the “freshets” caused by the melting of the snow raising the waters above their ordinary level.  I have often sailed over them, and ’twas strange to see each familiar footpath and strawberry bank far down beneath the shining waves.  As the creek goes onward to the river the intervale disappears, and the banks become grey and steep, crowned with the tall and slender stems of the spruce and cedar.  New Brunswick is rich in minerals, and veins of coal and iron abound at this place; but many years must elapse ere mines are worked to any extent.  A few are in operation at present; but while the pine waves the wealth of her green plumage to the lumber-man, or the new-cleared ground will yield its virgin crop to the farmer, the earth must keep her deeper treasures.  In the spring, this creek presents a busy picture.  The rivers of New Brunswick are to her what the railroads are now to other countries:  and richly is she blessed with sparkling waters from the diamond flashings of the mountain rill to the still calm beauty of the sheltered lake, the silvery streams, the sweeping river, and the unfrozen width of the winter harbour of her noble bay.  True, much can be done on the icy ways of winter, but then the home work must be minded, and market attended.  Fire-wood for the year must be hauled; the increasing clearings call for extended fences, and these also must be drawn from the woods on the snow, so that when the spring opens, the roots and other spare produce are quickly shipped off (boated would be a better expression) into large open boats, called market-boats.  Another description, called wood-boats, are used for carrying deals and cord-wood, so called from the stick forming the measure of a cord, which is the mode of selling it in the city for fuel.  The deals are floated from the saw mills over the shallows, and piled into the boats.  One could sometimes walk across the river on the quantities of wood floating about.  The larger pieces of wood or timber are floated singly down the stream nearest to the place whence they are cut.  This operation is called stream-driving, and commences as soon as the rapid melting of the snow and ice has so swollen the small streams as to give them power to force and carry the huge pieces of timber, until, at the confluence of the streams, the water becomes wide enough to enable them to form it into rafts, on which raft a hut is built and furnished with the necessaries for subsistence.  The gang who have been employed in bringing it so far lay themselves upon it, and allow it to float down the stream, until the breeze wafts them to their destination.  These are the scenes of the spring, when all life seems awakening.  The tree-buds are bursting their cerements—­the waters are dancing in light and song—­and the woods, before all still, now echo a few wild notes of melody.  The blue wing of the halycon goes dazzlingly past, and tells us his own bright days are come; and the “whip-poor-will”