In New England Fields and Woods

whiteness of the snow. The unscared fox prowls above them in curious exploration of the desolate shanty, where wood-mice are domiciled and to whose sunny side the partridge comes to bask; the woodp

s his secret lair in the depths of the forest. In the chill days and evenings that fall first in the interim between winter and summer camping,

ering sky, or when the chilly silence of the last winter nights is broken by the sharp crack of frozen trees and timbers, as if a hidden band of riflemen were besieging th

season that lies between winter and spring, when, if one stirs abroad, his feet have sorry choice between saturated s

e good wife reads racy records of camp-life from Maine to California, and he listens with attention half diverted by break or rust spot, or with amused watching of the youngsters playing at camping out. The callow campers assail him wi

ng ago beneath their lusty branches, and of such noble game as we shall never see,-moose, elk, deer, panther, wolf, and bear, which are but spectres in the shadowy forest of the past. But the red tongues only roar and hiss as they lick the crackli

ss embers, deserted even by the shadows that erstwhile played their grotesque pranks behind him. Cover the coals a