The necessities and shifts of a life in the woods are described in so many works on North American travel, with exhaustive treatises on materiel and outfits, that it becomes unnecessary to dilate on this topic. Indeed there is not much to be said with regard to camping in these eastern woodlands. Our expeditions never extend very far from the base of supply, nor have we to contend with such dangers as those incident on prairie travel.

Everything necessary for the woods is to be got in the stores of all the large provincial towns, and almost every storekeeper will be able to inform the traveller of what he wants in the way of tin ware and provisions, and how the outfit should be packed.

Bringing with him his particular fancies in the way of breechloaders or the old style, he can get fair rods, quite good enough for the rough work on American forest streams, and good tackle and flies in either Halifax or St. Johns, where also a first-rate American click reel may be got of German silver or bronzed aluminum.

An elaborate canteen, with all its nicely-fitting arrangements, got up for a Crimean or Abyssinian campaign, is all very well, perhaps, for such purposes; but where tinsmiths shops are frequent at the starting point, no good is to be got by bringing such traps across the Atlantic. To save trouble and room I have frequently purchased my bunch of tins at the very last settlement where a store existed, before turning into the woods. It is well to remember, however, to get the handle of the frying-pan “fixed” so as to double back, and so pack with the plates, mugs, &c., into the big outside tin can, which holds the entire camp service; otherwise the Indian who carries it through the woods will probably grumble all the way, as the stem is constantly catching in the bushes.

Except in winter, when opportunities occur of getting one’s traps hauled in on a sled over some logging road, everything has to be “backed” through the woods, to the hunting camp, and, consequently, anything protruding from the loads is liable to impede one’s progress. Hence the bundles should be as near as possible the breadth of the back, all loads being thus carried, with a strap (the broader the better) encircling the chest and shoulders.

The Indian, used to the work from infancy, will often carry a hundred weight by a withy of birch or withered bush, which seems as though it would cut to the bone; but to the white man, unaccustomed to carrying a load thus, a well-balanced bundle and broad carrying-strap are of the first importance, particularly as long journeys are often thus made, and every true sportsman likes to do a fair share of the work.

A hint may be inserted here that one of the greatest drawbacks to progress under such unavoidable circumstances is to lose one's temper, and a firm determination should be made at starting to avoid doing so. I grant it is often hard of prevention when two or three consecutive stumbles over windfalls or painful collision of the shins with sharp stumps are followed by suddenly sinking on one leg up to the knee in a black mud hole, and the load, slewing round, brings you over altogether into wet moss, or still worse, when the unpractised hand nervously attempts the often necessary passage of a deep brook or still-water stream (the latter is a frequent feature in the forest), and the uncertain foot glides from the slippery bridge—a fallen tree—followed by a tremendous splash, and one or two expletives as a matter of course; but depend upon it, the less you fret under such circumstances the better you will come in to camp by a deal. The Indians generally carry 50 lb. to 70 lb. weight, including gun (7 lb. or 8 lb.); yours would be 20 lb. to 30 lb., and this you ought to carry if you are fit to enter the woods at all. To let you know, however, what is often before you, here is a description of a very common feature in the woods—an alder swamp:—

Take a substratum of black mud, into which you will sink at least up to your knees, perhaps up to your hips ; cover this over with a treacherous crust of peat, turf, and moss; over this strew windfalls, i.e., dead, fallen trees, with the branches broken off close to the trunks, leaving sharp spikes; form an interlaced network of these, sprinkling in a few granite rocks; and cover all this over with a thick growth of alder bushes about five feet high, so that you cannot possibly see where you are putting your feet; vary the ground with a few boggy streams and “ honey pots ” or mud holes. Then walk across this with a good load on your back, and your gun under your arm, without losing your temper!

For either winter or summer work the common gray homespun of the country is the best material for the woods. It is very strong, almost impossible to tear by catching against the trees, and porous, which is also a great advantage, as it dries so quickly. Its colour, too, is in its favour, being so like that of rocks or tree stems. An almost colourless material is as necessary for moose hunting as it is for fishing, though I have seen a good New York sportsman flinging over a clean pool on the brightest of days with a scarlet flannel shirt and black continuations, and get fish withal.

