It invariably astonishes new comers to observe with what dexterity and ease an axeman will fell a tree in the precise spot which he wishes it to occupy so as to suit his convenience in cutting it up, or in removing it by oxen to the log-pile where it is destined to be consumed. If it should happen to overhang a creek or "swale" (wet places where oxen cannot readily operate), every contrivance is resorted to, to overcome its apparently inevitable tendency. Choosing a time when not a breath of air is stirring to defeat his operations, or better still, when the wind is favourable, he cuts deeply into the huge victim on the side to which he wishes to throw it, until it actually trembles on the slight remaining support, cautiously regulating the direction of the "cut" so that the tree may not overbalance itself--then he gently fells among its branches on the reverse side all the smaller trees with which it may be reached--and last and boldest expedient of all, he cuts several "spring poles"--trimmed saplings from twenty to forty feet in length and four to eight inches thick--which with great care and labour are set up against the stem, and by the united strength and weight of several men used as spring levers, after the manner in which ladders are employed by fire-men to overthrow tottering stacks of chimneys; the squared end of these poles holding firmly in the rough bark, they slowly but surely compel the unwilling monster to obey the might of its hereditary ruler, man. With such certainty is this feat accomplished, that I have seen a solitary pine, nearly five feet thick and somewhere about a hundred and seventy feet in height, forced by this latter means, aided by the strength of two men only, against its decided natural bearing, to fall down the side of a mound, at the bottom of which a saw-pit was already prepared to convert it into lumber. The moment when the enormous mass is about yielding to its fate, is one of breathless interest--it sways alarmingly, as if it must inevitably fall backward, crushing poles and perhaps axemen to atoms in its overwhelming descent--ha! there is a slight cat's paw of air in our favour--cling to your pole--now! an inch or two gained!--the stout stick trembles and bends at the revulsive sway of the monstrous tree but still holds its own--drive your axe into the back cut--that helps her--again, another axe! soh, the first is loose--again!--she _must_ go--both axes are fixed in the cut as immovably as her roots in the ground--another puff of wind--she sways the wrong way--no, no! hold on--she cracks--strike in again the slackened axes--bravo! one blow more--quick, catch your axe and clear out!--see! what a sweep--what a rush of wind--what an enormous top--down! down! how beautifully she falls--hurrah! _just in the right place!_ CHAPTER XII. LIFE IN THE BACKWOODS.