TELOS CUT AND LAKE.
The egg was dark brown, spotted with black, eight and seven-eighth inches at the longest, and seven and one-quarter at the shortest circumference. The young bird had every appearance of a goslin, with down of a grayish black, and did not seem in the least annoyed as I stroked its glossy coat. Withdrawing my canoe, and creeping quietly back into the thicket, I enjoyed the lesson in frog catching, taught the young one by the old birds, and I left them undisturbed in their happiness.
It was with great reluctance that we broke camp early on the morning of August 12th, rolled our tent, and, arranging our kit in the canoe, paddled out into Chamberlin Lake and bade farewell to the scenes around which clustered so many pleasant memories.
The fresh milk, butter, and eggs of the farm were a happy relief to our regular fare of salt pork and hard tack, while the fresh straw, which Mr. Nutting so kindly offered us from his barns, for the floor of our tent, added greatly to our comfort.
But we had not started with the idea that in this wilderness we were to enjoy all the dainties of life, for in order to explore its depths we must give up luxuries and comforts which at home seem indispensable.
How often in my earlier years, while pursuing the study of geography at school, did my pencil in drawing maps wander over this endless tract of territory to the north and east of Moosehead Lake, striving to picture to my imagination its elements.
This great lake near the center of the State, together with few of the largest rivers whose source then seemed a doubt, were about all that relieved the picture, and I was daily discovering new beauties of scenery little known to the outside world.
“A land of streams! Some, like a downward smoke,