East Somerset a Knatchbull sends, South Devonshire a Buller; The North is charmed by Oxfordshire, A Freestun, Kirk, with Bell, and Vane, A Butler in his master's Hall, Invites a friend and Guest; Two Butts of New-Port, just come in, A Lincoln Trollope, with a child, Beau-mont, and one Camp-bell, Grace from Roscommon has arrivedFrom Devonport, Tuff-Nell. A Morrice dance and Somerset, French, Foley, and Lowe plays; There's Knightly Jocelyn in the House, Though Jones declares and Johnston swears, The House is well defended by Its Armstrong and its Maule. Disraeli, with his Winnington, Contrives ten seats to Wynn, Reverses sore the Whigs have met But all dogs have their days. A fearless Horsman has been thrown, Wyse men of Marylebone elect, We've lost a Barron, Clerk, and Craig, A dozen railway potentates Have managed seats to gain, Resolved a foul monopoly In traffic to maintain. To crown this medley, sad and strange, As if our House were not enough THE Wild Cat is one of the most ferocious brutes which haunts the American forests. It is rarely met with, but when encountered is more to be dreaded than a jaguar or a bear with cubs. It is popularly and significantly called "Indian Devil." The Indians themselves regard it with immense horror, and it is the only animal which roams the wilds of which they stand in dread. Speak to the red man of the moose, the bear, or the wolf, and he is ready to encounter them; but name the object of his dread, and he will significantly shake his head, muttering, "he all one debbil." Mr. Springer, in his Forest Life, gives the following account of an encounter with the ferocious catamount. An individual, of the name of Smith was on his way to join a crew engaged in timber-hunting in the woods extending on the Arromucto, and he had nearly reached the place of encampment, when he fell in with one of the animals in question. "There was no chance for retreat, neither had he time for reflection on the best method of defence or escape; as he had no arms, or other weapons of defence, the first impulse in this truly fearful position, unfortunately perhaps, was to spring into a small tree hard by; but he had scarcely ascended his length, when the desperate creature, probably rendered still more fierce by the promptings of hunger, sprang upon and seized him by the heel. Smith, however, after having his foot badly bitten, disengaged it from the shoe, which was firmly clutched in the creature's teeth, and let him drop. The moment he was disengaged, Smith sprang for a more secure position, and the animal at the same time leaped to another large tree, about ten feet distant, up which he ascended to an elevation equal to that of his victim, from which he threw himself upon him, firmly fixing his teeth in the calf of his leg. Hanging suspended thus until the flesh, insufficient to sustain the weight, gave way, he dropped again to the ground, carrying a portion of flesh in his mouth. Having greedily devoured this morsel, he bounded again up the opposite tree, and from thence upon Smith, in this manner renewing his attacks, and tearing away the flesh in mouthfuls from his legs. During this agonizing operation Smith contrived to cut a limb from the tree, to which he managed to bind his jack-knife, with which he could now assail his enemy at every leap; he succeeded thus in wounding him so badly that at length his attacks were discontinued, and he finally disappeared in the dense forest. During the encounter, Smith had exerted his voice to the utmost to alarm the crew, who he hoped might be within hail; he was heard, and in a short time several of the crew reached the place, but not in time to save him from the fearful encounter. His garments were not only rent f.om him, but the flesh literally torn from his legs, exposing even the bone and sinews. It was with the greatest difficulty he made the descent of the tree; exhausted through loss of blood, and overcome by fright and exertion, he sank upon the ground, and immediately fainted, but the application of rum restored him to consciousness. Preparing a litter from poles and boughs, they conveyed him to the camp, washed and dressed his wounds as well as circumstances would allow, and, as soon as possible, removed him to the nearest settlement, where medical aid was secured. After a protracted period of confinement he gradually recovered from his wounds, though still carrying terrible scars, and sustaining irreparable injury. Such desperate encounters are, however, of rare occurrence, though collisions less sanguir ary are not unfrequent.”—Eliza Cook's Journal. FOREST GLEANINGS. NO. VI. "A few leaves gathered by the way-side." RAMBLINGS BY THE RIVER. I REMEMBER being particularly struck during my first journey through the bush, by the deep, and to me, solemn silence that reigned unbroken, save by the tapping of a wood-pecker, the sharp scolding note of the squirrel, or the falling of some little branch when stirred by the breeze which was heard moaning or sighing in the tops of the lofty pines above us, but was scarcely felt in these dense woods through which our road lay. For miles and miles, not a clearing was seen to break the lonely way, and let in a glimpse of light and air. Once my eye was gladdened by the bright and gorgeous flash of the summer red-bird, the tanager, as it darted across the path and disappeared among the shining beech trees. Accustomed only to the sober plumage of our British songsters, I marvelled at the glorious color of this lovely gem of the forest, and watched till my eyes were weary for another such beautiful vision, but watched in rain, for shy and solitary, these lovely birds seek the deep recesses of the forest and