An Up-River Ramble. 141 



has borne the brunt of untold centuries of storms. 

 All that is new about them is each succeeding sum- 

 mer's mantle of vine and flower. These, clinging 

 to the narrowest of ledges, and rinding root-hold 

 in the shallow cracks, gave rise to much specula- 

 tion in my mind, for they seemed so unequal to 

 withstanding storms, yet were as luxuriant as the 

 growths in the valley beneath. 



We had had an opportunity of comparing 

 man's work with nature, and the little canal at 

 the very base of the bluff was a ludicrous feature 

 of the landscape from where we stood. But the 

 river beyond was in no wise commonplace. It 

 flowed, as of old, serenely past innumerable bould- 

 ers that fretted its course, but from our point of 

 view there was no evidence of haste or hesitancy ; 

 the flow seemingly as calm and unruffled as the 

 wide-reaching landscape and the overarching sky. 

 Heeding only the hills that hemmed it in, as a 

 glistening thread of silver it reached to other 

 scenes the high hills shut from us, and was the 

 dearer to every rambler for that, miles away, with 

 the same gladsome brightness, it rippled past our 

 homes. How much there is in such a feeling ! Not 



