164 



NATURE FOR ITS OWN SAKE 



the great elms in the bottoms and the oaks 

 on the bluffs were roaring with the rush of 

 winds. There is still some charm of wildness 

 left about it but its primitive glory has de- 

 parted. The tall timber is gone, the back- 

 lying prairies have known the plough, the 

 tributary streams draining the broken ground 

 run mud, and there is little purity now in the 

 water that flows to the Mexican Gulf. Years 

 ago the division line between the clear waters 

 of the Mississippi and the clouded waters of 

 Missouri, where they met at St. Louis, could be 

 traced for miles, but now one stream is about 

 as turbid as the other. Man is the prince of 

 destroyers, and if there is one spot above all 

 others where he has fairly revelled in destruc- 

 tion it is western North America. 



But all the destruction and all the muddy 

 rivers are not ours. The Hudson, the Sus- 

 quehanna, the Connecticut, and many other 

 American rivers are still comparatively pure. 

 And there are fouled rivers in other countries. 

 I have vivid memories of different summers 

 spent beside the Thames, the Seine, the 

 Rhine, the Danube, and the Arno. The 

 Danube and the Rhine are always referred 

 to as "blue" by the poets and the guide- 



