aia
 
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 Great Rivers of the World
 
 FAMOUS MARVELS 
 
 AND MASTERPIECES 
 
 OF THE WORLD 
 
 As Seen and Described by Great Writers 
 
 Collected and Edited by 
 
 ESTHER SINGLETON 
 
 Famous Paintings 
 
 Great Pictures 
 
 Modern Paintings 
 
 Great Portraits 
 
 Wonders of the World 
 
 Wonders of Nature 
 
 Famous Women 
 
 Romantic Castles and Palaces 
 
 Turrets, Towers and Temples 
 
 Historic Buildings of America 
 
 Historic Landmarks of America 
 
 Great Rivers of the World 
 
 Famous Sculpture 
 
 Famous Cathedrals 
 
 Fourteen volumes in all. Profusely illustrated. 
 Each sold separately. 
 
 You can get any of the series where you bought 
 this book and at the same price.
 
 Great Rivers of the World 
 
 As Seen and Described 
 By Famous Writers 
 
 COLLECTED AND EDITED BY 
 ESTHER SINGLETON 
 
 With Numerous Illustrations 
 
 NEW YORK 
 DODD, MEAD & COMPANY
 
 Copyright, 1908, by 
 DODD, MEAD & COMPANY 
 
 Published, November, 1908
 
 Preface 
 
 RIVERS possess so many varied attractions and have 
 so many claims on the attention of the student of 
 science and history, the pleasure-seeker, the traveller, the 
 poet and the painter, that no apology need be offered for 
 gathering into one volume selections from the works of 
 those who have described some of the most famous streams 
 of the world. Lyell says : " Rivers are the irrigators of 
 the earth's surface, adding alike to the beauty of the land- 
 scape and the fertility of the soil : they carry off impurities 
 and every sort of waste debris ; and when of sufficient vol- 
 ume, they form the most available of all channels of com- 
 munication with the interior of continents. They have 
 ever been things of vitality and beauty to the poet, silent 
 monitors to the moralist, and agents of comfort and civili- 
 zation to all mankind." 
 
 Thoreau says : " The Mississippi, the Ganges and the 
 Nile, those journeying atoms from the Rocky Mountains, 
 the Himmaleh and Mountains of the Moon, have a kind of 
 personal importance in the annals of the world the 
 heavens are not yet drained over their sources, but the 
 Mountains of the Moon still send their annual tribute to 
 the Pasha without fail, as they did to the Pharaohs, though 
 he must collect the rest of his revenue at the point of the 
 sword. Rivers must have been the guides which conducted 
 the footsteps of the first travellers. They are the constant 
 lure, when they flow by our doors, to distant enterprise and 
 
 2038C55
 
 VI PREFACE 
 
 adventure, and, by a natural impulse, the dwellers on their 
 banks will at length accompany their currents to the low- 
 lands of the globe, or explore at their invitation the interior 
 of continents. They are the natural highways of all 
 nations, not only levelling the ground and removing ob- 
 stacles from the path of the traveller, quenching his thirst, 
 and bearing him on their bosoms, but conducting him 
 through the most interesting scenery, the most populous 
 portions of the globe, and where the animal and vegetable 
 kingdoms attain their greatest perfection." 
 
 In the following pages little will be found dealing with 
 the material blessings bestowed on mankind by the agency 
 of rivers. The average reader is more interested in the 
 antiquarian and legendary lore of the sources, rapids, banks 
 and islands of a famous stream. Length of course and vol- 
 ume of water are matters of no importance to lovers of the 
 picturesque, the venerable, or the romantic. Therefore 
 the literature of the Shannon is more fascinating than that 
 of the Amazon, and the Jordan attracts more pilgrims than 
 the Volga. Small streams like the Wye, the Yarrow, and 
 the Oise consequently find a place among these celebrated 
 rivers. 
 
 E. S. 
 
 New Fork, October, 1908.
 
 Contents 
 
 THE RHINE . 
 
 THE SEINE . 
 
 THE GANGES 
 
 MORNING ON THE GANGES 
 
 THE COLORADO 
 
 THE AVON . . . 
 
 DOWN THE ST. LAWRENCE 
 
 THE TIGRIS . 
 
 THE OISE . 
 
 THE HUDSON 
 
 THE TIBER . 
 
 THE SHANNON 
 
 THE DANUBE 
 
 THE NIGER . 
 
 THE AMAZON 
 
 THE YANGTSE CHIANG . 
 
 THE THAMES 
 
 THE CONNECTICUT 
 
 MOSEL 
 
 THE IRRAWADDY . 
 
 THE CLYDE . 
 
 THE VOLGA . . 
 
 THE CONGO . . 
 
 THE MACKENZIE RIVER . 
 
 THE LOIRE . 
 
 THE POTOMAC 
 THE EUPHRATES . 
 
 Victor Hugo ... I 
 
 A. Bowman Blake . 8 
 
 Sir William Hunter . 19 
 Pierre Loti ... 24 
 
 Henry Gannett . . 28 
 
 John Wilson Croker . 34 
 
 Charles Dickens . . 46 
 
 George Rawlinson . . 52 
 
 Robert Louis Stevenson . 55 
 
 Esther Singleton . . 65 
 
 Sir other A. Smith . . 76 
 
 Arthur Shadwell Martin . 87 
 /. Bowes ... 94 
 
 J. Hampden Jackson . 101 
 
 Joseph Jones . . .107 
 
 W. R. Carles . .113 
 
 Charles Dickens, Jr. . 122 
 
 Timothy Dwight . . 131 
 
 F. Warre Cornish . .138 
 
 Emily A. Ric kings . .144 
 
 Robert Walker . .155 
 
 Elisee Reclus . . .162 
 
 J. Howard Reed . .169 
 
 William Ogilvie . . 177 
 
 /. Victor Hugo 185 
 
 //. Honor e de Balzac ' 1 89 
 
 Esther Singleton . . 191 
 
 George Rawlinson . .197
 
 Viii CONTENTS 
 
 THE WYE . . . . A. R. Quintan . .201 
 
 THE INDIAN RIVER . . L. C. Bryan . . .208 
 
 THE NILE ,{' J- Howard Reed 213 
 
 11. Isaac Taylor 219 
 
 THE DON .... Elisee Recltis . . .223 
 
 THE COLUMBIA . J. Boddam-Whetham . 228 
 
 THE Po George G. Chisholm . 235 
 
 THE MENAM . . . Mrs. Unsworth . .241 
 
 THE MERRIMACK . . . Henry D. Thoreau . . 249 
 
 THE YEN-E-SAY ... Henry Seebohm . . 254 
 
 THE YARROW . . . John MacWhirter . . 263 
 
 THE MISSISSIPPI . . . Alexander D. Anderson . 272 
 
 THE ZAMBESI . . . Henry Drummond . . 280 
 
 THE URUGUAY . . . Ernest William White . 286 
 
 THE TWEED . . . Sir Thomas Dick Louder . 293 
 
 NIAGARA .... John Tyndall . . . 304 
 
 THE NIAGARA RIVER . . G. K. Gilbert . .312 
 
 THE MEUSE . . . . Esther Singleton . .316 
 
 THE RHONE . . . Angus B. Reach . .321 
 
 THE YUKON . . . William Ogilvie . .328 
 
 THE JORDAN . . . Andrew Robert Fausset . 338 
 
 THE CONCORD . . . Henry D. Thoreau . . 343 
 
 THE TAGUS . . . . Arthur Shadwell Martin . 350 
 
 THE INDUS .... Edward Balfour . . 3 54
 
 Illustrations 
 
 THE RHINE Frontispiece 
 
 THE SEINE 8 
 
 THE GANGES 20 
 
 THE COLORADO 28 
 
 THE AVON ......... 34 
 
 THE ST. LAWRENCE 46 
 
 THE HUDSON 66 
 
 THE TIBER . 76 
 
 THE SHANNON 88 
 
 THE DANUBE ........94 
 
 THE THAMES . . . . . . . .122 
 
 THE CONNECTICUT 132 
 
 THE IRRAWADDY . , . . . . . .144 
 
 THE CLYDE 156 
 
 THE VOLGA 162 
 
 THE CONGO 170 
 
 THE LOIRE 1 86 
 
 THE POTOMAC 192 
 
 THE WYE 202 
 
 THE INDIAN . 208 
 
 THE NILE 214 
 
 THE DON ......... 224 
 
 THE COLUMBIA . . . . . . . .228 
 
 THE Po . , 236
 
 X ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 THE MENAM 242 
 
 THE MERRIMACK 250 
 
 THE YARROW 264 
 
 THE MISSISSIPPI 272 
 
 THE ZAMBESI 280 
 
 THE TWEED 294 
 
 THE NIAGARA 304 
 
 THE MEUSE 316 
 
 THE RHONE ........ 322 
 
 THE JORDAN 338 
 
 THE CONCORD 344 
 
 THE TAGUS 350
 
 THE RHINE 
 
 VICTOR HUGO 
 
 I LOVE rivers ; they do more than bear merchandise 
 ideas float along their surface. Rivers, like clarions, 
 sing to the ocean of the beauty of the earth, the fertility of 
 plains, and the splendour of cities. 
 
 Of all rivers, I prefer the Rhine. It is now a year, 
 when passing the bridge of boats at Kehl, since I first saw 
 it. I remember that I felt a certain respect, a sort of ad- 
 miration, for this old, this classic stream. I never think of 
 rivers those great works of Nature, which are also great 
 in history, without emotion. 
 
