CHAPTER XXII.

A BEAUTIFUL FLOWER—­A NEW LAKE—­A MOOSE—­HIS CAPTURE—­A SUMPTUOUS DINNER.

We started the next morning on an exploring voyage up the right-hand stream, which enters this beautiful lake some half a mile west of the one we had looked into the day before.  On either hand, as we passed along the narrow channel, was a natural meadow, covered with a luxuriant growth of rank grass and weeds, conspicuous among which was a beautiful flower, the like of which I have never seen anywhere else.  I am no botanist, and therefore cannot describe it in the language of the florist, so that the learned in that beautiful science might classify it.  It resembles somewhat the wild lily in shape, growing upon a tall, strong stem, almost like the stem of the flag.  The flower itself is double, and its deep crimson—­the deepest almost of any flower I have ever seen—­shone conspicuously, as it waved gracefully in the breeze above the surrounding vegetation.  It has one defect, however; it is without fragrance, I infer from the fact that its roots spread far out every way, and reach down into the water beneath, that it can hardly be transferred to the garden, or become civilized.  It would be a great acquisition to the collection of the florist if it could, for I know of no flower that excels it in richness of color, gracefulness of appearance, or in gorgeousness of beauty.

We saw abundance of deer feeding quietly upon the narrow meadows, and upon the lily pads on our way.  We had no inclination to injure them, and we let them feed on.  Some of them were hugely astonished, however, at our presence, and dashed away, whistling and snorting, into the forest.  Two miles from the lake, we came to a rocky barrier, down which the stream, came rushing and roaring, for fifty or sixty rods, in a descent of perhaps sixty feet in all.  Around these rapids the boats were carried, and we found, above them, the water deep and sluggish, flowing through a dense forest, the tall trees on the banks stretching their leafy arms across the narrow channel, forming above it an arch delightfully cool, through which the sunlight could scarcely penetrate.  We followed this channel a long way, when we came to a little lake or pond, four or five miles in circumference.  It was a perfect gem, laying there all alone, so calm, so lovely in its solitude, with no sign of civilization around it, no sound of civilization startling its echoes from their sleep of ages, no human voice having perhaps ever been heard upon its shore since the red man departed from the hunting-ground of his fathers.  The shores all around it were bold and rocky, save on the western side, where a broad sandy beach, of a quarter of a mile in extent, lay between the water and the shadow of the deep forest beyond.  A solitary island of half a dozen acres, covered with majestic pines and tall, straight spruce trees, rises near the centre of the lake, adding a new charm to its quiet