BAY OF FUNDY. 487 



graceful eyelids, and present herself arrayed in aU that was richest and 

 purest before her Creator. Ah, reader, how indelibly are such moments 

 engraved on my soul ! with what ardour have I at such times gazed 

 around me, full of the desire of being enabled to comprehend all that I 

 saw ! How often have I longed to converse with the feathered inhabi- 

 tants of the forest, all of which seemed then intent on offering up their 

 thanks to the object of my own admiration ! But the wish could not be 

 gratified, although I now feel satisfied that I have enjoyed as much of the 

 wonders and beauties of nature as it was proper for me to enjoy. The 

 delightful trills of the Winter Wren rolled through the underwood, the 

 red squirrel smacked time with his chops, the loud notes of the Robin 

 sounded clearly from tlie tops of the trees, the rosy Grosbeak nipped the 

 tender blossoms of the maples, and high over head the Loons passed in 

 pairs, rapidly wending their way toward far distant shores. Would that 

 I could have followed in their wake ! 



The hour of our departure had come ; and, as we sailed up the bay, 

 our pilot, who had been fishing for cod, was taken on board. A few of 

 his fish were roasted on a plank before the embers, and formed the prin- 

 cipal part of our breakfast. The breeze was light, and it was not until 

 after noon that we arrived at Point Lepreaux Harbour, where every one, 

 making choice of his course, went in search of curiosities and provender. 



Now, reader, the little harbour in which, if you wish it, we shall sup- 

 pose we still are, is renowned for a circumstance which I feel much in- 

 clined to endeavour to explain to you. Several species of Ducks, that in 

 myriads cover the waters of the Bay of Fundy, are at times destroyed in 

 this particular spot in a very singular manner. When July has come, 

 all the water-birds that are no longer capable of reproducing, remain, like 

 so many forlorn bachelors and old maids, to renew their plumage along 

 the shores. At the period when these poor birds are unfit for flight, 

 troops of Indians make their appearance in light bark-canoes^ paddled by 

 their squaws and papooses. They form their flotilla into an extended 

 curve, and drive before them the birds, not in silence, but with simulta- 

 neous horrific yells, at the same time beating the surface of the water with 

 long poles and paddles. Terrified by the noise, the birds swim a long way 

 before them, endeavouring to escape with all their might. The tide is high, 

 every cove is filled, and into the one where we now are, thousands of 

 Ducks are seen entering. The Indians have ceased to shout, and the 



