stuffing himself with the Indians’ moose-meat, and was the butt of his companions accordingly.  He seems to have thought that it was a feast “to eat all.”  It is commonly said that the white man finally surpasses the Indian on his own ground, and it was proved true in this case.  I cannot swear to his employment during the hours of darkness, but I saw him at it again as soon as it was light, though he came a quarter of a mile to his work.

The rain prevented our continuing any longer in the woods; so giving some of our provisions and utensils to the Indians, we took leave of them.  This being the steamer’s day, I set out for the lake at once.  At the carry-man’s camp I saw many little birds, brownish and yellowish, with some white tail-feathers, hopping on the wood-pile, in company with the slate-colored snow-bird, (Fringilla hiemalis,) but more familiar than they.  The lumberers said that they came round their camps, and they gave them a vulgar name.  Their simple and lively note, which was heard in all the woods, was very familiar to me, though I had never before chanced to see the bird while uttering it, and it interested me not a little, because I had had many a vain chase in a spring-morning in the direction of that sound, in order to identify the bird.  On the 28th of the next month, (October,) I saw in my yard, in a drizzling day, many of the same kind of birds flitting about amid the weeds, and uttering a faint chip merely.  There was one full-plumaged Yellow-crowned Warbler (Sylvia coronata) among them, and I saw that the others were the young birds of that season.  They had followed me from Moosehead and the North.  I have since frequently seen the full-plumaged ones while uttering that note in the spring.

I walked over the carry alone and waited at the head of the lake.  An eagle, or some other large bird, flew screaming away from its perch by the shore at my approach.  For an hour after I reached the shore there was not a human being to be seen, and I had all that wide prospect to myself.  I thought that I heard the sound of the steamer before she came in sight on the open lake.  I noticed at the landing, when the steamer came in, one of our bedfellows, who had been a-moose-hunting the night before, now very sprucely dressed in a clean white shirt and fine black pants, a true Indian dandy, who had evidently come over the carry to show himself to any arrivers on the north shore of Moosehead Lake, just as New York dandies take a turn up Broadway and stand on the steps of a hotel.

Midway the lake we took on board two manly-looking middle-aged men, with their bateau, who had been exploring for six weeks as far as the Canada line, and had let their beards grow.  They had the skin of a beaver, which they had recently caught, stretched on an oval hoop, though the fur was not good at that season.  I talked with one of them, telling him that I had come all this distance partly to see where the white-pine, the Eastern stuff of