 I remember the Rhone at Valserine; I saw it in 1825, 
 in a pleasant excursion to Switzerland, which is one of the 
 sweet, happy recollections of my early life. I remember 
 with what noise, with what ferocious bellowing, the Rhone 
 precipitated itself into the gulf whilst the frail bridge upon 
 which I was standing was shaking beneath my feet. Ah ! 
 well ! since that time, the Rhone brings to my mind the idea 
 of a tiger, the Rhine, that of a lion. 
 
 The evening on which I saw the Rhine for the first time, 
 I was impressed with the same idea. For several minutes 
 I stood contemplating this proud and noble river violent, 
 but not furious ; wild, but still majestic. It was swollen, 
 and was magnificent in appearance, and was washing its 
 yellow mane, or, as Boileau says, its " slimy beard," the 
 i
 
 2 THE RHINE 
 
 bridge of boats. Its two banks were lost in the twilight, 
 and though its roaring was loud, still there was tranquillity. 
 
 Yes, the Rhine is a noble river feudal, republican, im- 
 perial worthy, at the same time, of France and Germany. 
 The whole history of Europe is combined within its two 
 great aspects in this flood of the warrior and of the phi- 
 losopher in this proud stream, which causes France to 
 bound with joy, and by whose profound murmurings Ger- 
 many is bewildered in dreams. 
 
 The Rhine is unique ; it combines the qualities of every 
 river. Like the Rhone, it is rapid j broad, like the Loire ; 
 encased, like the Meuse ; serpentine, like the Seine ; limpid 
 and green, like the Somme ; historical, like the Tiber ; 
 royal, like the Danube ; mysterious, like the Nile ; spangled 
 with gold, like an American river ; and, like a river of Asia, 
 abounding with phantoms and fables. 
 
 Before the commencement of History, perhaps before the 
 existence of man, where the Rhine now is there was a 
 double chain of volcanos, which on their extinction left 
 heaps of lava and basalt lying parallel, like two long walls. 
 At the same epoch the gigantic crystallizations formed the 
 primitive mountains ; the enormous alluvions of which the 
 secondary mountains consist were dried up ; the frightful 
 heap, which is now cold, and snow accumulated on them, 
 from which two great streams issued, the one flowing to- 
 wards the north, crossed the plains, encountered the sides 
 of the extinguished volcanos, and emptied itself into the 
 ocean ; the other, taking its course westward, fell from 
 mountain to mountain, flowed along the side of the block 
 of extinguished volcanos, which is now Ardache, and was 
 finally lost in the Mediterranean. The first of those inun- 
 dations is the Rhine, and the second the Rhone.
 
 THE RHINE 3 
 
 From historical records we find that the first people who 
 took possession of the banks of the Rhine were the half- 
 savage Celts, who were afterwards named Gauls by the 
 Romans. When Rome was in its glory, Caesar crossed the 
 Rhine, and shortly afterwards the whole of the river was 
 under the jurisdiction of his empire. When the Twenty- 
 second Legion returned from the siege of Jerusalem, Titus 
 sent it to the banks of the Rhine, where it continued the 
 work of Martius Agrippa. The conquerors required a town 
 to join Melibocus to Taunus ; and Moguntiacum, begun 
 by Martius, was founded by the Legion, built by Trajan, 
 and embellished by Adrian. Singular coincidence ! and 
 which we must note in passing. This Twenty-second 
 Legion brought with it Crescentius, who was first that car- 
 ried the Word of God into the Rhingau, and founded the 
 new religion. God ordained that these ignorant men, who 
 had pulled down the last stone of His temple upon the 
 Jordan, should lay the first of another upon the banks of 
 the Rhine. After Trajan and Adrian came Julian, who 
 erected a fortress upon the confluence of the Rhine and the 
 Moselle j then Valentinian, who built a number of castles. 
 Thus in a few centuries, Roman colonies, like an immense 
 chain, linked the whole of the Rhine,, 
 
 At length the time arrived when Rome was to assume 
 another aspect. The incursions of the Northern hordes 
 were eventually too frequent and too powerful for Rome ; so, 
 about the Sixth Century, the banks of the Rhine were 
 strewed with Roman ruins, as at present with feudal ones. 
 
 Charlemagne cleared away the rubbish, built fortresses, 
 and opposed the German hordes; but notwithstanding his 
 desire to do more, Rome died, and the physiognomy of the 
 Rhine was changed.
 
 4 THE RHINE 
 
 Already, as I before mentioned, an unperceived germ was 
 sprouting in the Rhingau. Religion, that divine eagle, be- 
 gan to spread its wings, and deposited among the rocks an 
 egg that contained the germ of a world. St. Apollinaire, 
 following the example of Crescentius, who, in the year 
 70 preached the Word of God at Taunus, visited Rigo- 
 magum. St. Martin, Bishop of Tours, catechized Con- 
 fluentia; St. Materne, before visiting Tongres, resided at 
 Cologne. At Treves, Christians began to suffer the death 
 of martyrdom, and their ashes were swept away by the 
 wind ; but these were not lost, for they became seeds, 
 which were germinating in the fields during the passage of 
 the barbarians, although nothing at that time was seen of 
 them. 
 
 After an historical period the Rhine became linked with 
 the marvellous. Where the noise of man is hushed, Na- 
 ture lends a tongue to the nest of birds, causes the caves to 
 whisper, and the thousand voices of solitude to murmur; 
 where historical facts cease, imagination gives life to shad- 
 ows and realities to dreams. Fables took root, grew, and 
 blossomed in the voids of History, like weeds and brambles 
 in the crevices of a ruined palace. 
 
 Civilization, like the sun, has its nights and its days, its 
 plenitudes and its eclipses ; now it disappears, but soon re- 
 turns. 
 
 As soon as civilization again dawned upon Taunus, there 
 were upon the borders of the Rhine a whole host of legends 
 and fabulous stories. Populations of mysterious beings, 
 who inhabited the now dismantled castles, had held com- 
 munion with the belles filles and beaux chevaliers of the place. 
 Spirits of the rocks ; black hunters, crossing the thickets 
 upon stags with six horns ; the maid of the black fen j the
 
 THE RHINE 5 
 
 six maidens of the red marshes ; Wodan, the god with ten 
 hands ; the twelve black men ; the raven that croaked its 
 song ; the devil who placed his stone at Teufelstein and his 
 ladder Teufelsleiter, and who had the effrontery to preach 
 publicly at Gernsbach, near the Black Forest, but, happily, 
 the Word of God was heard at the other side of the stream ; 
 the demon, Urian, who crossed the Rhine at Dusseldorf, 
 having upon his back the banks that he had taken from the 
 sea-shore, with which he intended to destroy Aix-la- 
 Chapelle, but being fatigued with his burden, and deceived 
 by an old woman, he stupidly dropped his load at the im- 
 perial city, where that bank is at present pointed out, and 
 bears the name of Loosberg. At that epoch, which for us 
 was plunged into a penumbra, when magic lights were 
 sparkling here and there, when the rocks, the woods, the 
 valleys, were tenanted by apparitions ; mysterious encounters, 
 infernal castles, melodious songs sung by invisible song- 
 stresses ; the frightful bursts of laughter emanating from 
 mysterious beings, these, with a host of other adventures, 
 shrouded in impossibility, and holding on by the heel of 
 reality, are detailed in the legends. 
 
 At last these phantoms disappear as dawn bursts in upon 
 them. Civilization again resumed its sway, and fiction 
 gave place to fact. The Rhine assumed another aspect : 
 abbeys and convents increased ; churches were built along 
 the banks of the river. The ecclesiastic princes multiplied 
 the edifices in the Rhingau, as the prefects of Rome had 
 done before them. 
 
 The Sixteenth Century approached : in the Fourteenth the 
 Rhine witnessed the invention of artillery ; and on its bank, 
 at Strasbourg, a printing-office was first established. In 
 1400 the famous cannon, fourteen feet in length, was cast
 
 6 THE RHINE 
 
 at Cologne; and in 1472 Vindelin de Spire printed his 
 Bible. A new world was making its appearance ; and, 
 strange to say, it was upon the banks of the Rhine that 
 those two mysterious tools with which God unceasingly 
 works out the civilization of man, the catapult and the 
 book war and thought, took a new form. 
 
 The Rhine, in the destinies of Europe, has a sort of 
 providential signification. It is the great moat which 
 divides the north from the south. The Rhine for thirty 
 ages, has seen the forms and reflected the shadows of almost 
 all the warriors who tilled the old continent with that share 
 which they call sword. Caesar crossed the Rhine in going 
 to the south ; Attila crossed it when descending to the 
 north. It was here that Clovis gained the battle of 
 Tolbiac ; and that Charlemagne and Napoleon figured. 
 Frederick Barbarossa, Rudolph of Hapsbourg, and Fred- 
 erick the First, were great, victorious, and formidable when 
 here. For the thinker, who is conversant with History, 
 two great eagles are perpetually hovering over the Rhine 
 that of the Roman legions, and that of the French 
 regiments. The Rhine that noble flood, which the Ro- 
 mans named Rhenus superbus, bore at one time upon its 
 surface bridges of boats, over which the armies of Italy, 
 Spain, and France poured into Germany, and which, at a 
 later date, were made use of by the hordes of barbarians 
 when rushing into the ancient Roman world : at another, 
 on its surface it floated peaceably the fir-trees of Murg and 
 St. Gall, the porphyry and the marble of Bale, the salt of 
 Karlshall, the leather of Stromberg, the quicksilver of Lans- 
 berg, the wine of Johannisberg, the slates of Coab, the 
 cloth and earthenware of Wallendar, the silks and linens of 
 Cologne. It majestically performs its double function of
 
 THE RHINE 7 
 
 flood of war and flood of peace, having, without interrup- 
 tion, upon the ranges of hills which embank the most 
 notable portion of its course, oak-trees on the one side and 
 vine-trees on the other signifying strength and joy. 
 
