firm, to help you upward, just when you thought it might be trusted, and your whole weight leaned upon the edge, it would suddenly break like a dry stick; and if you happened to be some way up, you came sliding down again, tearing your knees, while your hands clutched at the sharp points to save yourself from falling to the bottom. Presently we reached a narrow ledge, and Xavier, who was in advance, sprang thence to a small crag opposite.

"The space to be cleared was nothing, but it required great nicety in landing properly on the crag, and in stopping the instant your feet rested on it, so that you might not topple over the other side. The pinnacle of rock was very narrow, and all below sharp and pointed. Xavier, with his rifle well up behind his back, and his pole in his right hand, was over in a second, and stood as firm and upright on his lofty narrow footing as though he had merely stepped across. Should I follow? If I made the jump with too much impetus I should not be able to stop myself, and then-!

"Is there no other way, Xavier, of reaching where you are but by jumping over?'

"No,' replied he, 'you can not cross except by jumping. It isn't wide.'

"No; but the other side-that's the thing. It is deep, is it not?' “Why, yes, rather deep. But come, you can do it.'

“I feel I can not, so will not try,' I replied, and began to look for some other way. The cleft itself across which Xavier sprang was only about twelve or fourteen feet deep. I was at the bottom of it, and while standing between the two rocks I thought I might manage to climb upward as a sweep passes up a perpendicular flue, to which this place had great resemblance. I was nearing the top of my chimney when the chamois, seeing Xavier approach, leaped down into the chasm below, so that we both had our trouble for nothing. Coming down the chimney, it not being narrow enough, I found to be more difficult work than getting up.

"The chamois was now some distance below us, so we climbed down to a broad slanting surface of rock like an immense table, one end of which was lifted very high. The plane was so inclined that to walk there was hardly possible. Every now and then the brittle surface would crack off; however, difficult as it was, and in spite of a slip or two, I managed to proceed. At last I was obliged to go on all-fours. Some minutes after I began to slip backward. The stone crumbled away as it came in contact with my thickly-nailed shoes, which I tried to dig into the rock and thus stop my descent. I

strove to seize on every little inequality, regardless of the sharp edges; but as my fingers, bent convulsively like talons, scraped the stone, it crumbled off as though it had been baked clay, tearing the skin like ribbons from my fingers and cutting into the flesh. Having let go my pole, I heard it slipping down behind me, its iron point clanging as it went; and then it flew over the ledge, bounding into the depths below; in a moment I must follow, for with all my endeavors I was unable to stop myself. I knew the brink was near, and expected each moment to feel my feet in the air. Xavier, who by some means or another had got higher, looked round when he heard my stick rebounding from the rock, and saw my position. To help was impossible; indeed he might himself slip, and in another moment come down upon me. He looked and said nothing, awaiting the result of the next second in silence.

"I had made up my mind to go over the brink, and thought all was lost, when suddenly one foot, as I still kept trying to hold by something, was stopped by a little inequality arresting my descent. I was very thankful, but still feared the piece of rock against which my foot leaned might crumble like the rest and let me slip farther. Hardly venturing to move lest the motion might break it off, I gently turned my head to see how far I was from the brink: my foot had stopped not a couple of inches from the edge of the rock; but this much farther and I should have gone backward into it. With the utmost caution I drew up first one knee and then the other, and again crawled forward.

"At length we reached the place where the chamois was last seen, and binding up my torn fingers in order not to confound the drops of blood falling from them with that of the chamois, tracked the wounded animal to a hollow so jagged and broken that there was not a place broad enough to stand upon which was not sharp and cutting; at last, however, we reached him, as I was glad to find, dead."

No animal native to our continent is better known or more generally appreciated than the common deer. His form is exquisitely beautiful, his habits simple and delicate, and, as game affording employment for the hunter and amusement for the sportsman, he is of all other animals the most universally popular. The deer tribe is diffused entirely over the continent, and in the extremes of north and south varies but very little in its general appearance, for the largest found in the swamp regions of the Lower Mississippi and the best specimens of Upper Canada will average about the same size. Their general appearance varies, however, in particular localities; and the experienced hunter will tell, by looking at the carcase, the kind of country "in which it has run." A deer living habitually in the highlands never attains the magnificent proportions of one occupy

ing a low, wet region. This is because of the greater abundance and more nutritious character of the vegetation. As a general thing, whether in Maine or Florida, a deer that weighs two hundred pounds is considered of a large size; but they have reached, or weighed, two hundred and fifty and even three hundred pounds.

