head! you have hit him between the eyes,-you might as well have fired at the Rock of Gibraltar. Ride, for your life!

Now he has gotten my bullet behind the shoulder, he is running in his turn. He falls. He is not more than a mile off. I will show you how to butcher a Buffalo. His flesh is rank, but his tongue will serve our turn, and his marrow bones are delicious. See, the ball has gone through the very centre of his heart. It is not singular that he has run so far so badly hurt. I have seen many such cases. St. Maurice, who is the fellest buffalo-runner in the country, says he once saw a bull arise and walk after he had cut out the tongue and taken off the skin. But St. Maurice is noted for his dexterity at the long bow.

If this was a cow, now, I would take away the hump, and convince you that Mr. Godman is wrong in saying it tastes like marrow. We must leave the carcass to the wolves, who, you see, have been roused by the well-known sound of our guns, and are trooping hitherward from all points of the compass. It was really a pity to slay this noble

animal in mere wantonness. It is an awful waste of meat. You cannot lift even his head, or his skin. However, it is plain to be seen, from his scars, that he was an old, peevish, quarrelsome, unhappy tyrant, and I begin to think it was charity to put him out of his misery.

Now mount your horse and let us ride to yonder little wood; island, we call it, and let us dress our dinner. Take care of that snake! Hold! do not kill it. It looks like a rattlesnake, to be sure. It is of the same size, figure and complexion, and it makes just such a noise as its dangerous relative does. For all that, a hare is not more harmless. It is known by several names. You may call it pine snake, prairie snake, or bull snake, as you please. Some say it is excellent eating. I know that rattlesnakes are.

But what is the matter with the Buffaloes? They are fleeing en masse. You can see that the females run almost as fast as deer. I have it now; a Grizzly Bear has got to windward of them. Here he comes like an antelope. Sauve qui peut! You must put your horse to full speed, I can tell you. Pray Heaven, he does not compel us to use our guns. If he does, something like a miracle only can save us. Stop; he does not mind us; he follows the Buffaloes. The fellow is hungry. Now he overtakes the hindmost bull. Alas, poor Bison! See how the bloody Herod strikes him down with one blow of his paw, and tears away three of his ribs at the same stroke. No wonder; his claws are five inches long, at least. It is all over with the Bison now. The bear has feasted his fill, and is making off. Now the danger is over, I will tell you that it was not small. It is a good horse that outruns a Grizzly Bear, and the beast is as cruel as he is strong and swift. He follows the track of a man like a dog. No danger, no odds, no wounds, retard his attack a moment. He braves fire; which no other wild beast does. A ball must scatter his brains to quiet him at once, and his face is so sharp that it is very difficult to hit. Besides, his forehead is covered with a muscle so strong and thick, that three balls out of four will glance from it. So tenacious of life is he, that half dozen shots in a body, often fail to bring him down, or to mitigate his ferocity.

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That gray animal, looking out of his hole, is a Badger. You perceive that he has a white stripe running from his head half way down

his back, and two more on the sides of his head, which give him a droll expression of countenance. He is incredibly strong and hardy. I have seen a strong man sieze a Badger by the brush as he was getting into his hole, and the creature broke from him, in spite of all his efforts, and escaped. A large dog has much difficulty in overcoming a Badger on level ground. The animal is perfectly harmless, excepting that he makes great holes in the prairie, in which horses sometimes break their legs, and throw their riders. His skin makes a very enduring upper leather for a shoe. His flesh, too, is eatable, when no better can be had.

As for those rascally Prairie Wolves that you see in such numbers, it is "beneath the dignity of man," as Colonel Bath would say, to mention them, they are so cowardly. I believe the Prairie Wolf is the only animal, with teeth and claws, that will not fight in defence of its young. They make their nests in the bare plain. I once robbed one of three cubs, before the eyes of the dam, and all she dared do for their protection was to howl. Nevertheless, when compelled, the Prairie Wolf fights desperately, and dies without a whimper. The larger wolf is quite a different animal. When pressed by hunger, he will even attack a man. We had one at Lac Au Travers, that we attempted to harness with the dogs. The only way we could get the collar on was by holding his neck to the ground between the prongs of a pitch-fork, and when we had harnessed him, he was so troublesome that we were obliged to kill him. The color of this species is usually gray, but black and white wolves are not uncommon. The black ones are thought to be the most powerful and ferocious.

