y they pursued their way, till emerging into a wider space,
they came among those singularly picturesque groups of rounded gravel
hills, where the Cold Creek once more met their view, winding its way
towards a grove of evergreens, where it was again lost to the eye.

This lovely spot is now known as Sackville's Mill-dike. The hand of
man has curbed the free course of the wild forest stream, and made it
subservient to his will, but could not destroy the natural beauties of
the scene. _[FN: This place was originally owned by a man of taste,
who resided for some time upon the spot, till finding it convenient to
return to his native country, the saw-mill passed into other hands. The
old log-house on the green bank above the mill-stream is still standing,
though deserted; the garden fence, broken and dilapidated, no longer
protects the enclosure, where the wild rose mingles with that of
Provence,--the Canadian creeper with the hop.]_

Fearing to entangle themselves in the swamp, they kept the hilly ground,
winding their way up to the summit of the lofty ridge of the oak hills,
the highest ground they had yet attained; and here it was that the
silver waters of the Rice Lake in all its beauty burst upon the eyes of
the wondering and delighted travellers. There it lay, a sheet of liquid
silver just emerging from the blue veil of mist that hung upon its
surface, and concealed its wooded shores on either side. All feeling of
dread and doubt and danger was lost, for the time, in one rapturous glow
of admiration at a scene so unexpected and so beautiful as that which
they now gazed upon from the elevation they had gained. From this ridge
they looked down the lake, and the eye could take in an extent of many
miles, with its verdant wooded islands, which stole into view one by one
as the rays of the morning sun drew up the moving curtain of mist
that enveloped them; and soon both northern and southern shores became
distinctly visible, with all their bays and capes and swelling oak and
pine-crowned hills.

And now arose the question, "Where are we? What lake is this? Can it be
the Ontario, or is it the Rice Lake? Can yonder shores be those of the
Americans, or are they the hunting-grounds of the dreaded Indians?"
Hector remembered having often heard his father say that the Ontario was
like an inland sea, and the opposite shores not visible unless in some
remarkable state of the atmosphere, when they had been occasionally
discerned b