176 Hills and Lakes. 



the keenest scentj of all the animals of the woods, and 

 this, with all their other senses always awake, renders 

 it almost an impossibility to take one, save in the deep 

 snows and crusts of winter. They are a wandering 

 animal, too, in the summer season, — ^having no pecu- 

 liar abiding-place, and the one that made the track we 

 saw, may have traversed hundreds of miles since he 

 set his foot in that soft clay. They are as stupid in 

 the presence of a blazing light, in the darkness, as 

 the deer are, and like them, they may be easily ap- 

 proached with a boat in the night time. 



It is some twenty-five miles from the entrance of 

 Stony Brook into the Eaquet, the point where we 

 entered the river, to Tupper's Lake. We loitered 

 along, enjojdng the scenery, examining every pleasant 

 nook, stopping to look at every curious thing that 

 presented itself to our view, so that the night shadows 

 gathered around us, before we had performed half the 

 distance we had calculated upon in the morning. We 

 landed for the night, and erected our shantee on the 

 banks of the river, near one of the natural meadows I 

 have spoken of, and before the sun was in the sky the 

 next morning, we were on our way again. Some 

 three or four miles below the shantee, a small but 



