he wild romantic scenes of the wilderness--has a peculiar
and thrilling interest. Each tree I passed on leaving shook its boughs
mournfully, as if it felt hurt at being thus forsaken. The very rocks
seemed to frown reproachfully, while I stood up and gazed wistfully
after each well-known object for the last time. Even the wind seemed to
sympathise with the rest; for, while it urged the boat swiftly away from
my late home, like a faithful friend holding steadfastly on its
favouring course, still it fell occasionally, and rose again in gusts
and sighs, as if it wished to woo me back again to solitude. I started
on this, the last voyage, shortly after the departure of my friend the
trapper, leaving the palace in charge of an unfortunate gentleman who
brought a wife and five children with him, which rendered Seven Islands
a little less gloomy than heretofore. Five men accompanied me in an
open boat; and on the morning of the 25th August we took our departure
for Tadousac. And, truly, Nature appeared to be aware that it was my
_last_ voyage, for she gave us the most unkind and harassing treatment
that I ever experienced at her hands.

The first few miles were accomplished pleasantly enough. We had a fair
breeze, and not too much of it; but towards the afternoon it shifted,
and blew directly against us, so that the men were obliged to take to
the oars; and, as the boat was large, it required them all to pull,
while I steered.

The men were all French Canadians: a merry, careless, but persevering
set of fellows, just cut out for the work they had to do, and, moreover,
accustomed to it. The boat was a clumsy affair, with two spritsails and
a jigger or mizzen; but, notwithstanding, she looked well at a distance,
and though incapable of progressing very fast through the water, she
could stand a pretty heavy sea. We were badly off, how ever, with
regard to camp gear, having neither tent nor oilcloth to protect us
should it rain--indeed, all we had to guard us from the inclemency of
the weather at night was one blanket each man; but as the weather had
been fine and settled for some time back, we hoped to get along pretty
well.

As for provisions, we had pork and flour, besides a small quantity of
burnt-pease coffee, which I treasured up as a great delicacy.

Our first encampment was a good one. The night, though dark, was fine
and calm, so that we slept very comfortably upon the beach, every man
with his feet towards