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the echoes far and near, thoroughly roused me, and sent all other thoughts to the rout. As I could see nothing, I deemed it expedient to remain quiet; cocking my rifle, I lay on the grass, and waited patiently for a repetition of the performance. I had not long to tax my patience: again cam the same sound, more shrill than was ever the whistle of a locomotive; then another, and another, joined in the refrain, until the place, instead of being steeped in silence, resembled the gallery of a theatre on Boxing-night. I very soon spied one of the performers seated on the top of a large rock; the position, that of a begging dog; with his fore-feet he was busy cleaning his whiskers, smoothing his fur, and clearly going in for a somewhat elaborate toilet; perhaps he was going a-wooing, or to a morning concert, or for a constitutional, or a lounge on the "marmot's mile;" but whatever his intentions, I regret to say, they were frustrated. Solely in the cause of science I had to stop him; resting my rifle on a flat rock, as I lay on the ground, I drew a steady bead on the hapless musician; and the sharp crack, as it rang amid the rocks, was his death-knell. Rapidly reloading, I scampered off to secure my prize. I am afraid there was not much pity felt; delight, at getting a new animal, was uppermost. Smoothing his fur, I plugged the shot-hole, examined him closely, measured him, admired his handsome shape, bright grey coat, and brushy tail; investigated his teeth and claws; walked back and had a look at him from a distance; then set to work and skinned him. You can see him also, if you like to visit the British Museum, where this very victim is "set up" and placed amidst the marmots; his name, together with that of his destroyer, black-lettered, on the board to which he is affixed. At the sound of the rifle, every single one of his companions took sensation headers into their holes; and came not out again during my stay on this occasion.

The length from the nose to the root of the tail was a trifle over 21 inches. The tail, 6 inches. Head, oval and very flat. Nose, short and broad, thickly covered with fine hairs. The cutting (incisor) teeth, large, strong, and of a yellow colour. Whiskers, black and long. Ears, nearly hid by the fur on the neck and vertex. Claws, strong and curved; are admirable digging implements. The general tint is that of rusty grey, with a blackish conspicuous band extending from the black of the head down the shoulders. Space forbids a more minute detail of specific characters.

In habits, they are essentially social animals, inasmuch as they live in little colonies; but unlike some of the prairie marmots, these Rock Whistlers, when married, have a house to themselves, and if blessed with a family,—a blessing seldom denied them,—they kick out the youthful pledges of affection, as soon as they can nibble up a living for themselves. The burrow, which is quite two feet in diameter, is dug invariably in a slanting direction, generally at the base of a rock, standing up like a pedestal, on which they love to sit, and whistle. Wide trails, beaten like roads, lead in all directions from their holes, to the feeding and drinking placed; their hours of repast, sensibly chosen, are early in the morning, when the grass and herbage is wet with dew, and late in the evening; and as the sun sinks behind the snowy hills, tinting with rosy light each crag and rugged outline, the vesper hymn of the Rock Whistlers sounds from every grassy platean—the sole good-bye to departing day, heard amid the weird, untrodden wilds of the Rocky Mountains.

For only a few months, during summer, is this quaint little miner permitted to revel in the luxury of light. Seven dreary months out of the twelve sleep overpowers him, and keeps watch and ward over his drowsy existence. What a wise and wonderful provision to secure from utter extinction animals compelled to live in hyperboreal regions, is hybernation! Growing wondrously fat during the "golden summer days," they retire, when the nipping cold and deep snow comes, into burrows, lined with soft, warm bedding, become semi-torpid, and literally a living stove, for the fuel, stored as far, is slowly burned up in the lungs, giving out heat, just as coal would in a fire-grate. Thus the Rock Whistler heeds not the icy blasts, that, sweeping ruthlessly through gorge and glen, are powerless to even breathe on him, as he sleeps on and on, safe from every harm, until Sol comes to set him once more free.

The Red-skin is the Whistler's most implacable enemy; he never tires of hunting and trapping the little animal, delighting to use his jacket in the fabrication of rugs. The hair being thick, the marmot-robe keeps out both cold and wet, and stands an immense amount of wear and rough usage. Much as the savage likes the coat of his captive, he likes his carcase even better. When skinned, a long peeled stick is thrust through the body, from tail to head; then placed slantwise, one end being fast in the ground, the treasured morsel is slowly roasted over a gentle fire.

I can bear testimony to the delicacy of roasted marmot, it beats an Ostend rabbit hollow—all honour to the Red-skin's taste! With a hunter's proverbial hunger, and with good "digestion waiting on appetite," and health on both, a dinner off a roasted Rock Whistler, washed down with a pull at the crystal stream, is a repast many a gourmand, who by constant gorging has worn out health, appetite, and digestion, would give gladly half his life to relish, as I have relished it, by the lodge fire of the savage of the far Northwest.