IN AUDUBON'S LABRADOE 



I found the descendant of the noble family, 

 a man in the sixties with white hair and beard 

 and a certain aristocratic manner of speech, 

 dining with a descendant of another early ad- 

 venturer in these regions, Mr. W. B. Cabot. 

 Their ancestors were doubtless served with 

 joints of venison and flagons of wine, but 

 their descendants were dining on salt fish and 

 tea. Mr. Cabot had found some of his Indian 

 friends up the river, which sufficiently ac- 

 counted for his presence. Chevalier told me 

 that one of his great-uncles had been a taxi- 

 dermist for Audubon and had traveled with 

 him, and he was glad to hear about the famous 

 ornithologist. The little settlement of four- 

 teen or fifteen houses and a church is deserted 

 in summer save for our friend, who ekes out a 

 scanty existence by the netting of salmon. 



The shores of the bay and the mouth of the 

 river were everywhere rocky and pseudo- 

 mountainous, — if I may use the word, — with 

 little forests hanging in the gullies or creep- 

 ing down the valleys like glaciers. The sandy 

 shores about the village were thick with grass 

 growing on the soil enriched by years of fish- 

 ing and sealing industries. A young bull was 

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