The life of the land hunter is at nearly all times a strenuous one. He daily experiences hardships such as working his way up rivers with many swift waters, and crossing lakes in birch-bark canoes, in wind storms and in rain; fording streams when he has no boat and when the banks are too far apart to make a temporary bridge by felling trees across the channel; building rafts to cross rivers and lakes; climbing through windfalls; crossing miles of swamp where the bog bottom will scarcely support his weight, and where, when night overtakes him he must temporize a bed of poles on which to lay his weary body to protect it from the wet beneath him; and traveling sometimes all day in an open and burnt country with his bed and board upon his back, the sun's hot rays pressing like a heavy weight upon his head, while myriads of black flies swarm about him and attack every exposed inch of his skin, even penetrating through the hair of his head. These are a few of his experiences, and, if these had not their offsets at certain times, his life would become indeed unbearable. His health, however, and his appetite are generally as good as are enjoyed by any class of the human family. Possessing these advantages gives him much buoyancy of spirit, and, when a good piece of country in the timber is encountered, he is quick to forget the trials and the hardships of the hour before, and to enjoy the improved prospects. There is doubt whether or not anything finer enters into the joy of living than being in the solitude of the great unbroken forest, surrounded by magnificent, tall, straight, beautiful pine trees, on a day when the sun is casting shadows through their waving tops, listening to the whisperings, formed almost into words, of the needle-like fingers of their leafy boughs, to the warbling of the songsters, and to the chirping of the almost saucy, yet sociable red squirrel who is sure to let one know that he has invaded his dominion. Such days, with such scenes and emotions, do come in the life of the woodsman, the land hunter, who is alone in the forest, except that if he be at all sentimental, he approaches nearer to the Great Creator than at almost any other time in his life's experiences. Those who have read the books of John Borroughs, John Muir, or Ernest Thompson Seton, may appreciate somewhat the joy that comes to the woodsman in his solitude, if he be a lover of nature.