rious kinds. His fish were well sold; and not only Mr. Clifford was the purchaser, but others, even at the county town, though fifteen miles distant, patronised the young fisherman. He laid snares for the ruffed grouse; (or partridges, as they are called in New England; he soon procured, first a coarse little gun, and then a rifle, and his game brought a ready price.

He never forgot his dear, good Mrs. Curtis, as he called her; and she always had her share of game and fish, and that always at the very time when they were most acceptable.

What was the secret of Robert Woods' success? Had he received demoniacal assistance? Am I describing an impossibility? By no means. The secret of his success was simply the effect of strength of body, steadiness of nerve, and coolness of judgment. Possessing all these qualities, any one can be successful in athletic pursuits or in the acquisition of game. He learned things quickly, it is true; but he did not receive them by intuition. He observed coolly: he then drew his conclusions, rapidly it is true, but generally accurately. He had steadiness of nerves in body, and steadiness of purpose in mind, and he accomplished what he desired. There was no miracle

in all this: no more than what any one, possessed of strength, steady nerves, and a cool head, could accomplish. Had fencing been a practice that he could have learned, he would have been a first-rate swordsman: strength of wrist, quickness of eye, and coolness of judgment, would have made him one. As it was, he excelled in horsemanship, in swimming, in all amusements and labours, where his strength of body and quickness of determination could be brought into use. Did he make no mistake then? Frequently: he was not infallible; but he never made the same mistake twice!

To give one anecdote of his boyish years that will illustrate these remarks:-Bill Thompson showed him a large string of pickerel that he had caught in Spruce pond, about two miles from Curtis' mills, and Robert tramped over there, one leisure afternoon, to take his share. Supposing their habits were like those of a trout, he baited for them and fished for them as he would have done for that fish. He spent the whole afternoon, and came home with only one little pickerel, that had bit at his worm, that might have weighed a quarter of a pound.

Meeting Bill Thompson, he complained of his

luck. Bill asked how he fished. Robert told him.

"Why, you fool, Bob! Don't you know any better than that? You see, you must take a piece of a frog's leg, or the belly of a roach or perch, and keep skittering it on the top of the water." "Oh ho!" said Robert, "then the pickerel take their food on the surface of the water, when moving, do they ?"

"I don't know where they take their food, and don't care; I know that I can't catch 'em without skittering."

The hint was enough. He studied their habits, and in a short time added the best of pickerel to his stock.

Where was Ernest all this time? Close upon his path, night and day; tempting him to fretfulness, to boasting, to any thing that would make him disagreeable to others; but his mother's dying speech, 'beware the first sin!' was a talisman against all demoniacal influence. In the winter, the boys of the school, instigated by Ernest, would not play with him, because he was a poor-house boy; Smithson, in summer, was often fretful and impatient, and jealous of his success. Need we say to whom this change was owing?

Ernest's

feelings were none of the most affectionate or parental. He-the haughty, the nobly descended, the admired and imitated in life-to be obliged to use his great powers to instigate farmers' lads, and the foreman of a saw-mill, to torment a poorhouse boy, was too degrading!

There was a bitterness of hostility against poor Robert, that would have plunged him in the sawmill pond, or held him under the trip-hammer, if he had been allowed,

Had Julia Clifford made her promised visit to the falls? She came once with her father; admired them as much as Robert expected; laughed more than he expected at his little cubby-house, as she termed it, and his birch-bark copies; but stopped when she saw her ridicule made Robert look sad.

Mr. Clifford made some judicious presents to the lad in books, and encouraged him in his progress.

But even this one visit was made a source of unhappiness to Robert. Smithson, even his friend Smithson, sneered at the gallantry, and alluded for the first time to his being one of the town-poor, and daring to look up to the squire's daughter; and he went to bed, in his little garret at Mr.

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Curtis', more decidedly uncomfortable in mind than he had been for years. Next morning, however, as he faced the rising sun, in his run to the mills, braced by the air, and invigorated by the dewy freshness of all around him, he felt, if he did not utter, "Better and brighter hereafter." He did say, "Never mind: I'm doing what is right, and that will make me happy, even if I am bound out by the town."

CHAPTER XXXI.

BIRCH-BARK POETRY.

As we said before, Robert Woods was now fifteen, a bright and beautiful lad, buoyant with hope, blessed with an indomitable perseverance of character, and a determination to become something in the world, and to elevate his condi tion in it.

The past trials and grievances were remembered, as the dew of the morning is in the noon