Yonder goes a Cougar, vulgarly called a Catamount, a Panther, or, worse yet, a Painter. This animal is not often seen so far north. You already know the Cougar by report, and have, perhaps, even seen him in some menagerie. A lady of my acquaintance, who resides in the outskirts of one of our western cities, got a terrible fright from a Cougar about five years ago. She slept in an apartment on the ground floor, the window of which opened upon a garden. One night, as she was about to step into bed, she heard a hard breathing at the window, and was immediately aware of a pair of optics, glowing like Lehigh coals in perfect combustion. Whether the visiter to whom they belonged was brought to the glass by hunger, curiosity, or a softer passion, (the lady is very handsome,) she never knew, but at any rate, she had no inclination to be wooed "as the lion wooes his bride." She kept down the woman within her, put on her thimble, and rapped smartly against the glass in immediate contact with the beast's nose. The noise bothered him entirely, and he fled; but the lady did not sleep in that room that night. In the morning the tracks of a large Cougar were found in the garden, and it was apparent that he had reared up to look into the window, for he had left the marks of his dirty fore-paws on the sill. In the course of the day the mangled body of a colt was found on the farm, but the Cougar never came there again. Probably, he had no favorable opinion of a place whose hospitality could only afford him horse-flesh.

What you see, there, in the extreme verge of the horizon, is not a forest. Birnam wood is not coming to Dunsinnane. It is a herd of Wawashkeeko, or, to use a word you will understand, of Elks. Now they are nigher you can see that there are upwards of five hundred.

What beauty! What stateliness! This is not the common stag of Europe, as English writers falsely assert. They are ever willing to deny our soil the property of any thing perfect; but Europe has no such animal as this. What horns! How they run! A good horse can overtake them, however. When mounted hunters surround a drove of Elks, the animals become perfectly stupified after a few shots. Instead of escaping by speed of foot, as most of them easily might do, they run round and round, till they are all destroyed.

We have now come to the wood, and you perceive that a small stream runs through it. I surmised as much while we yet far off, for wherever an island of wood is seen in the prairie, you are pretty sure to find water. That large tree has not been marked by the axe, but by a Beaver's tooth. You see that it looks as if a squaw had been chopping it-all round. You have probably a very high opinion of the Beaver's character for intelligence, but let me tell you, it is ill founded. Instinct, in high perfection, is all the creature can boast of. He cannot adapt himself to circumstances, like the dog and many other animals. Take him away from his brook or his puddle, and he is the most stupid beast that lives. All you can teach him is, not to bite. I have seen several domesticated, and not one of them evinced the least spark of mother wit. The most that any of them could do was to waddle about, and utter a very disagreeable squeak. The Otter can be taught to fish for his master, but the beaver cannot.

That animal on yonder tree, with the catlike visage, is a LoupCervier, or American Lynx. You are too late for a shot-he is gone already. Excepting that he is much bigger than the short-tailed Wild Cat of the United States, there is little difference between them. His fur is worth something, and though he belongs to the carnivora, his flesh is not unworthy the attention of the epicure. The Lynx is a cunning beast. I was once following one, when my dog was at fault at the root of a large inclined tree. I soon found that the animal had run to the extremity of the upper branch, and had thence leaped as far as he was able; undoubtedly with a view to baffle the dog's nose. The trick did not save him, however.

Look into the near edge of the prairie a moment, and you will see a great many little animals, like squirrels, running about. Some are white and some are gray. Let us kill one of each. This beautiful little fellow is here called the Prairie Squirrel. Captain Franklin calls him Hood's Marmot. He is about the size of the squirrel we call the Chipmunk, and, like him and the American Flag, has thirteen stripes on his back. They are alternately white and brown, and the black ones are dotted with white spots from one end to the other. Though the legs of this elegant little beast be short, he runs very well. He lives chiefly under ground and his food is wholly vegetable. These Marmots are exceedingly numerous, and do much mischief in gardens.

This other, clumsy, ugly brute, is likewise a member of the Marmota family. He has nothing to recommend him, that I know of, excepting that he does not often make his ugliness intrusive, and does no harm. He is of a dirty gray, and is not much unlike a rat in size and general appearance. As he cannot run, like Hood's Marmot, he does not trust himself far from his hole.

Hark, to that whistle! We are lost! That was an Indian signal. But no; it is repeated, and I now perceive that we are near a village inhabited by dogs. You need not look so surprised. I do not mean Indian dogs, but Prairie Dogs. Come round this point of wood. Now you see them and they see you, too, for they are scolding like Billingsgate. They do not like to be disturbed. Would not one believe, on seeing them for the first time, that that group of little mounds were huts, and that the little pert rascals who sit upright beside them were, bona fide, pigmies. See with what an impudent air they brandish their tails at us; and hark! how they bid us defiance. Like other boasters, they do not expect that their challenge will be accepted. They think vaporing will serve their turn. Do not fire at them. Let their vivacity and innocence be their protection. I need not make the request, though, for we are full as nigh them as they will allow us to come. They have all slunk into their burrows. Some thousands of them probably reside here, for you may observe that the mounds cover three or four acres, and each hole contains a large family. Now they have got over their first panic, they begin to peep out again, to see if the danger is over.

