t at the head of Holmes's Fall, a splendid ravine
down which the river rushes in two foaming leaps. Here in the gray of
the morning we lugged our canoes and our camp-kit around the cataract,
and then launched away for the end of our voyage. It was full of
variety, for the river was now cutting its course through a series of
ridges, and every mile was broken with rapids and larger falls. There
was but one other place, however, where we had to make a portage. I
believe it was called Grand Falls. After that, the stream was smooth
and quiet. The tall maples and ashes and elms stood along the banks as
if they had been planted for a park. The first faint touch of autumn
colour was beginning to illuminate their foliage. A few weeks later the
river would be a long, winding avenue of gold and crimson, for every
tree would redouble its splendour in the dark, unruffled water.

At one place, where there were a few cleared fields bordering on the
river, we saw two or three houses and barns, and supposed we were near
the end of our voyage. This was about nine o'clock in the morning; and
we were glad because we calculated that we could catch the ten o'clock
train for Bar Harbor. But that calculation was far astray. We skirted
the cleared fields and entered the woodland again. The river flowed,
broad and leisurely, in great curves half a mile long from point to
point. As we rounded one cape after another we said to each other,
"When we pass the next turn we shall see the village." But that
inconsiderate village seemed to flee before us. Still the tall trees
lined the banks in placid monotony. Still the river curved from cape to
cape, each one like all the others. We paddled hard and steadily. Ten
o'clock passed. Every day of our journey we had lost something--a
frying-pan, a hatchet, a paddle, a ring. This day was no exception. We
had lost a train. Still we pushed along against the cool wind, which
always headed us, whether we turned north, or east, or south; wondering
whether the village that we sought was still in the world, wondering
whether the river came out anywhere, wondering--till at last we saw,
across a lake-like expanse of water, the white church and the
clustering houses of the far-famed Whitneyville.

It was a quaint old town, which had seen better days. The big
lumber-mill that had once kept it busy was burned down, and the
business had slipped away to the prosperous neighbouring town of
Machias. There were nice old hous