The Canadian smock, known in England as the Norfolk blouse, is a capital style of coat for hunting. Pockets according to taste, and a piece of leather on either shoulder and another on the inside of the right arm to ease the pressure of the gun.

The camp generally taken into the woods is a spread of strong cotton cloth soaked with boiled oil and well dried in the sun. Its shape is best understood by describing the framework of the camp as follows :—Two uprights with forks at the end stuck into the ground some eight or ten feet apart, the crutches about six feet from the base; a cross piece between these well lashed on, on which rest the tops of some half-dozen long slanting poles —fir or larch saplings. The canvas is spread over and tied; two wings (triangular pieces) form the sides, and are tied to the uprights. This is the usual form of open camp for summer or the fall. The fire is arranged in front. You sleep on an elastic bed of silver-fir boughs (not spruce, mind, or you would be most uncomfortably pricked), artistically spread by the Indians underneath ; they rough it in the open, and coil up under their blankets at the foot of a tree on the opposite side of the fire. If you are on a fishing excursion, encamped by the waterside and it rains, they turn the canoes, bottom up, over themselves.

In winter they make a leaning cover for themselves of boughs and birch bark nearly joining yours (room being left above for the ascent of the smoke), and fill in the sides with the bushes and slabs of split fir, the doorway being covered by a suspended rug. With plenty of firewood at hand, no one who had not been in the woods in winter would credit the comfort and cosiness found in these hunting camps. In fact, the ease with which the wilderness can be made a home with so little labour, and the entire independence of the sojourner in the woods who has set up a good camp well stocked with provision for a fortnight’s campaign, and a few changes of flannels and stockings, contribute principally to the charms of forest life. We are seldom storm staid or lose a day by remaining within.

“The frost might glitter, it would blight no crop,
The falling rain will spoil no holiday.
We were made freemen of the forest laws,
All dressed, like Nature, fit for her own ends,
Essaying nothing she cannot perform.”

writes one of America’s poets; and when the snow-storm is driving or the rain drops patter on the autumnal leaves strewn on the ground, it is often seasonable weather to the hunter; and the evening closes over many an exciting tale of what has been seen or done in the chase on such days.

As a summer residence I have used a very portable little square camp, opening at one end. The top was suspended on a ridge pole bound to two uprights, and the sloping sides stretched and fastened to pegs; it had a valence all round about two feet high. The area of the surface it covered was some eight feet by ten. Not being oiled, it weighed only a dozen pounds or so, and when well stretched was quite rain-proof, unless the sides were touched by a gun or anything leaning against them, when it would drip.

Never encamp in a low site at the foot of a hill; for if is not pleasant, however well you may be protected from the falling waters, to find yourself becoming suddenly soaked by the rising flood, in the nice comfortable hollow which your form has made in your bed of boughs. We never expect, and rarely find, any unpleasant results in the way of a severe cold from these little disagreeables of camping out; living constantly in the open air steels the sensibility of the system to catarrhal affections, and the Indians aver that they are more apt to take cold by going into a house than we are by going into the open air. And so we take things very philosophically; so much so, sometimes, that a friend of mine, on being roused from his slumbers, on the plea that he was lying in three inches of water, immediately lay down again in the old spot, averring that “ the water there was warmer than anywhere else in the camp.” In this country, storms of this description never last very long, twelve to twenty-four hours from the commencement being the general duration, when the wind veering round to the west (our fine’-weather quarter), soon clears off the rolling cloud masses from the sky, and a glorious sun and cool zephyr quickly dry the dripping forest.

