m AUDUBON'S LABRADOR 



the little town of Natashquan. The church and 

 presbytery, in the thicket of white spruces, 

 with the long straight walk through the trees 

 on a raised sand-beach, the bridge newly built 

 over the river, the few scattered houses of the 

 inhabitants, the low, rocky islands, the blue 

 water, the fleet of little fishing-vessels — all 

 of these formed for me a familiar picture. 



We expected to be off early on the 6th, but 

 were delayed by an easterly storm. The steam- 

 ship Laurentian, Captain Boucher, — my old 

 friend of the steamship Natashquan, — had 

 come in with difficulty the night previous and 

 had remained most of the day before ven- 

 turing forth. The old steamer Natashquan, of 

 La Ligne Internationale, that used to ply along 

 this coast has gone to her last berth. Three 

 times I risked my life by taking passage on 

 her, yet I look upon her demise with fond re- 

 grets. She reminded me of the Bridget, in 

 Van Dyke's poem "Gran' Boule," that ran 

 "clear down to the Esquimault Point and 

 back," — 



" ' Dose engine one leetl' bit cranky, — too ole, you see, — 

 She roll and peetch in de wave. But I lak 'er pretty 

 well;'" — 