 For Homer the Rhine existed not; for Virgil it was only 
 a frozen stream Frigiora Rbeni ; for Shakespeare it was 
 the " beautiful Rhine " ; for us it is, and will be to the day 
 when it shall become the grand question of Europe, a pic- 
 turesque river, the resort of the unemployed of Ems, of 
 Baden, and of Spa.
 
 THE SEINE 
 
 A. BOWMAN BLAKE 
 
 FEW persons outside of France have any acquaintance 
 with, or knowledge of, the rare beauties of Seine scenery. 
 The river has thus far escaped the vulgarity of becoming a 
 common tourist's high-road. The general impression is 
 current that the Seine, being destitute of the legendary ro- 
 mance of the vine-clad Rhine, the vivid and somewhat 
 spectacular scenic effects of the Italian lakes, or even the 
 lawn-like finish of the Thames, offers no attractions to 
 either amateur or tourist. This opinion only proves the 
 falsity of opinion based upon superficial knowledge. From 
 the artistic point of view, perhaps, no other one river in 
 Europe possesses a character of scenery so preeminently 
 beautiful, or so replete with the charm of contrast, or rich 
 in variety ; for the picturesque portions of the noble river 
 are by no means confined to the grandeur and wildness of 
 the Fontainebleau forests, or of the animated quays and 
 crumbling Mediaeval houses of the ancient city of Rouen. 
 To one in search of scenes which shall unite the charms of 
 beautiful river scenery with the added note of pastoral and 
 village rusticity, almost every turning of the river will re- 
 veal a mine of wealth. It is a characteristic of the scenery 
 of the Seine that it is eminently sketchable at almost every 
 point. For it is more than a purely picturesque, it is an 
 essentially poetic river. A conclusive proof of its su- 
 periority in point of artistic resources and suggestivement
 
 THE SEINE 9 
 
 is, perhaps, that no other European river scenery has had so 
 overwhelming an influence upon modern Art. During the 
 past forty years, in which the Seine and its tributaries have 
 been the principal camping-ground of the best French land- 
 scape-painters, the peculiarities of its scenery, and the fea- 
 tures of its rustic life, have formed the taste, and developed a 
 wholly original mode of treatment of genre and landscape in 
 the modern French school. The two principal character- 
 istics of the scenery of the Seine are its naturalness, and its 
 possessing in the highest degreethat individuality which marks 
 its landscapes as distinctively French. The Seine could 
 never be mistaken at any point for other than a French 
 river. The Parisian masters, in transferring to their can- 
 vasses the peculiarities of the river and shore aspects, have 
 produced a school of landscape as essentially national in 
 character as that which marks the Dutch and Flemish mas- 
 terpieces of two hundred years ago. The low wide mea- 
 dows, the stately poplars, the reedy shores, and the delicate 
 atmosphere which veils the jumble of roofs, and the quaint 
 towers and turrets that are lanced from the Seine shores, 
 have already become as familiar features of modern French 
 landscape, as the cone-shaped hills of Flanders and the flat 
 windmill-dotted fields of Holland, which makes the char- 
 acter of the landscape in Dutch and Flemish canvasses. 
 
 I have spoken of the naturalness of the Seine landscape. 
 It is this which makes its lasting charm. Along these 
 banks Nature neither rises to the sublime nor does she ap- 
 pear in too wild or dishevelled a state. There is a happy 
 blending of the cultivated and the uncultivated, of course 
 tamed and yet enjoying the wilder abandon of freedom. 
 Nowhere are the scenes too grand or too wide for the pen- 
 cil ; the hills suggest, but do not attain, the majestic ; the
 
 10 THE SEINE 
 
 wide, flat fields and the long stretches of meadows are 
 broken into possible distances by a gently sloping ground, 
 or an avenue of tall poplars. The villages and farm-houses 
 dotted along its banks wear a thoroughly rustic air; the 
 villas and chateaux crowning its low hills become naturally 
 a part of the landscape by their happy adaptation, architec- 
 turally, to the character of their surroundings ; while the not 
 infrequent ruins of monastery or ancient castle group charm- 
 ingly with the fluffy foliage and dense shrubbery. 
 
 Perhaps the impressionist's most ideal landscape would be 
 found among the villages of the upper Seine, that part of 
 the Seine which flows between Fontainebleau and Rouen, 
 as beyond Rouen the river takes on a stronger and bolder 
 character both in its breadth and in the quality of its 
 scenery. 
 
 First in point of beauty among the villages contiguous to 
 Fontainebleau, is Gretz, a little village not directly upon 
 the Seine, but upon its tributary, the Loing. Gretz can be 
 reached in an hour's drive from the town or palace of Fon- 
 tainebleau. This charming village must have grown here, 
 close to the low sweet level of the winding river's banks, 
 with a view to its being sketched. Not a feature necessary 
 to the making of a picture is wanting. The village street 
 lies back some distance from the shore, the backs of the 
 houses fronting on the river, the village and river life made 
 one by the straggling rose, fruit, and vegetable gardens run- 
 ning down between their high stone-wall enclosures to the 
 very edges of the swiftly flowing streams. As one views 
 the village from the mid-stream, one has the outlined irreg- 
 ularity of the village houses limned against the sky. To 
 the right, between the tall grenadier-like poplars, or the 
 higher branches of the willow, rises a beautiful group of old
 
 THE SEINE II 
 
 buildings ; the blue spaces of the sky are seen through the 
 arches and ruins of the old chateau of La Reine Blanche, 
 that queen having made, centuries ago, Gretz her dwelling 
 place. The massive, simple lines of the castle's Norman 
 tower contrast finely with the belfry of the still more ancient 
 church close beside it, the dark facades of these old build- 
 ings being relieved by the gay touches of colour upon the 
 adjacent houses. A queer old bridge appears to leap di- 
 rectly from the very courtyard of the chateau to the oppo- 
 site shore, and on the bridge is constantly moving some 
 picture of rustic life, peasants with loads of grapes or 
 fagots, a herd of oxen laboriously dragging the teeming hay- 
 cart, a group of chattering villagers, or the shepherd leading 
 his flock to richer pastures. The river banks themselves 
 are not wanting in the beauty of human activity. In the 
 gardens, as our boat drifted along the banks, were half-a- 
 dozen bent old women weeding, sowing, and plucking. 
 Farther down, beyond the bridge, is the washerwomen's 
 stand, the bare arms, short skirts, and gay kerchiefs of these 
 sturdy peasant women, with the bits of colour their home- 
 spun linens yield, making delightful contrasts with the del- 
 icate arabesques which light foliage made against the sky. 
 
 The upper valley of the Seine, that portion of the river 
 lying between Paris and Rouen, seems at a first glance to be 
 a country as sterile in artistic resources as it is interesting 
 to the average tourist. But the French artist, so far from 
 finding the flat, wide stretches of field and meadow, the 
 scanty foliage, and the scattered group of farm-houses which 
 border the river banks, either too prosaic or too trite for his 
 pencil, has discovered from a close study of this apparently 
 common-place valley scenery a new feature of landscape 
 beauty. This feature has been the present original treat-
 
 12 THE SEINE 
 
 ment of the flat surfaces of ground and of large sunlit 
 spaces. The character of all this valley scenery may be 
 summed up in a few words ; tilled fields running down to 
 the water's edge; wild uncultivated fields and rank dank 
 meadows, their flatness broken here and there by a cluster- 
 ing group of low shrubbery, by rows of the slim, straight 
 French poplars, or an avenue of stunted, bulbous-trunk 
 willows, with their straight, reed-like branches. The entire 
 landscape has but two lines, the horizontality of the 
 meadows and the perpendicular uprising of the trees, except 
 that far off in the distance run the waving outlines of the 
 hills of Normandy. Such is the aspect of the country in 
 which some of the first among contemporaneous French 
 artists have found new sources of inspiration. Those wide, 
 sunlit meadows, breathing the rich luxuriance of nature in 
 undisturbed serenity ; the golden spaces of the air shimmer- 
 ing like some netted tissue between tree and tree ; the 
 shadows cast by a single tree across the length of the field ; 
 an intimate knowledge and study of this landscape have 
 taught the French brush the secret of its power in painting 
 a flat picture, and in wresting from sunlight the glory of its 
 gold. The peculiar qualities of the atmosphere at certain 
 seasons of the year make the Seine valley entrancing, 
 especially to Art Students. In the spring, nothing can ex- 
 ceed the delicacy, purity and fineness of the colouring of 
 the foliage, and the tones of light are marvellous in their 
 dainty refinement and suggestiveness. Nature seems to be 
 making a sketch in outline of a picture, which summer is 
 to fill in, so pure are the outlines of foliage and landscape in 
 that wonderful medium of delicately coloured ether. In 
 summer, sunlight fairly drenches the fields. Autumn 
 colours, also, here seem richer, firmer, more glowing than in
 
 THE SEINE 13 
 
 other parts of France, and the October twilights in their 
 brilliance and duration approach an American tint. 
 