I like to have the sound of a bubbling brook for a lullaby when camped in the woods; one’s somniferous tendencies are greatly assisted by the curious chatterings and tinklings of its little falls and rapids. As sleep draws nigh, the multitudinous sounds in turn resemble, almost to reality, those produced by far different causes—now it is men talking in low tones close at hand ; then a distant shout or despairing shriek; and now the impression is that a herd of cattle are crossing the brook, splashing the water ; the deception being aided by the resemblance to the sound of cattle-bells often made by the miniature cascades.

Such streams are sure to occur not far from one’s camp by the lake or river side. They come dancing down from the lakes back in the woods to join the river, shaded by dark firs and hemlocks, full of little falls, eddying round great rocks, which stand out from the stream capped with ferns and lichens, and at whose base are little gravelly pools—the very counterpart in miniature of some of our grander salmon rivers. Had Tennyson ever seen an American forest brook when he wrote his charming little idyll, “The Brook” I must insert one verse :—

“And here and there a foamy flake
Upon me, as I travel,
With many a silvery water-break
Above the golden gravel.”

To return, however, to the sober description of practical experience. Never trust to finding a camp, of the existence of which you may have heard, standing, and ready for habitation; and always allow plenty of daylight to make a new one, in case the old is non est, or gone to pieces. I remember one blazing hot summer’s afternoon going up the banks of Gold River, Nova Scotia, to try some salmon pools at the Grand Falls on the next morning—a twelve miles’ walk. There was a nice camp (so reported) all ready to receive us. Feverish from the heat of the woods, and the severe biting we had received from the huge moose flies and clouds of mosquitoes on the way, we reached the spot long after sundown, in hopes of finding shelter and a good night’s repose, for we were fatigued. An old camp of the meanest construction was found, after considerable search with birch-bark torches, and under its very questionable shelter we extended ourselves in front of a meagre fire which had been kindled with difficulty, there being nothing but fir woods around. Presently we found that the whole of the ancient bedding of dry fir boughs was overrun by large black ants. Now, I had rather be coursed over by rats than by ants at night, as the former vermin seldom act on the offensive towards a sleeping human being; and so, sleep was out of the question till the enemy was exterminated. To effect this, we arose and parted with our beds—to wit, the brown spruce boughs, which we committed to the flames. We then again tried to rest, lying down in the ashes round the fire, but no—on they came again in battalion. With one consent we arose, and rushed up the hill-side into the dark woods, depositing ourselves in the soft moss under the hemlocks. Presently down came a new enemy—pattering drops of rain, precursors of a heavy summer shower. Back to camp; but the ants had not retired for the night; so, peeling off the sheets of bark from the poles, we finally sought a hard bed on the naked rocks by the water’s edge, shielding ourselves from the rain with our birchen waterproofs. Next morning it was discovered that our little packet of tea, carelessly pitched into the back part of the camp, had been burned with the fir boughs ; so our beverage that morning was an infusion of hemlock boughs, a few sprays of which were boiled in water—one of the many devices adopted in the woods as substitutes for tea. Morning disclosed, moreover, a patch of the broad, sickly-looking green leaves of the poison-ivy (Rhus toxicodendron), growing hard by where we had reposed, contact with which would have driven us wild with dangerous irritation. On returning to the sea-pools, however, our miseries were somewhat compensated by killing five dozen newly run sea trout at a pretty stand in a wild meadow, where a cool brook joined the river.

Apropos of the flies which have been just alluded to, none of his relations could have identified my companion (a novice in the woods) next morning. So swollen was his whole countenance that features were obliterated, and for nearly the whole day he was helplessly blind. Many people suffer similarly ; others enjoy comparative immunity from swelling, though copiously bled. On landing from a canoe, the only plan is to light a fire, and make as dense a smoke as possible. Lime juice, petroleum, pork fat, or tar are used, according to fancy, to smear the face and hands as preventives, but the flies will scarcely be denied by such appliances. On salmon-fishing excursions of extended duration on the Nepisiquit and elsewhere, I have generally taken mosquito curtains to cover one’s body at night. By day I and the insects fight it out in a continuous tussle. In a recent number of Land and Water, however, I find a receipt given by my friend “Ubique,” an old hand at “camping out,” which, though I have not had an opportunity of trying for myself is worthy of note. “In nearly all timber lands,” he says, speaking of this part of North America, “large fungi will be found growing on the sides of semidecayed trees; this gather, and dry thoroughly in the sun, when it will smoulder if lighted, like a joss-stick. The smoke is not disagreeable to man, and two or three pieces kept frequently at work will soon drive all the winged pests to other quarters. A piece about the size of a walnut will burn for over a quarter of an hour.”

