traveling.  Those who use it leave Montreal by a railway; after nine miles, they are changed into a steamboat.  Then they encounter another railway, and at last reach Ottawa in a second steamboat.  But the river is seen, and a better idea of the country is obtained than can be had solely from the railway cars.  The scenery is by no means grand, nor is it strikingly picturesque, but it is in its way interesting.  For a long portion of the river the old primeval forests come down close to the water’s edge, and in the fall of the year the brilliant coloring is very lovely.  It should not be imagined, as I think it often is imagined, that these forests are made up of splendid trees, or that splendid trees are even common.  When timber grows on undrained ground, and when it is uncared for, it does not seem to approach nearer to its perfection than wheat and grass do under similar circumstances.  Seen from a little distance, the color and effect is good; but the trees themselves have shallow roots, and grow up tall, narrow, and shapeless.  It necessarily is so with all timber that is not thinned in its growth.  When fine forest trees are found, and are left standing alone by any cultivator who may have taste enough to wish for such adornment, they almost invariably die.  They are robbed of the sickly shelter by which they have been surrounded; the hot sun strikes the uncovered fibers of the roots, and the poor, solitary invalid languishes, and at last dies.

As one ascends the river, which by its breadth forms itself into lakes, one is shown Indian villages clustering down upon the bank.  Some years ago these Indians were rich, for the price of furs, in which they dealt, was high; but furs have become cheaper, and the beavers, with which they used to trade, are almost valueless.  That a change in the fashion of hats should have assisted to polish these poor fellows off the face of creation, must, one may suppose, be very unintelligible to them; but nevertheless it is probably a subject of deep speculation.  If the reading world were to take to sermons again and eschew their novels, Messrs. Thackeray, Dickens, and some others would look about them and inquire into the causes of such a change with considerable acuteness.  They might not, perhaps, hit the truth, and these Indians are much in that predicament.  It is said that very few pure-blooded Indians are now to be found in their villages, but I doubt whether this is not erroneous.  The children of the Indians are now fed upon baked bread and on cooked meat, and are brought up in houses.  They are nursed somewhat as the children of the white men are nursed; and these practices no doubt have done much toward altering their appearance.  The negroes who have been bred in the States, and whose fathers have been so bred before them, differ both in color and form from their brothers who have been born and nurtured in Africa.