 The first breaks in the monotony of the valley scenery 
 are the approaches to, and the immediate suburbs about, 
 Rouen. The river banks just below are particularly 
 picturesque. The river between Rouen and La Bouille as- 
 sumes a character different from that which marks it above 
 a city. It was my special good fortune to traverse this 
 portion sometime before sunrise. We left the city behind 
 us masked in grey mist, only the ironfleche of the cathedral 
 piercing the cottony wrappings. On the motionless Seine 
 not a ripple was astir, and the morning fog held leaves and 
 trees in a close, breathless embrace. But at Croisset, with 
 the shooting of the sun above the horizon came the melting 
 hues and freshening breath of morning. As the clouds, 
 slowly rolled apart, gave us glimpses of the magnificent 
 panorama of Rouen set in its circlet of hills, the effect was 
 that of the gradual lifting of a drop-curtain upon some fine 
 scenic landscape. The river itself was a jewel of colour, 
 reflecting the faintly tinted shipping along the wharves, the 
 rich emerald of the trees, and the shadowy grasses along 
 the shore. The steamer on its way steers in and out among 
 a hundred little islands which "give a magical effect of en- 
 chantment, so fairy-like and exquisite are their shapes and 
 forms. With Croisset, Hautot, Loquence, and Sahurs, the 
 majesty of the Rouen quays, wharves, spires, and cathedral 
 towers gives place to the richer, softer beauty of rural vil- 
 lage loveliness. But the most beautiful picture greeted our 
 eyes as we approached La Bouille, which is picturesquely 
 set against the greenery of a hilly back-ground, its bright, 
 light-coloured houses so close to the water's edge that the 
 river was like a broken rainbow of colour, reflecting their
 
 14 THE SEINE 
 
 tints in its ripples. Across the river was a magnificent ex- 
 panse of meadow and tilled field, with a poplar now and 
 then to serve as a sentinel guarding the bursting grain. 
 The banks of the river are delightfully diversified by 
 clusters of old thatched farm-houses, spreading fishing-nets, 
 and old boats moored in tiny creeks. As we passed the last 
 of the village houses, there were some wonderful effects of 
 light and colour ; all the confused indecision of light scurry- 
 ing clouds piled above the meadows ; the uncertain vague- 
 ness of a mist rolling still, like the skirts of a fleecy robe, 
 over the distant river bends ; and immediately above us the 
 warmth, brilliance, and goldenness of sunrise in its early 
 splendour. Couched amidst the mysterious shade of some 
 dense foliage was the bending form of an old woman, fill- 
 ing her pitcher at the river-side, scarlet kerchiefed and dun 
 skirted. Off in the grey distance was the figure of a 
 peasant woman carrying her child upon her back, her tall, 
 straight form magnified into strange attitude by the misty 
 atmosphere. A brush capable of strong handling, and an 
 eye trained to seize the more fleeting beauties of nature, 
 would have found in this La Bouille picture a poem of 
 colour and tenderness. 
 
 I have already mentioned the naturalness of the rustic 
 life of the Seine fields and farm-houses. The sturdy 
 simplicity of the Normandy peasant is his well-known 
 characteristic. The farmers at the plough, the fishermen 
 mending their nets, the shepherd tending his flocks, are not 
 the least poetic of the elements which make the charm of 
 this river scenery. There reigns here an Arcadian calm, 
 a certain patriarchal simplicity. The complicated ingenui- 
 ties and labour-saving machines of modern invention have 
 not as yet become the fashion among the Normandy
 
 THE SEINE 15 
 
 peasant-farmers, and thus every agricultural implement, 
 seen out-of-doors, seems available for an artist's purpose. 
 The ploughs are marvels of ancient construction j oxen and 
 horses are harnessed in ways known only to those who 
 have learned the science as a secret handed down from sire 
 to son ; and carts, threshing-machines, rakes, and hoes have 
 an air of venerability that matches well with the old gabled 
 houses and worn rustic dress of the farmers. It is this 
 aspect of age which imparts such beautiful low tones of 
 colour to the pictures of human life along these shores. 
 There are no flaring, flashing hues, no brilliant dashes of 
 colour ; instead, the tones of landscape, sky, atmosphere, 
 and the human life blend in a beautiful harmony of soft 
 low tints. In matters of toilet, the Normandy peasant's 
 taste is perfect. The farmers wear blouses of dark, sober 
 blues ; the women short skirts of dull green, brown or 
 home-spun grey ; their aprons are snufF-colour or lilac, and 
 their close-fitting embroidered cap, or the coloured kerchief 
 tied over their heads, brings into admirable relief their bril- 
 liant complexions, strong prominent features, and flaxen 
 tresses. 
 
 In that morning's journey from Rouen to Havre we en- 
 joyed a delightful variety of out-door life. In the early 
 sunrise hours there were visible the first symptoms of the 
 farm-house in early rising. The farmer was seen striding 
 over the dew-wet meadows to open barns or to drive forth 
 the cattle ; women were busy milking, and the children 
 trudging to the river with pails and pitchers to be filled. 
 Later, the fields were alive with the ploughmen's cries, and 
 men and women were starting out, rakes and scythes in 
 hand, for their day's work ; children stood up to their chins 
 in the yellow grain, in the midst of the scarlet coquelicots and
 
 1 6 THE SEINE 
 
 the star-eyed daisies. Towards noon there was a pretty 
 picture of a farmer wheeling along the river bank a huge 
 load of green grass, atop of which were seated two round, 
 moon-faced children whose laps and hands were full of the 
 brilliant field-flowers. Behind them walked the mother 
 with a rake slung over her shoulder, her short skirts and 
 scant draperies permitting a noble freedom of step and 
 movement, her head poised as only the head of a woman 
 used to the balancing of heavy burdens is ever held. Hers 
 was altogether a striking figure, and the brush of Vollen or 
 of Breton would have seized upon her to embody the type 
 of one of his rustic beauties, whose mingled fierceness and 
 grace make their peasants the rude goddesses of the plough. 
 
 One of the chief charms of the Seine scenery is the 
 variety and contrast its shores present. One passes directly 
 from the calm and the rural naturalness of sloping meadows 
 fringed with osiers, willows, and poplars, to the walled 
 quays of Caudebec, with its spires, broad avenues, and 
 garden-enclosed houses. Caudebec is characterized by an 
 imposing chateau crowning its hillside, by beautiful gardens, 
 terraces, its long row of " striped " houses stretching along 
 its quays, and the beauty of its cathedral spire rising above 
 the tree-trops. 
 
 Perhaps Villequier may be said to be the culminating 
 point of beauty upon the Seine. Here the river seems only 
 like a large lake, a fact which invests the landscape with its 
 noble uprising hills and the beautiful, thickly wooded spurs 
 of the hillocks, with something of the rounded finished as- 
 pect which belongs to lake scenery. The lovely village of 
 Villequier itself peeps in and out of its encompassing trees 
 as if with a conscious air of coquetry. The bright, gaily 
 coloured houses grouped upon the water's edge give a touch
 
 THE SEINE 17 
 
 of Italian brilliancy to the scene, while its fine chateau 
 of Villequier^and the old Gothic spire of the village church 
 add the noble lines to the ensemble. 
 
 This bay of Villequier is the beginning of the bolder 
 beauty of the Seine scenery. Its quieter aspects lie above 
 Villequier. The artist in search of striking scenes and a 
 rich variety of contrasts will find this part of the river 
 afford fine material. On the way to Quilleboeuf and Tan- 
 carville the shores of the river assume a hundred different 
 aspects. There is the forest of Bretonne, the lovely valley 
 of the Bolbec, the beautiful chateau of Etalan, and the 
 ruins of the Twelfth Century church. Quilleboeuf itself 
 stands boldly out into the river, perched upon a spur of 
 rising ground, and is, perhaps, the most pretentious town 
 upon the Seine. After Quilleboeuf and Tancarville the 
 loftier hills and thickly wooded shores of the river give 
 place to wide, flat marshes and open valleys. The marshes 
 just beyond Quilleboeuf are, to our taste, its most distin- 
 guishing beauty ; they run directly out to the most distant 
 points of the horizon, and the rich yellow-green grass, with 
 its brilliant bouquets of wild flowers scattered profusely over 
 the flat treeless surface, makes a kaleidoscope of colour un- 
 der the broad unbroken splendour of the noon-day sun. 
 Cattle in large herds, horses, and sheep, pasture upon the 
 rich meadows, so that the animal-painter finds here a superb 
 landscape for the setting of his ruminating cows, fleecy 
 sheep, or wild unbridled colts. 
 
 Just beyond these meadows the Seine loses all the char- 
 acter of a river. It has assumed, before its final plunge 
 into the ocean, the turbulent, tumultuous aspect of a small 
 sea, and like a lover wearing his lady's colours, the river 
 turns to the deeper greys and colder blues of the sea's dark
 
 1 8 THE SEINE 
 
 tint. The boat stops long enough at the wonderful old 
 seaport town of Honfleur for one to catch a glimpse of its 
 quaint turreted houses, its crooked narrow streets, its 
 wharves with their picturesque assemblage of lateen-shaped 
 sails. Then Havre is reached, and with those swarming 
 quays and bright pebbly shores the Seine is lost in the great 
 Atlantic.
 
