About three o’clock one sultry afternoon in August, 188-, a canoe containing two young men might have been seen slowly making its way southward upon that picturesque sheet of water on the coast of Maine known as “Frenchman’s Bay.” The paddles moved lazily, and the mirror-like surface of the water was disturbed only a short distance in the track of the light craft, which, on account of the placid transparency of its native element, seemed to be floating almost in air. That wonderful combination of sea, mountain, rock and forest, which has made this fairest gem of the coast famous, was at its best, and the atmosphere seemed quivering with light, beauty and color. The transparent azure of the s…
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