Brunswick, and for a long time I sat working in utter silence, until my attention was attracted by a movement in the branches, and presently a magnificent moose came out into the open, and walked quietly down to a pond almost directly in front of me, with his head erect and his broad antlers thrown back almost to his withers; his jet black skin, spotted white by the chequered sunlight, shone as glossy as satin. For a moment he stood silent as if listening, then moved away, all unconscious that he had had a spectator. A full-grown moose sheds his horns in the month of January, and they are not again fully restored until the end of August. By this time the velvet has been worn off, and the horns are a rich fawn color, shaded or marked with dark brown, and polished by having been rubbed on the stems of the poplar and larch. The animal is now in the perfection of his strength and condition, and emerging from the swamps and bogs where he has spent the summer, feeding on the yellow pond-lilies, and evading the moosefly and similar pests by frequently standing neck deep in some forest lake, he abandons the long silence maintained while his horns were in the velvet, and enters upon the rutting season-a noisy, aggressive and pugnacious character. The fights which now occur between the old males are terrific. Greek has met Greek, and the combat is often prolonged until their horns become inextricably interlaced, and both animals die a miserable death. I once saw in the month of October, two pairs of horns firmly locked together, with parts of the skulls attached, sticking out of a swamp, but as we were on the trail of a moose and had no time to spare, I failed to secure them; I could never find the spot again. Early in May the cow-moose brings forth two, and sometimes three calves, of a dark fawn color and slightly dappled. It has been affirmed that the cow moose retires to some sequestered spot in order to protect her young from the attacks of bears and also of the bull-moose, but I am of opinion that the latter is not at any time very distant from the cow and her calves. On one occasion in the early summer I saw an old cow-moose with two calves, come out from an island in a lake and disport in the water. Presently a very large bull-moose came out of the forest at a little distance from them, and began to eat the roots of the yellow pond-lily, which he procured by diving for them and bringing them to the surface of the water in his teeth. While he was still feeding, the cow and her calves retired. On the approach of winter the moose form into small herds of five or six animals, often containing a bull, a cow, and the young of two seasons, and establish themselves in what is termed a moose-yard. The yard is situated in some part of the country where there is an abundant growth of young deciduous trees, such as the white birch, poplar, maples and mountain ash; these, together with a few of the coniferous trees, and that then the tines and palmation are perfect, and further, that the duration of life is probably about twenty years. There are three modes of hunting the moose, termed still-hunting, fire-hunting, and calling. There was another mode, which, I am happy to say, legislation has in a great measure suppressed. I refer to the wholesale slaughter of the unfortunate animals when the deep-lying snows of a protracted winter had imprisoned them in their -yards, and rendered them only a too easy prey to the unprincipled butchers who slew them for the sake of their skins. the balsam fir and juniper, form the staple To be successful in still-hunting, or creeping upon the moose, necessitates the aid of a skillful Indian guide; very few, if any, white men ever attain the marvelous precision with which an Indian, to whom the pathless forest is an open book which he reads as he runs, will track to its death an animal so exceedingly sensitive to the approach of man. This gift, or instinct, seems born with the Indian, and is practiced from his early childhood. It is not uncommon to find little Indian boys in the forest several miles from the wigwam, armed with a bow and arrows, the latter having an old knifeblade inserted in the heads. One little fellow named Socotoma was a very expert shot, and woe betide mitchiess, the grouse, and mataguis, the hare, if they happened in the way of little Socotoma when he was on the war-path; and although he could not thus be killed, even mooin, the bear, would be likely to feel the "stinging arrow. The finely modulated voice of the Indian can readily conceal himself, puts his birchen trumpet to his mouth, and gives the call of the cow-moose, in a manner so startling and truthful that only the educated ear of an Indian could detect the counterfeit. If the call is successful, presently the responsive bull-moose is heard crashing through the forest, uttering his blood-curdling bellow or roar, and rattling his horns against the trees in challenge to all rivals, as he comes to the death which awaits