 THE GANGES 
 
 SIR WILLIAM W. HUNTER 
 
 OF all great rivers on the surface of the globe, none 
 can compare in sanctity with the Ganges, or 
 Mother Ganga, as she is affectionately called by devout 
 Hindus. From her source in the Himalayas, to her mouth 
 in the Bay of Bengal, her banks are holy ground. Each 
 point of junction of a tributary with the main stream has its 
 own special claims to sanctity. But the tongue of land at 
 Allahabad, where the Ganges unites with her great sister 
 river the Jumna, is the true Prayag, the place of pilgrimage 
 whither hundreds of thousands of devout Hindus repair to 
 wash away their sins in her sanctifying waters. Many of 
 the other holy rivers of India borrow their sanctity from a 
 supposed underground connection with the Ganges. This 
 fond fable recalls the primitive time when the Aryan race 
 was moving southward with fresh and tender recollections 
 of the Gangetic plains. It is told not only of first-class 
 rivers of Central and Southern India, like the Narbada, but 
 also of many minor streams of local sanctity. 
 
 An ancient legend relates how Ganga, the fair daughter 
 of King Himalaya (Himavat) and of his queen, the air- 
 nymph Menaka, was persuaded, after long supplication, to 
 shed her purifying influence upon the sinful earth. The 
 icicle-studded cavern from which she issues is the tangled 
 hair of the god Siva. Loving legends hallow each part of 
 her course ; and from the names of her tributaries and of
 
 2O THE GANGES 
 
 the towns along her banks, a whole mythology might be 
 built up. The southern offshoots of the Aryan race not only 
 sanctified their southern rivers by a fabled connection with 
 the holy stream of the north. They also hoped that in the 
 distant future, their rivers would attain an equal sanctity 
 by the diversion of the Ganges waters through underground 
 channels. Thus, the Brahmans along the Narbada maintain 
 that in this iron age of the world (indeed, in the year 1894 
 A. D.) the sacred character of the Ganges will depart from 
 her now polluted stream, and take refuge by an underground 
 passage in their own Narbada river. 
 
 The estuary of the Ganges is not less sacred than her 
 source. Sagar Island at her mouth is annually visited by a 
 vast concourse of pilgrims, in commemoration of her act of 
 saving grace j when, in order to cleanse the 60,000 damned 
 ones of the house of Sagar, she divided herself into a hun- 
 dred channels, thus making sure of reaching their remains 
 with her purifying waters, and so forming the delta of 
 Bengal. The six years' pilgrimage from her source to her 
 mouth and back again, known as pradak-shina, is still per- 
 formed by many ; and a few devotees may yet be seen 
 wearily accomplishing the meritorious penance of " measur- 
 ing their length " along certain parts of the route. To 
 bathe in the Ganges at the stated festivals washes away 
 guilt, and those who have thus purified themselves carry 
 back bottles of her water to their kindred in far-off prov- 
 inces. To die and be cremated on the river bank, and to 
 have their ashes borne seaward by her stream, is the last 
 wish of millions of Hindus. Even to ejaculate " Ganga, 
 Ganga, at the distance of one hundred leagues from the 
 river," said her more enthusiastic devotees, might atone for 
 the sins^'committed during three previous lives.
 
 THE GANGES it 
 
 The Ganges has earned the reverence of the people by 
 centuries of unfailing work done for them. She and her 
 tributaries are the unwearied water-carriers for the densely- 
 peopled provinces of Northern India, and the peasantry 
 reverence the bountiful stream which fertilizes their fields 
 and distributes their produce. None of the other rivers of 
 India comes near to the Ganges in works of beneficence. 
 The Brahmaputra and the Indus have longer streams, as 
 measured by the geographer, but their upper courses lie be- 
 yond the great mountain wall in the unknown recesses of 
 the Himalayas. 
 
 Not one of the rivers of Southern India is navigable in 
 the proper sense. But in the north, the Ganges begins to 
 distribute fertility by irrigation as soon as she reaches the 
 plains, within 200 miles of her source, and at the same 
 time her channel becomes in some sort navigable. Thence- 
 forward she rolls majestically down to the sea in a beautiful 
 stream, which never 'becomes a merely destructive torrent 
 in the rains, and never dwindles away in the hottest sum- 
 mer. Tapped by canals, she distributes millions of cubic 
 feet of water every hour in irrigation ; but her diminished 
 volume is promptly recruited by great tributaries, and the 
 wide area of her catchment basin renders her stream inex- 
 haustible in the service of man. Embankments are in but 
 few places required to restrain her inundations, for the 
 alluvial silt which she spills over her banks affords in most 
 parts a top-dressing of inexhaustible fertility. If one 
 crop be drowned by flood, the peasant comforts himself 
 with the thought that the next crop from his silt-manured 
 fields will abundantly requite him. 
 
 The Ganges has also played a preeminent part in the 
 commercial development of Northern India. Until the
 
 22 THE GANGES 
 
 opening of the railway system, from 1855 to 1870, her 
 magnificent stream formed almost the sole channel of traffic 
 between upper India and the seaboard. The products not 
 only of the river plains, but even the cotton of the Central 
 Provinces, were formerly brought by this route to Calcutta. 
 Notwithstanding the revolution caused by the railways, the 
 heavier and more bulky staples are still conveyed by the 
 river, and the Ganges may yet rank as one of the greatest 
 waterways in the world. 
 
 The value of the upward and downward trade of the in- 
 terior with Calcutta, by the Gangetic channels, may be 
 taken at about 400,000,000 of rupees per annum, of which 
 over 153,000,000 go by country -boats, and nearly 240,- 
 000,000 by steamers (1891). This is exclusive of the sea- 
 borne commerce. But the adjustments which have to be 
 made are so numerous that the calculation is an intricate 
 one. As far back as 1876, the number of cargo boats 
 registered at Bamanghata, on one of the canals east of Cal- 
 cutta, was 178,627 j at Hugli, a river-side station on a sin- 
 gle one of the many Gangetic mouths, 124,357; and at 
 Patna, 550 miles from the mouth of the river, the number 
 of cargo boats entered in the register was 61,571. The 
 port of Calcutta is itself one of the world's greatest emporia 
 for sea and river-borne commerce. Its total exports and 
 imports landward and seaward amounted in 1881 to about 
 1,400,000,000 of rupees (Rx. 140,000,000) and to 1,523,- 
 000,000 of rupees (Rx. 152,363,583) in 1891. 
 
 Articles of European commerce, such as wheat, indigo, 
 cotton, opium, and saltpetre, prefer the railway ; so also do 
 the imports of Manchester piece goods. But if we take 
 into account the vast development in the export trade of 
 oil-seeds, rice, etc., still carried by the river, and the grow-
 
 THE GANGES 23 
 
 ing interchange of food-grains between interior districts of 
 the country, it seems probable that the actual amount of 
 traffic on the Ganges has increased rather than diminished 
 since the opening of the railways. At well-chosen points 
 along her course, the iron lines touch the banks, and these 
 river-side stations form centres for collecting and distribut- 
 ing the produce of the surrounding country. The Ganges, 
 therefore, is not merely a rival, but a feeder of the railway. 
 Her ancient cities, such as Allahabad, Benares, and Patna, 
 have thus been able to preserve their former importance ; 
 while fishing villages like Sahibganj and Goalanda have 
 been raised into thriving river marts. 
 
 For, unlike the Indus and the Brahmaputra, the Ganges 
 is a river of great historic cities. Calcutta, Patna, and 
 Benares are built on her banks ; Agra and Delhi on those 
 of her tributary, the Jumna ; and Allahabad on the tongue 
 of land where the two sister streams unite. Many millions 
 of human beings live by commerce along her margin. 
 Calcutta, with its suburbs on both sides of the river, con- 
 tains a population of nearly a million. It has a municipal 
 revenue of four and one-fourth millions of rupees; a sea- 
 borne and coasting commerce in 1891 of 770,000,000 of 
 rupees, with a landward trade of over 750,000,000. These 
 figures vary from year to year, but show a steady increase. 
 Calcutta lies on the Hugli, the most westerly of the 
 mouths by which the Ganges enters the sea. To the 
 eastward stretches the delta, till it is hemmed in on the 
 other side by the Meghna, the most easterly of the mouths 
 of the Ganges. More accurately speaking, the Meghna is 
 the vast estuary by which the combined waters of the Brah- 
 maputra and Gangetic river-systems find their way into 
 the Bay of Bengal.
 
 MORNING ON THE GANGES 
 
 PIERRE LOT! 
 
 NEARLY all the streets lead to the Ganges, where 
 they grow wider and become less gloomy. Here, 
 suddenly, the magnificent palaces and all the brightness 
 of the day dawn upon us. 
 
 These massive tiers of steps, which stretch along the 
 banks and reach to the water's edge even in these times of 
 drought, where fallen temples emerge from their slimy bed, 
 were made in honour of the Ganges, and on each landing 
 there are little granite altars, shaped like niches, in which 
 diminutive gods are placed. These images are like those 
 of the temples, but they are of more massive construction, 
 so as to withstand the swirl of the waters which cover 
 them during the annual rains. 
 
