perfume, not less fragrant than the "May," which makes the lanes and
hedgerows of "merrie old England" so sweet and fair in May and June.

At length their path began to grow more difficult. A tangled mass of
cedars, balsams, birch, black ash, alders, and _tamarack_ (Indian
name for the larch), with a dense thicket of bushes and shrubs, such
as love the cool, damp soil of marshy ground, warned our travellers
that they must quit the banks of the friendly stream, or they might
become entangled in a trackless swamp. Having taken copious and
refreshing draughts from the bright waters, and bathed their hands and
faces, they ascended the grassy bank, and, again descending, found
themselves in one of those long valleys, enclosed between lofty
sloping banks, clothed with shrubs and oaks, with here and there a
stately pine. Through this second valley they pursued their way, till,
emerging into a wider space, they came among those singularly
picturesque groups of rounded gravel-hills, where the Cold Creek once
more met their view, winding its way towards a grove of evergreens,
where it was again lost to the eye.

This lovely spot was known as Sackville's Mill-dike. The hand of man
had curbed the free course of the wild forest stream, and made it
subservient to his will, but could not destroy the natural beauties of
the scene.

Fearing to entangle themselves in the swamp, they kept the hilly
ground, winding their way up to the summit of the lofty ridge of the
oak hills, the highest ground they had yet attained; and here it was
that the silver waters of the Rice Lake in all its beauty burst upon
the eyes of the wondering and delighted travellers. There it lay, a
sheet of liquid silver, just emerging from the blue veil of mist that