IN AUDUBON'S LABRADOR ' 



and I ate a big Sunday dinner, but not of 

 the regulation kind. Dried capelin, rabbit, — 

 the big Northern hare canned in winter, — 

 boiled turnip-tops, and steamed blackberry 

 pudding, all washed down with spruce beer. 

 The pudding was made with curlew-berries, 

 or blackberries as they are called here, and it 

 was very good. In the evening there was serv- 

 ice in the dried-fish storehouse, from the belfry 

 of which rang the bell that in old times had 

 summoned the fishermen to their daily grog. 

 Mr. Edward Hunt, the young Church-of- 

 England theological student from St. John's, 

 who was spending the summer at the missions 

 along the coast, read the service in an admir- 

 able manner. There were vigorous responses 

 and hearty singing by the men. 



On the afternoon of Monday, August 2, in 

 one of the lucid intervals of the fog, the Meigle's 

 horn was heard blowing, and I bade good-bye 

 to my hospitable friends. I turned away from 

 Labrador with very different feelings from 

 those of Audubon, who recorded in his Jour- 

 nal, "Seldom in my life have I left a country 

 with as little regret as I do this," — but he 

 had not been visiting the Grants! 



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