nstituted critics, who are
generally ignorant of the laws which God has made to secure health and
give contentment to his creatures, would poison the sick man's body with
drugs and nostrums when he might have the delightful and generally
successful services of Dr. Camp Cure without the after dose of a bill.
These hard-worked and miserably paid country clergymen, who are rarely,
nowadays, treated as the head of the congregation or the shepherd of the
flock they are supposed to lead, but rather as victims of the whims of
influential members of the church, tell me that to own a canoe is indeed
a cross, and that if they spend a vacation in the grand old forests of
the Adirondacks, the brethren are sorely exercised over the time wasted
in such unusual and unministerial conduct.

Everywhere along the route the peculiar character of the paper canoe
attracted many remarks from the bystanders. The first impression given
was that I had engaged in this rowing enterprise under the stimulus of a
bet; and when the curious were informed that it was a voyage of study,
the next question was, "How much are you going to make out of it?" Upon
learning that there was neither a bet nor money in it, a shade of
disappointment and incredulity rested upon the features of the
bystanders, and the canoeist was often rated as a "blockhead" for
risking his life without being paid for it.

At Trenton the canal passes through the city, and here it was necessary
to carry the boat around two locks. At noon the canoe ended her voyage
of forty-two miles by reaching the last lock, on the Delaware River, at
Bordentown, New Jersey, where friendly arms received the Maria Theresa
and placed her on the trestles which had supported her sister craft, the
Mayeta, in the shop of the builder, Mr. J. S. Lamson, situated under the
high cliffs along the crests of which an ex-king of Spain, in times gone
by, was wont to walk and sadly ponder on his exile from _la belle
France_.

The Rev. John H. Brakeley, proprietor as well as principal of the
Bordentown Female Seminary, took me to his ancient mansion, where Thomas
Paine, of old Revolutionary war times, had lodged. Not the least
attraction in the home of my friend was the group of fifty young ladies,
who were kind enough to gather upon a high bluff when I left the town,
and wave a graceful farewell to the paper canoe as she entered the
tidal current of the river Delaware _en route_ for the Quaker city.

During my sho