"That ar's a 'gator slide," said a tall, sunburnt native to me, at the same time pointing to a smooth spot on the river's bank. So I watched for such places, and soon saw all I desired in the way of "gators."

On the bow of the boat, and in fact all over the boat, wicked people had stationed themselves with all sorts of fire-arms, firing at every helpless creature they could see. One of these more especially bore the marks of imbecility in face and form. He sat in the extreme bow of the boat, and blazed away at every thing at one time, very nearly shooting some ladies who were stationed near the pilot-house. On another occasion a magnificent female ospray rose from the water near us, and with strong pinions bore a struggling fish to its nest, upon which it settled. Our noble Nimrod at once leveled his gun at her.

"Stop!" cried an alarmed and indignant gentleman. "Surely, you're not going to shoot the mother feeding its young?"

may go further, and put in a few acres of the long-staple cotton; but, except in the products of oranges and pea-nuts, he will obtain very little for his pains. So far as my observation goes, there is very little soil in this region fit for agriculture. Unlike other States of the South, which have received from the great rivers of the North rich alluvial deposits, this is made up chiefly of sand not prolific of vegetable life.

At one time, where there was no evidence 'that man had ever placed his foot, the boat ran alongside a bank and left a plow-share and a keg of nails-two very significant signs of civilization. At another place we found the oddest sort of an apology for a steamboat, which lay at the bank awaiting our coming, so that it might continue its voyage up some of the smaller tributary streams. The owner of this craft, it appears, had put up in some portion of this benighted region a steam saw-mill; but finding none who wished for lumber, he changed his business and set up his engine in a small flatboat. A belt, pieced of leather and canvas, ran from the engine to a drum attached to the paddle-wheel, which was about eighteen inches wide, and at the stern. The efforts of this engine, which was laboring under a severe attack of influenza, to turn the wheel were laborious in the extreme. There was not much room to speak of in this little box; and so, to make a

"Take care!" cried one of his companions; "you will kill the cattle."

"They are not mine," was the answer; and this time his bullet hit the mark, and the poor bird was left fluttering and struggling in death. And so, all the way up and down the river, these men sat there and fired at the beautiful birds, which by thousands inhabit the river-bank and the swamps; now and then getting a shot at an alligator; but in no single instance did they hope to fulfill that first requirement of a sportsman-never to shoot at game which you can not bring away. The cowardly fellows shot all day long, without the least prospect of getting a feather. If the officers of the boat can not stop this mean business, the game laws of the State ought to be put in force to the condign punishment of the offenders.

To me the most charming feature of this trip to Enterprise is the presence of these large birds, which I saw for the first time. Nothing could be more beautiful than these flocks of white swan, curlew, cygnets, and heron, constantly rising before us. Powder and ball will soon drive them away, however.

The boat makes several stoppages by the way, usually where some venturesome settler has a place where the sand rises a few feet, has built a hut, and grafted some of the wild orangetrees, which grow in profusion. If the settler be an enterprising man from the North, he will

transferred from our boat, the dog-kennel and chicken-coop were placed over the wheel, much to the horror of the animals, who howled and cackled in unison with the wheeze of the ancient saw-mill engine.

As you approach Enterprise the river widens out into a large lake, which is bordered by swamps filled with the ugly palmetto. Enterprise receives its name from the fact of an utter lack of that quality, which, in places of public resort, brings comfort to the traveler. There is one large hotel, which is open to the same objections noted of hotels at St. Augustine. Enterprise is otherwise celebrated for a very large sulphur spring, out of which the milkylooking water pours in a six-inch stream, and as being one of the means by which whoever wishes can cross the country to Smyrna, on Indian River. At Enterprise I met an interesting character in the person of an old negro, who was the owner of sixty acres of sand and palmetto near the sea-coast. Asking this man a leading question as to his health, he volunteered a good deal of valuable information. He said:

"De fac' is, I wus in de Souf durin' de contineration of de wa'. But I thort dat I would seek my fortins in a new country, and so cum down here wid some odder cul'd people, an' bot sixty acres lan' fur two dollars an' a half, which I paid at de office. Dat Freedman's Buyo played de debil wid a lot of our people dat a rascal of an agent brot down dar ter Indjun Ribber an lef ter starve. It wus a heap better ter lef um

"Have you ever voted ?"

