A LABRADOR SPRING 



lected all the botanical specimens within reach, 

 and had noted down all my observations, I 

 had always one resource left, I could dig 

 for ice. 



My last exploration in this direction was 

 made on the 2ist of June. In a bog part way 

 up the mountains above the falls of the Mingan 

 River, I cut out a triangular piece of sphagnum 

 with my sheaf knife, and proceeded to dissect 

 the peaty soil below, and excavate it by hand. 

 Our Indian guide, who could not speak a word 

 of either English or French, gravely watched 

 the proceedings as I gradually dug until my 

 arm was inserted in the hole to the elbow. 

 At this depth the ground was very cold, but 

 I could feel no ice even with my knife-blade 

 thrust below. I then solemnly replaced the 

 triangular piece of sphagnum at the top of the 

 hole, and the Indian and I silently resumed 

 our march. I have often wondered whether 

 he thought I was seeking for gold, was per- 

 forming a religious ceremony or was merely a 

 little crazy. 



Perhaps the most notable arrival of south- 

 erners on the day of the orchid and mountain 

 dryad, this glorious seventh of June was 



25 



