A LABRADOR SPRING 
As we passed Pashasheeboo Bay, a name 
which Mathias delighted to roll on his tongue, we 
saw a solitary house, a lobster fisherman’s. 
For a long distance we sailed among rocky 
islands, and we passed a lovely protected har- 
bour, forest skirted, which Mathias called le 
havre des sauvages, for, he said, fourteen or 
fifteen families of Indians camped there every 
summer, and J admired their taste. 
Soon the scene changed, and we skirted at a 
safe distance a ten mile, surf-lined beach, backed 
by cliffs and a dark spruce forest. The Na- 
besippi River flowed out in the middle of this 
beach, and, at the eastern end, the Agwanus 
River discharged. Here was a big church, a 
bigger trading-house and a dozen or two small 
houses of the habitants, all fishermen and trap- 
pers. Hundreds of terns or sea swallows, as 
they are called, graceful creatures, flew about 
us screaming, and it was evident that they 
were nesting on the barren islands. As the 
breakers appeared to form a continuous white 
line across the entrance to the harbour where 
a few fishing boats were riding at anchor, we 
concluded that the open sea was much pleas- 
anter, and we pushed on in our staunch boat. 
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