The party halted for the night some forty miles below Pembina. The description given by Mr. Black's travelling companion of the camp on the river bank is graphic: "The night is very clear and fine, the face of heaven is smiling amid myriads of twinkling stars; the northern horizon is lit up with the rays of dancing beams of an aurora, while the woods and silent-flowing river are illuminated by our camp fire; our voyageurs are fast asleep upon the ground before us, and not a sound is heard save that of the leaping, crackling flames and the low tone of our own voices as we chat merrily. And now, as my companion reads a chapter in his French pocket Bible, and I pencil down these sketches of fact and fancy by the light of the burning fagots--but hark! we have company, it seems, and are not so lonely as I thought; that was the hoot-owl's cry, and sounds like the wailing of a fiend in misery; that was the cry, long drawn out and dismal, of a distant wolf; and near, the pack like hungry curs are heard yelping and barking furiously. In the bushes beside the camp I see two gleaming, fiery eyeballs. "Take that, to light you to better quarters!" I hurl a blazing firebrand toward the beast, who, with a dismal cry, leaves us to repose and quiet sleep." Another day and still another night of camping, and next morning the party started on the home stretch. With a head wind the voyageurs toiled on, and both passengers relieved the monotony by landing on the right bank, walking along it, and cutting off the bends kept ahead of the canoe. During the day they found by the appearance of houses along the banks that they were approaching their destination. The vivid description given by Mr. Bond fell, in some way, into the hands of the American poet, Whittier, and he has left us a sweet poem, with which we should be acquainted. The scene is that of the voyageurs coming down the stream, and as they approach their destination there is first the sound of bells, and then the sight of the Roman Catholic Cathedral of St. Boniface with the two towers. A picture much like this was seen as the voyageurs in the old days left Ste. Anne on the Ottawa, not far from Montreal, and took their leave, under the protection of Providence, for their long journey to the interior. Thomas Moore, the Irish poet, was much impressed by the sight, on his visit to Canada, when he wrote the Canadian boat song: "Faintly as tolls the evening chime, Our voices keep tune and our oars keep time." So the weary voyageurs approaching St. Boniface are filled with expectation and delight at the end of their journey by the cheery chimes of the Roman Mission. THE RED RIVER VOYAGEUR Out and in the river is winding The links of its long red chain, Through belts of dusky pine land And gusty leagues of plain. Only at times a smoke wreath With the drifting cloud-rack joins-- The smoke of the hunting lodges Of the wild Assiniboins!