"Oh yaas, I've voted twice; once for de President, and todder time fur Colonel Hamilton, member fur dis deestrict."

excellent sleeping-car to Savannah, and so on north to Washington in safety, notwithstanding the danger from the shocking condition of the railroads.

I can not depart from Florida, however, without a word with regard to that for which she is

"Yaas, he wus a rebel, but dare cum down hyar a free nigger, a carpet-bagger, from Ohio, or sum odder place Norf, an' put himself up. But wha' did he know 'bout de interests of de people of dis deestrict? Nuffin. Ef he'd bin a freedman belongin' ter der Souf I might a voted fur him; but"-and here the old man spoke with great energy-"we've had nuff of dem carpet-baggers. Dey are lookin' out fur demself. Dey don't care fur de cul'd people. Colonel Hamilton has bin in Congress afore, an' knows what we wants. Dat's why I voted fur him."

Perhaps if we had remained until April we should have been treated to a more brilliant spectacle in the way of flowers; but, in all the redundance of the growths peculiar to her soil or swamps, we saw nothing comparable for one moment to the magnificent, glorious transformation of the spring in our Middle and Northern States. There is but one season in Florida. We have four, with their infinite moods and changes of majesty and beauty. And of all these, most wonderful is the spring, with its tender green, its leaves, its buds and blossoms, its songs of many birds, its skies of clouds and sunshine; and, more than all, that sense, which

THE

I.

THE day's work was done, and a good day's work it was. We had bagged a couple of fine bucks and a fat doe; and now we lay camped at the foot of the "Balsam Range" of mountains in North Carolina, preparing for our supper. We were a right merry group of seven; four professional hunters, and three amateurs -myself among the latter. There was Jim Fisher, Aleck Wood, Sam or Sharp Snaffles, alias "Yaou," and Nathan Langford, alias the "Pious."

These were our professional hunters. Our amateurs may well continue nameless, as their achievements do not call for any present record. Enough that we had gotten up the "camp hunt," and provided all the creature comforts except the fresh meat. For this we were to look to the mountain ranges and the skill of our hunters.

These were all famous fellows with the rifle -moving at a trot along the hill-sides, and with noses quite as keen of scent as those of their hounds in rousing deer and bear from their deep recesses among the mountain laurels.

A week had passed with us among these mountain ranges, some sixty miles beyond what the conceited world calls "civilization."

Saturday night had come; and, this Saturday night closing a week of exciting labors,

we were to carouse.

We were prepared for it. There stood our tent pitched at the foot of the mountains, with a beautiful cascade leaping headlong toward

us, and subsiding into a mountain runnel, and finally into a little lakelet, the waters of which, edged with perpetual foam, were as clear as crystal.

Our baggage wagon, which had been sent round to meet us by trail routes through the gorges, stood near the tent, which was of stout army canvas.

That baggage wagon held a variety of luxuries. There was a barrel of the best bolted wheat flour. There were a dozen choice hams, a sack of coffee, a keg of sugar, a few thousand of cigars, and last, not least, a corpulent barrel of Western usquebangh,* vulgarly, "whisky;" to say nothing of a pair of demijohns of equal dimensions, one containing peach brandy of mountain manufacture, the other the luscious honey from the mountain hives.

Well, we had reached Saturday night. We had hunted day by day from the preceding Monday with considerable success-bagging some game daily, and camping nightly at the foot of the mountains. The season was a fine one. It was early winter, October, and the long ascent to the top of the mountains was through vast fields of green, the bushes, still hanging heavy with their huckleberries.

From the summits we had looked over into Tennessee, Virginia, Georgia, North and South

• "Uisquebaugh," or the "water of life," is Irish. From the word we have dropped the last syllable. Hence we have "uisque," or, as it is commonly written, "whisky"-a very able-bodied man-servant, but terrible as a mistress or housekeeper.

Carolina. In brief, to use the language of Natty Bumpo, we beheld "Creation." We had! crossed the "Blue Ridge ;" and the descending water-courses, no longer seeking the Atlantic, were now gushing headlong down the western slopes, and hurrying to lose themselves in the Gulf Stream and the Mississippi.

From the eyes of fountains within a few feet of each other we had blended our eau de vie with limpid waters which were about to part company forever--the one leaping to the rising, the other to the setting of the sun.

And buoyant, full of fun, with hearts of ease, limbs of health and strength, plenty of venison, and a wagon full of good things, we welcomed the coming of Saturday night as a season not simply of rest, but of a royal caWe were decreed to make a night

rouse. of it.

us.

