id="id00032">CHAPTER II. Hurrah! for the Country

CHAPTER III. The Departure—The Stag Hounds—The Chase—Round Lake

CHAPTER IV. The Doctor's Story—A Slippery Fish—A Lawsuit and a Compromise

CHAPTER V. A Frightened Animal—Trolling for Trout—The Boatman's Story Defence

CHAPTER VII. Kinks!—"Dirty Dogs"—The Barking Dog that was found Dead in the Yard—The Dog that Barked himself to Death

CHAPTER VIII. Stony Brook—A Good Time with the Trout—Rackett River—Tupper's Lake—A Question Asked and Answered

CHAPTER IX. Hunting by Torchlight—An Incompetent Judge—A New Sound in the Forest—Old Sangamo's Donkey

CHAPTER X. Grindstone Brook—Forest Sounds—A Funny Tree covered with Snow Flakes

CHAPTER XI. A Convention broken up in a Row—The Chairman ejected

CHAPTER XII. The First Chain of Ponds—Shooting by Turns—Sheep Washing—A Plunge and a Dive—A Roland for an Oliver

CHAPTER XIII. A Jolly Time for the Deer—Hunting on the Water by Daylight—Mud Lake—Funereal Scenery—A New way of Taking Rabbits—The Negro and the Merino Buck—A Collision

CHAPTER XIV. A Deer Trapped—The Result of a Combat—A Question of Mental Philosophy Discussed

CHAPTER XV. Hooking up Trout—The Left Branch—The Rapids—A Fight with a Buck

CHAPTER XVI. Round Pond—The Pile Driver—A Theory for Spiritualists

CHAPTER XVII. Little Tupper's Lake—A Spike Buck—A Thunder Storm in the Forest—The Howl of the Wolf

CHAPTER XVIII. An Exploring Voyage in an Alderswamp—A Beaver Dam—A Fair Shot and a Miss—Drowning a Bear—an Unpleasant Passenger

CHAPTER XIX. Spalding's Bear Story—Climbing to avoid a Collision—An Unexpected Meeting—A Race

CHAPTER XX. The Chase on the Island—The Chase on the Lake—The Bear—Gambling for Glory—Anecdote of Noah and the Gentleman who offered to Officiate as Pilot on Board the Ark

CHAPTER XXI. The Doctor and his Wife on a Fishing Excursion—The Law of the Case—Strong-minded Women

CHAPTER XXII. A Beautiful Flower—A New Lake—A Moose—His Capture—A Sumptuous Dinner

CHAPTER XXIII. The Cricket in the Wall—The Minister's Illustration—Old Memories

CHAPTER XXIV. The Accidents of Life—"Some Men Achieve Greatness, and Some have Greatness Thrust Upon Them"—A Slide—Rattle at the Top and an Icy Pool at the Bottom—A Fanciful Story

CHAPTER XXV. Headed Towards Home—The Martin and Sable Hunter—His Cabin—Autumnal Scenery

CHAPTER XXVI. A Surprise—A Serenade—A Visit from Strangers—An Invitation to Breakfast—A Fashionable Hour and a Bountiful Bill of Fare

CHAPTER XXVII. Would I were a Boy Again!

CHAPTER XXVIII. Headed Down Stream—Return to Tupper's Lake—The Camp on the Island

CHAPTER XXIX. A Mysterious Sound—Treed by a Moose—Angling for a Powder Horn—An Unheeded Warning and the Consequences

CHAPTER XXX. Good-bye—Floating Down the Rackett—A Black Fox—A Trick upon the Martin Trappers and its Consequences

CHAPTER XXXI. Out of the Woods—The Thousand Islands—Cape Vincent—Bass Fishing—Home—A Searcher after Truth—An Interruption—Finis

THE RIFLE AND THE ROD.

CHAPTER I.

A GREAT INSTITUTION.

"It is a great institution," I said, or rather thought aloud, one beautiful summer morning, as my wife was dressing the baby. The little thing lay upon its face across her lap, paddling and kicking with its little bare arms and legs, as such little people are very apt to do, while being dressed. It was not our baby. We have dispensed with that luxury. And yet it was a sweet little thing, and nestled as closely in our hearts as if it were our own. It was our first grandchild, the beginning of a third generation, so that there is small danger of our name becoming extinct. A friend of mine, who unfortunately has no voice for song, has a most excellent wife and beautiful baby, and cannot therefore be said to be without music at home. It is his first descendant, and everybody knows that such are just the things of which fathers are very apt to be proud. He was spending an evening with a neighbor, and was asked to sing. He declined, of course, giving as a reason that he never sang. "Why, Mr. H——," said a black-eyed little girl, of seven—"why, Mr. H——, don't you never sing to the baby?" Sure enough! I wonder if there ever was a civilized, a human man, who never sang to the baby. I do not believe that there was ever such a paradox in nature, as a man who had tossed the baby up and down, balanced it on his hand, given it a ride on his foot, and yet never sang to it. I do not care a fig about melody of voice, or science in quavering; I am not talking about sweetness of tone; what I mean to say is, that I do not believe there is a man living, even though he have no more voice than a raven, who is human, and yet never sang to the baby, always assuming that he has one.

"A great institution," I repeated, half in soliloquy and half to my wife.

"What in the world are you talking about?" said Mrs. H——, as she took a pin from her mouth, and fastened the band that encircled the waist of the baby. The nurse was looking quietly on, quite willing that her work should be thus taken off her hands. Will somebody tell me, if there ever was a grandmother, especially one who became such young, who could sit by, and see the nurse dress her first, or even her tenth grandchild, while it was a helpless little thing, say a foot or a foot and a half long? The nurse is so unhandy; she tumbles the baby about so roughly, handles it so awkwardly, she will certainly dress it too loosely, or too tight, or leave a pin that will prick it, or some terrible calamity will happen. So she takes possession of the little thing, and with a hand guided by experience and the instincts of affection, puts its things on in a Christian and comfortable way.

"A great institution!" I repeated again.

"I do believe the man has lost his wits," remarked Mrs. H——, handing the baby to the nurse. "Who ever heard of a baby less than three months old being called an institution?"

"Never heard of such a thing in my life," I replied, "though a much greater mistake might be made."

"What then, in the name of goodness, have you been talking about?" inquired Mrs. H——.

"The COUNTRY of course," I replied.

I had just returned from a business trip to Vermont—who ever thought that Vermont would be traversed by railroads, or that the echoes which dwell among her precipices and mountain fastnesses, would ever wake to the snort of the iron horse? Who ever thought that the locomotive would go screaming and thundering along the base of the Green Mountains, hurling its ponderous train, loaded with human freight, along the narrow valleys above which mountain peaks hide their heads in the clouds? How old Ethan Allen and