ary uneasiness they created quickly passed away, and was, for a time, forgotten.
"Come, friend," said Hawk-eye, drawing out a keg from beneath a cover of leaves, towards the close of the repast, and addressing the stranger who sat at his elbow, doing great justice to his culinary skill, "try a little spruce; 'twill wash away all thoughts of the colt, and quicken the life in your bosom. I drink to our better friendship, hoping that a little horse-flesh may leave no heart-burnings a-tween us. How do you name yourself?"
"Gamut—David Gamut," returned the singing-master, mechanically wiping his mouth, preparatory to washing down his sorrows in a powerful draught of the woodman's high-flavoured and well-laced compound.
"A very good name," returned the other, taking breath after a draught, whose length announced how much he admired his own skill in brewing, "and, I dare say, handed down from honest forefathers. I'm an admirator of names, though the Christian
