THE COUNTRY. 165

 hours of agony before death comes, does not
 distress him at all; his only regret is that his
 paddle was split in the encounter, and the canoe
 has to be pushed from a mud-bank on which
 it has grounded. Of course, this blind rage
 which kills the cold and gliding outcast of the
 swamp has nothing to do with the passion of
 the sportsman. In that, there is a generous
 appreciation of the prey; it is the instinct which
 bade Walton, in putting a frog upon his hook,
 "use him as though he loved him," -with
 all the gentleness of which the circumstances
 admitted.

 The water of the creek, which winds far back
 into the woods, is very still, and so clear that it
 makes the stream a mirror. The drift of dead
 leaves lies black below the motionless current,
 so that all the reflections are pictured in a sort
 of luminous darkness, like a Claude Lorraine
 glass; but they are marvellously distinct. Were
it not for the faint lap and gurgle against the
prow, and the slow splash of the paddle, one
might fancy that the canoe floated in mid-air,