Sport in an Untouched A merican Wilderness 



game-trails around the lakes, across the 

 barrens, and through the thickets, grow 

 deeper year by year, trodden as they have 

 been by countless generations of animals. 

 On the day when the Hebrew psalmist 

 was singing, " Every beast of the forest is 

 mine," that very day the moose and cari- 

 bou at sunset came down to the shores of 

 the lonely lakes behind those mountains, 

 just as other moose and caribou will come 

 to-night. 



I have spent two seasons in the very 

 centre of this wilderness. From Freder- 

 icton, by the railroad of two locomotives, 

 ambitiously called the Canada Eastern, it 

 is three hours' ride the distance is forty 

 miles to Boiestown. There, thanks to 

 arrangements made by a friend in Freder- 

 icton, my companion and myself were met 

 by Henry Braithwaite, of Stanley, one of 

 the very few guides who know how to 

 reach the heart of the interior. A wagon 

 carried our tent and outfit five miles. 

 Then we were at the very last house, and 

 there everything was loaded upon a sled 

 with wide wooden runners. Two horses 

 struggled with this load, urged on by a 

 teamster whose profanity was a household 

 word in the settled portion of that valley. 

 For twenty-five miles, over roots, fallen 



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