DAYS IN THE WOODS 269 



figures in a canoe gliding along in the air, the 

 shadows of John and myself, cast up at an ob- 

 tuse angle from the surface of the water by the 

 almost level rays of the setting sun. 



The Indians soon were comfortably sleeping, 

 and had wandered off into the land of dreams ; 

 but I, my nature being vitiated by many years of 

 civilisation, could not so easily yield to the wooing 

 of the drowsy god. For some time I lay awake, 

 blinking lazily at the fire, watching flickering forms 

 and fading faces in the glowing embers, speculat- 

 ing idly on the fortunes of the Red Indian race, 

 and on the destinies of the vast continent around 

 me — in memory revisiting many lovely scenes, 

 and going over again in thought the hunting 

 adventures and canoeing voyages of former days. 

 The palmy days of canoeing are past and gone. 

 Time was when fleets of large birch-bark canoes, 

 capable of carrying some tons weight, navigated 

 the waters of the St. Lawrence, of the Ottawa, and 

 of the great lakes to the mouths of different rivers 

 on the north shore of Lake Superior, where they are 

 met by smaller canoes arriving from the shores of 

 the Frozen Ocean, from unnamed lakes and un- 

 known rivers, from unexplored regions, from 

 countries inhabited by wild animals and fur- 