You see that these dwellings are in the form of truncated cones, and that each has its door in the side. They serve two purposes,-as dwellings, and as watch towers, from which the inmates may overlook the grass, and see if any wolf or fox is coming. To enable them to descry approaching danger the better, they always, as here, build their villages on a barren spot, where there are no rocks, hills, or rank herbage to obstruct the prospect. You need never think to get at them by digging, for their habitations are joined by subterranean galleries, and the whole village is undermined. The dogs need fear no enemies but rattlesnakes, weasels, burrowing owls and the like. Here is a rattlesnake, just about to enter the village. Take that, you reptile. Ye may now thank your supposed foe, ye little dwellers in darkness, for saving many of your lives. You think it strange, perhaps, that the rattlesnake, who swallows his prey whole, should attack an animal a foot and a half long, but it is as true as strange. The reptile can actually gorge creatures bigger than itself. See this rascally Owl. He has been following the example of some men I could mention; taking possession of the dwelling of one more industrious, and of a better character than himself. And he has not even the grace to keep the house in which he has so iniquitously installed himself, in good order. Observe, that his mound is polluted with putrefactions, and crumbling about his ears, while those of the marmots are neat and in perfect repair. If you ask me what these agreeable little citizens do for food in winter, I answer, they go without. Yea; and they do not suffer. In November, each rolls himself into a ball, and sleeps till March.

There goes a Hare; not one of the pitiful abortions which are called hares in New-England, but an animal weighing ten or twelve pounds. How he runs! No dog that was ever in the prairies could catch him. This hare is gray now, but next winter, he will be pure white, not distinguishable from the snow.

That Deer we will not notice; you have probably seen a buck before; but yonder are a pair of Antelopes. Lie down, and I will bring them nigh enough to be observed minutely. It is only lifting up my

leg and shaking it, for no creature has a greater share of curiosity than this most timid of all animals. Any thing uncommon draws them. Now they are nigh enough for you to see that an Antelope is about as big as a common goat, and a great deal handsomer and more graceful. You may also perceive that it has a single antler on each horn. Now rise, if you wish to see the utmost speed four legs can exert. Flying Childers never ran so fast as they do. I once knew a pointer to catch a female Antelope, but she stopped now, and then, to give her kid time to keep up with her. As the matter was, the Indians thought the dog must have been a special favorite of the Great Spirit.

Take your rifle, and fire a shot at that Crane, who has just so foolishly put himself within reach. Well done, my marksman ! You have broken his wing. Have a care. Do not go nigh him rashly. That long pointed beak is little less dangerous than Cockahock aknocknawaga's war club. I once knew an Indian receive a mortal wound through the diaphragma from a crane. I know another who has been deprived of an eye by such an enemy. Take this stick; and, now that you have broken his neck, there is no danger.

Here is the smallest of all possible Mice, who yet has no trifling resemblance to an elephant. He has a proboscis as long, in proportion, as an ant bear's, and, what is strange, it is flexible. He sways it with as much facility as I do my arm. I do not think that this little animal is at all common. This is but the third of the species, I have seen, and it is not mentioned by any naturalist.

It seems, judging from the seventh number of the New-England Magazine, that neither you nor any other Yankee, nor even Mr. Flint, has ever seen a Gopher. There are the hills raised by the Gopher, in every direction, and I will presently show you the animal, if you will be still and speak in a whisper, for the least noise alarms it. Do you see the earth moving, and a little hillock rising just there. Now the Gopher puts forth its head. Shoot it, say you? Not I; the ball would tear it in pieces. I know a trick worth two of that. I will shoot just under the vermin, and throw it, with the earth it has raised, a rod from its hole. Before it can get back we can catch it, for your Gopher is but a sorry pedestrian, above ground, however expert it may be in digging. There, it is done, and we have him. He is about half as big as a common rat, and of a grayish blue color. Like other moles, his limbs are admirably adapted to making subterranean progress. He has short legs, a sharp head, and a tail so short and bare as to give little advantage to the enemy who attacks him in rear. The most singular part of his structure are these pouches in his cheeks, like those of some squirrels. He does not use these to convey away the dirt he loosens, as Mr. Schoolcraft, and other naturalists, on his authority, have erroneously asserted. You have seen him raise at least a bushel of earth in half a minute's time. He wrought underground, and you could not see exactly how he did it, but you could see that his pouches had no agency in the matter. Had these little sacks been the organs of conveyance, he would have been a month about it. He uses them to put his surplus food in, after the fashion of other pouched animals. I once caught a Gopher alive, and put him into a box half filled with earth, and witnessed the whole process of his mining. He dug with his feet, as other moles do; his pouches had nothing to do with the