YACHTING OX THE ST. JOHNS, 157 



more picturesque channels, where the forest crowded out 

 to the water s edge, and sprays of flowering vines hung 

 far over the flood, lost in vain admiration of their mir 

 rored beauty and grace. 



The water was deep even to the shore, and we cut 

 the bends of the stream close under the foliage that 

 rustled with the breeze made by our motion, while views 

 of remarkable beauty opened every moment before us, 

 each in deeper shade and more mysterious beauty as the 

 rapid darkness came on. As later every form on shore 

 was lost in the dense blackness of night, it became a 

 wonder to us how old Paul could thread the devious 

 arid narrow channel ; but on we sped, only halting inshore 

 once to let one of the great river boats go by. The huge 

 thing came panting like a leviathan breathing flame ; and 

 w r ith w r ide-open furnaces casting broad bars of light over 

 the water, and rows of colored signal lamps far above 

 the bright cabin windows, she made a striking scene 

 against the night as she sped on, bearing a gay throng 

 of pleasure-seekers to the upper river. 



We were not anxious, how r ever, to get on. There 

 was a wealth of beauty by the way, that few on the 

 great stream would see, and after feeling our way for a 

 time, old Paul rang to &quot;stop her!&quot; &quot;back her,&quot; and 

 our little boat drifted against a wood wharf, that no one 

 but our pilot could have found, with no sign to mark it 

 under the forest blackness ; and here, tied up to a decayed 

 dock, we did not envy the passengers going &quot; on time.&quot; 



Former experience told how there would be a rush 

 for seats, and a scramble for food, and a long cue of tired 

 men and women waiting to learn from a patient purser 

 that there were no more state-rooms, no more beds on 

 the floor, and no more blankets for a curl up under the 



