334 The Unknown River. 



this which had separated him from me. Being rather 

 pressed for time in the late evening, I had pushed on 

 too fast for Tom. 



The voyage had been a lonely one from the beginning, 

 bat it seemed doubly solitary after the loss of my com- 

 panion. I had never been able to do with him in the 

 canoe, he was much too large and heavy for that, 

 but every time I landed, either to make an etching or 

 eat a dinner and I never did either afloat Tom had 

 always joined me, and so the long solitude had been 

 made less difficult to endure. I humbly thank Divine 

 Providence for having invented dogs, and I regard that 

 man with wondering pity who can lead a dogless life. 



The dreary hours and the dreary landscape both came 

 to an end at the same time. The moon rose, trees began 

 to reappear on the river's brink, the scattered currents 

 met together again, and there were vistas of prolonged 

 perspective. I remember one especially, a scene of 

 most perfect and extraordinary beauty. For a length of 

 about a thousand fathoms the stream was straight as a 

 cathedral aisle, and at about half the distance there was 

 a transept on each side, that might have been designed 

 by art. All along, the shores were shaded by the richest 

 foliage. Boughs hung gracefully till they dipped their 

 golden leaves in the glassy water. Tall poplars rose at 

 intervals, like towers, to mark the far perspective. It 

 was midnight. A pure semi-transparent mist filled the 

 still and silent air, and above in the clear heaven shone 

 the round and brilliant moon. Not a sound was to be 

 heard but the alternate dip of the paddle, which I used 



