hich
looked exactly like a well-kept hedge, but soon gave way to the
usual dense line of poplar and spruce, rooted to the very edges
of the banks, which are low compared with those of the Athabasca.
After ascending it for some distance, it being Sunday, we camped
for the day upon an open grassy point, around which the river
swept in a perfect semi-circle, the dense forest opposite towering
in one equally perfect, and glorious in light and shade and
harmonious tints of green, from sombre olive to the lightest
pea. The point itself was covered with strawberry vines and
dotted with clumps of saskatoons all in bloom.

It was a lovely and lonely spot, which was soon converted into
a scene of eating and laughter, and a drying ground for wet
clothes. Towards evening Bishop Grouard and Father Lacombe held
a well-attended service, which in this profound wilderness was
peculiarly impressive. Listening, one thought how often the same
service, these same chants and canticles, had awakened the sylvan
echoes in like solitudes on the St. Lawrence and Mississippi in
the old days of exploration and trade, and of missionary zeal and
suffering. It recalled, too, the thought of man's evanescence and
the apparent fixedness of his institutions.

Shortly after our tents were pitched a boat drifted past
with five jaded-looking men aboard--more baffled Klondikers
returning from Peace River. We had heard of numbers in the
interior who could neither go on nor return, and expected to
meet more castaways before we reached the lake. In this we
were not astray, and several days after in the upper river
we met a York boat loaded with them, alert and unmistakable
Americans, but with the worn features of disappointed men.

We were now constantly encountering the rapids, which extended
for about twenty-five miles, and very difficult and troublesome
they proved to be to our heavily-loaded craft. Most of them were
got over slowly by combined poling and tracking, the line often
breaking with the strain, and the boats being kept in the channel
only by the most strenuous efforts of the experienced men on board.
If a monias (a greenhorn) took the bow pole, as was sometimes the
case, the orders of our steersman, Cyr, were amusing to listen to.
"Tughkenay asswayegh tamook!" (Be on your guard!) "Turn de oder way!
Turn yourself! Turn your pole--Hell!" Then, of course, came the
customary rasp on the rocks, but, if not, the cheery cry followed
to the trackers