But first let us see after our venison. The deer, once slain, is, as soon after as possible, clapped upon the fire. All the professional hunters are good butchers and admirable cooks-of bear and dear meat at least. I doubt if they could spread a table to satisfy Delmonico; but even Delmonico might take some lessons from them in the preparation for the table of the peculiar game which they pursue, and the meats on which they feed. We, at least, rejoice at the supper prospect before Great collops hiss in the frying-pan, and finely cut steaks redden beautifully upon the flaming coals. Other portions of the meat are subdued to the stew, and make a very delightful dish. The head of the deer, including the brains, is put upon a flat rock in place of gridiron, and thus baked before the fire-being carefully watched and turned until every portion has duly imbibed the necessary heat, and assumed the essential hue which it should take to satisfy the eye of appetite. This portion of the deer is greatly esteemed by the hunters themselves; and the epicure of genuine stomach for the haut gout takes to it as an eagle to a fat mutton, and a hawk to a young turkey.

The rest of the deer-such portions of it as are not presently consumed or needed for immediate use-is cured for future sale or consumption; being smoked upon a scaffolding raised about four feet above the ground, under which, for ten or twelve hours, a moderate fire will be kept up.

Meanwhile the hounds are sniffing and snuffing around, or crouched in groups, with noses pointed at the roast and broil and bake; while their great liquid eyes dilate momently while watching for the huge gobbets which they expect to be thrown to them from time to time from the hands of the hunters.

Supper over, and it is Saturday night. It is the night dedicated among the professional hunters to what is called "The Lying Camp!" "The Lying Camp!" quoth Columbus Mills, one of our party, a wealthy mountaineer, of large estates, of whom I have been for some time the guest.

66 THE BIG LIE."

"What do you mean by the 'Lying Camp,' Columbus ?"

The explanation soon followed.

Saturday night is devoted by the mountaineers engaged in a camp hunt, which sometimes contemplates a course of several weeks, to stories of their adventures-"long yarns"chiefly relating to the objects of their chase, and the wild experiences of their professional life. The hunter who actually inclines to exaggeration is, at such a period, privileged to deal in all the extravagances of invention; nay, he is required to do so! To be literal, or confine himself to the bald and naked truth, is not only discreditable, but a finable offense! He is, in such a case, made to swallow a long, strong, and difficult potation! He can not be too extravagant in his incidents; but he is also required to exhibit a certain degree of art, in their use; and he thus frequently rises into a certain realm of fiction, the ingenuities of which are made to compensate for the exaggerations, as they do in the "Arabian Nights," and other Oriental romances.

This will suffice for explanation.

Nearly all our professional hunters assembled on the present occasion were tolerable raconteurs. They complimented Jim Fisher, by throwing the raw deer-skin over his shoulders; tying the antlers of the buck with a red handkerchief over his forehead; seating him on the biggest boulder which lay at hand; and, sprinkling him with a stoup of whisky, they christened him "The Big Lie," for the occasion. And in this character he complacently presided during the rest of the evening, till the company prepared for sleep, which was not till midnight. He was king of the feast.

It was the duty of the "Big Lie" to regulate proceedings, keep order, appoint the raconteurs severally, and admonish them when he found them foregoing their privileges, and narrating bald, naked, and uninteresting truth. They must deal in fiction.

Jim Fisher was seventy years old, and a

II.

"Yaou" was the nom de nique of one of the hunters, whose proper name was Sam Snaffles, but who, from his special smartness, had obtained the farther sobriquet of “ Sharp Snaffles." Columbus Mills whispered me that he was called "Yaou" from his frequent use of that word, which, in the Choctaw dialect, simply means "Yes." Snaffles had rambled considerably among the Choctaws, and picked up a variety of their words, which he was fond of using in preference to the vulgar English; and his common use of "Yaou," for the affirmative, had prompted the substitution of it for his own name. He answered to the name.

III.

"You see, Jedge," addressing me especially as the distinguished stranger, "I'm a telling this hyar history of mine jest to please you, and I'll try to please you ef I kin. These fellows hyar have hearn it so often that they knows all about it jest as well as I do my own self, and they knows the truth of it all, and would swear to it afore any hunters' court in all the county, ef so be the affidavy was to be tooken in camp and on a Saturday night.

