rivers, having to carry everything over four portages which separated them. The first of these lakes they called Mosquito Lake, from the extraordinary number of that troublesome insect which tormented them when crossing it and the succeeding portage. The little connecting streamlets swarmed with trout, and they caught a large number with fly. The most ardent sportsman could, however, scarcely stand the attacks of the mosquitoes, even when three fine trout would rise and hook themselves on separate flies at every third or fourth cast. All the men were compelled to wear veils, their faces and necks were becoming much swollen, and as they paddled mournfully across these little lakes they looked like veiled sufferers from snow-blindness, fearing and shunning the light. The foliage of the spruce and Banksian pine was, however, remarkably beautiful round these secluded sheets of water.

"What's that?' said one of the voyageurs at the night-camp, as he was lying at full-length before the fire, listening to the conversation, as a distant howl was distinctly audible.

"A wolf,' answered Pierre. soon. There!'

'Be still, and you will hear it again

"But that is in a different direction; the first noise came from over yonder.'

"One wolf answers another,' said Pierre. Be still, perhaps you will hear half a dozen yet; but I don't think there are many wolves here, there is nothing for them to eat.'"

Although it was the 28th day in June when the explorers reached Lake Nipisis, ice several feet thick remained in the fissures of a rugged rock at which they lay wind-bound for some time. They found the traces of Indians at the northern extremity of this lake, attesting to the existence of a few roving, hunting beings in these desolate regions. Mr. Hind also appropriated to himself a splendid pair of caribou horns, which had been placed on the branch of a tree during the winter. There were tracks of fresh caribou, bear, beaver, and fox, in the same neighbourhood, showing that the region was more frequented by game than what they had hitherto met with, which accounted also for the recent presence of Indians.

An incident occurred here which had well-nigh cost the explorers their canoes. The day was hot and sultry, the caribou moss dry and brittle, and, notwithstanding every precaution, a fire made to cook dinner caught the moss, and spread with amazing rapidity. It was only by extraordinary exertions that the canoes were saved by dashing them into the river. The baggage was also luckily secured by being removed to a little beach of sand on the edge of the river. The fires thus accidentally brought about are among the most fearful calamities by which Labrador is visited. The mosses burn with such rapidity that there is no escape for a man by flight. His only chance, if at a distance from water, is to scrape a space bare around him and to lie down. The fire communicates to the forests, and immense tracts of vegetation are sometimes thus consumed. A few days later the explorers had painful proof of the awful change in the features of the country produced by wide-spreading conflagrations, and Mr. Hind says that there appears to be little reason to doubt that a very considerable portion of the Labrador Peninsula has from this cause been rendered an uninhabitable wilderness. He also

attributes a very curious phenomenon known as the "dark days of Canada," and which occurred in 1785, and again in 1814, giving rise to all kinds of wild speculations as to distant volcanic action, simply to the combustion of vast tracts in the interior of Labrador. Many thousand square miles are indeed in the present day a burnt country!

A burning forest of spruce and birch is a spectacle of extraordinary sublimity during the night; it is like a magnificent display of fireworks on a stupendous scale, and far surpasses the conflagrations of the heavier forests in more temperate climates. A spruce-tree flashes into flame from the bottom to the top almost instantaneously, with a crackling hissing roar, which, when viewed close at hand, rivets a breathless attention, not unmixed with anxiety and fear. The light which it casts is vivid and red, the noise sharp, quick, and loud, like an infinite number of snaps repeated with just perceptible intervals. The awful but splendid light thrown through the forest casts the blackest shadows wherever its rays cannot reach. The birch-trees flame steadily, pouring forth huge volumes of dense smoke, which whirling high in the air form an opaque screen above the burning forest, from which a lurid light is reflected; at intervals gusts of wind sweep through the trees, followed by a train of smoke and sparks which, winding through the charred trunks or meeting with violent eddies, rise up in a spiral form to rejoin the black clouds above. When the wind is favourable, a burning spruce forest viewed from an eminence is awfully impressive; from ten, twenty, to fifty trees at a time columns of flame shoot up, wildly twisting and darting high above the trees, and then subside; a few minutes later another outburst illuminates rocks and mountains, which appear indescribably vast, silent, and immovable. Wild-fowl, disturbed and bewildered by the dazzling light, fly in great circles high above the burning forest, and sometimes, descending rapidly in spiral flight, plunge into the fires; others drop from an immense height like a stone into the flames, probably suffocated by the hot air and smoke in which they have been wheeling round and round for hours, fascinated like moths by the fitful glare below them.

Another pretty lake, where they saw bear, beaver, loons, and spruce partridges, led the way to the burnt country in question. It was an awful scene of desolation, far surpassing any they had seen before. "We looked," says Mr. Hind, "upon a burnt country, where the dead standing trees still wore the marks of fire, or were bleached by years of lifeless exposure. We saw myriads of boulders strewed over the hills and mountains, without a green moss or a grey lichen to show that life had ever been there. This, then, was the beginning of the burnt country which the Indians had told us lay near the Height of Land-the great table-land of the Labrador Peninsula." One fact they noticed with delight. On that vast gloomy expanse there were numerous little islands of forests which had escaped the fire, little green oases in a black desert; something that might lead them to picture in their minds' eye the aspect of the country before the fire swept over it and destroyed its summer beauty.

