the north.  Far as the eye could reach, nothing but forest was visible, not even a solitary sign of civilization breaking in upon the uniform and grand magnificence of nature.  The gale had driven the Scud beyond the line of those forts with which the French were then endeavoring to gird the English North American possessions; for, following the channels of communication between the great lakes, their posts were on the banks of the Niagara, while our adventurers had reached a point many leagues westward of that celebrated strait.  The cutter rode at single anchor, without the breakers, resembling some well-imagined and accurately-executed toy, intended rather for a glass case than for struggles with the elements which she had so lately gone through, while the canoe lay on the narrow beach, just out of reach of the waves that came booming upon the land, a speck upon the shingles.

“We are very far here from human habitations!” exclaimed Mabel, when, after a long survey of the scene, its principal peculiarities forced themselves on her active and ever brilliant imagination; “this is indeed being on a frontier.”

“Have they more sightly scenes than this nearer the sea and around their large towns?” demanded Pathfinder, with an interest he was apt to discover in such a subject.

“I will not say that:  there is more to remind one of his fellow-beings there than here; less, perhaps, to remind one of God.”

“Ay, Mabel, that is what my own feelings say.  I am but a poor hunter, I know, untaught and unlarned; but God is as near me, in this my home, as he is near the king in his royal palace.”

“Who can doubt it?” returned Mabel, looking from the view up into the hard-featured but honest face of her companion, though not without surprise at the energy of his manner.  “One feels nearer to God in such a spot, I think, than when the mind is distracted by the objects of the towns.”

“You say all I wish to say myself, Mabel, but in so much plainer speech, that you make me ashamed of wishing to let others know what I feel on such matters.  I have coasted this lake in search of skins afore the war, and have been here already; not at this very spot, for we landed yonder, where you may see the blasted oak that stands above the cluster of hemlocks —­ "

“How, Pathfinder, can you remember all these trifles so accurately?”

“These are our streets and houses, our churches and palaces.  Remember them, indeed!  I once made an appointment with the Big Sarpent, to meet at twelve o’clock at noon, near the foot of a certain pine, at the end of six months, when neither of us was within three hundred miles of the spot.  The tree stood, and stands still, unless the judgment of Providence has lighted on that too, in the midst of the forest, fifty miles from any settlement, but in a most extraordinary neighborhood for beaver.”

“And did you meet at that very spot and hour?”