Overtaken by nightfall, one is sometimes compelled to camp in low-lying swampy ground, when it becomes exceedingly hard to light a fire, owing to the steam rising from the damp, peaty soil beneath. In this case we resort to the following expedient—an excellent plan, worth remembering—namely, to cut down two or three small firs and chop them into lengths of four or five feet, placing them side by side; this forms a platform, and the fire kindles readily upon it, and the platform itself burns with the rest. Another plan for establishing a good fire when there are plenty of rocks to be obtained near the camp, is to make a good broad hearth with flat slabs; the stones will themselves emit much heat when the fire is established, and it will burn better and clearer, and may always be relighted with very little trouble ; and, moreover, the great hole which the fire soon burns in the ground beneath, and into which it sinks, will thus be avoided.

And now for a few remarks on the interior economy of a camp. A small amount of light literature will while away idle hours spent within—magazines or reviews are the best generally. For a fishing camp there are several excellent American publications on the sport of the British provinces, entertainingly descriptive, and sound in advice, which would prove highly useful. They include “Game Fish of the North" by Roosevelt; Norris’s “American Angler,” and Frank Forester’s “Fish and Fishing.” In the former work some excellent receipts will be found for the camp cuisine. I confess to being somewhat of a Spartan as manager of this department, and, before the invention of the really invaluable meat essences, if moose meat, porcupine, or salmon were not in the larder, would fall back upon the staples of a woodman’s diet—navy pork and pilot bread, from day to day, unvaryingly. A Sunday dinner, however, would always comprise a boiling of pea-soup—one of the best descriptions of camp messes—made of split peas, pork bones, lots of sliced onions, potatoes, and pounded biscuit, the latter being added with the seasoning at the last. The utmost vigilance is required towards the close of the performance to prevent any solid crust or deposit adhering to the bottom of the pot, as it would then immediately burn, and burnt pea-soup is altogether uneatable. We write and read in the camp, as we lie on our blankets extended over the comfortable bedding of fir-boughs, by the light of a little lamp filled with the American burning-fluid; it is one of the best and most portable means of lighting a camp that can be taken. A wax candle stuck in a noose of birch-bark drawn tightly round, and held in a split stick sharpened at the end, which is planted in the ground under the name of the Indian candlestick, is another and more common means of illumination; and, should candles or fluid have been forgotten, the following will do as a dernier ressort:—A common tin box (as a percussion-cap box), with a wick passed through a hole in the lid, and fed with lumps of fat; the tin, becoming warm, will keep the fat in the proper state of liquefaction for feeding the wick.

The death of a moose or cariboo is of course an event of great importance in the hunters camp, and is duly celebrated. What gorging, however, on the part of the Indians—they will broil tit bits through half the night. Moose meat is very digestible; cariboo (of a closer fibre) somewhat less so; bear most easily assimilated of all, and “grand to travel on” says the Indian, who never knows when to stop. Failing this, or venison, the porcupine is the great resource of the hunting camp throughout the provinces, with the exception of Cape Breton and Newfoundland, where it is not found. Scalded, scraped, and singed, its bare body expanded on a cross to roast, it looks anything but enticing to a novice. But the appetite of the woods prevails, and overcomes all scruples. It has, at the same time, a drawback in the frequent occurrence of large quantities of entozoa (Tsenia pectinata)—no drawback to the Indian, however; sometimes rather the contrary. An Indian told me, “my grandfather, he like ’em; taste hard though—’most like mustard.”

