A Canoe Voyage to Northward 



spicy spruce groves and widespread bog and beaver 

 meadows to mind. On this amber stream I discovered 

 an interesting fall. It is only a few feet high, but re- 

 markably fine in the curve of its brow and blending 

 shades of color, while the mossy, bushy pool into 

 which it plunges is inky black, but wonderfully 

 brightened by foam bells larger than common that 

 drift in clusters on the smooth water around the 

 rim, each of them carrying a picture of the overlook- 

 ing trees leaning together at the tips like the teeth of 

 moss capsules before they rise. 



I found most of the trees here fairly loaded with 

 mosses. Some broadly palmated branches had beds 

 of yellow moss so wide and deep that when wet they 

 must weigh a hundred pounds or even more. Upon 

 these moss-beds ferns and grasses and even good- 

 sized seedling trees grow, making beautiful hanging 

 gardens in which the curious spectacle is presented of 

 old trees holding hundreds of their own children in 

 their arms, nourished by rain and dew and the decay- 

 ing leaves showered down to them by their parents. 

 The branches upon which these beds of mossy soil 

 rest become flat and irregular like weathered roots or 

 the antlers of deer, and at length die; and when the 

 whole tree has thus been killed it seems to be stand- 

 ing on its head with roots in the air. A striking ex- 

 ample of this sort stood near the camp and I called 

 the missionary's attention to it. 



"Come, Mr. Young," I shouted. "Here's some- 

 thing wonderful, the most wonderful tree you ever 

 saw; it is standing on its head." 



