small gripsacks are seized, the rods are ten<l< 1 1\ 

 lifted, and as soon as the train rolls up to the 

 station we hasten out of the car, thankful indeed 

 to be back again among the dear old mountains. 

 Nodding to familiar faces, shaking hands with the 

 lees timid natives, and giving instructions to the 

 servants to follow as quickly as possible with the 

 luggage, we jump into the two-seated trap and 

 are whirled away for a delightful six miles up the 

 valley of the Cascapedia to my fishing-lodge, Bed 

 Camp. 



What a charming sensation it gives one, as he 

 speeds along the road, to inhale the fresh, bracing 

 air perfumed with the healing fir and cedar ! No 

 cares or troubles to worry about now. They are 

 thrown to these delightful breezes, and the faster 

 we go the sooner they disappear, until we are well 

 content and at peace with all the worM. 



On some door-step stands an old man waving 

 his hands as we pass, welcoming our return. He 

 once loved the sport, and the sight of our merry 

 party doubtless brings fresh to his memory the 

 happy days of his youth. Farther on a little 

 handkerchief flutters in the wind, showing we are 

 remembered by some gentle maid who has not 

 forgotten a simple act of kindness. It is pleasant 

 to have all this greeting, and to feel that we are 

 with friends, although many miles separate us from 

 our homes. Even the birds seem glad, for as we 



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