298 WINTER. 



village on the northern shore of New Brunswick, called 

 Bathurst, a great resort of anglers in summer, who are 

 attracted there from great distances by that prettiest of 

 salmon rivers, the Nepisiguit. At the time I am speaking 

 of the ice was strong, but rough. I wanted to go to the 

 head of the bay, a distance of 3 or 4 miles, but was rather 

 nervous about the air-holes (spots that never bridge over 

 in rapid rivers and tidal waters). As I was picking my 

 way cautiously through the rough ice, I came upon a 

 small French boy steering in my direction, and followed 

 him. He was a diminutive youth, with a shock head and 

 fur cap, homespun shirt and trousers, the latter immense, 

 probably an old pair of papa's ; they served this little 

 man for coat, waistcoat, and continuations, the ends being 

 tucked under his boots, and the upper part tied over his 

 shoulders with a bit of tape. I thought at the time he 

 was the best skater in the world. He was rolling along 

 on the outside edge, one arm plunged into the paternal 

 pocket, the other employed carrying a crooked stick as 

 long as himself. He saw I was following him, and a nice 

 dance the urchin led me. On smooth ice I could keep up 

 to him ; on rough ice I was nowhere. The young wretch 

 soon perceived this, and took advantage of it. Fancy a 

 river with a strong stream and strong breeze meeting it, 

 frozen over instantaneously, and you may form some idea 

 of the places this youth piloted me over. He never fell, 

 nor even made a false step. Now and then, when he 

 happened upon a bit of smoqth ice and I was a long way 

 behind, he would perform some fantastic feats for my 

 edification. Once we passed a whole lot of boys playing 

 hockey. I cannot do justice to the conduct of my little 