 The sun has just risen from the plain through which 
 old Ganges wanders, a plain of mud and vegetation still 
 overshadowed by the mists of night ; and waiting there 
 for the first red rays of dawn lie the granite temples of 
 Benares, the rosy pyramids, the golden shafts, and all the 
 sacred city, extended in terraces, as if to catch the first 
 light and deck itself in the glory of the morning. 
 
 This is the hour which, since the Brahmin faith began, 
 has been sacred to prayer and to religious ecstasy, and it is 
 now that Benares pours forth all its people, all its flowers, 
 all its garlands, all its birds, and all its living things on to the 
 banks of the Ganges. Awakened by the kiss of the sun, 
 all that have received souls from Brahma rush joyously
 
 MORNING ON THE GANGES 25 
 
 down the granite steps. The men, whose faces beam with 
 calm serenity, are garbed in Kashmir shawls, some pink, 
 some yellow, and some in the colours of the dawn. The 
 women, veiled with muslins in the antique style, form 
 white groups along the road, and the reflection from their 
 copper ewers and drinking vessels shimmer amongst the 
 silvery glints of their many bracelets, necklets, and the 
 rings which they wear round their ankles. Nobly beauti- 
 ful both of face and gait, they walk like goddesses, while 
 the metal rings on their arms and feet murmur musically. 
 
 And to the river, already encumbered with garlands, 
 each one comes to offer a new wreath. Some have twisted 
 ropes of jasmine flowers which look like white necklets, 
 others garlands of Indian pinks whose flowers of golden 
 yellow and pale sulphur gleam in contrast, resembling the 
 changing colours of an Indian veil. 
 
 And the birds that had been sleeping all along friezes 
 of the houses and the palaces awake too and fill the air 
 with chirpings and with song in the mad joy of dawn. 
 
 In all the temples the gods have their morning serenades, 
 and the angry roar of the tom-toms, the wail of the bag- 
 pipes, and the howling of the sacred trumpets, are heard 
 from every side. 
 
 Naked children holding each other by the hand come 
 in gay throngs ; yoghis and slowly-moving fakirs descend 
 the steps ; the sacred cattle advance with deliberate steps, 
 while people stand respectfully aside offering them fresh 
 wreaths of reeds and flowers. They, too, seem to look 
 on the splendours of the sun, and in their harmless fashion 
 appear to understand and pray. 
 
 Next come the sheep and goats ; then dogs and monkeys 
 hurry down the steps.
 
 26 MORNING ON THE GANGES 
 
 All the granite temples scattered on the steps that 
 serve as niches and altars, some for Vishnu, some for the 
 many-armed Ganesa, protrude into the sunlight their 
 squat little gods gods which are grey with mud, for 
 they have slept many months under the troubled waters 
 of the river to which the ashes of the dead are consigned. 
 
 Now that the rays of the sun are fierce the people 
 shelter under large umbrellas whose shade awaits them. 
 For these huge parasols, which resemble gigantic mush- 
 rooms clustering under the walls of the city, are always 
 left open. 
 
 The many rafts and the lower steps are thronged with 
 Brahmins, who, after setting down their flowers and 
 ewers, hasten to disrobe. Pink and white muslins and 
 cashmeres of all colours lie mingled on the ground, or are 
 hung over bamboo canes, and now the matchless nude 
 forms appear, some of pale bronze, others of a deeper 
 shade. 
 
 The men, slim and of athletic build, plunge to their 
 waists into the sacred waters. The women, still wear- 
 ing a veil of muslin round their shoulders and waists, 
 merely plunge their many-ringed arms and ankles into 
 the Ganges ; then they kneel at the extremest edge and 
 let fall their long unknotted coils of hair into the water. 
 Then, raising their heads once more, they allow the 
 water dripping from their drenched hair to fall upon their 
 necks and bosoms. And now with their tightly-clinging 
 draperies they look like some statue of a " winged Victory," 
 more beautiful and more voluptuous than if they had been 
 nude. 
 
 From all sides the bowing people shower their garlands 
 and their flowers into the Ganges ; all fill their ewers and
 
 MORNING ON THE GANGES 27 
 
 jars and then, stooping, fill their hollowed hand and drink. 
 Here religious feeling reigns supreme, and no sensual 
 thought ever seems to assail these beauteous mingled forms. 
 They come into unconscious contact with each other, but 
 only heed the river, the sun, and the splendour of the morn- 
 ing in a dream of ecstasy. And when the long ritual is 
 ended, the women retire to their homes, while the men, 
 seated on the rafts amid their garlands dispose themselves 
 for prayer. 
 
 Oh ! the joyful awakenings of this primeval race, pray- 
 ing in daily unison to God, where the poorest may find 
 room amongst the splendours of the sun, the waters, and the 
 flowers. 
 
 All the life of Benares centres round the river. People 
 come from the palaces and jungles to die on its sacred 
 banks, and the old and the sick are brought here by their 
 families to await their end. The relatives never return to 
 their homes in the country after the death has taken place, 
 and so Benares, which already contains three hundred 
 thousand inhabitants, increases rapidly in size. For those 
 who feel their end approaching this is the spot so eagerly 
 desired. 
 
 Oh ! to die at Benares. To die on the banks of the 
 Ganges ! To have one's body bathed for the last time, and 
 then to have one's ashes strewn into the river 1
 
 THE COLORADO 
 
 HENRY GANNETT 
 
 THE country drained by the Colorado River is a 
 peculiar region. It is a country of plateaus and 
 canons, the plateaus mainly arid and sterile, where the few 
 streams flow in deep gorges far below the surface. 
 
 The longest and most northern branch of the Colorado 
 is Green River, which heads in the Wind River Moun- 
 tains, against the sources of the Bighorn and Snake Rivers. 
 This stream, in its long course towards the south, receives 
 the waters of the Uinta from the west, and the Yampa 
 and White Rivers from the east. Near latitude 38 15' 
 and longitude 110 it is joined by Grand River, a stream of 
 nearly equal size, which heads in Middle Park, Colorado, 
 drawing its first supplies of water from the snowfields of 
 Long Peak. The stream below the junction of these two 
 forks is known as the Colorado. 
 
 Below their junction, the principal branches of the 
 Colorado from the east are the San Juan, the Colorado 
 Chiquito, Williams Fork, and the Gila ; on the west, the 
 " Dirty Devil," Paria, and Virgin. 
 
 This region is limited on the east, north, and north-west 
 by high mountain ranges. Its surface is nearly flat, but by 
 no means unbroken. There is little rolling or undulating 
 country. Changes of level take place by very gentle, 
 uniform slopes, or by abrupt, precipitous steps. A large 
 part of the surface consists of bare rocks, with no soil or 
 vegetation. A part is covered with a thin sandy soil, which
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1902, BY DETROIT PHOTOGRAPHIC COMPANY 
 THE COLORADO
 
 THE COLORADO 29 
 
 supports a growth of sage and cacti, or even a few pinon 
 pines and cedars. The only vegetation is that character- 
 istic of an arid country. 
 
 This aridity has modified orographic forms to an aston- 
 ishing degree. Where, under different climatic conditions, 
 there would be produced a region similar in most respects 
 to the prairies of the Mississippi valley, we find a country, 
 flat indeed, or inclined at low angles, but one whose water- 
 courses are far beneath the general level, deep down in 
 canons, hundreds, thousands of feet beneath the surface. 
 
 Great cliffs, thousands of feet in height, and extending 
 like huge walls for hundreds of miles, change the level of 
 the country at a single step. ' 
 
 Isolated buttes and mesas, of great height, are scattered 
 over the plateaus, indicating the former height of the plain 
 of which they formed parts. 
 
 " The landscape everywhere, away from the river, is of 
 rock cliffs of rock, tables of rock, terraces of rock, 
 crags of rock ten thousand strangely carved forms. 
 Rocks everywhere, and no vegetation : no soil, no land. 
 When speaking of these rocks, we must not conceive of 
 piles of boulders, or heaps of fragments, but a whole land 
 of naked rock, with giant forms carved on it ; cathedral- 
 shaped buttes, towering hundreds or thousands of feet ; 
 cliffs that cannot be scaled, and canon walls that shrink the 
 river into insignificance, with vast hollow domes and tall 
 pinnacles, and shafts set on verge overhead, and all highly 
 coloured buff, grey, red, brown, and chocolate; never 
 lichened, never moss-covered, but bare and often 
 polished." 
 
 The above description by Major J. W. Powell, who 
 has explored the canons of the Colorado, gives a graphic
 
 30 THE COLORADO 
 
 pen-picture of the lower and more arid plateaus of this 
 region. 
 
 Nearly every watercourse, whether the stream be perennial 
 or not, is a canon ; a narrow valley, with precipitous walls. 
 In many cases, these canons are so numerous that they cut 
 the plateau into shreds a mere skeleton of a country. Of 
 such a section Lieutenant Ives, who explored the course of 
 lower Colorado, writes : " The extent and magnitude of 
 the system of canons in that direction is astounding. The 
 plateau is cut into shreds by these gigantic chasms, and 
 resembles a vast ruin. Belts of country, miles in width, 
 have been swept away, leaving only isolated mountains 
 standing in the gap ; fissures so profound that the eye can- 
 not penetrate their depths are separated by walls whose 
 thickness one can almost span ; and slender spires, that 
 seem tottering on their base, shoot up a thousand feet from 
 vaults below." 
 
