E were off at last for our long-talked-of trip by paddle and portage on the Concord and Merrimac. For the next two weeks we were to eschew the habits and garments of civilization, forget business and office cares, and, relapsing into barbarism, lend our minds to camp life and cookery.

Our load included a camera with all the necessary paraphernalia for photography, and a pleasant burden it proved, securing for us many a pretty view. The start was made from Riverside on the Charles River, and the day appointed proved one to tempt a hermit from his cell. The last package was securely stowed and canteens freshly filled, and we dipped our paddles in the gently flowing stream and started on the first stage of the trip, our intended destination being Cow Island on the Charles, where we knew there were good camping ground and plenty of fire-wood. The river was low at this point, and it was not long before the cry of my companion of "Out and push!" was heard, and wet feet were the order of the day. Shoes were however necessary, for the bed of the river was covered with clamshells and sharp pebbles, making walking with bare feet impossible. We waded up-stream, dragging the canoes until deeper water allowed us to proceed under paddle.

The Charles at this point is a beautiful stream, winding through rich pastures, under the shadow of venerable oaks and willows growing to the water's edge. How cool it seemed when, after a two hours' paddle beneath the scorching sun, we ran in under the shadow and descried through the trees our first "carry," one of a series of magnificent stone arches and dams!

It is stiff work carrying our craft over the dam, and as we stop for a breathing spell, let me introduce the voyageurs. First comes Charley D, a prosperous merchant in the "Hub" and the recently elected vice-commodore of a prominent canoe club. He is an old canoeist, an A. C. A. man, and a boon companion for a trip by land or water. He is also an excellent cook. Nor are his powers limited to the culinary department, for the dampest fuel and the most stubborn fires burn brightly under his magical touch. The camp is quickest made under his directions, and if it takes a woman to pack a trunk, a dozen could not load a canoe with half the rapidity and skill of this devoted knight of the paddle. Charley uses a canoe of the "Rob Roy" model and to windward in a sea, in rapid water requiring a nice touch and quick work; and for easy paddling, the little Halcyon has few superiors.

The author has less experience than Charley; nevertheless he is an eager disciple of MacGregor. His powers lie

not so much in the cooking as in the eating line, and as he understands the mysteries of fixing a camp and unpack ing a canoe, and general handiwork, these duties generally fall to his share, as also the not unpleasant work of foraging at the neighboring farms for fresh provisions. His hungry companion waiting by the fireside often thought that much more time than necessary was consumed in bargaining with farmers' buxom daughters for fresh milk and eggs. The canoe that carried him was a double open craft, rather heavier and a foot longer than the Halcyon, very "cranky" when loaded, and called, for want of a better name, the Blackballer.

The dam was finally surmounted, and another half mile of paddling brought us to Echo Bridge and another dam, and here the machine was unpacked and several views taken. After this three more dams were passed, at which we were obliged to completely unload the canoes. We finally entered the smooth stretch to Cow Island, where we were only too glad to turn in early after a hard day's work.

Welcome sleep brought sweet relief to tired muscles, although it seemed but a moment before I was awakened by Charley's brisk whistling outside the tent. Emerging from the blankets, I found my companion squatting over the embers of a hard-wood fire, busily engaged in broiling ham and tossing flapjacks. A plunge into the cool water of the river, then breakfast, and canoes packed and launched ere the sun showed over the trees. We intended reaching South Natick by noon if possible, but alas for human calculations! the river was winding, the temptation to rest often was strong, the views took much time to secure, and-well, those pretty girls from Wellesly in the boat, you know! At any rate, when we reached the town it was close to camping time; so after hauling the canoes into the bushes, we got supper at the only hotel in the sleepy little place. After propping up the canoes we erected the tents, and crawled into the "cockpits," and lighting the old brier root, smoked and discussed the day until, soothed by the wind in the trees and the babble of the water, we fell fast asleep.

