A LABRADOR SPRING 
lected all the botanical specimens within reach, 
and had noted down all my observations, I 
had always one resource left, —I could dig 
for ice. 
My last exploration in this direction was 
made on the 21st of June. Ina bog part way 
up the mountains above the falls of the Mingan 
River, I cut out a triangular piece of sphagnum 
with my sheaf knife, and proceeded to dissect 
the peaty soil below, and excavate it by hand. 
Our Indian guide, who could not speak a word 
of either English or French, gravely watched 
the proceedings as I gradually dug until my 
arm was inserted in the hole to the elbow. 
At this depth the ground was very cold, but 
I could feel no ice even with my knife-blade 
thrust below. I then solemnly replaced the 
triangular piece of sphagnum at the top of the 
hole, and the Indian and I silently resumed 
our march. I have often wondered whether 
he thought I was seeking for gold, was per- 
forming a religious ceremony or was merely a 
little crazy. 
Perhaps the most notable arrival of south- 
erners on the day of the orchid and mountain 
dryad, — this glorious seventh of June — was 
25 
