A Vacation in Quebec. 143 



hand, but search failed to reveal it. A Barn Swallow had 

 built its nest on a pulley swinging from a rope in the small 

 log barn, and House Wr^ens had their full complement of 

 eggs in several hollow ends of fence rails. A Phoebe sat on 

 the second set of eggs and they were nearly ready to hatch. 

 The young of another Sayornis had died in the nest and were 

 now dry and hard, but the parent would from time to time 

 fly on the nest and brood them, as though trying to restore 

 them to life. Certainly a pathetic picture ! 



Large bunches of the fine white admiral butterfly {Basilar- 

 chia arthemis) dotted the wood-roads. On the way to High 

 Falls a Marsh Hawk was seen arid a captive Goshawk 

 (Astur atricapillus) awaited me. It had been caught in a 

 trap and had lost all its accustomed ferocity. Here were 

 great numbers of old and young Bank, Barn, and Tree Swal- 

 lows, also Cedar Waxwings. The stomach of a young, but 

 fully grown. Broad-winged Hawk, which had stupidly been 

 shot by a farmer's boy contained at least a hundred black 

 beetles. Another one was drying itself after a shower on 

 a very warm day, by fanning the air with its wings. This 

 was near the fine waterfall from which the locality gets its 

 name. 



Bidding the good and hospitable people good-bye, I again 

 took the little boat on the Levre to go to Buckingham and 

 thence back to Ottawa. This time the boat was nearly filled 

 to suffocation with French-Canadians, who were on their an- 

 nual pilgrimage to St. Anne de Beaupre — one of the dark 

 spots of Quebec ! 



On July 16th I embarked on a gasoline launch at Pem- 

 broke, Ontario, a hundred miles west of Ottawa, to go to 

 Tapp's Wharf, and from there to Pontiac Game Club, about 

 fifteen miles north from the river. Between the many islands, 

 one of which contained a heronry of Great Blue Herons, past 

 an old Hudson Bay post, with Indian church, past Oiseaux 

 Rock, on top of which is said to be a small lake containing 

 excellent trout, we sped over the " Deep River," as the Ot- 

 tawa is here called — it is said to be a thousand or more feet 