Shall I ever forget the morning ride to Lake Cochituate, where we launched our canoes for the next stage?

night before we had engaged a man to take canoes and canoeists with his team to the lake. Prompt to his promise, he appeared with a pair of colts and a lumber rack; but in such a condition! As he expressed it, he was "roaring full, but he calc'lated he could pack them boats daown to the pond, right side up, 'specially ef we guv him a drink uv licker to settle his narves." In despair of finding any one else at that hour, we loaded his team, he saying he guessed as how we knowed the way to pack boats, and he would watch the hosses; but in reality he fell asleep.

Then began a long ride, not without fears on our part for our frail craft, for our Jehu cared not whether he drove in the road or down a ditch or watercourse. His hat was picked up from the road every five minutes, and at last Charley sat with him to hold him on and keep an eye on the colts, while I walked in the rear to see that everything held fast and the boats did not slip. Our trip, however, was attended with no mishap, and after paying our driver, and much disgusting him by the small amount of "licker" that we gave him, we started down the lake.

The paddling was delightful, and at noon we branched off into the natural outlet of the lake, which we mistook for the Sudbury, or, as it is called below Concord, the Concord River. The dam

The

IN THE WAMESITT CLUB-HOUSE.

at the foot of the lake being under repair, the water was shut off, and the view down-stream gave small hope of reaching Saxonville that day, or, in fact, of going farther at all. In the afternoon we toiled along the almost dry watercourse, dragging the canoes through wet meadows and taking short cuts over high ground. We were eaten alive by mosquitoes and tortured by intense heat, and thus far enjoyed this day's trip the least of any. It was not until five P. M. that we reached a point half a mile above the town and cooled ourselves by a dip in a convenient pool. Then we realized that this kind of work gives the spice to inland canoeing.

By dint of questioning we learned from a son of the Emerald Isle cutting grass by the river-side-who would not vouchsafe any answer until we told him we didn't belong to "any of thim rigiments beyant there at Framingham that we could get a team at the .town to carry us to Stone's Bridge. Perhaps his curiosity arose from the fact that we both wore blue trousers and naval caps, or from the sight of the revolvers which we each had on our hips. We were too tired to talk much with him, and leaving the canoes in the meadow, started for the town.

These handy little pistols, by the way, had a wonderful effect on two of the tramping fraternity who wandered into camp one day about dusk. On their inquiring why we carried pistols and how they shot, I pointed to a flapjack pinned against a tree-trunk, riddled with holes, and said that it was the result of five shots from my companion's weapon at twenty-five yards, and that we carried them to scare thieves. This may have had the effect of cooling their possible longing for our provisions, for after a muttered consultation they sauntered off. Charley was a good shot, and many a turtle have I seen him knock off a log, as we floated past, in the river; and his stories of Western ranch life made no unwelcome addition to our camp-fire chats.

Camping was an impossibility that night, for the mosquitoes on the marsh below Stone's Bridge were thicker than flies round a honey-pot, and savage enough to carry away canoes and all. After a cold supper we crawled into the canoes and, with netting pulled over the cockpits, passed a miserable night.

Next morning breakfast was eaten at Fairhaven Bay at a farm-house, four miles below our camping ground. What subtle influence the sight of a canoeist exercises over the rustic female mind I cannot say, but after declaring that they could not sell us anything or give us breakfast, as the hens had failed them and there was no meat in the house, they invited us to breakfast with them. And such a breakfast as it was! Plates of delicious blueberry cake, potatoes stewed in milk, ham and fresh eggs, hot biscuits and very fair coffee were heartily relished, and we started for the canoes, laden with eggs, milk, bread and apples. I am ashamed to say that we could not induce them to accept more than a quarter of a dollar apiece for it all-and Delmonico could not have suited us better.

For some miles above Concord the river was much choked with grass and lily-pads, which retarded our passage to such an extent as to obiige us to pull the canoes along the bank on several occasions. A swarm of small-winged insects collected on the weeds and grassstems, and the movements of the paddles caused them to fly into our noses, mouths and eyes, greatly annoying us.

All things must have an end; but it was late in the afternoon when we came out on the wide stretch of water above Egg Rock, and the beautiful bluff, with the carved tablet relating to the treaty of the first settlers with the Indians, looked, with tents crowning the summit, so inviting, that we agreed to camp there for the night. We found the campers to be two brother canoeists, who with their wives had been voyaging by easy stages down the river and had put in here for a few days' camping.

