INGONISH, BY LAND AND SEA. 51 



unchecked, unturned, and when its clear, cool 

 drops fell towards the sea they were as pure 

 as when they left the sky. The brook seemed 

 symbolic of some lives, which, though living out 

 their appointed time, go back to the source 

 of life without ever having been polluted by 

 society, or lost in its sullen and ill-regulated 

 current. 



Thump, thump, thump, the oars worked with 

 their clumsy rhythm, urging us eastward, and out 

 towards the line of rough water beyond the Bill. 

 The swell grew stronger, and now and then the 

 boat rose so high or fell so low that my dream 

 was interrupted by the emphasis of the motion. 

 Far behind us the red eye of the lighthouse 

 glared at the mouth of the harbor, and marked 

 upon each wave's edge the path by which we 

 had come, close under the shelter of the cliffs. 

 A few strokes more and we were abreast of the 

 Bill, that ultimate wedge of rock which Smoky 

 thrusts into the northern sea, piercing the cold 

 waves, and dividing the fierce storm currents 

 beating down from Newfoundland. The wind 

 was fresher in the unprotected sea, and the 

 lighthouse with its nestling lights upon the bar 

 seemed much farther away than it had a mo- 

 ment or two before. A sense of loneliness, al- 

 most of danger, crept over us, and by common 

 consent the boat was turned backward into the 



