94 SPORT INDEED 



saving his lordship's bacon — at least for a while, for I 

 decided to give the bog a rest for a few days and 

 move to another camp about eight miles away. 



My week upon this bog that I left was one of the 

 happiest I ever spent in hunting. Two days of it I 

 was in my shirt-sleeves, two days with a vest on, and 

 two with a coat. This tells the story of the weather 

 — it was fine. The distance from the camp was a 

 little short of two miles, and, as I took the tramp 

 morning, noon and evening, it made about twelve 

 miles of steady walking. 



The bog is a " dry bog," its dryness being readily 

 accounted for. The spaces between the trees are filled 

 with a wanton growth of blueberry bushes, whose de- 

 caying leaves, year after year, have helped to raise the 

 surface of the ground so that no water rests upon it. 



The place teems with all manner of life, except the 

 human variety. The fox hunts his breakfast there, 

 and the bear dines and sups sumptuously on its ripe 

 blueberries. It is the home of the red squirrel, the 

 mole and the field-mouse, and they may be seen dart- 

 ing hither and yon, busily employed in getting their 

 living among the medley of vegetable growth. 



Here, in this garden spot, I would sit by the hour, 

 secluded from the world and forgetful of its cares and 

 perplexities ; resting both mind and body, and with a 

 species of rest unknown to the busy city man — and 

 which, by the way, he will never know, unless he 



