OF THE MOOSE. 



A NOBLE ANIMAL -BUT 'TWAS JUNE. 



The waters of Black Pond, which but 

 a scarce hour before had been lashed 

 into foam by a southardly breeze, were 

 silent. In the west the myriad tints of 

 a golden sunset were disappearing and 

 the tiny stars were beginning to peep 

 through their blanket of blue. Against 

 this majestic picture, in the foreground, 

 stood tall pines, rising like sentinels from 

 the bog in which for years they had 

 found their growth. Far out*on the lake 

 could be heard the solitary cry of a loon 

 calling to his mate. What can be more 

 sublime, more entertaining, to the true 

 sportsman than to be left alone with 

 nature in this paradise? A suggestion 

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