even there are not often seen. All day long we journeyed on through that deep, still, forest gloom, and night found us on the shore of the lake, just where it narrows between two rounding shores and sweeps past the little headland with eddying • Katchawanook, one of the expansions of the Otonabee river. The hoarse, never-ceasing murmur, which for ages and ages has broken the silence of these solitudes unheard and unheeded, save by the Indian hunter, first met my ears at the termination of my first journey through the wilderness, at nightfall, as I sat watching the little bark canoe, with its pine torch dancing on the surface of the rapids, that my good brother was paddling across the lake to ferry us over to his forest home. He had but just broken the bush in that location, and all was wild, and rough, and rude; but unbounded kindness went far to make the rough places smooth to the home-sick uninitiated emigrants. How many things that then seemed new and strange, and incomprehensible in the economy of a Canadian settlers household; have since become familiar and expedient. How many a time in after years did I recall to mind my dear good sisterin-law's oft repeated words-" Wait till you have been in Canada a few years, and then you will better understand the difficulties of a bush settler's life." Perhaps, among the trials of the farmer there is none more trying to his patience, and often to his pocket, than receiving relations and friends from the Old Country into their houses. On the one side there is a great amount of disappointment, regret, and disgust to be overcome; and generally, this ill-humour is unjustly and ungraciously vented in the presence of the friends whose hospitality they are sharing. On the other hand, the mortified host and hostess are inclined to tax their guests with a selfish disregard of their feelings and convenience, and think while they eat of their hardly earned bread, and fill the limited space of their little dwelling, it is not grateful to repay them only with discontent and useless repining Such things ought not so to be. In a former number I pointed out the evil of such selfish conduct. Let no one take undue advantage of generous hospitality, but during an unavoidable sojourn with friends, let each strive to render every assistance in their power to lighten the burden. There is always needle-work that females can assist in teaching the young children, and many light household matters that may spare the weary wife or mother an extra hour of fatigue, while the men can help in the work that is going on in the clearing: it is not well to eat the bread of idleness. During my sojourn at my brother's, after rendering any help that was required at my hands, and my labors I confess were very light, and probably not very efficient, I had still much leisure time at my command. Remote from any habitationfor with only one or two exceptions, his clearing formed the furthest line of settlement in the township-there was little opportunity for visiting. The mighty forest girded in the few acres of cleared ground on three sides, while in front it was bounded and divided from the opposite township by the waters of the larger and lesser Katchawanook: the Indian name signifying alternate rapid, and still waters. With few inducements to walk, as regarded my social position in the neighbourhood, I was thrown upon the few resources that remained open to me, and these I eagerly sought for in the natural features of the soil. Whatever I beheld had the charm of novelty to recommend it to my attention; every plant however lowly, became an object of interest. The season of flowers, with the exception of some few autumnal ones, was over; but while roaming over the new clearing, threading my way among stumps and unburned log-heaps, I some times found plants that were totally new to me, with bright and tempting berries that I forbore to taste till I had shewn them to my brother, and from him learned their name and quality. Among these were the bright crimson berries of the strawberry blite, or Indian strawberry, the leaves of which I afterwards boiled as a vegetable. That elegant little trailing plant Mitchella repens, sometimes called partridge-berry and also twin-berry, from the scarlet fruit having the appearance of being double. The delicate fragrant jessamineshaped flower, that terminates the long flexile leafy branch, was not then in flower; the fruit has a mealy, spicy taste and is very pretty, resembling the light bright scarlet of the holly-berry in its color. cranberry,* which, stewed with maple sugar,often formed an addition to our evening meal. Into the dark angled recesses of the forest I dared not venture unattended, unless it were just a few yards beyond the edge of the clearing, for the sake of some new fern or flower that I coveted. One of my walks was along the irregular and winding banks of a small creek that flowed within a few feet of the house; to trace its wanderings through the cedars that fringed its banks-to mark the shrubs and vegetables, the mosses and flowers that clothed its sides-to watch its eddies and tiny rapids-to listen to its murmurings and to drink its pure cold waters-was one of my amuse ments. : Another of my favorite rambles was along the river shore the autumnal rains had not then fallen to swell its currents. The long dry ardent summer of 1832, had left the limestone bed of the Otonabee dry for many yards along its edge, so that I could walk on the smooth surface as on a pavement. This pavement was composed of numerous strata of limestone, each stratum about an inch or two in depth, every layer was distinctly marked. Between the fissures were seedling roses