Our observation for latitude showed that we were under the same parallel as the Touchwood Hills in the valley of the Saskatchewan, forty degrees of longitude farther west. What a difference in climate and vegetation at nearly the same height above the sea level! We find in the prairie country luxuriant vegetation, an infinite number of wild-fowl, vast herds of buffalo, and a summer heat sufficiently long to ripen early varieties of Indian corn. In the rocky eastern country, the rivers and lakes are frozen from October to the end of May, the woodland caribou replaces the buffalo, birds are few in number, and their species very limited, consisting of a few varieties of ducks, geese, the spruce

partridge, the ptarmigan, woodpeckers, and gulls; the trees in general stunted, and only represented by the birch, spruce, larch, and Banksian pine; flowers almost arctic in their character, and in place of rich and nutritious grasses, lichens and mosses grow over the rocks and swamps, covering everything with green, grey, yellow, purple, or black.

Leaving the Burnt Portage on July 1, they descended eighteen feet, and came into a lake in the burnt country. "What desolation!" Mr. Hind exclaims. "What dreadful ruin all around! Not ruin from fire only, but ruin exposed by fire."

Close on the banks of the lakes and their connecting rivers lies the burnt country. Sand conceals the rocks beneath and hides what lies below from view; but ascending a slight eminence away from the immediate banks of the river, the true character of the country becomes apparent. Conceive marching for miles over charcoal, the burnt remains and ashes of moss once two feet deep; imagine your steps arrested by blackened trees, or dead trees with bark fallen off, and the trunks bleached white, in singular contrast to the black ground. Suppose that you pass through this level waste and reach the foot of a hill, a hill of boulders or erratics, all water-worn and smooth, without moss or lichen on them, and piled two and three deep, and, for aught you know, twenty deep. You peer between the interstices of the first layer, and see the second layer; and sometimes through spaces between the boulders of the second layer, and find a third layer visible. The well-worn masses of all sizes, from one foot to twenty feet in diameter, and from one ton to ten thousand tons in weight, are washed clean. Mosses, ever green and bright, once covered them, filling the spaces between, and changing their harsh and unyielding outlines into a level green plain or a gently sloping hill, fair to look at, but dangerous to trust. Lying at full length on a giant erratic, and looking over its well-worn edge, I could without difficulty see three tiers of these "travelled rocks," and in the crevices the charred roots of trees which had grown in the mosses and lichens which formerly clothed them with perennial beauty.

The men who had to carry the canoes and baggage across the portage were now nearly as black as the ground they walked on. Embarking again, they paddled slowly against the stream; but it was now dispiriting work. The river reflected the black banks, the dead spruce stretched their bare arms wildly in the air; huge blocks of gneiss, twenty feet in diameter, lay in the channel, or on the rocks, which here and there pierced the sandy tract through which the river flowed; while on the summits of mountains, and along the crests of hill-ranges, they seemed as if they had been dropped like hail. Again, at a little lake they came to farther on, called Caribou Lake, no language, says our explorer, could adequately express the utter desolation of the scenery. The dead trees

were blanched white; the sand was blown into low dunes; the surrounding hills were covered with millions of erratics, most of them white. Both birds and beasts seemed to shun so dreary a scene, and only here and there did the mosses and willows appear to be making feeble efforts to rise again in greenness and life, and cover the terrible nakedness of the land.

An attempt was made from Caribou Lake to ascend a hill, which appeared to be about four miles off, and which was this time attended with

success.

The view far exceeded our expectations; it was one possessing a sublimity of character which could only be found among such extraordinary elements as those which composed it. The first striking feature was the number of lakes, Jan.-VOL. CXXX. NO. DXVII.

C

occupying distinct valleys, which seemed to lie between low ranges of hills projecting from a table-land. A shallow depression in the horizon instantly struck us as the Dividing Ridge, separating the waters of Ashwanipi from those of the Moisie, the waters which flow into the North Atlantic from those which flow into the Gulf of St. Lawrence. The large lake below the Dividing Ridge was the one which the Nasquapee said we should see, where he had wintered with Domenique and his tribe, and from which he had departed scarcely a month before. Far to the north-east was a very high range of mountains, on whose top the snow, glistening in the sun, could easily be distinguished with a glass. We were on the edge of the burnt country, which extended to the north-northwest and south, while towards the east forests of stunted trees bordered the lakes, and crept a little way up the sides of the hills. The whole country appeared to consist of a succession of low mountains, few of them exceeding in height the one which formed our point of view.