 But few of these canons contain water throughout the 
 year. Most of them are dry at all times, excepting for a 
 few days in the early spring, or for a few minutes or hours 
 at most after a heavy shower. It is characteristic of 
 Western North America, as of all and countries, that the 
 streams, away from their sources in the mountains, lose 
 water, rather than gain it, in traversing the lower country. 
 The dry atmosphere and the thirsty soil absorb it, and, in 
 many cases, large streams entirely disappear in this way. 
 This is the case to a great extent in the plateau country, 
 and still more so in the Great Basin, where these are the 
 only outlets to the drainage. 
 
 Those who have long and carefully studied the Grand 
 Canon of the Colorado do not hesitate for a moment to pro- 
 nounce it by far the most sublime of all earthly spectacles.
 
 THE COLORADO 31 
 
 If its sublimity consisted only in its dimensions, it could be 
 sufficiently set forth in a single sentence. It is more than 
 200 miles long, from five to twelve miles wide, and from 
 5,000 to 6,000 feet deep. There are in the world valleys 
 which are longer and a few which are deeper. There are 
 valleys flanked by summits loftier than the palisades of the 
 Kaibab. Still the Grand Canon is the sublimest thing on 
 earth. It is not alone by virtue of its magnitudes, but by 
 virtue of the whole its ensemble. 
 
 The space under immediate view from our stand-point, 
 fifty miles long and ten to twelve wide, is thronged with a 
 great multitude of objects so vast in size, so bold yet majes- 
 tic in form, so infinite in their details, that as the truth 
 gradually reveals itself to the perceptions it arouses the 
 strongest emotions. Unquestionably the great, the over- 
 ruling feature is the wall on the opposite side of the gulf. 
 Can mortal fancy create a picture of a mural front a mile 
 in height, seven to ten miles distant, and receding into space 
 in either direction ? As the mind strives to realize its pro- 
 portions its spirit is broken and its imagination completely 
 crushed. If the wall were simple in its character, if it were 
 only blank and sheer, some rest might be found in contem- 
 plating it; but it is full of diversity and eloquent with grand 
 suggestions. It is deeply recessed by alcoves and amphi- 
 theatres receding far into the plateau beyond, and usually 
 disclosing only the portals by which they open into the 
 main chasm. Between them the promontories jut out end- 
 ing in magnificent gables with sharp mitred angles. Thus 
 the wall rambles in and out, turning numberless corners. 
 Many of the angles are acute, and descend as sharp spurs 
 like the forward edge of a ploughshare. Only those al- 
 coves which are directly opposite to us can be seen in their
 
 32 THE COLORADO 
 
 full length and depth. Yet so excessive, nay, so prodigious, 
 is the effect of foreshortening, that it is impossible to realize 
 their full extensions. 
 
 Numerous detached masses are also seen flanking the 
 ends of the long promontories. These buttes are of gigan- 
 tic proportions, and yet so overwhelming is the effect of the 
 wall against which they are projected that they seem insig- 
 nificant in mass, and the observer is often deluded by them, 
 failing to perceive that they are really detached from the 
 wall and perhaps separated from it by an interval of a mile 
 or two. 
 
 At the foot of this palisade is a platform through which 
 meanders the inner gorge, in whose dark and sombre depths 
 flows the river. Only in one place can the water surface 
 be seen. In its winding the abyss which holds it extends 
 for a short distance towards us and the line of vision enters 
 the gorge lengthwise. Above and below this short reach 
 the gorge swings its course in other directions and re- 
 veals only a dark, narrow opening, while its nearer wall 
 hides its depth. This inner chasm is 1,000 to 2,000 feet 
 deep. Its upper 200 feet is a vertical ledge of sandstone 
 of a dark rich brownish colour. Beneath it lies the granite 
 of a dark iron-grey shade, verging towards black, and 
 lending a gloomy aspect to the lowest deeps. Perhaps half 
 a mile of the river is disclosed. A pale, dirty red, without 
 glimmer or sheen, a motionless surface, a small featureless 
 spot enclosed in the dark shade of the granite, is all of it 
 that is here visible. Yet we know it is a large river, 150 
 yards wide, with a headlong torrent foaming and plunging 
 over rocky rapids. 
 
 The walls of the Grand Canon and the level of the 
 plateau descend by a succession of great steps, produced
 
 THE COLORADO 33 
 
 by faults, until the level of the river is reached at the mouth 
 of the Grand Wash ; and thus ends the Grand Canon. 
 
 Below the Grand Wash, a dry stream bed which enters 
 the Colorado from the north, the river turns south again and 
 enters the Black Canon of Lieutenant Ives report a canon 
 which would be a remarkable feature were it not brought 
 into such close juxtaposition with that described above. 
 
 Below it the river runs in narrow valleys and low canons 
 to its mouth.
 
 THE AVON 
 
 JOHN WILSON CROKER 
 
 THERE are Avons and Avons. Of course, Shake- 
 speare's Avon is the famous stream which takes 
 precedence of all others. It rises at Naseby, in the yard of 
 a small inn near the church. So for two things is that vil- 
 lage of Naseby renowned. A good many years ago a hos- 
 pitable agriculturist, resident near Naseby, asked me to 
 come over and see the battle-field and source of the Avon. 
 I came and saw. The battle-field, truth to say, impressed 
 me in no degree more than the river-head ; I saw a quantity 
 of ploughed land, undulating in true Northamptonshire 
 fashion. Doubtless grim old Oliver and hot Prince Rupert 
 saw a good deal more; and that heavy land is responsible 
 for many oaths on the part of the prince, and prayers from 
 the ever-prayerful lips of the Roundhead general. But 
 Naseby field is very much like all the rest of Northampton- 
 shire. There is not a hill in the country, or a brook that 
 a boy cannot leap, or a church, spire that a boy cannot 
 throw a stone over, or enough level ground for a game of 
 cricket. Yet it is a capital hunting county nevertheless. 
 
 Descending the Avon from Naseby, we pass through 
 much dreary Northamptonshire scenery. At a village 
 called Catthorpe, we are reminded of a certain poetaster 
 named Dyer. Poetry was in a poor state when the author 
 of Grongar Hill could be considered a poet. He was an 
 amiable clergyman, who wrote mediocre verse ; but 
 Horace's opinion of such verse is peculiarly popular in the
 
 THE AVON 35 
 
 present day. The first town of any consequence which 
 the pedestrian reaches is Lutterworth ; and concerning 
 Lutterworth there is little to be said, except that Wicliffe 
 was once its rector ; and the ashes of the great reformer 
 were disinterred by certain ecclesiastical vultures, and 
 thrown into the brook which runs into the Avon at Lutter- 
 worth. So says Fuller, whom Wordsworth has followed : 
 " This brook hath conveyed his ashes into Avon, Avon into 
 Severn, Severn into the narrow seas, they into the main 
 ocean. And thus the ashes of Wicliffe are the emblem of 
 his doctrine, which now is dispersed all the world over." 
 
 The next town is Rugby ; an immortal town, forever 
 connected with the greatest of school-masters. 
 
 The scenery about Avon begins to improve near Newn- 
 ham Regis ; a small village, remarkable for having nothing 
 of the church left except the tower. The rector of Church 
 Lawford is also vicar of King's Newnham j and as the two 
 villages cannot count five hundred inhabitants, we perhaps 
 need not regret the destruction of the ancient church. 
 
 The city of Coventry lies not very far from the Avon. 
 It is, I think, the dirtiest place in England, Bristol and 
 Birmingham not excepted. In days gone by it had great 
 fame, this Coventria civitas ; and its earl, Leofric, who used 
 to stride about his hall among his dogs, 
 
 " His beard a foot before him, and his hair 
 A yard behind," 
 
 was a worthy ancestor of Lord Palmerston ; and we all re- 
 member who wrote, 
 
 ' I waited for the train at Coventry ; 
 I hung with grooms and porters on the bridge, 
 To watch the three tall spires."
 
 36 THE AVON 
 
 What strikes me in this city of Coventry when I look 
 at those noble spires, which Tennyson has immortalized 
 (St. Michael's is second to Salisbury only), and at the 
 splendid city-hall is the wonderful change between the 
 past and the present. It is now one of the most sordid 
 and miserable towns in the empire. What generous and 
 magnificent inhabitants must it have had when the spires of 
 St. Michael's and Trinity were raised heavenwards ! I'll 
 be hanged if Godiva the beautiful would have 
 
 " Unclasped the wedded eagles of her belt " 
 
 for the present population of Coventry. I fear that among 
 its makers of watches and ribbons there are goodly number 
 of " low churls, compact of thankless earth." 
 
