“But the most dangerous animal in this country, is the yellow panther, or painter. They are not very plentiful, and so tormented cunning, that it’s very seldom you can kill one. They are very ugly, but don’t often attack a man unless cornered or wounded. They look and act very much like a cat, only that they are very large. I never killed but one, and his body was five feet long, and his tail between three and four. At night, their eyes look like balls of fire; and when they are after game, they make a hissing noise, which is very dreadful to hear. Their scream is also very terrible; and I never saw the man who was anxious to hear it more than once. They are seldom hunted as a matter of business, but usually killed by accident.
“The panther I once killed, I came across in this manner. I was out on Lake Henderson with two men, catching fish through the ice, when we saw two wolves come on to the ice in great haste, looking and acting as if they had been pursued. I proposed to the men that we should all go and kill them, if we could. They wanted to fish, or were a little afraid, so I took my gun and started after the game. I followed them some distance, when, as they were scaling a ledge, they were attacked by a big panther, and a bloody fight took place. From the appearance of the animals, I supposed that they had met before, which was the cause why the wolves came upon the lake. During the scuffle between the animals, it is a singular fact, that they all three tumbled off the precipice, and fell through the air, about one hundred feet. The wolves jumped up and ran away, while the panther started in another direction. I followed his track, and after travelling a number of hours overtook him, and managed to shoot him through the shoulder. He then got into a tree, and as he was lashing his tail, and getting ready to pounce upon me, I gave him another ball, and he fell to the earth with a crash, and was quite dead. I then went to the Lake, and got the men to help me home with my booty.”
Burlington—Lake Champlain—Distinguished Men.
Of all the towns which I have ever seen, Burlington in Vermont is decidedly one of the most beautiful. It stands on the shore of Lake Champlain, and from the water to its eastern extremity is a regular elevation, which rises to the height of some three hundred feet. Its streets are broad and regularly laid out, the generality of its buildings elegant, and its inhabitants well educated, refined, and wealthy. My visit here is now about to close, and I cannot but follow the impulses of my heart, by giving my reader a brief account of its principal picturesque attraction, and some information concerning a few of its public men.