I counted twenty-two large lakes, besides numerous small sheets of water, which evidently merged into swamps, and are probably more or less connected in the spring of the year. A countless number of erratics were scattered in every direction, best seen, however, towards the south and west in the burnt country. The hill-sides appeared to be covered with them, and many were of very large dimensions. Those on the bare rock where we stood were well water-worn, lichen-covered, and appeared to consist of gneiss, to the exclusion of every other variety of rock. I looked for glacial striæ, but saw none; I searched carefully for moraines, but could not distinguish any, unless every valley could be said to possess its own moraine—an idea which the absence of glacial striæ for a time dispelled. The striæ may long since have disappeared under the singular atmospheric influences of the climate of this elevated region. The entire peninsula was perhaps once covered with ice as Greenland now is. The erratics appeared to be uniformly distributed; but it must be observed, that in the valleys the caribou moss covered them, so that their number or the manner of their distribution could not be well discerned.

Long and anxiously I looked round in every direction to see if I could distinguish any signs of animal life, but without success. No sound was audible

except the sighing of the wind. A marshy lake lay at the foot of the hill, which we had ascended with the greatest caution on the opposite side, but no waterfowl were visible, or even fish seen to rise. Not a bird, or butterfly, or beetle appeared to inhabit this desolate wilderness. Behind us lay the burnt country, built up of erratics. Yet what a history did it unfold! A history of continental glacial ice, wearing down rocks and grinding out lake basins—a history of deep seas, bearing boulder-ladened floes of ice, dropping their burdens as they floated over-a history of stranded icebergs and irresistible currents-a history of gradually emerging land, of changing coast lines, and of continual change in the position of the travelled rocks—a history of frosts, snows, swollen lakes and rivers-of long dreary winters, short scorching summers—and, finally, a dreadful conflagration.

The country which the explorers had now reached was on the borders of the table-land of the Labrador Peninsula, through which the great river Ashwanipi flows towards the Atlantic. The portage, indeed, which separated them from the lake before them, from the first tributary to the Ashwanipi, was short and low. Having arrived, then, at the great dividing ridge of Labrador, at an elevation of some two thousand two hundred and forty feet above the level of the sea, Mr. Hind became convinced that it was wholly useless attempting to proceed any farther on foot, and it would be impossible for them, with their small supply of provisions, to go round the shores of the lakes and through swamps which separated them for many miles. Had there been any hope of procuring caribou, rabbits, ducks, porcupine, or even a sufficient supply of fish, they would not have hesitated; but to attempt to penetrate into

such a country wholly dependent upon the provisions which they could carry on their backs, was out of the question. "Even," says Mr. Hind, "if I had been sufficiently selfish to insist on the men subjecting themselves to the mere fatigue of journeying over barren rocks, surrounded by treacherous moss-covered boulders and succeeded by deep swamps, it is not improbable that the mosquitoes and black flies would soon have settled the question. The only way in which we could advance was by dragging the canoes through the river, whose bed was so much obstructed by large stones and boulders, that we might endanger the safety of our frail craft, already, with one exception, much shattered. To lose our canoes would be almost equivalent to losing the lives of the whole party, for it would have been almost impossible for some of us in summer-time to have reached the coast on foot." In winter most of the difficulties of such a journey disappear, for the road then lies over frozen lakes. Caribou are more plentiful, and far more easily tracked and taken; there are no tormenting flies, and rapid progress can be made.

It was wisely determined, then, to descend the river without further delay; the bows of the canoes were turned down stream, and it can be imagined how soon, aided by a swift current, the horrors of the burnt country were left behind them. It is true that they had shallows and boulders to contend with, and the shooting of the rapids were by no means unattended by danger, but these difficulties seemed trifling in comparison with the tedious labours that had attended upon passing the same by portage. Sometimes, however, and especially in the lower part of the river, the rapids were so bad that the same system had to be had recourse to as on the ascent, and canoes and baggage had to be transported by land.

The fisheries upon the coast of Labrador are of the highest commercial importance. First in rank comes the cod, and a Mr. Tétu, we are told, has invented a deep-sea fishing apparatus, by which he has been enabled to take one hundred and fifty thousand fish in a fortnight. His mesh is smaller than is allowed by law, but the profits of his fishery enable him to pay the fines. The shoals of herring and mackerel which approach the shores at certain seasons are also immense, and apparently inexhaustible. Salmon and trout abound in all the rivers, and sea trout, haddock, halibut, eels, caplin, and lobsters, furnish the settlers along the coast with abundance of excellent food. The refuse of these productive fisheries might also be made available as fish manure. There are also the whale fisheries and the seal fisheries, which are mainly carried on from Newfoundland. But with these exceptions it must be admitted that the interior of Labrador presents little to invite the settler. Maybe some mineral resources or other natural productions may be yet discovered that may attach the utmost importance to this vast territory, which has never been thoroughly explored in a strictly scientific point of view. It is impossible to read Mr. Hind's long and elaborate history of this little-known country, as given in his second volume, and not to think that it is impossible that such a country exists in vain. Labrador, desolate as it is in the present day, may yet have a future in store for it. Cryolite abounds most amid the snows and ices of Greenland, and no mineral is so rich in the valuable metal aluminium. What number of chemical and mineralogical secrets and buried treasures may lie uncared for and unsought for in the land of the "flashing fire-rocks?"