up; but the clergyman was rather too heavy, and just as he had fairly landed on the boards, one gave way, and down he went. I seized him by the collar, while he, with one hand fastened to my leg, and with the other grasped a timber, and thus succeeded in arresting his fall, and probably saved himself a broken limb.

We lay in a row on our backs along this frail scaffolding, filling it up from end to end, so that, if the outside ones should roll a half a yard in their sleep, they would be precipitated below. A more uncomfortable night I never passed; and after a short and troubled sleep, I lay and watched the chinks in the roof, for daylight to appear, till it seemed that morning would never come. I resolved never again to abandon my couch of leaves for boards, and a ruined hut through which vermin swarmed in such freedom, that I dreamed I had turned into a spider, and speculated a long time on my unusual quantity of legs, endeavoring in vain to ascertain their respective uses.

At length the welcome light broke slowly over the still forest, and I turned out. Huge stones and billets of wood hurled on the roof soon brought forth

the rest of our companions, and we started off. We had nothing to eat, and seven weary miles were to be measured before we could reach the nearest clearing. What with the night I had passed, and that seven miles' tramp on an empty stomach, I was completely knocked up. The clear morning air could not revive me-my rifle seemed to weigh fifty pounds—my legs a hundred and fifty, and I pushed on, more dead than alive. At length we emerged into a clearing, and there, in a log hut, sat our teamster, quietly eating his breakfast. The day before, he had started through the forest; but becoming frightened at the wildness and desolation that increased at every step, had turned back-choosing to leave us to our fate rather than run the risk of making a meal for wolves and bears. I could have seen him flogged with a good will, I was so indignant. Hungry, cross, and weary, we sat down to breakfast, and then stowed ourselves away into a lumber wagon, and rode thirty miles to our respective stopping-places. The little settlement seemed like a large village to me, and the inhabitants the most refined I had ever met.

Several days' rest here has restored me, and I begin to feel my system rally, and am conscious of

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strength and vitality to which I have been a stranger for six months.

I shall remain here a few days, and then start for the lake region-the only land route to which is a rude road ending at Long Lake. The Adirondack chain subsides away there into more regular ridges—it is, however, wilder than the region I have left, and we shall have to rely for food on what we ourselves can catch and kill.

Yours truly,

XII.

A THUNDER STORM-A SOLUTION OF LIFE.

BACKWOODS, July 12.

DEAR E- :

THUNDER storms are not particularly pleasant things in the woods, but you are now and then compelled to take them. I have just passed through one, and, like 'all grand exhibitions of nature, they awaken pleasure in the midst of discomfort. I have never witnessed anything sublime, even though dangerous, that did not possess attractions, except standing on the deck of a ship in the midst of a storm, and looking off on the ocean. The wild and guideless waves running half-mast high, shaking their torn plumes as they come-the turbulent and involved cloudsthe shrieks of the blast amid the cordage, and groans of the ship, combine to make one of the most awful scenes in nature. Yet I loathe it and loathe my

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self as I stand or try to stand, reeling to and fro, holding on to a belaying pin or rope, for support. But give me firm footing, and I love the sea. I don't believe Byron ever thought of writing about it till he got on shore. The idea of a man thinking, much less making poetry while he is staggering like a drunken man, is preposterous.

But I like to have forgot myself I was reclining on the slope of a hill the other day, near a lake, from which I had a glorious view of the broken chain of the Adirondack. From the ravishing beauty of the scene, my mind, as it is wont, fell to musing over this mysterious life of ours-on its strange contrasts and stranger destinies, and I wondered how its selfishness and sorrow, blindness and madness, pains and death, could add to the glory of God; or how angels could look on this world without turning away, half in sorrow and half in anger, at such a blemished universe, when suddenly, over the green summit of the far mountain, a huge thunder-head pushed itself into view. As the mighty black mass that followed slowly after, forced its way into the heavens, darkness began to creep over the earth. The song of birds was hushed-the passing breeze paused a moment, and