APPENDIX. 341 



Tlic branches are broken more fiercely, and liorns are rapidly drawn 

 across stems as if to whet them for the combat. Momentarily I expect 

 to hear the erashin<]f of rival antlers. One by one the bulls pass our 

 position, find I long to get up and dash into the dark line of forest, 

 and with a chance shot scatter the procession ; but to do so would 

 entail wanton disturbance of the country ; so we patiently wait till 

 the last moose has passed. 



" Never before had I heard the calmness of the night in the Nova 

 Scotia forest so disturbed ; they had passed as a storm ; and now the 

 barren and the surrounding country were once more enveloped in 

 the calm repose of an autumnal night, unbroken, save by the chirrup 

 of the snake in the swamp." 



Of all premonitors of the approach of a storm, the night voices of 

 the baiTed owl (Symium nebulosum) and the loon are the surest. 

 " The ' coogoffucslc ' is noisy again ; more rain comin'," says the 

 Indian, and whether we hear the unwonted chorus of wild hootings 

 soon after sundo\vn or at daybreak, the storm will surely come within 

 twelve hours. Such is likewise the case in summer, when ft'om our 

 fishing camps we hear the plaintive, quavering cry of the great 

 nortliern diver echoing over the calm surface, and amongst the 

 groups of islets of the forest lakes, and quickly repeated without 

 intermission, during the night. In the autumn, in close damp 

 weather, and especially before rain, the little tree frog (Hyla squir- 

 rellus), rejoicing in the prospect of a relaxed skin, pipes vigorously 

 his cheerful note throughout the night, and the BroJc! B-r-reIc! of the 

 ■wood-frog (Rana sylvatica) is hoard ft-om pools of water standing in 

 hollows in the forest. A sound that has alw.ays been pleasant to my 

 ears when lying amongst the low bushes on the open barren, is the 

 Chink! chinlc! chink! of the little chain mouse as he gambols around. 

 It is a faint silvery tinkling, as might be produced by shaking the 

 links of a small chain, whence his common name. 



The little Acadian owl, commonly called the "saw-whet" (Ulula 

 Acadica), is not uncommon in our woods, uttering morning and even- 

 ing its peculiar and (until known) mysterious tinkling sound from 

 the thickest groves of spruces. In one of these I once captured a 

 specimen just about sundown, when proceeding to a barren to call 

 moose. The Indian made a noose on the to]i of a long wattle, and 

 after a little manoeuvring, during which the bird kept hovering round 

 us, hissing and setting up its wings and feathers in great anger, he 

 got it over its neck and secured it without injmy. This little owl, 

 just turning the scale at two ounces, will actually attack and kill a rat. 



