heaven and the long day till the very set of sun. But no starry palm
glasses its crest in the clear cold green from these low brinks; the
pale birch, slender and delicately fair, mirrors here the wintry
whiteness of its boughs; and this is the sad great river of the awful
North.

Gradually, as the day wore on, the hills which had shrunk almost out of
sight on one hand, and on the other were dark purple in the distance,
drew near the shore, and at one point on the northern side rose almost
from the water's edge. The river expanded into a lake before them, and
in their lap some cottages, and half-way up the hillside, among the
stunted pines, a much-galleried hotel, proclaimed a resort of fashion in
the heart of what seemed otherwise a wilderness. Indian huts sheathed in
birch-bark nestled at the foot of the rocks, which were rich in orange
and scarlet stains; out of the tops of the huts curled the blue smoke,
and at the door of one stood a squaw in a flame-red petticoat; others in
bright shawls squatted about on the rocks, each with a circle of dogs
and papooses. But all this warmth of color only served, like a winter
sunset, to heighten the chilly and desolate sentiment of the scene. The
light dresses of the ladies on the veranda struck cold upon the eye; in
the faces of the sojourners who lounged idly to the steamer's
landing-place, the passenger could fancy a sad resolution to repress
their tears when the boat should go away and leave them. She put off two
or three old peasant-women who were greeted by other such on the pier,
as if returned from a long journey; and then the crew discharged the
vessel of a prodigious freight of onions which formed the sole luggage
these old women had brought from Quebec. Bale after bale of the pungent
bulbs were borne ashore in the careful arms of the deck-hands, and
counted by the owners; at last order was given to draw in the plank,
when a passionate cry burst from one of the old women, who extended both