attempting to pass under a tree that inclined across the path, I perceived a small branch in form of a hook, which threatened me. The first impulse was to extend myself upon the neck of my horse. Unavailing precaution! It caught me by the collar of my surtout, the horse still continuing his pace.—Behold me suspended in the air—struggling like a fish at the end of a hook. Several respectable pieces of my coat floated, in all probability, a long time in the forest, as an undeniable proof of my having paid toll in passing through it. A crushed and torn hat—{159} an eye black and blue—two deep scratches on the cheek, would, in a civilized country, have given me the appearance rather of a bully issuing from the Black Forest, than a missionary.
To render a bad forest superlatively so, a great fall of snow is necessary. This special favor was lavished upon us in this last passage. Wo to the first pedestrians! The branches groan under the burden of their wintry shroud, and seem to present the motto: "Si tangas frangas!" and assuredly, at each rubbing of the hat, the least touching of the arm or leg, a deluge of snow showers down upon the shivering cavalier and horse. Immediately the branch rises proudly as if in derision. On such occasions, there is nothing better to be done than to form a rear guard, and walk in the track of the predecessor.
In pursuing our route, the 27th, on one of the branches of the river "a la Biche," (Red Deer on the maps), we remarked several sulphurous fountains, which furnish great quantities of sulphur, and a coal mine, apparently very abundant.[118]
I here beg the favor of a short digression from my
