70 East and West 
haunting sadness. Perhaps in some dim 
past we migrated with the birds at the ap- 
proach of winter and it is that ancestral 
call which after untold centuries still stirs 
the blood in autumn. As the canoe drifts 
among floating leaves, we feel this strange 
hypnosis impelling us to paddle toward the 
horizon, ever on and on, to some undiscov- 
ered shore. 
