44 FROM BLOMIDON TO SMOKY. 



The forest, whicli above the Bill is but a narrow 

 line next the sk}', slopes downward to the placid 

 water inside the bar, and rolls on westward to 

 join other expanses of spruce and birch, hem- 

 lock and maple, which clothe the mountains and 

 fill the river valley with soft foliage. While 

 dreamily watching this fair northern picture, as 

 it quivered in the heat of a half -tropical day, we 

 were startled by a sudden cry which came from 

 the waves far below. Then a man, with a coil 

 of rope on his arm, passed us, and went cau- 

 tiously to the edge of the precipice, over which 

 he peered and made signals. Thoughts of smug- 

 glers, of hidden wines brought by night from St. 

 Pierre, of a discovery by the smugglers that we 

 knew of their landing-place, and finally of the 

 consequences of their discovery, floated through 

 our minds, already saturated with the romantic 

 elements of Ingonish scenery and life. Then 

 more men came, and passed. They too crept to 

 the edge and looked into the dizzy waves beneath. 

 One of them lowered the rope over the cliff, and 

 seemed to be trying to lasso something many 

 feet below. Our curiosity prevailed over our 

 timidity, and we drew near to the edge of the 

 rock. The vision of smuggled cliampagne faded, 

 and in its place was put the truth : that a sheep 

 had gone over the cliff to a narrow shelf more 

 than halfway down to the sea, and that these 



