FROM BLOMIDON TO SMOKY. 19 



From Northeast Margaree to Margaree Forks, 

 and from the Forks up the Southwest Margaree 

 to Loch Ainslie, the scenery was not equal to the 

 task of dispossessing Jim of the foremost place 

 in our minds. Jim shied, stumbled, sweated, 

 until we thought disintegration was near at hand, 

 and, worse than all, required unremitting guid- 

 ance to keep him in the road. Had the natural 

 beauties of the country been as great as we ex- 

 pected, I doubt not that Jim would have tipped 

 us into the swift-flowing waters of the Southwest 

 Margaree long before Loch Ainslie was reached. 

 Had Jim been the horse he might have been, 

 we should have enjoyed much more the pretty 

 glimpses of moving water, the deep pools tempt- 

 ing a passing cast, the meadows thick with spikes 

 of splendid orchids, and the rounded hillsides 

 thickly clad with woods. 



Loch Ainslie is a beautiful sheet of water, 

 covering in all about twenty-five square miles, 

 and surrounded by good farm land running back 

 upon high hills. Highlanders settled the country, 

 and their descendants, who still own the farms, 

 are eager, like so many of our New England 

 farmers, to sell their places, and try life under 

 less picturesque but more profitable conditions. 

 We were welcomed to a Highlander's home, and 

 told where we could fish to advantage from three 

 o'clock till dark. Long before tea time we had 



