Up at seven. Breakfast,- fag ends of everything. Packed up for the last time at eight thirty and paddled over to Tupper Lake Village. The way was interminable,- so it seemed to us, anxious to be through now we were on the home stretch. The river twists and turns and doubles through log-fields and rows of piles, and makes the way twice as long with no apparent reason. Raquette Pond is nothing but a miserable overflow. Beached the old canoe at 11:30 with a rush, at the foot of one of the village side-streets. Turned her over to the American Express Company, which, for the modest sum of $4.80 agreed to transport her back to Mark's, at Old Forge. Highway robbery in the first degree, with no extenuating circumstances, but they had us on the hip, and we must needs fork over.