THE THRESHOLD OF THE GODS. 8r 



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 at hand. 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 semi-fluviatic 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 

 the side opposite to the ridge the bank was 

 quite low, giving us free insight to the farthest 

 6 



