68 PRINCE EDWARD ISLAND

leviathans, and the enthusiastic Harry rushes in to the neck, net in hand, to capture an escaping whale. We take the way to camp with light hearts but heavy baskets. The ladies apostrophize the moon and the beauty of the night; but sentiment gives way to cake and cocoa. Soon we start for the Depot, some on their wheels, some behind the trusty “Sconifex.” Various and comical are the adventures of the shady road; though finally, we catch the train, and bid adieu to our tired but happy visitors.

Such were our days in camp—oases in the desert of life.

Scattered though we be in the race from the fertile shores of Acadia to the Gold Hills of British Columbia, these are, and must remain, green spots in the memory—a bond of union and friendship, ever reminding us of our boyhood and common origin in the “dear old Island."——H. B. M.