and partridge-or else the Perdix virginiana, or American Quail. I did not mean, or indeed write either!-but the European Partridge; a bird utterly different from either. I see, however, that he also asserts on his own eye-witness, that the quail does migrate in flocks of five hundred to one thousand. This I never doubted—it however, makes another point for my side! Ᏼ Ꭼ Ꭺ Ꭱ . "BEAR with me."-Mark Anthony's Speech over the dead body of Cæsar. THE moon uprising from the distant east, as yet not full disclosed, nor clothed with clouds, kindles with silver fire, a wild wide wood-lake. Trees stand around in rude rough majesty -stern witnesses of her glory. They own their faded beauty, they mourn their lost leaves frozen, they feel that Winter's come, and that's "verbum" to their "sap." The stars still shine. But such shining! They shine just as office holders, who know that in a very little time they are to be extinguished by a dispensation from a greater light. The clouds in the distance look as though they had some lightning in them;— solemn phalanxial. The old trees have had rough times. Those near by are all troubled with the rheumatism, or have been cut down by convulsions. Some stumps, to be sure, show that the barbarous pioneer had never heard that exquisite ballad of "Woodman spare that tree." But nearly all blighted-blasted. Only the pyramid pine, and fragrant fir,-Heavenly ever-greens,-Christ-mass greens for us poor sinners,-flutter, and bend to the tempest, and bear upon their boughs the cherishing comfort of snow. At the south-east corner of the lake, is built, with the artifice which nature sometimes indulges in, a hiding place, or "stand," arranged out of old logs and fallen trees, within the which you see two hunters-hunters!-Heaven help them! who lie ensconced to shoot some timid, thirsty, doe, who may come down in the peace of night to take a drink out of the spring at the edge of the lake, which cold cannot freeze; -or at the crumbling ice which her hoof may break in. But who is he that cometh from the barren forest, with slow and solemn tramp, bending the crackling ice, with his majestic feet? Hath Sir Bruin made an appointment with the cold Diana, to meet him at this secluded trysting spot? If he have, he is a true and trusted lover, for she casts the first beam of her eye upon the lake just as her bear-knight emerges from the swamp to drink the new silver light of her eye that glitters upon the treeshade-sprinkled ice. But no. That cannot be; the ardor of a lover is not in his eye;—his pace is thoughtful and philosophical ;-he is, rather, thinking of his hungry cubs, left sulky and hopeful at home in their rock-cave in the hill side, and is contemplating the flesh of calves and lambs. Now, he is astronomical, and pious, and casteth his eyes toward Heaven, and marvelleth at the purity of his noble ancestors sitting clothed with brilliant garments in the constellations of Ursa Major, and Minor. He almost repents some unnecessary abstractions of the neighboring farmers' little children. Is that a tear in his eye? Happy engraver? if thou hast clearly globuled that chrystal evidence of sorrow for guilt? Now, his head falls beneath his breast; you would think it was in submission to some decree of suffering depression, and that he feels he is unforgiven. Doomed wretch! Never to be exalted to a place among the bears in the stars! But look at his eye. It is dry, keen, fierce, savage, voracious. He sees beneath him a salmon trout half benumbed, and he raises his "huge paw" to pound the ice to accomplish the water tenant's stunnation, when he will break a hole through the "thick-ribbed" frost, and fish him out. A good piscator, and a hearty feeder is that same bear, he |