The hare, and the two sorts of tree grouse, locally known as the birch and spruce partridges (T. umbellus and T. canadensis) also contribute to the camp larder. Two or three hanks of brass wire for snaring the former animal should not be omitted in the outfit. Of the two partridges, the birch (the ruffed grouse) is by far the best. It is white-fleshed and delicate eating : the spruce bird has very dark meat, and tastes like an old pine board.

The universal charge made by the Indian hunters or canoe men, is one dollar per diem, though possibly the camp-keeper who stays at home, cooks, cuts firewood, and sets rabbit snares, &c., may be hired for two-thirds of that amount. They also charge so much a day, say half a dollar, for canoe hire, unless you buy the canoe outright for from eight to twenty dollars, according to her age and size. Bark is getting so scarce in many parts that their charge in this respect is not unreasonable, for in taking a party up a river or through lakes with heavy loads there is considerable wear and tear. To see their faces of anxiety on shooting shoal rapids! not from physical fear, but for the canoe ; and the agonised look when a long grating rub proclaims contact with the rocks, and how eagerly on reaching shore they turn her over to inspect the bottom bark and ascertain if the cut is deep or not! The canoe is their pride; and to many the loss of their little craft would bring the greatest temporary distress. These beautiful adaptations for water transport in the wilderness are far from being so frail as would be imagined at first sight. Though they can be made scarcely exceeding sixty pounds weight, and at the same time sufficiently capacious to carry four persons and luggage, they are models of strength in the framework. The strips of ash which form the gunwale, and the delicate hooped ribs of fir which almost touch each other throughout the length, are most carefully selected. The thwarts are of thin ash, one is placed at either extremity, on which sit the paddlers (kneeling, however, in the bottom in case of rapid water, or a heavy sea on a lake), the other two crossing amidships as supports. I know of no more delightful life than a canoe expedition through the forest. So many luxuries may be taken; and the position in which one reclines, legs stretched at full length in the bottom, with the back propped up against the blankets and loads, is just the one in which to enjoy the ever changing scenery; and whilst on the water you are blessed by a perfect immunity from the flies.

Though of course each fresh abrasion of the outside bark takes off from the value of the canoe, injuries to the bottom or sides are generally mended with great ease and celerity. The slightest puncture is soon detected by the Indian, on turning her over, by suction, the mouth being applied to doubtful looking spots. Eents or gashes of considerable extent are “fixed” by a piece of rag dipped in melted resin softened somewhat by tallow: the forest remedy is the hard gum which plentifully exudes from the black spruce—“chewing gum,” as it is called, being the favourite sweetmeat of the backwoodsman. The bark, however, must be quite dry before the application is made.

In smooth water two vigorous Indians will paddle the ‘ canoe, well loaded, about six miles an hour. In a spurt, however, when they strain to pass another canoe, or to avoid some rapid or rock towards which they are drifting, or to overtake wounded game in the water, they can nearly double this speed. It is a charming sight to watch the passing canoe thus powerfully impelled, from the shore. With its exquisitely symmetrical lines and fragile appearance, as it glides noiselessly yet swiftly through the water, one is strongly impressed with the poet’s fancy that “ the forest’s life was in it, all its mystery and its magic.” Keclining by the river side in the vicinity of the fishing camp, to see a handsome Indian youth bring up his canoe to the shallow landing-place in a graceful sweep, without the slightest concussion, and, lightly stepping out, draw her head up into the bushes, is to recall a just image of a Hiawatha.

“Then once more Cheemaun he patted,
To his birch canoe said ‘Onward!'
And it stirred in all its fibres,
And with one great bound of triumph
Leaped across the water-lilies,
Leaped through tangled flags and rushes,
And upon the beach beyond them
Dry-shod landed Hiawatha.”

As it may be inferred that every sportsman who visits the woodlands or streams of Acadie would wish to be acquainted with the existing local regulations for the protection of game and fish, a summary of the laws framed for this purpose is here introduced.

