forethought. One of the requisites, indeed, is to be found
everywhere in the St. John region; for all the lakes and rivers are full
of clear, cool water, and the traveller does not need to search for a
spring. But it is always necessary to look carefully for a bit of smooth
ground on the shore, far enough above the water to be dry, and slightly
sloping, so that the head of the bed may be higher than the foot. Above
all, it must be free from big stones and serpentine roots of trees. A
root that looks no bigger that an inch-worm in the daytime assumes the
proportions of a boa-constrictor at midnight--when you find it under
your hip-bone. There should also be plenty of evergreens near at hand
for the beds. Spruce will answer at a pinch; it has an aromatic smell;
but it is too stiff and humpy. Hemlock is smoother and more flexible;
but the spring soon wears out of it. The balsam-fir, with its elastic
branches and thick flat needles, is the best of all. A bed of these
boughs a foot deep is softer than a mattress and as fragrant as a
thousand Christmas-trees. Two things more are needed for the ideal
camp-ground--an open situation, where the breeze will drive away the
flies and mosquitoes, and an abundance of dry firewood within easy
reach. Yes, and a third thing must not be forgotten; for, says my lady
Greygown:

"I shouldn't feel at home in camp unless I could sit in the door of the
tent and look out across flowing water."

All these conditions are met in our favourite camping place below the
first fall in the Grande Decharge. A rocky point juts out into the
rivet and makes a fine landing for the canoes. There is a dismantled
fishing-cabin a few rods back in the woods, from which we can borrow
boards for a table and chairs. A group of cedars on the lower edge of
the point opens just wide enough to receive and shelter our tent. At
a good distance beyond ours, the guides' tent is pitched; and the big
camp-fire burns between the two dwellings. A pair of white-birches lift
their leafy crowns far above us, and after them we name the place Le
Camp aux Bouleaux.

"Why not call trees people?--since, if you come to live among them
year after year, you will learn to know many of them personally, and an
attachment will grow up between you and them individually." So writes
that Doctor Amabilis of woodcraft, W. C. Prime, in his book, Among
the Northern Hills, and straightway launches forth into eulogy on the
white-birch. And truly it