CRUISE OF LA BELLE MARGUERITE 



A sleeping-bag is a delightful thing in a cold 

 climate; one dresses instead of undressing for 

 bed, and puts on all the clothes he has, if his 

 blanket is thin, while going to bed is very much 

 like crawling into a hole and pulling the hole 

 in afterwards, a thing most of us would like 

 to do metaphorically from time to time. 



To sleep out under the stars in cool, pure air, 

 free from mosquitoes or flies of any sort, to 

 breathe in the fragrance of the balsam and the 

 sea, to be gently rocked by the subdued ocean 

 waves in protected harbours, to be lulled to 

 sleep by the lapping of the water against the 

 boat's sides, by the calls of the spotted sandpiper 

 and the evening hymn of the robin, to awake to 

 the song of the fox sparrow and the white- 

 throat on the shores, and the love-cooing of the 

 eider on the water, this was indeed good 

 and productive of heart's content. 



Such a boat as this should needs have a 

 name, but the need apparently had not occurred 

 to the owners. I asked, therefore, the name of 

 one of the daughters of Mathias, who, in prep- 

 aration for the cruise, was diligently scrubbing 

 the cabin at the moorings off Esquimaux Point, 

 and at once with due solemnity christened the 

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