"You see then, Jedge, it's about a dozen or fourteen years ago, when I was a young fellow without much beard on my chin, though I was full grown as I am now-strong as a horse, ef not quite so big as a buffalo. I was then jest

"And what was you afeard of? You knows as well how to take up a crooked trail as the very best man among us; so you go ahead and spin your thread a'ter the best fashion."

"What shill it be?" asked Snaffles, as he mixed a calabash full of peach and honey, preparing evidently for a long yarn.

"Give 's the history of how you got your capital, Yaou!" was the cry from two or more. "O Lawd! I've tell'd that so often, fellows, that I'm afeard you'll sleep on it; and then agin, I've tell'd it so often I've clean forgot how it goes. Somehow it changes a leetle every time I tells it."

"Never you mind! The Jedge never haird it, I reckon, for one; and I'm not sure that Columbus Mills ever did."

So the "Big Lie."

The "Jedge" was the nom de guerre whie' the hunters had conferred upon me; looking, no doubt, to my venerable aspect-for I had traveled considerably beyond my teens-and the general dignity of my bearing.

Yaou," like other bashful beauties in oratory and singing, was disposed to hem and haw, and affect modesty and indifference, when he was brought up suddenly by the stern command of the "Big Lie," who cried out:

"Don't make yourself an etarnal fool, Sam Snaffles, by twisting your mouth out of shape, making all sorts of redickilous ixcuses. Open upon the trail at onst and give tongue, or, dern your digestion, but I'll fine you to hafe a gallon at a single swallow!"

Nearly equivalent to what Hamlet says to the conceited player:

"Leave off your damnable faces and begin," Thus adjured with a threat, Sam Snaffles swallowed his peach and honey at a gulp, hemmed thrice lustily, put himself into an attitude, and began as follows. I shall adopt his language as closely as possible; but it is not possible, in any degree, to convey any adequate

business, and looking to sich persons as the 'Big Lie' thar to show me how to take the track of b'ar, buck, and painther.

"But I confess I weren't a-doing much. I hed a great deal to l'arn, and I reckon I miss'd many more bucks than I ever hit—that is, jest up to that time—”

"Look you, Yaou," said "Big Lie," interrupting him, “you're gitting too close upon the etarnal stupid truth! All you've been a-saying is jest nothing but the naked truth as I knows it. Jest crook your trail!"

"And how's a man to lie decently onless you lets him hev a bit of truth to go upon? The truth's nothing but a peg in the wall that I hangs the lie upon. A'ter a while I promise that you sha'n't see the peg."

"Worm along, Yaou!"

"Well, Jedge, I warn't a-doing much among the bucks yit-jest for the reason that I was quite too eager in the scent a'ter a sartin doe! Now, Jedge, you never seed my wife-my Merry Ann, as I calls her; and ef you was to see her now-though she's prime grit yit-you would never believe that, of all the womankind in all these mountains, she was the very yaller flower of the forest; with the reddest rose cheeks you ever did see, and sich a mouth, and sich bright curly hair, and so tall, and so slender, and so all over beautiful! O Lawd! when I thinks of it and them times, I don't see how 'twas possible to think of buck - hunting when thar was sich a doe, with sich eyes shining me on!

"Well, Jedge, Merry Ann was the only da'ter of Jeff Hopson and Keziah Hopson, his wife, who was the da'ter of Squire Claypole, whose wife was Margery Clough, that lived down upon Pacolet River--"

"Look you, Yaou, ain't you gitting into them derned facts agin, eh?"

"I reckon I em, 'Big Lie!' Scuse me: I'll kiver the pegs direct-lie, one a'ter t'other. Whar was I? Ah! Oh! Well, Jedge, poor hunter and poor man-jest, you see, a squatter on the

side of a leetle bit of a mountain close on to Columbus Mills, at Mount Tryon, I was all the time on a hot trail a'ter Merry Ann Hopson. I went thar to see her a'most every night; and sometimes I carried a buck for the old people, and sometimes a doe-skin for the gal, and I do think, bad hunter as I then was, I pretty much kept the fambly in deer meat through the whole winter."

"Good for you, Yaou! You're a-coming to it! That's the only fair trail of a lie that you've struck yit!"

So the "Big Lie," from the chair.