Very pleasant comrades indeed were they, and very handy boats they had, built from their own designs.

After a truly pleasant evening varied with song and story, we turned in on the sweet hemlock boughs, to dream of swarthy savages lurking in the bushes, and started in our sleep to hear the blood-chilling war-whoop of two hundred years ago.

We left our new friends about nine A. M., having secured pictures of the camp and added material to the note-book, and then paddled down-stream to Concord. On the left bank of the stream stands the statue of the "Minute Man" of '76

marking where the "farmers stood, and fired the shot heard round the world." The statue is of bronze, and represents him leaving his plow and grasping his musket to fight for home and country. On the opposite side of the "rude bridge which spans the flood" is the battle monument marking the graves of the British regulars killed in the fight.

The old town is full of interest to the newcomer, and it was not till after visiting the old church and buryingground, the old "manse" of Hawthorne, and the many points of interest, that we pushed off, and paddling steadily past Billerica, reached Bleachery station outside of Lowell by nightfall.

Here a portage must be made if the voyage is to be continued downstream. At North Billerica we met a gentleman and his wife canoeing upriver. He very kindly gave us the direction of the canoe club at Bleachery, the Wamesitt C. C., of which he was a member, and said we would no doubt find some members, who, if we mentioned his name, would render us any assistance in their power. Following his directions, we found two members of the club, who, by their many acts of courtesy, rendered us much valuable assistance, helped us to find an expressman to cart our canoes across the city, and offered us the use of the club-house as a sleeping-room. As the night was damp and chilly, it is needless to say we accepted their kind offer.

Bright and early in the morning our jovial expressman appeared on the scene with a commodious wagon and everything necessary for safe transportation of our frail craft. The boats were packed with great care, and after bidding good-by to our kind friends, we drove through the still-sleeping city and launched just below Hunt's Falls. After much previous discussion with our friends at the Wamesitt C. C. house we decided not to run the falls, although they said Dr. Pillsbury had done so with wife and child, without taking in a drop. It seems, however, a most foolhardy thing to do, for the water boils and surges like a mill-race, and the river bed is covered with ugly rocks of a slaty formation, between which are narrow channels and sharp turns. Woe to the canoe that struck upon one, for it would be split from stem to stern instantly, so furious is the rush of water.

No further incident occurred until reaching Lawrence, when it was found advisable to leave the Halcyon, which was leaking badly, for repairs, and to continue our voyage in the Blackballer. So weeding out several traps which experience had taught us we could do without, and stowing the rest of the baggage on the Blackballer,which, when loaded, would comfortably carry two, we started on down-stream. At the lock just below the mills we encountered a party of "Teck" boys, jolly fellows, like us canoeing to Boston, and joining company, we camped about three miles below the city for the night.

The next day was Sunday, and properly a day of rest. So we had decided; but Charley having a bad stone bruise on his heel, was suffering intense pain, and we thought it better to go on to Newburyport for arnica and salves, and thence, if it still continued painful, to Boston by train. Easy paddling and the slight excitement of running the Lower Falls or rapids brought us about camping hour to Ram Island, across the river from Newburyport, where, drawing up the canoes, we pitched camp for the night. A couple of the boys went to the town to secure fresh milk and provisions. Stories and songs and the everenjoyable pipe occupied the evening. The gay glees and beautiful "yodels of our new friends sounded sweetly to the Newburyporters, to judge from the crowd which one of the boys, going to the canoes, spied on the opposite wharf. By ten o'clock only a few smoldering embers of the fire and an occasional heavy snore gave life to the camp, and we slept as if we already knew that the next day's work would be a hard one.

The morning broke cloudy with a fresh east wind, which meant hard paddling until we could strike the mouth of Plum Island River. After breakfasting in the town, we started amid an admiring crowd of natives, who, with many speculations and inquiries about our craft, seemed of the opinion, one and all, that we would surely drown if we went outside that day.

The wind having hauled around a point or two, by steady paddling and with the help of the lateen foresail we passed Castle Neck by noon and entered the river. Now the rain, the first storm in a week, came down in torrents, and a nasty, cross sea made