ARROW-lIsHlNG. 55 



If you will descend with r.ic from slightly broken 

 ground through which we have been riding, covered 

 with forest trees singularly choked up with undergrowth, 

 to an expanse of country beautifully open between the 

 trees, the limbs of which start out from the trunk some 

 thirty feet above the ground, you will find at your feet 

 an herbage that is luxuriant, but scanty ; high over your 

 head, upon the trees, you will perceive a htie, marking 

 what has evidently been an overflow of water ; you can 

 trace the beautiful level upon the trunks of the trees, as 

 far as the eye can reach. 



It is in the fall of the year, and a squirrel drops an 

 acorn upon your shoulder, and about your feet are the 

 sharp-cut tracks of the nimble deer. You are standing 

 in the centre of what is called, by hunters, a " dry 

 lake." 



As the warm air of April favors the opening flowers 

 of spring, the waters of the Mississippi, increased by 

 the melting snows of the North, swell within its low 

 banks, and rush in a thousand streams back into the 

 swamps and lowlands that lie upon its borders ; the tor- 

 rent sweeps along into the very reservoir in which we 

 stand, and the waters swell upwards until they find a 

 level with the fountain itself. Thus is formed the ar- 

 row-fisher's lake. 



The brawny oak, the graceful pecan, the tall poplar, 

 and delicate beech spring from its surface in a thousand 

 tangled limbs, looking more beautiful, yet most unnat- 