In Nova Scotia, with regard to fish, it is enacted that,— “Any person taking salmon in fresh water westward of Halifax Harbour between the 31st day of July and the 1st of March, or in fresh water eastward of Halifax Harbour between the 15th day of August and the 1st of March, is liable to a penalty of forty dollars.”

“Bag nets shall not be used in any river or harbour nor within a mile from the mouth of any river under a penalty of forty dollars".

“No nets shall be set or allowed to remain set between an hour before sunset on Saturday, and an hour after sunrise on Monday, under a penalty of forty dollars".

“Any person spearing salmon or sweeping with a net therefor in fresh water is liable to a penalty of forty dollars".

“Nets shall only be placed on one side of a river, shall not extend more than one-third across the same, shall not be placed nearer than an eighth of a mile to each other, nor nearer, than an eighth of a mile to any dam".

“Every dam shall have a sufficient fish way, which shall be kept open during the months of March, May, June, and July. The owner or occupier is liable to a penalty of forty dollars for every time he shall close such passage.”

“The owner of a mill who, after being duly notified, shall neglect or refuse to construct a sufficient fish way is liable to a penalty of one hundred dollars, and if within ten days after such penalty has been inflicted he does not construct such fish way he is liable to have his dam wholly prostrated.”

In respect of the large game, the law stands,—

“No person shall kill, or pursue with intent to kill, any moose, save only during the months of September, October, November, and December, or shall expose for sale, or have in his or her possession, any green moose skin or fresh moose meat, save only in the months aforesaid, and the first five days in the month of January; and no person shall kill, or pursue with intent to kill, any cariboo between the first days of March and September inclusive in any year.”

“No person shall kill more than five moose or cariboo, during any one year or season, under a penalty of twenty dollars for each offence — one-half to the informer.”

“No person whatever shall set snares or traps, for moose or cariboo, under a penalty of twenty dollars— one half to the informer.”

"The export from this Province of moose or cariboo hides is hereby prohibited and unlawful, and the hides attempted to be exported shall be forfeited, and the owner or person attempting to export the same shall, on conviction, be liable to pay a sum not to exceed five dollars on each hide, to be recovered in the name of any prosecutor in a summary manner before two justices of the peace, and, when recovered, to go to the prosecutor.”

With regard to smaller game,—

“No snares shall be set for hares between the first days of March and September in any year, under a penalty of two dollars for each offence; and all snares shall be taken up during the aforesaid close season under a penalty of two dollars for each snare not removed by the parties setting the same, on or before the first day of March, to be recovered in the same manner as in the preceding section.”

“Partridges, snipe, and woodcock, are protected from 1st day of March to 1st of September,—penalty, ten shillings for every bird killed out of season.”

“No person is permitted to have any of the above in his possession in the close season, under a penalty of ten shillings for each.”

Exceptional cases to all the game laws are made on behalf of the Indians, who abuse their privilege, however, most shamefully, and to the detriment of those for whom the preservation of the animals of the forest is yearly becoming of more importance. It is very well to argue that the poor Indian has a right to shoot a moose or spear a salmon for his own use at any time of the year; but when they shoot moose wholesale in the deep snow late iii the spring, disturbing the cows when they ought to be at peace, and often leaving piles of meat to decay in the fast-melting snow of April, it is time that this wanton mode of proceeding should be put an end to. It is hardly, however, at their doors that the blame is to be laid—it is the ready market that tempts them; and although a question would be raised if they were to bring their meat into the larger provincial towns, yet the residents at the smaller settlements will always purchase whenever they can procure it, the local magistrates themselves sometimes setting the example. The month of April is an idle time with the settlers, and they often accompany the Indians, who may be located in their neighbourhood, for a “spree” in the woods, chasing and scaring the moose with long-legged noisy curs, on the crusted surface of the old snow. Throughout North America there seems to be a general difficulty and unwillingness, on the part of the local authorities, to maintain the dignity of the game laws—the more so as the locality is further from the seat of government where the laws are framed. And until the government can pay overseers who shall be scrupulously independent of favour or partiality, in the districts to which they are appointed, and whose whole care shall be to bring to justice every case in which the law is transgressed, we can hope for no satisfactory and impartial protection of game or salmon in those districts in which such protection is most required.

