252 THE 'ADIRONDACK. 



ing which to choose as material for a new canoe. He 

 still looks forward to years of hunting, and days of 

 toil, when the bark ol life is already touching those 

 dark waters that roll away from this world and all it 

 contains. 



Aug. 31. — Yesterday as I was leaving Long Lake, 

 I met the old Indian and his daughter just starting on 

 their return journey of a hundred and fifty miles. 

 The father was sitting in the middle of the bark 

 canoe on the bottom, while the daughter occupied the 

 stern and paddled the boat. Her head was uncovered, 

 and her long hair which almost swept the water, 

 was filled with white lilies she had plucked by the 

 shore. Noiseless and steady swept on the frail craft, 

 impelled by her sinewy arm — stretching down the 

 middle of the lake towards the dark outlet. It was a 

 sad sight to behold spring and winter thus united, one 

 decked out in flowers and the other covered with the 

 frosts of time, and know the fate before them. I 

 watched their lessening forms till they were a mere 

 speck in the distance, and then struck across the 

 lake and began my fifty miles stretch through the 

 woods. 



Mitchell accompanied us several miles on our way, 



