188 BOONEVILLE TO SARATOGA. 



It was one o'clock when AVC reached the landing on the 

 bank of the Inlet and lunched. John, as usual, after the last 

 mouthful was eaten, fumbled in his pockets tor his brier-wood 

 pipe. Alas! it was no where to be found! And he had no 

 other. Every smoker will understand the situation, and ap 

 preciate the extent of the calamity. John remembered that 

 at a certain point, half a mile buck on the carry, while trudg- 

 ing along under his boat, he had knocked out the ashes from 

 his pipe, but, could not for the life of him remember what 

 next happened to the precious thing. \Vewent back over 

 the route, carefully examining every step of the way, stir- 

 ring up UK- leave* and bushes, and urn- retimiiiiir hop. 

 from our search, when by good fortune John discovered 

 hi- pet. 



"I vow." said he, as he filled the bowl and lighted the 

 tobacco, " I'll never come into the woods an-ain with only 

 one pipe." 



The Inlet is a narrow, deep stream, winding down 

 through a most desolate tamarack swamp, and entering 

 Uinpiette Lake through a tree less marsh, as distressingly 

 de-olate a scene as one often comes upon in the wilden 

 Sojourners on IJaquHte an- pr< me to attribute to " John 

 Brown's Tract " the uninviting characteristics of the Inlet : 

 and with this before their eyes and the terrors of the carry 

 dinned into their ears, it is not surprising that they abandon 

 all hope or desire to visit what they conceive to be "John 

 Brown's Swamp." 



It was with sensations of exquisite delight that we 

 entered Raquette Lake, renowned and glorious and deserv- 



