326 The Unknown River. 



CHAPTER XI. 



THE admirers of beautiful scenery are often some- 

 what narrow, and even bigoted, in their admira- 

 tion. It has been the fashion, for the last half-century, 

 to enjoy mountain scenery very much, and to undertake 

 long journeys in search of it ; but the proof that this love 

 of Nature is rather the love of a certain kind of exhilara- 

 tion, to be had best in mountainous districts, is that most 

 people still remain perfectly indifferent to the beauty of 

 the plains. They can understand that you have reason- 

 able motives for going to Switzerland or the Tyrol, but 

 what can you see to care for on the Loire ? ' Mere pop- 

 lars, you know, and that sort of thing,' say the few who 

 have visited the river that Turner loved. Therefore I 

 feel a little apprehensive that the sympathy of many 

 readers, which has gone with me whilst I had to speak 

 of rocks and .rapids, and heathery hills purple in the 

 evening, may leave me now that I come to the broader 

 waters and less romantic landscapes of the plain. 



And yet, when the last rapid had been passed, and 

 the river spread into sleepy reaches, only occasionally 

 interrupted by the gentle murmur of a safe and sandy 

 shallow, over which the canoe glided like a boat on 

 some languid stream ; when the sun at evening, instead 

 of suddenly and prematurely disappearing behind the 

 wooded heights, sank slowly in the immensity of the 



