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Isaac Walton, we love, to see the speckled denizen of the limpid water, struggling for "dear life" at the end of our silk line. We love the intense excitement, with all of its absorbing incidents and exertions of ingenuity. We have always cherished an enthusiastic devotion to the pursuits of Nimrod. We like a good day's shooting in the open country, over a staunch pointer. We love to be startled by the whirring noise of the frightened quail, and have a brace of them and a stream of feathers show our good shooting. We like to see our "stub and twist" do good execution, and create a splashing amid a flock of the feathered denizens of our inland waters. At night, when all is still and quiet, we like to float for deer on the placid surface of the beautiful Raquette, and be startled by two glaring balls of fire, and feel that their possessor is within range of two rounds of buck shot. We love to run our eye along our gun barrels, to pull the fatal trigger, and have our pride flattered by knowing that we have killed our first deer.

The writer of this article having been one of the number composing the Adirondack party, mentioned in the last issue of the Lit., deems it his duty, in justice to those who meditate the rash act of making a trip to this wilderness, to mention some facts on the other side to suggest the best way to avoid a useless sacrifice of the comforts of civilization, to give his sad experience of the dangers to be encountered and the hardships to be endured-the best way to go— the outfit necessary-and divers other things, an account of which will appear in the course of this article.

Well, having heard of the sports of this region, and having not heard of the inconveniences, the subscriber was instrumental in persuading a lot of unfortunates to visit the wilderness.

The first thing that naturally suggests itself, is the outfit, the things necessary for such an expedition. The first and most desirable article is a coat of mail (mere corduroys of no use) for protection against the innumerable swarms of musquitoes, and a diminutive specimen for human torture, well-known as the black fly. For an insect of its size, I know of none that can equal it for inflicting torture. The manner of attack is as follows: It backs off-ram fashion—and strikes a bee line for the inside corner of your eye, (generally the left) and will bleed you in said tender spot before you can place your finger on the said orb to protect it.

I now proceed to mention other articles of the outfit. The second thing is a plug of tobacco, (cheap-a hod full for sixpence;) one Irish pipe, (two if you can afford it ;) one fine tooth comb; one barrel of

whiskey, (vulgarly called old rye) for medicine (?) and a copy of the New York Ledger. I recapitulate :

One plug of tobacco.

One (or two) Irish pipes.

One barrel of whiskey (for medicine (?)

Copy of the New York Ledger.

Coat of mail.

(Those who study Demosthenes' "Oration on the Crown," will observe that the above makes a complete period-ending with the same topic which commenced the sentence.)

It is proper to mention here what such an expedition costs. First, it costs a deal of pluck and courage, and more patience than the generality of men possess; also a considerable quantity of blood. The amount of this last depends on the quality. Some men do not lose any. Others are pretty nearly sucked dry. "With regard to what is called pocket money, no general estimate can be made; it is greater than parents or guardians generally suppose." The facilities for spending money in this uninhabited region are so numerous, that some are "unwarrantably extravagant."

The next thing to be considered is the manner of traveling, and the route. In regard to the first, the cheapest way is to go a-foot or walk. In this way you will have the advantage of viewing the scenery, and can choose your own time of traveling. In regard to the second, by all means avoid the city of Albany, with its noisy and impudent hackmen, its bad rum, and the State Legislature. In Albany we lost our guide-book, our baggage checks, our patience, and our brandy procured for medicinal (?) purposes. It may be proper here to remark, that the latter article was left in charge of one who, doubtless anticipating Judge Storr's decision in the "Anderson case," refused to answer all questions, on the ground of selfcrimination. Avoid, also, the benighted State of Vermont, especially if you have three cents ahead, for you will be followed by the inhabitants thereof, eager to handle if not to secure your small surplus. Nothing will exercise one of these Vermonters so much as the fact that some one else has an extra three cent piece. Another advantage of avoiding the State just mentioned, is that you will gain time in consequence of having longer days; for the sun does not rise in that country till ten in the forenoon, and sets at three in the afternoon, leaving your days only five hours long. It has been well said, that Vermont is a good State to be born in, provided you emigrate early. Our advice is, to "pass her by on the other side."

ers.

