No indeed--life and travel and memory have offer'd and will preserve to
me no deeper-cut incidents, panorama, or sights to cheer my soul, than
these at Chicoutimi and Ha-ha bay, and my days and nights up and down
this fascinating savage river--the rounded mountains, some bare and
gray, some dull red, some draped close all over with matted green
verdure or vines--the ample, calm, eternal rocks everywhere--the long
streaks of motley foam, a milk-white curd on the glistening breast of
the stream--the little two-masted schooner, dingy yellow, with patch'd
sails, set wing-and-wing, nearing us, coming saucily up the water with a
couple of swarthy, black-hair'd men aboard--the strong shades falling on
the light gray or yellow outlines of the hills all through the forenoon,
as we steam within gunshot of them--while ever the pure and delicate
sky spreads over all. And the splendid sunsets, and the sights of
evening--the same old stars, (relatively a little different, I see, so
far north) Arcturus and Lyra, and the Eagle, and great Jupiter like
a silver globe, and the constellation of the Scorpion. Then northern
lights nearly every night.