As we look behind at the dancing wavelets left in our wake, the crest of each gleams white and brilliant ere it subsides in milky foam; while down the widening and rippling channel just made by the revolving screw a thousand gleams of light are refracted into a glorious play of ever-changing color.

The sound of the motor is jarring when viewing a scene so fair. So turning the canoe and stopping the engine, we drift inshore to view the surroundings in perfect quiet.

How bright the planets show when seen from a deep valley on such a night, and how marvellous and grand the sight when from almost total darkness and confused or indistinguishable detail the whole beauty of the view steals out, line by line, giving time to admire each new feature as it springs into sight, until finally the whole glori- ous landscape and wondrous river are spread before in a soft blend- ing of light and shade impossible to adequately picture or describe.

Reluctantly, though supperless, we turn our canoe and con- tinue our way upstream. We are now on a river of molten silver, floating down a path at once fantastic and beautiful. The reflected and inverted banks of the river are close to us on each hand, the tree branches sharply outlined and gently quivering under the in- fluence of a balmy zephyr that now steals with velvet touch over the surface of the water.

Are we really in cloudland ? we ask, so spiritual is the scene ——and as if to dispel all uncertainty a distant gleam of light reveals the far-away course of the river, as it seems to pass on to the sky, where it flows through the splendid portals of a gorgeous palace built in the clouds and limned with outlines of pale silver by the artist moon.

“All journeys have an end." Journeys are also said to ”end in lover’s greetings.” Sometimes, however, they terminate with a fine supper cooked by the obliging wife of a good-hearted farmer for two supperless men dropped from the clouds, as it were, one hour before midnight. And here we are at Davidson's Ferry, a good supper with a night’s repose on a comfortable bed surely making a happy ending for one part of our trip.

After a 6 o'clock breakfast next morning the canoe is headed up the lovely St. John—for are we not bound to reach the Nacawick stream, Pokiok, the narrow gulf, and its waterfall, Clare Mountain, the Meductic Fall and the Shogomoc Rapids, And we do reach these in good time, and after admiring the rocky banks of the river near Hawkshaw, the beautiful views at Pokiok, the narrow chasm

164