ere rose and wild raspberry;
there were apple and plum trees, and whole thickets of the "Pembina."
There is, in fact, no part of the world where a greater variety of wild
fruit has been found indigenous than upon the banks of the Red River of
the North, and this variety extended to the little island where our
voyageurs had encamped.

The camp had been placed under a beautiful tree--the tacamahac, or
balsam poplar. This is one of the finest trees of America, and one of
those that extend farthest north into the cold countries. In favourable
situations it attains a height of one hundred and fifty feet, with a
proportionate thickness of trunk; but it is oftener only fifty or eighty
feet high. Its leaves are oval, and, when young, of a rich yellowish
colour, which changes to a bright green. The buds are very large,
yellow, and covered with a varnish, which exhales a delightful
fragrance, and gives to the tree its specific name.

It was near sunset on the afternoon of Saturday, the travellers had just
finished their repast, and were reclining around a fire of red cedar,
whose delicate smoke curled up among the pale green leaves of the
poplars. The fragrant smell of the burning wood, mixed with the aromatic
odour of the balsam-tree, filled the air with a sweet perfume, and,
almost without knowing why, our voyageurs felt a sense of pleasure
stealing over them. The woods of the little island were not without
their voices.

The scream of the jay was heard, and his bright azure wing appeared now
and then among the foliage. The scarlet plumage of the cardinal grosbeak
flashed under the beams of the setting sun; and the trumpet-note of the
ivory-billed woodpecker was heard near the centre of the island. An
osprey was circling in the air, with his eye bent on the water below,
watching for his finny prey; and a pair of bald eagles were winging
their way towards the adjacent mainland. Half-a-dozen turkey vultures
were wheeling above the beach, where some object, fish or carrion, had
been thrown up by the waves.

For some time the party remained silent, each contemplating the scene
with feelings of pleasure. Francois, as usual, first broke the silence.

"I say, cook, what's for dinner to-morrow?"

It was to Lucien this speech was addressed. He was regarded as the
_maitre de cuisine_.

"Roast or boiled--which would you prefer?" asked the cook, with a
significant smile.

"Ha! ha! ha!" laughed Francois; "boiled, indeed! a pretty