The author, for many years connected with the Council of the Nova Scotian Inland Fisheries and Game Preservation Society (latterly as Vice-President), under the continued direction of his esteemed personal friend, frequently mentioned in these pages as “The Old Hunter,” who has presided over it since its inception, has had much to do with the framing of the present laws relating to large game.

From the almost incredible slaughter of moose in the concluding winter months, consequent, in some seasons, on a continuance of deep encrusted snow in the woods, a restriction of the season in which these animals might formerly be killed (lasting until the last day of February) appeared a most necessary step. Though as true sport moose hunting is seldom pursued in the latter part of the winter, yet the instincts of the Indians, and of the settlers generally, appear so ferocious that they seek the opportunity of the animals’ most prostrate and defenceless condition to inflict a slaughter the excitement of which apparently temporarily blinds them to reason. Of the Indians it is the old story, corroborated by every traveller from Labrador to Vancouver, from the Prairies to the Pole. With regard to the latter class, it is enough to say that the time when the crust will bear their yelping curs, racing the plunging, bleeding moose through the forest, is looked forward to with the greatest anticipations of pleasure.

In view of amendment of this lamentable state of affairs, the regulations concerning the hunting of the elk in the Scandinavian peninsula were referred to. Once, the elk, unprotected, and regarded as a noxious animal, was on the point of extinction in Norway. Government thereupon enacted a stringent law forbidding these animals being shot for a long term of years. This was afterwards modified, and the shooting season as regards elk is now from the 1st of August to the last day of October.

As, however, in Nova Scotia our best hunting season is comprised in the first two winter months—the snow being light, and so giving the moose every chance of escape, whilst it enables the carcass, when shot, to be taken easily out of the woods—it was deemed expedient to terminate moose hunting with the last day of the year; and so the case now stands.

In a country like Nova Scotia, where a gun is kept in almost every homestead bordering on the forest, or where by the river side * the barns are constantly occupied by drying nets, whilst the placid pools are nightly enlivened by burning birch bark, that its fish and wild unprotected game of all descriptions should have rapidly declined in abundance within the memory of comparatively young people, is not much to be wondered at. The whole continent of North America, not only within its settled districts but even in the remotest wilds penetrated by the mercenary hunter, has undergone a great change in the relation between the distribution of its animal life and the other features of its physical geography within the last quarter of a century. The Anglo-Saxon transplanted has revelled in his inherent love of sport, which frequently turns into a lust of slaughter, until the game of North America has in many cases altogether disappeared before the cruel tide of wanton destruction which has overtaken it. This decrease is yearly accelerated by increasing demand for the spoils of the chase or the products of the waters, the inevitable result being extinction of species.

And now our neighbours of the Northern States, who have completely lost their salmon long since, and can scarcely boast of any game in their wild lands east of the prairies, are calling loudly for restocking their rivers artificially in the one case, and, in the other, have enacted stringent laws to preserve the scanty remnant of their deer and grouse.

However inexpedient or impracticable it may have been in the earlier history of the country to stem the torrent of wasteful destruction which has swept over this continent, there is no doubt that here, as in every other part of the world, increasing civilisation would at length call for protection of game. Game, both as a luxury and as a means of recreation, is a necessary adjunct to the establishment of a country tenanted by Anglo-Saxons. Witness the anxiety with which our antipodal colonists are watching their attempts to introduce deer, game birds, and salmon into Australia, Tasmania, and New Zealand; and the eagerness with which the young sportsmen of the great cities of the States disperse themselves throughout the land in search of recreation from the prairies to the rivers of Labrador. This demand will eventually in this country ensure protection. Nature’s great stock-farm, though nearly worn out by the recklessness of the first-comers, will yet repay careful husbandry; and where so large a portion, of British North America especially, is destined for ever to remain in a state of nature, it is the duty of the people to prevent it from becoming an unprofitable, repulsive wilderness ; and how much better to take vigorous measures to preserve the remnant of the former stock than at length be compelled to have recourse to the tedious process of acclimatisation or of artificial propagation.

