Return we to the squatter's cabin--this time to enter it. Inside, there is not much to be seen or described. The interior consists of a single room--of which the log-walls are the sides, and the clapboard roof the ceiling. In one corner there is a little partition or screen--the materials composing it being skins or the black bear and fallow deer. It is pleasant to look upon this little chamber: it is the shrine of modesty and virgin innocence. Its presence proves that the squatter is not altogether a savage. Rude as is the interior of the sheiling, it contains a few relics of bygone, better days--not spent there, but elsewhere. Some books are seen upon a little shelf--the library of Lilian's mother--and two or three pieces of furniture, that have once been decent, if not stylish. But chattels of this land are scarce in the backwoods--even in the houses of more pretentious people than a squatter; and a log-stool or two, a table of split poplar planks, an iron pot, some pans and pails of tin, a few plates and pannikins of the same material, a gourd "dipper" or drinking-cup, and half-a-dozen common knives, forks, and spoons, constitute the whole "plenishing" of the hut. The skin of a cougar, not long killed, hangs against the wall. Beside it are the pelts of other wild animals--as the grey fox, the racoon, the rufous lynx, musk-rats, and minks. These, draping the roughly-hewn logs, rob them to some extent of their rigidity. By the door is suspended an old saddle, of the fashion known as _American_--a sort of cross between the high-peaked _silla_ of the Mexicans, and the flat pad-like English saddle. On the adjacent peg hangs a bridle to match--its reins black with age, and its bit reddened with rust. Some light articles of female apparel are seen hanging against the wall, near that sacred precinct where, during the the night-hours, repose the fair daughters of the squatter.