fields and
hummocks of dirty ice, brought down from the banks of the river above.
The land presented one uniform chilling prospect of bare trees and deep
snow, over which I was soon to traverse many a weary mile.

There is nothing, however, like taking things philosophically; so, after
venting my spite at the weather in one or two short grumbles, I sat down
in a passable state of equanimity to breakfast. During the meal I
discussed with Mr Stone the prospects of the impending journey, and
indulged in a few excursive remarks upon snow-shoe travelling, whilst he
related a few incidents of his own eventful career in the country.

On one occasion he was sent off upon a long journey over the snow, where
the country was so mountainous that snowshoe walking was rendered
exceedingly painful, by the feet slipping forward against the front bar
of the shoe when descending the hills. After he had accomplished a good
part of his journey, two large blisters rose under the nails of his
great toes; and soon the nails themselves came off. Still he must go
on, or die in the woods; so he was obliged to _tie_ the nails on his
toes each morning before starting, for the purpose of protecting the
tender parts beneath; and every evening he wrapped them up carefully in
a piece of rag, and put them into his waistcoat pocket--_being afraid of
losing them if he kept them on all night_.

After breakfast I took leave of my friends at Tadousac, and, with a pair
of snow-shoes under my arm, followed my companion Jordan to the boat
which was to convey me the first twenty miles of the journey, and then
land me, with one man, who was to be my only companion. In the boat was
seated a Roman Catholic priest, on his way to visit a party of Indians a
short distance down the gulf. The shivering men shipped their oars in
silence, and we glided through the black water, while the ice grated
harshly against the boat's sides as we rounded Point Rouge, Another
pull, and Tadousac was hidden from our view.

Few things can be more comfortless or depressing than a sail down the
Gulf of St. Lawrence on a gloomy winter's day, with the thermometer at
zero! The water looks so black and cold, and the sky so gray, that it
makes one shudder, and turn to look upon the land. But there no
cheering prospect meets the view. Rocks--cold, hard, misanthropic
rocks--grin from beneath volumes of snow; and the few stunted
black-looking pines that dot the banks here and there o