THE FLIGHT OF THE MOOSE-BIRD. 
By FrREDERIC Howarp. 
Not more than three feet from the desk at 
which I write stands the inanimate form of one 
of the best companions I ever had during a trip 
in the Maine woods. He is a biped, but a 
feathered one; a rather plain dun and gray bird 
of no special attraction of plumage or voice. 
He belongs to the family of jays, and is the 
most respectable of that garrulous class of 
birds, and holds the dignity of the order in his 
keeping. He is the Canada jay of ornitho- 
logical nomenclature, but I love the name of 
“«moose bird,” given him by the Indians from 
his habit of alighting on the backs of the moose 
and picking out the ticks that infest the skins of 
those animals, a feat which I never saw him 
perform, but, to judge from other actions, 
should deem him quite capable of successfully 
accomplishing. 
My first acquaintance with this particular 
individual was one day in September, when the 
stage that was transporting me from Kingfield 
up to the noted wilds of Franklin County had 
halted at one of the springs that are so frequent 
along the Eustis highway. 
We had left the willing horses to stand while 
we quenched our thirst, and I, returning in 
advance of my friends, found the subject of our 
sketch perched on the “off” hind wheel, bal- 
ancing himself with some difficulty as he 
peered in all directions in search for stray 
_ crumbs from our lunch. That he had evidently 
gormandized himself from an opened tin of 
canned corned beef could be seen by the air ot 
indifference with which he regarded my ap- 
pearance. As the Frenchman said, ‘I have 
dined,” and nothing could disturb the equanim- 
ity ot a full stomach. 
The more noisy return of my companions 
caused him to discreetly remove himself to the 
cover of a spruce that grew by the roadside, 
and I supposed that we had parted forever. 
Two hours later we were enjoying the hos- 
pitality of Mrs. Hines, well known to every 
Dead River tourist, and, while the horses were 
being changed after dinner, I strolled out to 
enjoy acigar. AsI passed the rail fence be- 
yond the house a flirt of wings caused me to: 
look up. There, sitting on a stake, was my 
friend of the morning; readily identified by a 
white feather on his left wing covert, and eying 
the stage as an epicure would a feast. I 
was now greatly interested in my new friend,. 
and, in a burst of enthusiasm, confided to the 
stage driver how the bird had followed us. 
The veteran Horace did not enthuse with sen- 
timent at all. ‘Sho! them moose birds'll 
chase a camping party for a week,” was the: 
manner of speech in which he dashed water on 
my hopes for a special friendship existing be- 
tween us. 
When we reached the end of our ride at 
Smith’s and left the stage, Mr. Jay was again 
seen. He was now obliged to choose between 
his two loves, the stage or its contents, and the 
top of a lofty spruce was the elevated forum 
from which he viewed our actions and decided 
his choice. As we removed our duffle and 
swung it over our backs, and struck out on our 
six-mile walk to the lake, he disappeared in the 
same direction. Nothing more was seen of him 
until we reached the camps at Tim, and then 
he was in company with others. He had 
picked up a few friends as he came through the: 
woods and put them ‘‘on to his snap,” a con- 
dition of affairs they were ready to accept. 
It is impossible to transcribe all of the inci- 
dents with which he was associated. It might 
not interest the reader, but there are some 
things that stand out in his career too good to- 
let go unrecorded. 
We were fishing one afternoon on Tim. 
The trout did not rise well, and we conciuded 
totry bait. Sneer not, my angling friend. We 
needed fish up at the camps, and therefore 
were justified. The box of worms “fur bait” 
that we had brought into the woods at consid- 
erable trouble, a fact which we now congratu- 
lated ourselves upon, was opened and placed 
in the bow of our light boat after we had filled 
our belt boxes. We dropped the hooks to the 
cool depths to lure the big fellows, and were 
so successtul that we were obliged to renew 
