122 THE OPEN AIB. 



while man — inferior man — pulled and pulled and 

 pulled as an ox yoked to the plough. They could 

 only be balanced by man and woman, that was the 

 only way they could be trimmed on an even keel; 

 they were like scales, in which the weight on one side 

 must be counterpoised by a weight in the other. 

 They were dead against bachelors. They belonged to 

 woman, and she was absolute mistress of the river. 



As I looked, the boats ground together a little, 

 chafing, laughing at me, making game of me, asking 

 distinctly what business a man had there without at 

 least one companion in petticoats ? My courage ebbed, 

 and it was in a feeble voice that I inquired whether 

 there was no such thing as a little skiff a fellow might 

 paddle about in ? No, nothing of the kind ; would a 

 canoe do ? Somehow a canoe would not do. I never 

 took kindly to canoes, excepting always the Canadian 

 birch-bark pattern; evidently there was no boat for 

 me. There was no place on the great river for an 

 indolent, dreamy particle like myself, apt to drift up 

 into nooks, and to spend much time absorbing those 

 pleasures which enter by the exquisite sensitiveness 

 of the eye — colour, and shade, and form, and the 

 cadence of glittering ripple and moving leaf. You 

 must be prepared to pull and push, and struggle for 

 your existence on the river, as in the vast city hard 

 by men push and crush for money. You must assert 

 yourself, and insist upon having your share of the 

 waterway; you must be perfectly convinced that 

 yours is the very best style of rowing to be seen; 

 every one ought to get out of your way. You must 

 consult your own convenience only, and drive right 