Well, after various hardships and vexations, we finally arrived at the borders of this land of musquitoes, with a good supply of blood, and easy of access to these bloody and voracious tormentThe first day we journeyed into the wilderness about twelve miles, and being somewhat wearied, made preparation for a good night's rest. But alas! for our hopes. That night will never be forgotten by that unfortunate band. We had scarcely arranged ourselves for the night, when a tremendous buzzing, like the roar of the ocean, startled us. We had been discovered by a band of the suckers. They held a council of war. Suddenly they struck up the song of "Here they are," "Here they are," and made a charge on their victims. Historians and Poets of future ages will write and sing of this terrible contest. It is impossible for language to give any adequate idea of the battle. We kept up a continual fire with small arms, and though the ground was strewed with the wings, legs, and bodies of our foes, we had to surrender. After sucking all the blood from one side of their victims, they withdrew, and sang another song something like the following: "Roll 'em over," "Roll 'em over." But no one rolled us over-consequently we passed for half men in the morning.

The next night, as chum and self, with our guide, were floating down the river for deer, in the blackest night, and most terrific thunder storm that I ever witnessed-(we had brought with us India rubber coats, and concluded that they were or would have been glorious things, provided we could have worn them during this storm; but as they were at the camp, several miles down the river, they did us no good)—I say, as we were gliding down the river, we heard an unearthly noise, or hooting-which, upon investigation, proved to be a harmless owl-though chum declares to this day that it was a bear.

I can only give a general, and not a particular account of our journey. We were about a month in this country. Saw a good many things, and didn't see a good many things of which we had heard. Came out sadder, wiser, and leaner men, thoroughly phlebotomized-minus hats and boots-and with our garments, what we had left, pretty well ventilated. We resembled traveling rag-bags, more than any thing else. And were tempted to exclaim, as did the returned Mexican soldier, who brought back with him two wooden legs and one eye—

"Shrine of the mighty, can it be

That this is all that's left of me."

It cannot be successfully denied that we enjoyed the glad scenery of the country, the music of the woodland songsters, (not mosquitoes,) and pure air; were free as the air itself; no restraint, no one to laugh at your follies, or find fault with your conduct; that we had much good shooting, and much fine trouting; neither can it be denied that we had many a good wetting to the cuticle, many a sleepless and blood losing night. It cannot be denied that we had much of this world's good wher: we went in, and much poverty when came out; much enthusiasm when we went in, and a very sensible diminution of it when we came out. Finally, we love the novel experiences of the "Wilderness," but want them tempered and seasoned, with at least, some of the comforts, and refinements of civilization. We love to tell big stories when we come back, and most cordially hate to acknowledge ourselves "sold," whatever may be our success and experiences. If you have bad blood, go to the Adirondacks. If you want to appreciate home with its comforts and enjoyments-spend a month in the Adirondacks. If you wish to experience that exquisite feeling of loneliness, which a "sheep on a thousand hills" is supposed to have, go. At all events try it! We went; we survived: possibly you may.

J. F.

On the Threshold.

There is a fountain in the realm of story,
From whose deep sources wondrous waters start;
The trembling step, the aged brow and hoary,

Their youth remembering, from its brink depart :
Is there no spring at which young souls may barter
Fear for fruition in its world-wise water?

Out of the past into the future drifting,

We reach a place where hope and memory meet;
Each in her faithful hand the glass uplifting,

Strives, of life's troubled story, to repeat
A share of those sad words that must be spoken,
Before for us the cistern-wheel is broken.

VOL. XXIV.

36

The useless playthings of the boy are lying,
Crushed by the crowding feet of manhood's cares;
Old voices in the well-loved past are crying

From the forsaken haunts of earlier years;
"Forget us not-no love like ours is glowing

Where, in the unknown land, your hopes are going!"

A phantom fire across the darkness glancing,
Beckons us forward with uncertain ray;

To the weak heart that trembles while advancing,
Tones from the dead ones in the dim world say-

"Give us your faith-we have been crowned with glory-
Bring to the hero land a noble story!"

And who shall lead us? Will our day's march lengthen
Under the guidance of ambition's hand-

Shall we find power in love-will passion strengthen

Our faltering footsteps through this pilgrim land?

Shall we be satisfied with idle seeming,

And worship gods that come to us in dreaming?

But the past answers not-the Miserere

Mourns through the mist-wrapped ways our feet have trod;
Into the coming world we journey, weary

To lay our burdens at the Gates of God:

We shall not murmur if a joyful reaping

Follow the laborers, going forth and weeping.

From Dan to Beersheba.

"There it goes "

"What goes

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Why, the half-finished leader for the April No. of the Lit,' and with it goes my last chance for immortality as a contributor to the stock of our permanent literature.”

What the influence of that article upon the spirit and progress of of the age might have been, there is, of course, no telling. But there it was. Blue coal-flames wrapped a lurid shroud about the writhing mass of blackness, while the sanctum stove growled a sullen requiem.

Failing, therefore, "to come to time," and forfeiting, thereby, all claim to a first appeal to your hearts and understanding, we have

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