own the Gulf of St.
Lawrence, occasionally disappearing behind the body of a large pig,
which stood upon a hillock close in front of me, and then reappearing
again as the current swept them slowly past the intervening obstacle.

Mr Coral, with whom I had been leading a very quiet, harmless sort of
life for a couple of weeks past, leant against a wooden post, gazing
wistfully out to sea. Suddenly he turned towards me, and with great
gravity told me that, as there was nothing particular for me to do at
the establishment, he meant to send me down to Seven Islands, to relieve
the gentleman at that post of his charge; adding, that as he wished me
to set off the following morning at an early hour, I had better pack up
a few things to-night.

Now, this order may not seem, at the first glance, a very dreadful one;
but taking into consideration that Seven Islands is one hundred and
twenty miles below the post at which I then resided, it did appear as if
one would wish to think about it a little before starting. Not having
time to think about it, however, I merely, in a sort of bantering
desperation, signified my readiness to undertake a voyage to any part of
the undiscovered world, at any moment he (Mr Coral) might think proper,
and then vanished, to prepare myself for the voyage.

It was optional with me whether I should walk through one hundred and
twenty miles of primeval and most impassable forest, or paddle over an
equal number of miles of water. Preferring the latter, as being at once
the less disagreeable and more expeditious method, I accordingly, on the
following morning, embarked in a small Indian canoe, similar to the one
in which I had formerly travelled with two Indians in the North-West.
My companions were--a Canadian, who acted as steersman; a genuine
Patlander, who ostensibly acted as bowsman, but in reality was more
useful in the way of ballast; and a young Newfoundland dog, which I had
got as a present from Mr Stone while at Tadousac.

When we were all in our allotted places, the canoe was quite full; and
we started from Isle Jeremie in good spirits, with the broad, sun-like
face of Mike Lynch looming over the bows of the canoe, and the black
muzzle of Humbug (the dog) resting on its gunwale.

It is needless to describe the voyage minutely. We had the usual amount
of bad and good weather, and ran the risk several times of upsetting; we
had, also, several breakfasts, dinners, suppers, and beds in the for