e river; the scenery of which pleased me much, though
it presents little appearance of fertility, with the exception of two or
three extensive clearings.

About three miles above Peterborough the road winds along the brow of a
steep ridge, the bottom of which has every appearance of having been
formerly the bed of a lateral branch of the present river, or perhaps
some small lake, which has been diverted from its channel, and merged in
the Otanabee.

On either side of this ridge there is a steep descent; on the right the
Otanabee breaks upon you, rushing with great velocity over its rocky
bed, forming rapids in miniature resembling those of the St. Laurence;
its dark, frowning woods of sombre pine give a grandeur to the scenery
that is very impressive. On the left lies below you a sweet secluded
dell of evergreens, cedar, hemlock, and pine, enlivened by a few
deciduous trees. Through this dell there is a road-track leading to a
fine cleared farm, the green pastures of which were rendered more
pleasing by the absence of the odious stumps that disfigure the
clearings in this part of the country. A pretty bright stream flows
through the low meadow that lies at the foot of the hill, which you
descend suddenly close by a small grist-mill that is worked by the
waters, just where they meet the rapids of the river.

[Illustration: Road through a Fine Forest]

I called this place "Glen Morrison," partly from the remembrance of the
lovely Glen Morrison of the Highlands, and partly because it was the
name of the settler that owned the spot.

Our progress was but slow on account of the roughness of the road, which
is beset with innumerable obstacles in the shape of loose blocks of
granite and limestone, with which the lands on the banks of the river
and lakes abound; to say nothing of fallen trees, big roots, mud-holes,
and corduroy bridges, over which you go jolt, jolt, jolt, till every
bone in your body feels as if it were going to be dislocated. An
experienced bush-traveller avoids many hard thumps by rising up or
clinging to the sides of his rough vehicle.

As the day was particularly fine, I often quitted the waggon and walked
on with my husband for a mile or so.

We soon lost sight entirely of the river, and struck into the deep
solitude of the forest, where not a sound disturbed the almost awful
stillness that reigned around us. Scarcely a leaf or bough was in
motion, excepting at intervals we caught the sound of the