him. Should the imita brilliant light seems to fascinate the animal, | fox, follow quickly on his trail,-and all this and he will readily approach within range of while the rifle. The torch placed in the bow of a canoe is also used as a lure on a lake or river, but is attended with considerable danger, as a wounded, or enraged moose, will not unfrequently upset the canoe. The mode of hunting which generally prevails is that of still-hunting, or creeping upon the moose, which is undoubtedly the most sportsman-like way, and affords the greatest pleasure. Still-hunting can be practiced in September, and all through the early winter months, until the snow becomes so deep that it would be a sin to molest the poor animals. The months of September and October are charming months for camping out, and the moose are then in fine condition, and great skill and endurance are called for on the part of the hunter. The moose possesses a vast amount of pluck, and when once started on his long, swinging trot, his legs seem tireless, and he will stride over bowlders and wind-falls at a pace which soon distances his pursuers, and, but for the sagacity of the Indian guide in picking out the trail, would almost always escape. If the sportsman combines the tastes of a naturalist with his love of out-door life, his camping-out holiday will prove all the more enjoyable. One often hears the remark : "How strange it is that animals, birds, life of any kind, is so seldom met with in an American forest!" My own experience, and I doubt not that of many other lovers of nature, has been very different, for whatever your name may be, you will seldom gain the confines of the forest without being greeted as "Sweet Willie" by ki-ha-neas, the smaller red-polled linnet, and you will not have traveled far before the little chickadee, hanging head down as is his wont, will welcome you to the forest. The Indian name for little black-cap, kich-e-ge-gelas is surprisingly like his note of greeting. And before you fairly get your lunch out, that ubiquitous rascal with the long string of jaw-breaking names, Corvus Canadensis, Perisoreus Canadensis, Canada jay, ump-kanu-sis, whiskyjack, or moose-bird, will perch on the toe of your boot, or some other point of vantage, and dispute every mouthful with you, while me-kok, the little red squirrel, is sure to be on hand, chattering querulously for his share of the crumbs. Presently the tall ferns in front of you wave slightly, and mata-guis, the hare, bounds off; and if you watch quietly you will probably see quak-sis, the you are eating your lunch. That over, you start on the business of the day, fishing or shooting, and at almost every step you are surrounded by the denizens of the forest. There is that old hen-grouse again, with the broken wing, which is not broken at all; she is only fooling you while her brood of little chicks are scampering off out of your way. That bunch of tumbled brakes, not yet recovered from the pressure of some heavy body, tells you that mooin, the bear, has been roused from his mid-day nap, and is beating a hasty retreat on your approach. A foot-print in the wet moss, not unlike that of a large dog, hints to you that ma-al-sin, the wolf, is at his old tricks again, chasing the deer. If you are bent on fishing, and are careful as you approach the stream, you may detect that industrious individual, qua-beet, the beaver, repairing a leak in his dam. And in particular, rest assured if you catch any trout, that the daring thief, che-ok-kis, the mink, will be apt to steal them from under your very nose; and in the gloaming your ears will be charmed by a chorus of many songsters, led by that melodious vocalist, the hermit-thrush. And yet there are people who say there is no life in an American forest! In moose-hunting, the services of a trustworthy Indian guide are indispensable, not only to insure success, but for the sake of comfort. These Indians are masters of wood-craft, and can start a fire in the heaviest rain or snow-storm; they are also expert ax-men, and furnish an abundant supply of dry fire-wood, and keep up such a roaring fire in front of the comfortable barkcovered camp, that the cold is seldom felt, even when camping out in winter on the snow. The writer has been fortunate in having had on his hunting expeditions the services. of Sebatis, a member of the tribe of Passamaquoddy Indians, who, unlike their savage brethren of the plains, are a peaceful and interesting people, and live quietly on their reservations at Pleasant Point, near Eastport, Maine. The Passamaquoddies receive subsidy from the United States and Canadian governments, and they and the Penobscot Indians have each a representative of their own race in the Maine legislature. My tried friend and companion of many a hunt, Sebatis, is a thoroughbred Indian of Mohawk descent, and an accomplished hunter. His wonderful knowledge of the woods, and of the habits of animals and birds, gained in a life-long experience, is |