126 



The Canadian Field-Naturalist 



[Vol. XXXVI 



an addition to the flora of Ontario. Moreover, 

 its delicate colouring and the beauty of its blos- 

 som make a strong appeal to the aesthetic eye; in 



short, it is an "accession" in far more than the 

 Museum sense of the hortus siccus. 



A NATURE LOVER'S CAMP IN NOVA SCOTIA 



By E. Chesley Allen 



OUR camp fire had burned low. The oc- 

 casional flare from some crumbling ember 

 set strange uncouth figures struggling with 

 each other upon the canvas of our tent, and drove 

 back to the deep thickets the great shadows that 

 had crept out to reclaim the little spot we had 

 cleared for our summer home. The woods were 

 still, but for the light splash of some furtive night 

 fisherman along the lake shore, or the sleepy frag- 

 ment of song from some small bird half aroused 

 from its slumbers. 



Suddenly from out over the star-lit bosom of the 

 lake rose the long-drawn wail of the Loon; rose, 

 and fell, and died away in receding echoes. 



We had come here early in July, milady and I, 

 to this little lake, where an obscure branch of the 

 Tusket broadens out to meet the dense forest 

 growth that clothes the ridges down to its very 

 edge. But with the manifold and hurried duties 

 of preparing a two months' camp before the dark- 

 ness settled, we had not caught the true spirit of 

 our surroundings until that wild cry came ringing 

 over the water. For the cry of the Loon not only 

 embodies all the freedom, vigor, and exultant 

 passion of the wild life of the north, but is pre- 

 eminently vocal of all the subtle warfare and 

 relentless cruelty of the wilderness; and a fitting 

 prelude it was to the pageant of wild life that we 

 were to enjoy for the next few weeks. 



Our camp lay by the shore of the lake, and at 

 the foot of an old log-road that came down from 

 the ridge above. Half way up the ridge this 

 joined another rough road which wound through 

 the woods to the settlement and our nearest 

 neighbors, two miles above. Thither often we 

 tramped, until every tree and shrub and stump 

 claimed a corner in our memories. 



Where the roads joined stood an old logging- 

 camp, abandoned for two or three years, and 

 already beginning to show signs of decay. 



There is something about an abandoned logging- 

 camp that invites inspection. The wild life that 

 receded before the encroaching axe of the logger, 

 comes back on his departure to take advantage of 

 the artificial shelter afforded by his rough archi- 

 tecture. Swallows and wasps build under the 

 eaves; bats fly at evening about the yawning 



doors and windows; and hares and shy wood mice 

 take refuge under its floors. 



This particular old camp would have afforded 

 bats' wings enough to clothe Titania's entire train. 

 One day, when we were passing, our attention was 

 attracted by a scratching sound on the side of the 

 building. Seeing nothing on the outside we 

 entered; but there nothing was visible. Coming 

 out again and locating the sound, we lifted a long 

 loose strip of tarred paper with which the building 

 was partly covered, and out flew bats in all di- 

 rections. A snug hiding-place they had had cling- 

 ing to the rough wall, with the noonday sun 

 beating upon the black paper over them. 



Just above our camp the road dipped into a 

 dark hollow where the broad-leafed striped maples 

 met overhead. Here on several mornings we 

 found the ground strewn with moths' wings of a 

 most delicate blue-green. The explanation was 

 made clear one evening when we were returning to 

 camp. Back and forth under the overhanging 

 trees flitted the bats; and we knew that each 

 quick turn and tack of wing meant the death of a 

 moth. 



By day the bats gave place to the dragon-flies 

 The roadside swarmed with butterflies admirals, 

 swallow-tails, silver-spots, mourning-cloaks and 

 sulphurs. Among these the dragon-flies were 

 dragons indeed. Coursing up and down the road 

 like a burnished steel shuttle, one would dart at a 

 flitting butterfly, and quicker than the eye could 

 follow, seize it, turn it over, and with its wings 

 placed together keel-like, bear it off to some road- 

 side twig, where in a moment the wings fluttering 

 down showed that the meal had begun. These 

 bold highwaymen were not above cannibalism, 

 for they often seized and devoured members of 

 their own family. 



A great black and white hornet that came to 

 our tent for flies, though not so sure of her mark 

 as the dragon-flies, yet made many captures; 

 and most of them were through the flies' own 

 blunders. Entering our doorway she would dart 

 at every dark spot upon the canvas, the flies in 

 the meantime making feints at her, in the manner 

 in which Swallows are often seen to do with 

 larger birds. But, unlike the Swallows, the flies 



