and the little waterfall at the Gulf, and the bold Clare Mount- tain, we finally reach our goal— the Shogomoc Rapids. Here we turn inshore in full View and sound of the famed swift water.

What an exhilarating spec— tacle, and how the waters dash, foam and roar as they are hurled headlong down the steep descent, What a splendid place to camp anywhere near here—one would "‘ . w“ surely never tire of such delightful i i surroundings. As we sit and watch the water assume ever-changing forms, we think of the Indians and their life on these waters in the long ago, and in fancy we see them mounting the crests of the billows and passing up and down the river in perfect safety.

Up and down is doubtless wrong, for who could propel a boat upstream against a foaming current going over ten miles an hour, and often nearer fifteen! Discussing this with our guide, he de- clares he feels like going up in the motor-canoe as far as he can, and, he adds, ”By George, I believe I can get through I” We laugh him to scorn. He persists in trying it. At last we decide to join in the experience.

We oil up and make all ready. Off we go! right into the midst of the foam at the lower end of the rapids. The engine works furiously at full speed while we watch results.

We are making rapid progress—in the wrong direction; for working full speed ahead, we gain just enough way to get into the direct current and then downstream we go, stern first, Davidson joining in the laugh at his expense. “Never mind,” we say, “we were right in the midst of it, and the boat did splendidly.”

Is there need to des- cribe the pleasures of the return journey ? How our host of the previous night, Davidson's brother—who had

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