As if in emulation of the greater river
of which it is a tributary. Haliburton says that for a time this was
called Allan's River, and the greater one was named the Dauphin; but we
are glad that the old French name was restored to the serpentine creek,
as it is so much better suited to its peculiar character.
The great event of the week is the arrival of the Boston steamer, when
all the town turns out and wends its way to the wharves.
The peculiar rise of the tide (thirty feet) is here plainly shown, as
one week the passengers step off from the very roof of the saloon, and
next time she comes in they disembark from the lowest gangway possible
and climb the long ascent of slippery planks to the level above.
The river shows curious currents and counter-currents, as bits of
débris are hurrying upward in the middle of the stream, while similar
flotsam and jetsam rush away as rapidly down stream along both shores.
The queer old tub of a ferry boat, with its triangular wings spreading
at the sides, - used as guards and "gang planks", - is a curiosity, as it
zigzags across the powerful current to the village on the opposite
shore.
But "the ferryman's slim, the ferryman's young, and he's just a soft
twang in the turn of his tongue"; and in our frequent trips across he
probably makes a mental note when he hears us lamenting that we cannot
get lobsters, for one day he sends to our abiding place four fine large
ones, and will not receive a cent in remuneration.
Another time, when waiting for the farmer's you to guide us to the "ice
mine", - a ravine in the mountains where ice remains through the summer,
- a delicious lunch, consisting of fresh bread, sweet milk, and cake,
is unexpectedly set before us, and the generous farmer's wife will not
listen to recompense.
A modern writer says: "A great part of the enjoyment of life is in the
knowledge that there are people living in a worse place than that you
inhabit;" but it does not add to our happiness to think of those who
could not come to this lovely spot; and we commiserate the Can't-get-
away Club of the cities.
We would not change places with any of the dwellers at the fashionable
resorts at springs, sea, or mountains, - no, indeed! though they no doubt
would elevate their noses, and set this place down at once as "deadly
dull", or "two awfully slow for anything"!
Doubtless those also of our friends to whom we tell the plain,
unvarnished truth, if they come here will be disappointed, as they will
not see with our eyes. One cannot expect the luxuries of palatial
hotels at five dollars per day; such would be out of place here.
