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that, in case we abode here another night, we might be able to sleep without being drenched with the rain.

In accordance with this arrangement, the Master and the artist, with Powell and Conway, prepared themselves for the day, and set out on their enterprise of discovery. The heavens seemed to favor us, for we had scarce yet filed into the stream, when the sun broke through the vapor of the valley and lit up the windings of the little river, until it shone all resplendent of gold, and amber, and snow-white foam. It was as if some celestial light had suddenly illumined the dripping and cheerless Canaan, and we went

"On our way attended

By the vision splendid."

Some short distance below the camp, when in the middle of a small, grassy island, we saw a large doe standing about fifty yards below us, among a group of rocks in the middle of the stream, where she was browsing upon the moss. Presently she saw us, and raised her head, standing motionless and lost in wonder-irresolute as Ariadne when she was about to fly.

"She has fawns," whispered Powell, "back in the laurel, and has left them for a while, to come down into the river to drink, and eat the moss upon the rocks."

"Don't stir," whispered Conway. "Keep still as

you can, till I go back to the camp and get my rifle. It's an elegant shot!"

The Master clapped his hands, and the deer bounded in about two leaps to the bank of the river, and disappeared—vanished.

"No, Conway," said the Master, "you wouldn't kill that beautiful creature, in cold blood!"

"We hunters," replied the old forester, in some amazement, "don't think about their beauty, Mr. Philips; it's their meat we look at.”

"It's as well not to have shot it, Conaway," said Powell. "She has fawns over there in the laurel." "How do you know that?" asked the Signor. "Why, come down to the place, and I'll show you."

We moved down to the rocks and halted. "You see," said Powell, "here are the tracks of that deer coming into the water, and here they are going out. That shows, you see, that she went out the same way she came in.”

"Yes."

"You observed she turned round to jump out of the river."

"Yes."

"Well, we hunters reason from this, that she must have fawns over here in the laurel, or she would have taken out on the other side which was natural, as she was standing with her head that way. What made her turn to get out the same way

she came in? Something turned her; and as it is about the time now they have their fawns, I say it was to get back to them.'

"The reasoning's good," replied the Signor.

"I am satisfied," observed the Master, "and have learned a little more of the lore of the forest than I knew before."

"If it was worth while," said Powell, "I would go into the laurel and get the fawns for you. But if there is anything I don't like, it is laurel.'

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Of course, we had no idea of encumbering ourselves with the fawns; so we pursued our way down. the stream—now up to our knees in the water now stooping under some great tree that had fallen across the stream-again along the banks, as they presented a better footway-now through the little meadows of luxuriant grass that skirted the shores of the stream over islands of great rocks-breaking into the laurel to get round some hanging cliffs -sometimes stepping on a slippery stone, and going down soused all over in the water—until at length, some two miles below our camp, we came to the second falls. These are twelve feet high—a clear pitch, and in the shape of a horseshoe. The pool below them looked deep and dark, spotted with flakes of white foam and bubbles, and no doubt contained some large-sized trout. We did not stop, however, to test it, but proceeded on our course.

The sun by this time had risen high above the

mountains, and was shining down upon the Canaan with all his refulgence. The river was ever turning in its course, and every few moments some new charm of scenery was given to our view. The atmosphere was soft and pleasantly warm, and the breeze gently fanned the trees. The wilderness was rich everywhere with hues of all dyes, and the banks. of the river gleamed for miles with the flowers of the rhododendron. A scene of more enchantment it would be difficult to imagine. The forest with its hues of all shades of green-the river of delicate amber, filled with flakes of snow-white foam-and the splendor of the rhododendron everywhere in your eye. Picture all this in the mind-then remember that you were far beyond the limits of the world you had known-and say, was it of heaven, or was it of earth!

Such pure, unalloyed charm of soul as we felt that morning, it would be worth any hardship to enjoy. No disturbing thought had any place in the mind. It seemed that we had entered into a new existence, that was one of some land of vision. As for the world we had left, it was as unknown to our thoughts as if we had never heard of it; it was absolutely lapsed from all memory, and nothing but the beauty and the bliss of the untrodden Canaan entered into our hearts.

As for myself—without pretending to speak at all for the Master, or the Signor, or the two hunters

I am certain I had no idea of having ever been born of woman no idea of having ever known a passion of mortal joy or sorrow: I was some creation of an undiscovered paradise (hitherto undreamed of even) altogether, for those few hours of a new soul. And it seems to me now, when I revert my thoughts to that morning's exploration of the Blackwater, that all the divinities of old fable must have had their dwelling-place out there; that surely Pan and Faunus dwelt in those wilds; that Diana lived there, and Latmos, on whose top she nightly kissed the boy Endymion, was the mountain that bordered the Blackwater; that Venus-she of the sea-Anadyomene, sometimes left the sea-foam and reposed her charms in the amber flow of the river; that Diana the huntress, with all her attendant nymphs, pursued those beautiful deer I saw; that the naiads dwelt in the streams, and the sylphs lived in the air, and the dryads and hamadryads in the woods around; that Egeria had her grotto nowhere else but in the Canaan-all the beautiful creations of old poesy, the spirits or gods that now

"No longer live in the faith of reason,”—

all were around me in the unknown wild

"The intelligible forms of ancient poets,
The fair humanities of old religion,

The power, the beauty, and the majesty,
That had their haunts in dale or piny mountain,
Or forest by slow stream, or pebbly spring,
Or chasms and watery depths."

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