DAYS ON THE NEPIGON. 



And now, at this distance of miles and years, 

 I often hear the devil-may-care rhythm of the 

 river, its songs and choruses and its roar, the 

 cheerful ripple of welcome and assurance, the 

 lulling sound of the distant falls, the swish of 

 the wind, the mellow notes of the white- 

 throated sparrow, the tapping of the crested 

 woodpecker. I close my eyes and yet see clear 

 and vivid the emerald sweep of pine and hem- 

 lock, "the slender whiteness of the silver 

 birches shimmering through them," the mar- 

 velous pageantry of the shifting clouds, the 

 flaming Northern Lights, and loving their 

 phases and moods, I feel the rhythm and 

 surge of it all. 



104 



