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SWIMMING HORSES.

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proached, " that leads along the lake to some clear

“ You can't go,” was the reply," there hain't none." " But what shall we do with our horses ?" "I don't know.”—After planning awhile, we concluded to fasten them in the woods, and bring over grass in the boat. So, tying them to the trees, and hanging our saddles on the branches, we crossed over. With all Hamilton County for a stable, our jaded animals passed the first night.

But carrying provender across the lake took up too much time, and therefore the next morning we concluded, after a long consultation, to swim them over. W—d first rode his powerful black horse, which the day before, by his amazing strength, had saved him from a broken neck or limb, into the lake. The noble animal was accustomed to the swamps and the forest, but not to deep water, and he sunk almost to his ears. W-d, somewhat frightened, as he found himself submerged to the armpits, began to pull sharply on the rein, which brought the horse nearly perpendicular in the water, with his fore feet pawing the air. The more erect the poor animal stood, the harder he was forced to pull the rein to keep from sliding off. Looking up, I saw his danger-for, thrown backward so by the bit, the struggling animal would, in a minute more, have fallen over upon him. I shouted out, “Let go the rein instantly, and grasp the mane!” He did so, and the horse relieved from the strain on his head, righted himself and brought his rider safely to the shore. In swimming the lake, however, he sunl to his ears, and groaned and grunted with every stroke. Another would not swim at all ; but the moment he got beyond his depth, flung himself upon hiş side compelling us to hold his head on the stern of the boat and tow him across. The rest took to their work more kindly, especially a sorrel mare, which swam without an effort—the ridge of her back just skimming the surface, and her motion easy and steady as that of a swing.

We were right glad to reach the opposite forest ;and iragging our dripping be asts up the rocky bank, threaded our way to the only hụt we had seen since morning

Yours, &o.

CAMPING GROUND-MITCHEL THE INDIAN GUIDE-TROU'I

FISHING ON A LARGE SCALE---NIGHT.

LONG LAKE, Aug. 10.

DEAR H:

Let me introduce you to our camp. It is a little after noon, and a most lovely day, and there, at the tout of the lake, back a few rods, in the forest, 18 burning a camp-fire. On a stick that is thrust into the ground and leans over a log, hangs a small kettle of potatoes—a little one side is suspended to a tree a noble buck just dressed, some of the nicest bits of which are already roasting in a pan over the fire. In a low shantee, made of hemlock bark, entirely open in front, lazily recline the young clergyman and the doctor, watching with most satisfied looks the cooking of the savory venison. On the other side are stretched the weary hounds in profound slumber. An old hunter is watching, with knife in hand, the progress of a johnny-cake he is baking in the ashes, giving every now and then a most comical hitch to his waistbands while, as if to keep up the balance, one whole side of his face twitches at the same time. Close by him is my

Indian guide whom I obtained yesterday, coldly scrutinizing my new modeled rifle. Taciturn and emotionless as his race always are, he neither smiles nor speaks.

Knowing that his curiosity was excited, I remarked, “ Mitchell, I wish you would try my rifle, for I have some doubts whether it is perfectly correct." Without saying a word, he took up an axe, and going to a distant tree struck out a čhip, leaving a white spot. Returning as silent as he went, he raised my gun to his face, where it rested for a moment immovable as stone, then spoke sharp and quick through the furcsa The bullet struck the white spot in the centre. He handed back the rifle without uttering a word—that shot was a better comment on its correctness than anything he could say.

Our venison and johnny-cake and potatoes were at length done ; and each of us peeling off a bit of clean hemlock. bark for a plate, we sat down

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on the leaves, and placing our bark dishes across our legs, with a sharp stick in one hand for a fork, and our pocket knives in the other, commenced our repast. I have dined in palaces, hotels, and amid ancient ruins, but never so right royally before. We were kings here, with our rifles by our side, and no one to dispute our sway; and then such a palace of countless columns encompassing us, while the gentle murmur of the tiny wave as it laid its cheek on the smooth pebbles below, made harmony with the refreshing breeze that rustled in the tree tops and lifted the ashes of our already smouldering camp fire. I thought last winter, at the Carlton House, that the venison made a dish that might .please a gourmet, but it was tasteless, savorless, coinpared to this venison, cut off from the freshly killed carcass, and roasted in the open forest. A clear stream near by furnished us with a richer beverage than wine ; while the fresh air, and gleaming lake, and sweet islands sleeping on its bosom, gave to the spirits a healthier excitement than society.

After the repast was finished, we stretched ourselves along the ground and smoked our cigars, and talked awhile of trout and deer and bears and

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