MAY. 151 



F. Let us stand still a few moments on the bridge, and 

 view the scene. I love to stand here at this hour, when the 

 twilight gives a mellowness to every object, and that indis- 

 tinctness which has so pleasing an effect. I love to look on 

 the calm and placid river, flowing in blackest shade beneath 

 the tall overhanging woods on each side : 



" the dark, the silent stream," 



as Shelley beautifully says : the line of light in the middle, 

 where the sky is reflected between the woods on either bank, 

 making the blackness of each side still more dense and ob- 

 scure. Not a breath ruffles the surface ; not a twig vibrates 

 in the air ; every sound and every motion seems stilled ; 

 nature appears to sleep in that calm repose which prevailed 

 in this spot for centuries before the foot of the adventurous 

 white man trod the soil. We seem to expect the face of the 

 dark Huron to peep from the woods, or the canoe of the 

 more chivalrous Algonquin to dart round yonder point ; 

 everything is in its primitive wildness : there is nothing to 

 remind us of civilized man, save the bridge beneath our feet. 

 The same silent river has flowed here for ages ; the same 

 woods have clothed its banks ; the same beasts have hid in 

 their recesses ; the same birds. have warbled among their 

 branches ; the same tiny flies have danced in the last light 

 of evening, between the heaven above, and the reflected 

 heaven below. Nature remains the same : but where is 

 the Red-man, whose noiseless tread once passed like the 

 gliding of a spirit through these woods, or whose wild war- 

 whoop broke the solemn silence, and made the forest ring ? 

 He has passed away, and left scarce a vestige behind. 



C. Do you know anything of the manners of the 

 natives ? 



F. Nothing from my own observation : I have seen but 

 few, and they appeared to be little benefited by their inter- 



