Aesthetical Essays of Frederich Schiller | Page 4

the final effort of exhausted nature, and in a few minutes she breathed her last.
"The flames, meantime, had gained the mastery over the building, and we saw that it was impossible to save it.
"But it's time to turn in, Roger," said Uncle Mark. "I'll tell you more about the matter to-morrow."
As Uncle Mark always meant what he said, I knew that there would be no use in trying to get him to go on then, eager as I was to hear more of what had, as may be supposed, so deeply interested me. I accordingly turned into my bunk, and was soon asleep.
I dreamed of shrieking Indians and burning villages; and more than once I started up and listened to the strange unearthly sounds which came from the depths of the forest.
These noises, I may here say, were caused by the wolves; for the savage brutes occasionally came near the settlement, attracted by the sheep and cattle which the inhabitants had brought with them. A bright look-out being kept, however, it was seldom that any of our stock was carried off. Bears also occasionally came into the neighbourhood; and we had already shot two, whose skins supplied us with winter coats. Our intention was to kill as many more as we could meet with, that their skins might serve us for other purposes--especially as coverlets for our beds. And, besides, their flesh was always a welcome addition to our larder.
Next morning we went about our usual work. My uncle with his bright axe commenced felling the trees round our hut--working away from sunrise to sunset, with only an hour's intermission for dinner. I aided him, as far as my strength would allow, for a certain number of hours daily. But my uncle encouraged me to follow the bent of my inclination, which was to get away and observe the habits of the creatures dwelling in the surrounding forest.
I had been a naturalist from my earliest days. The study had been my poor father's hobby--so my uncle told me--and I inherited his love for it. It had, moreover, been developed and encouraged by a visit we had received, some few years back, from a scientific gentleman, who had come over to America to make himself acquainted with the feathered tribes, the quadrupeds, and the reptiles of the New World.
It had been my delight to accompany this gentleman on his excursions while he was with us; and I prized a couple of books he had left with me more than I should have done a lump of gold of the same weight. From him I learned to preserve and stuff the skins of the birds and animals I killed; a knowledge which I turned to profitable account, by my uncle's advice--as they were sent, when opportunity occurred, to the Eastern States, where they found a ready market.
"It pays very well in its way, Roger," observed Uncle Mark; "but work is better. If you can combine the two, I have no objection; but you are now too old to play, and, for your own sake, you should do your best to gain your own living. While you were young, I was ready to work for you; and so I should be now, if you could not work for yourself. I want you, however, to understand that it is far nobler for a man to labour for his daily bread, than to allow others to labour for him."
I fully agreed with Uncle Mark. Indeed, my ambition had long been to support myself. I had an idea, nevertheless, that the skins I preserved brought more immediate profit than did the result of his labours with the axe. But, everything considered, we got on very well together; for I was grateful to him for the affection and care he had bestowed on me during my childhood.
I was hard at work that day preparing a number of birds I had shot in the morning; and when dinnertime came, Uncle Mark, telling me to continue my task, said he would get our meal ready. Having quickly prepared it, he brought out the platters, and set himself down near me. I washed my hands, and speedily despatched my dinner; after which I returned to my work.
"Will you go on with the account you were giving me last night?" I said, observing that he did not seem inclined to move. "You have more than half an hour to rest, and I will then come and help you."
"Where was I? Oh! I remember," said my uncle. "In the middle of the burning settlement, with you and Lily in my arms.
"We were wondering what had become of Yearsley, when we caught sight of him rushing out from amid the burning huts.
"`They are all killed!--all, all, all!' he shrieked out. `Follow me, lads;'