COLLEGE boys' STORY. — UP THE BIVER. 167 



till cups, a lantern, axe, fishing- tackle and ritle, complete 

 our out-lit. I admit that we are "roughing it" in good 

 earnest. At all events, the journey up here from Law- 

 rence's deserves that appellation. But, 'fur.sauet hue olim 

 )uemi/m.se jN nibit ^^— which, freely translated, means, 'it will 

 make a good story to tell at college next winter.' However, 

 1 shall have to tone it down a little, or the boys won't believe 

 it." 



"They will doubtless," 1 said, "hurl back at you, ' pos- 

 fo/iif qtiiti posse ritlciif'i r,' and translate it to suit themselves: 

 ' Your l)ig thing was all in the thinking.' "' 



"Oh, no; I don't fear that, if 1 can only preserve for 

 future reference the scars oC some of these big l)listers." 



When I saw the nariator of this story, as I did the follow- 

 ing summer, bearing from the commencement stage his 

 graduating honors and jilentiful Ixxiuets, I was thinking, 1 

 confess, more of the woods and of our interview at Old 

 Forge than of his strong and graceful oration and manly 

 l)resence — and 1 had not forgotten the blisters. 



It was nearly eight o'clock in the evening when John 

 took our luggage on his broad, strong shoulders down to the 

 l)oat-house where his own beautiful Adirondack boat — his 

 special joy and pride — awaited us. A pleasant row up the 

 river by the fading light, and in the cool evening air, was a 

 blissful change from our hard joui'ney through the woods 

 on foot and horse-back. We passed "Murderer's Point ," 

 where Nat Foster shot the Indian, Drid, as he was rowing 

 up the river. John told the stor3% but it is better told in 

 II. Perry Smith's " Summerings in the Wilderness," 