It is perhaps within the last fifteen years that the most startling decrease has taken place, both in the salmon fisheries and game of British North America, and has engaged the attention of the various colonial governments. Laws to protect the wild animals at certain times called close seasons, and stringent regulations to ensure fair play to the salmon, have been passed throughout our Atlantic colonies within this period. As regards legislation, nothing seems neglected, and still the game and fish are decreasing as heretofore. We, at least in these provinces, never hear of cases of game-law breakers in the police reports, yet, granted that the law is sufficient to protect, it must be through its violation that the evil is not checked. The constant cause of this we all know to be the defectiveness of administration, and in this part of the world, where there is no such thing as poaching upon private property, which in England would lead to prosecution through the injured rights of an individual, we do not wonder at it. In the old country the game is private property, to protect which the game-laws are framed; whilst in the protection of the salmon there are mixed interests—the great value of the fisheries to the country, the netting interests at the mouths, and those of the proprietors of the inland fisheries on the rivers passing through their estates or rented. Consequently any violation of either game or fishery law is there directly injurious to a proprietor, and so meets with quick justice.

In Nova Scotia, New Brunswick, or Canada, on the other hand, the wild denizens of the forests, commonly called game, are public property, or rather the property of the country. No private rights are infringed by moose hunting or partridge shooting in any part of the country at any season, whilst, in the absence of proprietors of inland fisheries, the netting interests become so overwhelming that it is not surprising that the law should be boldly challenged to prevent the salmon being speared and netted on their beds to the very end of the spawning season. It is to assist in carrying out the protection afforded by law that societies have sprung up in various parts of British America within the above-mentioned period of time—public associations of all members of the community who are anxious to arrest the decline of fish and game, and willing to pay a small annual subscription to the funds of the society, binding themselves to bring to its notice for prosecution all cases of infringement of the law coming under their cognisance. The Canadian fish and game clubs radiating through the country from the parent society at Quebec, where the system commenced in 1857, have met with marked success, from the spirit with which they have been conducted ; and now the tributaries of the Saint Lawrence in the vicinity of Quebec again afford excellent sport, and promise fairly to return to their former importance as salmon rivers, where for years before this fish had all but become extinct.

The Nova Scotian Association before alluded to has likewise similarly striven, and succeeded in enlisting a large number of sympathising contributors to its support, not only from the sporting community but amongst some of the mill-owners themselves. To the willingness of this class in many instances to open up the rivers, which their mills and mill-dams at present obstruct, to the passage of salmon and gaspereaux, I gladly bear witness. The one uncompromising form of fish-ladder, however, which it was first attempted by government to force upon them, regardless of local peculiarities of their “water privileges,” proved a nauseating dose, and no wonder. Every mill-dam lias some peculiar features as regards the bed of the river. In many cases a few natural steps by the rocky sides of a fall will answer all the purposes; in others a single slanting board opposing the fall over a small dam will give all the water necessary to the ascent of fish. At all events, local circumstances are so various that no one pattern of fish-ladder can be authorised for any number of streams. A government officer—a thorough engineer, and perfectly acquainted with the habits and necessities of salmon and other migratory fish, is what is wanted in Nova Scotia (in Canada the want is supplied), and to conclude in my own words in framing a report on this subject two years since, “Your committee beg to state their conviction that, although the society has not been idle, but little can be effected in carrying out a proper supervision of the inland fisheries, unless an independent and salaried officer be appointed by the Provincial Government.

“The difficulties of prosecution, owing to the local partialities of both witnesses and magistrates, would then be removed, whilst the judgment and advice of such an executive, with regard to the placing of efficient fish-ladders, under the various peculiarities of river banks and mill-dams, would be considered decisive in overcoming all obstructions.”