fire-light Hunting, and is next in its exterminating effects. The third, which may be looked upon as a mere amusement, is named Driving. Although many deer are destroyed by this latter method, it is not by any means so pernicious as the others. These methods I shall describe separately.

Still Hunting is followed as a kind of trade by most of our frontier men. To be practised with success, it requires great activity, and expert management of the rifle, and a thorough knowledge of the forest, together with an intimate acquaintance with the habits of the deer, not only at different seasons of the year, but also at every hour of the day, as the hunter must be aware of the situations which the game prefers, and in which it is most likely to be found, at any particular time.

Illustrations of any kind require to be presented in the best possible light. We shall therefore suppose that we are about to follow the true hunter, as the Still Hunter is also called, through the interior of the tangled woods, across morasses, ravines, and such places, where the game may prove more or less plentiful, even should none be found there in the first instance. We shall allow our hunter all the agility, patience and care, which his occupation requires, and will march in his rear, as if we were spies, watching all his movements.

His dress, you observe, consists of a leather hunting-shirt, and a pair of trousers of the same material. His feet are well moccasined; he wears a belt round his waist; his heavy rifle is

resting on his brawny shoulder; on one side hangs his ballpouch, surmounted by a horn of an ancient buffalo, once the terror of the herd, but now containing a pound of the best gunpowder; his butcher-knife is scabbarded in the same strap; and behind is a tomahawk, the handle of which has been thrust through his girdle. He walks with so rapid a step, that probably few men, besides ourselves, that is, myself and my kind reader, could follow him, unless for a short distance, in their anxiety to witness his ruthless deeds. He stops, looks at the flint of his gun, its priming, and the leather cover of the lock, then glances his eye towards the sky, to judge of the course most likely to lead him to the game.

The heavens are clear, the red glare of the morning sun gleams through the lower branches of the lofty trees, the dew hangs in pearly drops at the tip of every leaf. Already has the emerald hue of the foliage been converted into the more glowing tints of our autumnal months. A slight frost appears on the fence-rails of his little corn-field. As he proceeds, he looks to the dead foliage under his feet, in search of the wellknown tracks of a buck's hoof. Now he bends towards the ground, on which something has attracted his attention. See! he alters his course, increases his speed, and will soon reach the opposite hill. Now, he moves with caution, stops at almost every tree, and peeps forward, as if already within shooting distance of the game. He advances again, but how very slowly! He has reached the declivity, upon which the sun shines in all its growing splendour;-but mark him! he takes the gun from his shoulder, has already thrown aside the leathern cover of his lock, and is wiping the edge of his flint with his tongue. Now he stands like a monumental figure, perhaps measuring the distance that lies between him and the game, which he has in view. His rifle is slowly raised, the report follows, and he runs. Let us run also. Shall I speak to him and ask him the result of his first essay? Assuredly, reader, for I know him well.

“Pray, friend, what have you killed?" for to say, "what have you shot at?" might imply the possibility of his having missed, and so might hurt his feelings. "Nothing but a buck?" “And

where is it?" "Oh, it has taken a jump or so, but I settled it, and will soon be with it. My ball struck, and must have gone through his heart." We arrive at the spot where the animal has laid itself down among the grass in a thicket of grape-vines, sumachs, and spruce-bushes, where it intended to repose during the middle of the day. The place is covered with blood, the hoofs of the deer have left deep prints in the ground, as it bounced in the agonies produced by its wound; but the blood that has gushed from its side discloses the course which it has taken. We soon reach the spot. There lies the buck, its tongue out, its eye dim, its breath exhausted; it is dead. The hunter draws his knife, cuts the buck's throat almost asunder, and prepares to skin it. For this purpose he hangs it upon the branches of a tree. When the skin is removed, he cuts off the hams, and abandoning the rest of the carcass to the wolves and vultures, reloads his gun, flings the venison, enclosed by the skin, upon his back, secures it with a strap, and walks off in search of more game, well knowing that, in the immediate neighbourhood, another at least is to be found.

Had the weather been warmer, the hunter would have sought for the buck along the shadowy side of the hills. Had it been the spring season, he would have led us through some thick canebrake, to the margin of some remote lake, where you would have seen the deer immersed to his head in the water, to save his body from the tormenting attack of mosquitoes. Had winter overspread the earth with a covering of snow, he would have searched the low damp woods, where the mosses and lichens, on which, at that period, the deer feeds, abound, the trees being generally crusted with them for several feet above the ground. At one time, he might have marked the places where the deer clears the velvet from his horns by rubbing against the low stems of bushes, and where he frequently scrapes the earth with his fore-hoofs; at another, he would have betaken himself where persimmons and crab-apples abound, as beneath these trees the deer frequently stop to munch their fruits. During early spring, our hunter would imitate the bleating of the doe, and thus frequently obtain both her and the fawn; or, like some tribes of Indians, he would prepare a deer's head, placed on a stick, and