The next morning at breakfast, McQuaigh announced that in five minutes after that meal was disposed of, we should be on our way for the part of the forest which was to be the scene of our operations. A Moose deer is a great prize, which is not often secured, and the appearance of one makes quite a noise in a neighbourhood. For some days back a rumour had been rife throughout the township that one had been seen at a point about three miles distant from McQuaigh’s residence; and it was only on the evening before our arrival, that that worthy had been himself informed by a man who had come from a neighbouring settlement that he had crossed its track on the way. This accounted for a somewhat high state of fever in which we found him on arrival; and our appearance gave him great relief, by furnishing him at once with an excuse for a hunt, and companions in his sport. Having plentifully provided ourselves with creature comforts from McQuaigh’s larder and whiskey-cask, we started in a common farm sleigh, in which we had all to stand upright, for the point at which we were to push into the forest. McQuaigh had secured the attendance of a French Canadian named Jean Baptiste, who was a servant on an adjoining farm, and who was as expert a Moosehunter as any man in the province. Having gained the summit of a steep hill, the gillie was sent back with the sleigh, and we prepared to diverge into the bush. The snow lay fully five feet deep around us; and before leaving the beaten track, our first care was to adjust our snow-shoes, which are indispensable to Canadian winter sport. Each shoe is about the size of a large kite, which it also resembles in shape. The outer frame is made of light cedar, bent and bound together by two slender bars, placed about equidistant from both ends. The thin spaces contained between the outer frame and the bars, are filled up with a network composed of a substance resembling cat-gut. The toe is attached to the snow-shoe close to the front bar, the heel being left at liberty: so that when it is raised in the act of dragging the foot forward, the snow-shoe is not raised with it, being dragged horizontally upon the surface. The object of the snow-shoe is to prevent the pedestrian from sinking in the soft snow, which it effects by giving him a far broader basis to rest upon than Nature has provided him. Thus accoutred, a man will pass rapidly, and in safety over the deepest deposits—having to take much longer strides than usual, in order that the snow-shoes may clear one another. The exercise is somewhat fatiguing, and requires some practice to be perfect in it. Blungle was not an adept, and before he had proceeded ten paces, he was prostrate on his face, and fully three feet beneath the surface. His plight in somewhat resembled that of the boy who had let the inflated bladders—with the aid of which he attempted to swim—slip down to his feet, which they elevated to the surface, keeping his head, however, under water.