"Glad to hyar you say so," was the answer. "I'll git on in time! Well, Jedge, though Jeff Hopson was glad enough to git my meat always, he didn't affection me, as I did his da'ter. He was a sharp, close, money-loving old fellow, who was always considerate of the main chaince; and the old lady, his wife, who hairdly dare say her soul was her own, she jest looked both ways, as I may say, for Sunday, never giving a fair look to me or my chainces, when his eyes were sot on her. But 'twa'n't so with my Merry Ann. She hed the eyes for me from the beginning, and soon she hed the feelings; and, you see, Jedge, we sometimes did git a chaince, when old Jeff was gone from home, to come to a sort of onderstanding about our feelings; and the long and the short of it was that Merry Ann confessed to me that she'd like nothing better than to be my wife. She liked no other man but me. Now, Jedge, a'ter that, what was a young fellow to do? That, I say, was the proper kind of incouragement. So I said, 'I'll ax your daddy.' Then she got scary, and said, 'Oh, don't; for somehow, Sam, I'm a-thinking daddy don't like you enough yit. Jest hold on a bit, and come often, and bring him venison, and try to make him laugh, which you kin do, you know, and a'ter a time you kin try him.' And so I did—or rether I didn't. I put off the axing. I come constant. I brought venison all the time, and b'ar meat a plenty, a'most three days in every week."

"That's it, Yaou. You're on trail. That's as derned a lie as you've tell'd yit; for all your hunting, in them days, didn't git more meat than you could eat your one self."

"Thank you, 'Big Lie.' I hopes I'll come up in time to the right measure of the camp. "Well, Jedge, this went on for a long time, a'most the whole winter, and spring, and summer, till the winter begun to come in agin. I carried 'em the venison, and Merry Ann meets me in the woods, and we hes sich a pleasant time when we meets on them little odd chainces that I gits hot as thunder to bring the business to a sweet honey finish.

"But Merry Ann keeps on scary, and she puts me off; ontil, one day, one a'ternoon, about sundown, she meets me in the woods, and she's all in a flusteration. And she ups and tells me how old John Grimstead, the old bachelor (a fellow about forty years old, and the dear gal not yet twenty), how he's a'ter

her, and bekaise he's got a good fairm, and mules and horses, how her daddy's giving him the open mouth incouragement.

"Then I says to Merry Ann:

"You sees, I kain't put off no longer. I must out with it, and ax your daddy at onst.' And then her scary fit come on again, and she begs me not to-not jist yit. But I swears by all the Hokies that I won't put off another day; and so, as I haird the old man was in the house that very hour, I left Merry Ann in the woods, all in a trimbling, and I jist went ahead, detarmined to have the figure made straight, whether odd or even.

"And Merry Ann, poor gal, she wrings her hainds, and cries a smart bit, and she wouldn't go to the house, but said she'd wait for me out thar. So I gin her a kiss into her very mouthand did it over more than onst-and I left her, and pushed headlong for the house.

"I was jubous; I was mighty oncertain, and a leetle bit scary myself; for, you see, old Jeff was a fellow of tough grit, and with big grinders; but I was so oneasy, and so tired out waiting, and so desperate, and so fearsome that old bachelor Grimstead would get the start on me, that nothing could stop me now, and I jist bolted into the house, as free and easy and bold as ef I was the very best customer that the old man wanted to see."

Here Yaou paused to renew his draught of peach and honey.

IV.

"Well, Jedge, as I tell you, I put a bold face on the business, though my hairt was gitting up into my throat, and I was almost a-gasping for my breath, when I was fairly in the big room, and standing up before the old Squaire. He was a-setting in his big squar hide-bottom'd arm-chair, looking like a jedge upon the bench, jist about to send a poor fellow to the gallows. As he seed me come in, looking queer enough, I reckon, his mouth put on a sort of grin, which showed all his grinders, and he looked for all the world as ef he guessed the business I come about. But he said, good-natured enough: "Well, Sam Snaffles, how goes it?' "Says I:

"Pretty squar, considerin'. The winter's coming on fast, and I reckon the mountains will be full of meat before long.'

"Then says he, with another ugly grin, Ef 'twas your smoke-house that had it all, Sam Snaffles, 'stead of the mountains, 'twould be better for you, I reckon.'

"I'grees with you,' says I. 'But I rether reckon I'll git my full shar' of it afore the spring of the leaf agin.'

"Well, Sam,' says he, 'I hopes, for your sake, 'twill be a big shar'. I'm afeard you're not the pusson to go for a big shar', Sam Snaffles. Seems to me you're too easy satisfied with a small shar'; sich as the fence-squarrel carries onder his two airms, calkilating only on a small corn-crib in the chestnut-tree.'