When you have finished "under-brushing," you stand with whetted axe, ready and willing to attack the fathers of the forest--but stay--you don't know how to chop? It is rather doubtful, as you have travelled hither in a great hurry, whether you have ever seen an axeman at work. Your man, Carroll, who has been in the country five or six years, and is quite _au fait_, will readily instruct you. Observe--you strike your axe, by a dexterous swing backwards and round over your shoulder,--take care there are no twigs near you, or you may perhaps hurt yourself seriously--you strike your axe into the tree with a downward slant, at about thirty inches from the ground; then, by an upward stroke you meet the former incision and release a chip, which flies out briskly. Thus you proceed, by alternate downward and upward or horizontal strokes on that side of the tree which leans over, or towards which you wish to compel it to fall, until you have made a clear gap rather more than half way through, when you attack it in rear. Now for the reward of your perspiring exertions--a few well-aimed blows on the reverse side of the tree, rather higher than in front, and the vast mass "totters to its fall,"--another for the _coup-de-grace_--crack! crack! cra-a-ack!--aha!--away with you behind yon beech--the noble tree bows gently its leafy honours with graceful sweep towards the earth--for a moment slowly and leisurely, presently with giddy velocity, until it strikes the ground, amidst a whirlwind of leaves, with a loud _thud_, and a concussion both of air and earth, that may be _felt_ at a considerable distance. You feel yourself a second David, who has overthrown a mightier Goliath.