In summer the animal is of a deep red color, and unfit for food. In winter he changes to a greyish-blue, and is then in perfection. From the fact of this diversity of appearance Buffon was led astray by his correspondents, and was induced to say that there were two species of American deer, designated by the changes in color, which regularly take place in the same animal. If any exceptions occur to the colors named, they may be looked upon as unnatural. There was found once in Louisiana a pet deer pure white, marked with red spots. Also in the same region a pure white buck was often seen and pursued, but we are not aware that it was ever killed; while, quite recently, a buck and doe, perfectly white, were caught in the Rocky Mountains, and afterward exhibited in some of our Western cities.

A general peculiarity of the deer species is, that, with rare exceptions, they renew their horns annually. The American deer usually sheds his antlers in the months of May and June. At these times the bucks have been met with one antler gone, and shaking their heads discontentedly, as the weather grows warm and the blood increases in the rapidity of its circulation. At this time also the doe drops her young, and both male and female may be said to have retired for the time being from strife, the buck burying himself in the deep fastnesses of the woods, and the doe, by a beautiful arrangement of nature, protected for a while from the pursuit of the hounds by giving out no scent, thus being left in comparative peace to foster its helpless young.

The place of separation of the old horn from the head at first is very tender, but the spot is soon covered by a membrane and is prepared for the new growth. The determination of the blood to the head, which preceded the displacement of the old antlers, seems suddenly to increase, and becomes more intense in proportion to the demand for the enormous secretions required for the new growth. The budding horn first makes its appearance in a soft pulpy mass, protected by a velvety covering; the development goes rapidly on, the increase of every few hours being clearly perceptible. Those who have had an opportunity of grasping these incipient weapons of defense realize a startling idea of the animal heat required by nature

to forge them, for they throb, and glow, and swell-the very incarnation of reproducing life. The antlers are, finally, complete, and the buck is said to have a velvety head. The external surface now rapidly hardens, compresses the blood-vessels, and obstructs the circulation, and suddenly the whole of the once sensitive integuments lose their vitality, leaving a perfectly formed insensible weapon.

The buck, who up to this moment has sought the deepest recesses of the forests, and avoided all collision with his rivals and stinging insects, now comes forth and confidently prepares for future action. The velvety covering has performed its office, and now only mars the beauty of the growth beneath. That the weapons may be polished the buck commences rubbing them against the surrounding trees; the "peels" are thus torn off, and are often seen dangling to the bark and lacerated limbs. At last the new horn is left naked and burnished, and the animal stands perfect before you in all his pride of strength. It is now a charming sight to behold him at early morn snuff the fresh air, look around with the mien of a monarch, and then, in the mere wantonness of his strength, dig his horns into the green turf and shake the uprooted grass and disturbed earth over his glossy sides. As the season advances he will spring at the lower boughs of the trees and entangle his antlers in the meshes of thrifty vines, or loaded oaken boughs, shaking the rich grapes or budding acorns plentifully at his feet. The size of the horn and the number of its prongs or antlers, are not necessarily indications of the size and age of the animal, although such is the common tradition. A yearling buck has one straight prong, and is termed a "spike buck;" but after he is three or four years old, or rather "aged," the horns cease to be peculiar. The largest buck we ever saw, and apparently the most venerable among the patriarchs, had medium-sized horns, the branches consisting but of five antlers. The age of the deer is very nearly ascertained by an examination of the teeth, and, in addition to this, by the presence or absence of grey hairs about the forehead.

In this connection it may be well to repeat the often uttered question, What becomes of the deers, horns? for whether kept in parks or running wild in the woods there is a sort of mystery about the disappearance of these sturdy appendages. The head ornaments of the moose and the elk, equally with all the species, are rarely found in their most frequented haunts. After long exposure the substance of a deer's horn becomes very light and friable; and, when in that state, it is reported, on authority that appears reliable, that the deer