A LABRADOR SPRING 



portage path that soon began to ascend the 

 rocky barren hills we had seen before us. This 

 path ends on the high land at a small lake from 

 which the river discharges, and throws itself 

 in a broken fall of great beauty down a hundred 

 and fifty feet or more into the forest below. 

 Although the falls are not a sheer descent, but 

 form an angle of about forty-five degrees, the 

 effect is grand, as the great volumes of white 

 waters come bounding down the decline, ap- 

 pearing to burst and throw themselves thirty 

 or forty feet into the air in their progress. 

 The setting in the wild forest added much to 

 the beauty of the scene, for, with the exception 

 of the faintly marked Indian portage-path, 

 there was no sign of man to be found, there 

 was no park, no " path to view the falls." By 

 gradually working my way through the thick 

 spruces and birches that grew luxuriantly in the 

 constant spray, I managed to reach a point of 

 advantage at the foot of the falls. Both the 

 air and the fallen tree on which I stood were 

 quivering and throbbing with the pulse-beat 

 of the cataract, which roared loudly in my ears, 

 and the trees swayed with the force of the blasts 

 of air and spray. The leaping, spouting waters, 



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