DAYS ON THE ILLINOIS 



By William C. Hazelton 



Do you know the blackened timber — do you know that racing stream 



With the raw, right-angled log-jam at the end ; 

 And the bar of sun-warmed shingle where a man may bask and dream 



To the click of shod canoe-poles round the bend? 



— Kipling. 



OW would you like to journey down the grand old 

 Illinois River for a week in the glorious Autumn 

 weather, visiting with the river people, and bag- 

 ging a few ducks on the way 1 Well, I did it in October, 

 1917, and had one of the most enjoyable times of my life. 

 I started at Morris, ten miles below the junction of 

 the Kankakee and Des Plaines Rivers, and ended my 

 trip at Liverpool, ISO' miles down the river, rowing the 

 entire distance alone, except going through Peoria Lake. 

 I thus combined the pleasures of both travel and hunt- 

 ing. I fully realize that many hunters would not at- 

 tempt this. They think it too far to row a boat, espe- 

 cially on a river so large as the Illinois. It is true 

 there is a big expanse of water at some points and you 

 are liable to encounter severe storms at this season of 



