'Tis a far cry from end to end of our river. Start- 

 ing in a birch canoe from where the young stream 

 first gathers volume to float that dainty craft, one 

 may cruise for more than two hundred miles before 

 sighting the broad lake into which our river flows ; 

 and while yet a dozen leagues from the lake, one 

 will find the erstwhile puny stream to change into 

 a goodly waterway. Here it is a fair rifle-shot from 

 bank to bank, while beneath the canoe lie twenty 

 feet of cool, green glooms. 



Perhaps few have gazed into the cradle of this 

 river. Far inland, where the rock crops out upon 

 the rounded hills, spreads a long side-slope close- 

 grazed by nibbling sheep. At the foot of this slope 

 rises an abrupt wall of clay, riprapped by nature 

 with round white boulders. Above the wall roll 

 long waves of ancient forest, their green surf swing- 

 ing to and fro along their airy caast-line. Near one 

 end of the wall and screened by spreading branches 

 is a shallow pool. A glance at it will detect traces 



68 



