The Halcyon in Canada. 553 



At another point, we were within ear-shot for a mile or more of 

 a brawling stream in the valley below us, and now and then caught a 

 glimpse of foaming rapids or cascades through the dense spruce, — 

 a trout stream that probably no man had ever fished, as it would be 

 quite impossible to do so in such a maze and tangle of wood. 



We neither met nor passed nor saw any travelers until late in 

 the afternoon, when we descried, far ahead, a man on horseback. 

 It was a welcome relief. It was like a sail at sea. When he saw 

 us, he drew rein and awaited our approach. He, too, had probably 

 tired of the solitude and desolation of the road. He proved to be 

 a young Canadian going to join the gang of workmen at the far- 

 ther end of the road. 



About four o'clock, we passed another small lake, and in a few 

 moments more drew up at the bridge over the Jacques Cartier River, 

 and our forty-mile ride was finished. There was a stable here that 

 had been used by the road-builders and was now used by the teams 

 that hauled in their supplies. This would do for the horse ; a snug 

 log shanty, built by an old trapper and hunter for use in the winter, 

 a hundred yards below the bridge, amid the spruces on the bank of 

 the river, when rebedded and refurnished, would do for us. The river 

 at this point was a swift, black stream from thirty to forty feet wide, 

 with a strength and a bound like a moose. It was not shrunken and 

 emaciated, like similar streams in a cleared country, but full, copious, 

 and strong. Indeed, one can hardly realize how the lesser water- 

 courses have suffered by the denuding of the land of its forest cover- 

 ing, until he goes into the primitive woods and sees how bounding and 

 athletic they are there. They are literally well fed, and their measure 

 of life is full. In fact fc a trout brook is as much a thing of the woods 

 as a moose or deer and will not thrive well in the open country. 



Three miles above our camp was Great Lake Jacques Cartier, 

 the source of the river, a sheet of water nine miles long and from one 

 to three wide; fifty rods below was Little Lake Jacques Cartier, an 

 irr< i^ular body about two miles across. Stretching away on every 

 hand, bristling on the mountains and darkling in the valleys, was the 

 illimitable spruce woods. The moss in them covered the ground 

 nearly knee-deep, and lay like newly fallen snow, hiding rocks and 

 logs, filling depressions, and muffling the foot. When it was dry, one 

 could find a most delightful couch anywhere. 