and vines, ferns and various small plants; the exuviae of water insects with shells and other matter, lay bleaching upon the surface of the stones. It was for want of other objects of interest that my attention was first drawn to the natural productions of my adopted country, books I had none to assist me, all I could do was to note facts, ask questions, and store up any information that I chanced to obtain. Thus did I early become a forest gleaner. How many solitary hours have I passed upon the river bank, gazing with unwearied eyes upon its ever moving waters, hurrying along its dark bed, foaming, leaping, dashing downwards, now sweeping with resistless force against the stony walls that bounded it on the opposite side, now gliding for a space calm and slow, then with accelerated force hurling back its white spray, as if striving against the propelling force that urged its onward career. Often did I repeat to myself Moore's lines' written at the falls of the Mohawk River, "From rise of morn to set of sun I've seen the mighty Mohawk run, Rushing alike untired and wild 'Neath rocks that frowned and flowers that And as I watched the woods of pine * * American guelder-rose, viburnam oxyvoccus. O! I have thought and thinking sighed The rapid onward flow of a river has been for ages past, taken by poets as a meet emblem of human life, an apt and natural simile-one that speaks to every heart-one of those natural witnesses that speak to the created of the wisdom and power of the Great Creator. Contrasted with the quiet, slow flowing rivers of England, how different is the character of this wild picturesque Otonabee, running its course through the vast pine forests unfettered for miles and miles,-now widening into extensive lakes, diversified with wooded or rocky islands-now gathering its forces into a deep and narrow channel between rocky banks fringed with every variety of evergreens, from the gigantic pine, the monarch of the Canadian woods, to the light feathery hemlock and dark spruce and balsam, casting their funereal shadows athwart its waters or mirrored deep, deep down upon its glassy surface. Now gentle, like a sleeping child, anon impetuous as an impatient war steed, that smelleth the battle afar off, and pants to meet its shock. The calm unruffled waters of England, designed as if by Nature to enrich and fertilize her soil, and contribute to the welfare and commerce of her people, are unlike the wild streams of Canada. The former may be compared to a highly civilized people, the latter to the rude, uncultivated Indians, and less refined settlers. Though less available for the purpose of transport; yet these inland waters possess a value in their immense power for working machinery, which is a source of incalculable wealth to the inhabitants of the country. Look at the inexhaustible pine forests, that clothe the banks of the lakes and streams. See the rafts of squared timbers that are borne down, year after year, on the bosom of those rapid flowing waters, and in due time find their way to the shores of the parent country. Might not a history of no mean interest, be written of one of these massive timbers, from its first dropping from the cone in its native soil, on the elevated ridge above some remote and nameless stream, to its voyage across the Atlantic and final destination in one of the British dock-yards. Shall we believe that no providential care was extended over that seed. which was in the course of time to undergo so many changes, and which might even be connected with the fate of hundreds of human beings? We are taught by lips that spoke no guile, that the lilies of the field are arrayed in their glorious clothing by our Heavenly Father, and that He careth for the fowls of the air, that in Him all things live and move, and have their being. One word more, before I leave my favourite rivers. I was particularly struck by the extreme clearness and transparency of the water, in which every pebble and minute shell may be seen; every block of granite or lime-stone that obstructs its course, can be discerned at a considerable depth. Fragments of red, grey, and black and white granite, looking like bright and glittering gems, as the sun's rays penetrate the waters that cover them. Some future time I will give a description of Stoney Lake, which is a miniature of the Lake of the Thousand Islands; a spot so replete with beauty that none who have seen it can ever forget it. Those who wish to enjoy a treat, should visit this remarkable spot which possesses a thousand charms for the genuine lover of the beautiful and picturesque, for it is amid lone solitudes like these that the mind is naturally led to ponder upon the works of the Deity, and to worship him in spirit and in truth. Oakland's, Rice Lake. HENRIETTA SONTAG. LET not every singing mistress, however great her ability, anticipate such good fortune at St. with. She was indebted for her favorable recepPetersburg as that which Madame Czecca met tion to the gratitude of the amiable ambassadress, her former pupil, who not only recommended her, but sang at a public concert for her benefit. This for the Countess Rossi, in the midst of the high would have been nothing for Mademoiselle Sontag; Russian aristocracy, and of their haughty prejudices, it was an incredible deal. The concert was the most brilliant of the season, and its net proceeds were 14,000 rubles. The day after the concert, Madame Czecca showed the Countess the cash account of its result. "Ah! Henrietta," said she, "what have you done for me!" herself, sobbing aloud, into her arms, you will divine my feelings: the element of my crowded theatres." no one, thus agitated, and with my