THE THRESHOLD OF THE GODS. 81 
My seat was forward near the prow of the 
boat, and I could look straight ahead over the 
little, decaying staff which, in imitation of a 
bowsprit, slanted off from the pirogue’s beak. 
A glance down the river showed me how near 
to the dizzy escarpments of the mountain its 
current flowed, whilst over against this vast 
wall a wooded country, almost flat, swept off to 
a range of low green hills a mile distant. 
The guide propelled our frail craft with a 
short, broad paddle which must have been 
very old, for the wood of which it was made 
had turned green and was curiously creased 
with worm-furrows and slimy with fungus or 
moss. Besides this paddle, a long cane rod, 
for use when the process of polling was ne- 
cessary, lay athand. But, so sensitive seemed 
our ancient pirogue to even the least impulse, 
there was little need of any engine, more than 
the stream’s own current, to propel us withal. 
Noiselessly and evenly we slipped down the 
tide, much like the shadowy figures of a dream, 
it seemed to me, between the fern-braided 
banks. We scarcely made a ripple as we 
went. My habit of close observation soon 
prevailed over the dreamy mood that had set- 
tled upon me, and I began a minute study of 
the shores as they stole, by apparent motion, 
to the rear of us. Below the wild tangles of 
ferns and semifluviatic plants beautifully 
waved lines of parachrose stones lay in blend- 
ing strata, as if half-welded by some process 
‘of fluxion long since ended—a dim polychrome 
rendered doubly effective by our motion. On 
ithe side opposite to the ridge the bank was 
quite low, giving us free insight to the farthest 
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