30 A SPORTING PARADISE 



not seen us yet. He swings his great horns 

 just a little, the steam rises from his broad 

 nostrils. Lazily he winks his eye. I can see 

 every hair upon his back. Carefully I push the 

 camera above the prostrate tree-trunk, first 

 brushing the snow away with my hand. Tick, 

 goes the shutter and the great beast is getting 

 up. The antlers swing, he rises two feet at 

 a time, like an ox, hesitates an instant, as a 

 moose always does, shows the little symptoms 

 of fright so familiar to those who know the habits 

 of the moose, and then goes down the mountains 

 like a runaway locomotive." 



Mr. Irland's remarks about the frost attacking 

 the trees recalls one of my own experiences 

 in 1890. The sun was still shining in the skies, 

 though the wind had become very cold and 

 penetrating. Occasionally, as the temperature fell 

 lower and lower, there would sound from the 

 depths of the wood a startling noise, like the 

 crack of a rifle, and I felt my heart throb 

 tumultuously with excitement. As evening 

 approached these cracks became louder and more 

 frequent, until a roar, as of artillery, echoed 

 through the forest. These tremendous noises 

 resulted from the frost attacking the giant trees. 



