kind so lightly, but I assure you it would very soon kill a man of my delicate constitution.” Cheadle remarked that Milton was of slighter build than himself, and he did his share without complaint. “Ah! yes,” replied Mr. O’B., “he is fired with emulation. I have been lost in admiration of his youthful ardour all the day! but you see I am older, and obliged to be cautious; look how I have suffered by my exertions to-day!”--showing us a small scratch on his hand. We exhibited our palms, raw with blisters, which caused him to turn the conversation by dilating on his favourite topic--the hardships of the fearful journey we were making. Milton and the boy had volunteered to swim across with horses, in order to carry ropes to the other side with which to guide the raft-- a somewhat hazardous adventure, as the river was broad, and the stream tremendously rapid; but before our preparations were completed on the following morning, a half-breed made his appearance in our camp--a welcome sight after our solitary journey of three weeks. He informed us that he was one of Mr. Macaulay’s party who were out hunting. The party had divided at McLeod River, and were to meet at the Fort that day. He advised us to cross the river some miles higher up, beyond the lake, where the stream was more tranquil, and thereby avoid the River Maligne on the other side, which it was very hazardous to attempt to ford at this season. We accordingly raised camp, and proceeded, under his guidance, along the bank of the river for four or five miles. On the way we forded several streams, or more probably mouths of one river, flowing into the Athabasca from the south, very swollen and rapid. We crossed them on horseback without much difficulty, by carefully following our guide; but Mr. O’B., having taken a rooted dislike to equitation, since his horse lay down with him when ascending the mountain, perversely resolved to wade across. We pulled up on the further side and watched him, as he followed, cautiously and fearfully, steadying himself by the stout stick which he invariably carried. He went on with great success until he gained the middle of the stream, when he suddenly plunged into a hole, where the water was nearly up to his arm-pits. He cried out wildly, “I’m drowning! Save me! save me!” then, losing his presence of mind, applied, in his confusion, the saying of his favourite poet, “_In medio tutissimus ibis_,” and struggled into deeper water still, instead of turning back to the shallow part. He was in imminent danger of being carried off, and Milton hastened to the rescue, and brought him out, clinging to his stirrup. He was dreadfully frightened, but gradually recovered composure when assured we had no more rivers to ford for the present.