eyes red from weeping." "Never mind that," said Madame Czecca," you are not the less handsome; and perhaps it is some unfortunate person whom you can assist." The last argument prevailed. Madame Czecca left the room and the stranger was shown in. He was a tall figure, in Armenian costume. His grey beard flowed down to his girdle; his large sparkling eyes were ardent and expressive. For a few moments he stood in silent contemplation of the Countess; and only on her repeated enquiry of the motive of his visit, did he seem to collect his thoughts; and then, in a somewhat unconnected manner, explained his errand. "I am a merchant from Charkow," he said, "and my life is entirely engrossed by my business and my family. Beyond those, I have only one passion, namely, for music and song. The great fame which the Countess formerly enjoyed in the artistical world, reached even to our remote town, and my most ardent wish has ever been to have one opportunity of hearing and admiring her. Your retirement from the stage seemed to have frustrated this wish for ever, when suddenly we learned that, out of gratitude to your former teacher, you had resolved once more to appear before the public, and sing at her concert. Unable to resist my desire to hear you, I left business, wife, and children, and hastened hither. I arrived yesterday, and had no sooner alighted than I sent for tickets. It was in vain; at no price was one to be obtained. Countess, I cannot return home without hearing you. You are so good; yester day, for love of a friend, you sang in public; make an old man happy, and rejoice his heart with half a verse of a song; I shall then have heard you, and shall not have made this long journey in vain." "No, no, no!" exclaimed the Countess, springing quickly up, "nothing can compensate the artist for abandoning her vocation-nothing, nothing in the wide world! They praise, and flatter, and worship me! What care I for all that? Can they do otherwise? They are all friends and acquaintances of my husband-our daily circle. I am still young, not ugly, courteous to every one. People are grateful for the momentary pastime I procure them. Perhaps, too, they are glad of opportunities to indemnify the singer for an occasional moment's oblivion of the Countess. But think, Czecca, of the stage with its heavenly illusions; the sacred fervor which thrills us on the curtain's rising; the passionate anxiety which impels us, and the timidity which holds us back; the feverish extacy that throbs in all our veins! Such must be the hero's emotion when he plunges, eager for the fray, into the battle's whirl, confident of victory, and yet full of anxious anticipations. And then the public!-that public over each individual member of which our knowledge as artists elevates us; but which, collectively, is the respectable tribunal whose verdict we tremblingly await;-you well know, my friend, how often we bitterly censure its caprices, how often we laugh amongst ourselves at its mistaken judgments; and yet, it is this public, this combination of education and ignorance, of knowledge and stupidity, of taste and rudeness-this motley mass it is, which, for money, say for a single paltry coin, has purchased the right to be amused by us, and to avenge on our honor a disappointed expectation. To curb that wild power, and lead it away captive; to The song was at an end; the musician, transunite that vast assemblage, without distinction of ported for the moment into higher regions, rerank or refinement, in one emotion of delight, and turned gradually to earth, and to consciousness. to make it weep or laugh at will; to transmit to She looked round at her audience. The old Arit the sacred fire of inspiration that glows in our menian was upon his knees beside her, pressing own breast, to captivate it by the power of har- the folds of her dress to his brow. After the pause mony, by the omnipotence of art; that is sub- which followed the song, he raised his countelime, divine-that elevates the artist above the nance; its expression was of indescribable delight earth, above ordinary existence. Oh, Czecca,-mingled, however, with a trace of sadness. He Czecca! once more let me befool Bartholo, once more let me fall beneath Othello's dagger, amidst the echoes of Rossini's heavenly music, and no complaint shall again escape me; I then shall be content; for then I shall once more have lived." She sank, sobbing, on the sofa. A servant entered and announced a stranger, who earnestly insisted to speak with the Countess. A denial had no other result than to produce an urgent repetition of the request. "Impossible!" cried the Countess: "I can see As the dewdrops of night are absorbed by the bright rays of the morning sun, so did the last traces of tears disappear from the smiling countenance of the charming woman. With that amiable grace which is peculiarly her own, she drew an arm-chair near the piano for the old man, and seating herself at the instrument, abandoned herself to the inspirations of her genius. Her rosy fingers flew over the keys,-the prelude echoed through the spacious saloon; the Countess had disappeared-Henrietta Sontag was herself again; or rather, she was Desdemona in person. would have risen, would have spoken-but could not. The singer's little hand came to his assistance. He pressed it convulsively to his lips, rose to his feet, and, in so doing, slipped a costly diamond ring from his finger to hers. Then he tottered to the door. There he stopped, turned round, and fixing a long and penetrating gaze upon the singer-" Alas!" he exclaimed, in tones of deepest melancholy, "how great the pity!" And, with the last word upon his lips, he disappeared. |