 The beauty of Avon begins where it enters the park of 
 Stoneleigh Abbey, seat of Lord Leigh. The first baron, 
 when Mr. Chandos Leigh, published some elegant poetry. 
 His title to the estate was at one time questioned ; and an 
 inventive attorney produced a most marvellous case against 
 him, accusing him and Lady Leigh of pulling down one 
 side of Stoneleigh Church, to get rid of some genealogical 
 testimony furnished by the Monuments, and of causing a 
 huge stone to be dropped on some men who were engaged 
 in building a bridge across the river Sow, it being important 
 to suppress their evidence ; I forget how many murders this 
 lawyer (who very justly suffered imprisonment) charged 
 against one of the gentlest and most amiable of men. Of 
 the old abbey nothing is left but a gateway ; and the great 
 mansion of the Leighs, though doubtless magnificent and 
 luxurious within, has no external beauty. But the park is 
 redolent of As you like it. All this Warwickshire woodland 
 breathes of Shakespeare. Under these stately oaks, the
 
 THE AVON 37 
 
 noblest I have ever seen, beside this sparkling river, how 
 sweet it were to moralize with melancholy Jaques, to while 
 away the golden time with joyous Rosalind ! As the trav- 
 eller lies beneath a patrician tree, amid the magical noon- 
 tide, well might he fancy the mellow voice of Amiens in 
 the distance, cheering the banished Duke with music. Of 
 Stoneleigh village I have only to say, that when last there 
 I found it impossible to obtain a glass of ale ; Lord Leigh 
 having an objection to that wholesome liquid. An English 
 village without ale is awful to think of. 
 
 Two miles through field and woodland, and we are at 
 Kenilworth. Wise were the monks when they settled 
 down in that green valley. Very quaint is the village that 
 clusters round the old church ; traditions of monastic and 
 baronial times linger there , the exteriors of several of the 
 antique houses made me wish to catch a glimpse of the in- 
 teriors and their inhabitants, which I was not lucky enough 
 to do. They are just the sort of houses where a good din- 
 ner and a bottle of rare port is the order of the day. The 
 end of the village near the church is quite another affair; 
 instead of seeming coeval with the castle and the priory, it 
 appears to have sprung up simultaneously with the railway- 
 station. Extremes meet at Kenilworth : in these modern 
 villas you would expect to find no inhabitant less active 
 than a commercial traveller ; in the old houses at the other 
 end you would hardly be startled by an interview with Sir 
 Walter Raleigh or rare Ben Jonson. 
 
 Of course I ought to describe Kenilworth Castle ; but I 
 cannot do it, that's a fact ; besides which, the thing has been 
 done a hundred times. It is a glorious ruin ; and as one 
 lies on the turf on a summer day in the shadow of its grey 
 stonework, watching the flying clouds, and the choughs
 
 ^3 THE AVON 
 
 in the ivy, and the little river shimmering through the 
 meadows, and the immoveable old towers decaying in their 
 stately strength, there descends upon the spirit a mystic and 
 unutterable feeling, worth more than all the poetry ever 
 written, ay, or all the claret ever pressed from Bordeaux 
 grapes. 
 
 Avon winds back into Stoneleigh Park after leaving 
 Kenilworth, and passes the little village of Ashow, where 
 I tasted the juiciest mulberries I ever ate, blood-ripe as 
 those wherewith the laughing Naiad ^gle stained the 
 temples of Silenus. Cool and peaceful is that pleasant vil- 
 lage, where Avon murmurs softly amid reedy islets. Pass- 
 ing onward, we see a cross upon a wooded hill : there poor 
 Piers Gaveston was beheaded, some five centuries and a 
 half ago. There is a capitally written inscription on the 
 cross. Somewhat farther is Milverton Church, with a 
 quaint wooden tower: they say it is not worth while to 
 build a stone one, as the lightning strikes it so often. But 
 Guy's Cliff! 
 
 Perhaps I had better let those three words stand as sole 
 suggestion of what that exquisite residence is. The strange 
 legend of Guy of Warwick, vanquisher of Colbrand the 
 Dane, and of the Dun Cow, hovers around this delightful 
 old place. But I don't know whether Mr. Bertie Percy's 
 poetic dwelling is not surpassed by the mill close thereto. 
 
 Few places I have seen dwell in my memory like this 
 beautiful old mill, surrounded by a wealth of water, a luxury 
 of leafage. If there be mills in fairy-land, they are built 
 on this pattern. If the miller's daughter, " so dear, so 
 dear" to the Laureate that he plagiarized from Anacreon 
 for her sake, had any actual existence, it must have been at 
 a mill like this of Guy's Cliff.
 
 THE AVON 39 
 
 I scarce dare approach Warwick after Nathaniel Haw- 
 thorne. The reaction from a fast, loud, vulgar, sordid life, 
 makes the most refined and poetic natures of America 
 dreamers of dreams. Such, with especial emphasis, was 
 Hawthorne. To him the ideal was more real than reality. 
 What visions he saw in Warwick, where the great castle 
 " floats double " in the lucid Avon ; where a strange old- 
 world tranquillity broods over the famous Earl of Leicester's 
 antique hospital ! After Windsor (and I do not forget 
 Alnwick), I think Warwick the noblest castellated building 
 in England. Built into the solid rock, it overhangs Avon 
 with a wild sublimity. As you look down from the win- 
 dows of the great hall upon the river far beneath, you 
 think that thus may Guinevere and Lancelot have looked, 
 when the angry Queen cast into the water the nine great 
 diamonds, while the doomed barge bore to her burial the 
 lily maid of Astolat. Why over that old broken bridge, 
 green with the ivy of a thousand years, may not the blame- 
 less King have passed, and Merlin the sage, and Tristram 
 of Lyonnesse, leading Iseult of Ireland ? Who knows ? 
 Are these things fables ? Are ye enchanters, Alfred Tenny- 
 son and Matthew Arnold ? 
 
 The Earl of Warwick's courtesy throws the castle open 
 to the public two or three days a week. Rumour says that 
 the late Earl's housekeeper, whose monument may be seen 
 in Warwick Church, left her master sixty thousand pounds, 
 accumulated by visitors' fees ! At the very gateway you 
 are met by wonders, an iron porridge-pot of the great Sir 
 Guy, holding a hogshead or two, I suppose. The old 
 knight must have had a rare appetite for breakfast. There 
 is also his sword, a gigantic weapon, which I defy Jacob 
 Omnium to wield with both hands. As for the contents
 
 40 THE AVON 
 
 of the castle, I will not say a word about them ; though of 
 historical portraits, Vandykes and Rubenses, there is a fine 
 collection. I commend the traveller upon looking out 
 upon Avon from those wondrous rooms, to call back, if he 
 can, the heroic and poetic times when it was possible to 
 build such a castle ; when it seemed fit habitation for those 
 who dwelt in it, for Neville the Kingmaker, to wit, who 
 fills a marvellous page, brilliant with gold and stained with 
 blood, in England's history j and who well deserved to be 
 found in Shakespeare's peerless portrait-gallery. 
 
 Warwick town is very quaint, and has two old-fashioned 
 hostelries, the Warwick Arms and the Woolpack, at either 
 of which a hungry and thirsty traveller will find ample re- 
 freshment of the right sort. From the top of Warwick 
 Church tower there is a magnificent view over a rich 
 country. The church's chief glory is the Beauchamp 
 Chapel, just 400 years old, a perfect poem in stone, an ab- 
 solute triumph of the good old artist-workmen, who find 
 no rivals in the days when artists are never workmen, 
 and workmen never artists. Its dead inhabitant was last 
 of the Beauchamp Earls, and that crowned saint, 
 Henry VI., conferred the earldom upon the Kingmaker ; 
 thus commencing the third line of its holders, for the first 
 Earl was a Newburgh, or Neuburg, of the Conqueror's 
 creation ; then, two centuries later, it passed through a 
 female to the Beauchamps ; two centuries more, and the last 
 Beauchamp was succeeded by a Nevil ; on Nevil's death, 
 " false, fleeting, perjured Clarence " had the earldom, whose 
 son, last of the Plantagenets, ended the fourth line, when he 
 and Perkin Warbeck died on Tower Hill; next came the 
 Dudleys, creatures of Henry VIII., the elder of whom, 
 Lady Jane Grey's father-in-law and worst enemy, is better
 
 THE AVON 41 
 
 known as Duke of Northumberland ; then Lord Rich, 
 whose great grand-son married Cromwell's daughter, was 
 created Earl of Warwick by James I. ; and finally George 
 II. conferred the title on Greville, Earl Brooke, ancestor 
 of the present Earl. Thus six families at least have held 
 this famous earldom. 
 
 The traveller will of course turn aside to Leamington, 
 town of fashion and frivolity, about a mile and a half from 
 the poetic stream. Leamington owes its existence, as any- 
 thing beyond a village, to one Dr. Jephson, who hit on the 
 brilliant notion that the mineral waters of the place would 
 cure all possible diseases. A great hotel sprang up, the 
 Regent, which for years was a kind of hospital for Dr. 
 Jephson's patients. This medical genius is quite deified in 
 the town. There are pleasant gardens dedicated to him, 
 to which none are admitted save subscribers of a guinea, or 
 something of the sort. It is a downright apotheosis (or 
 apodiabolosis) of physic. But other causes concurred to 
 bring Leamington into the first rank of pleasure towns : 
 there is capital hunting in the neighbourhood, and a first-rate 
 pack of hounds. It is almost the metropolis of archery, a 
 pastime which young ladies wisely patronize, since a pretty 
 girl cannot look prettier than in her toxophilite costume of 
 Lincoln-green. Nothing can be more beautiful than the 
 walk by the margin of Avon through Lord Warwick's 
 park. After passing through several pleasant villages, full of 
 Warwickshire quaintness, we reach Charlecote House, the 
 seat of the Lucy family. It has always appeared to me 
 that Haydon more admirably than any man expressed the 
 feeling which is produced in poetic minds by the places 
 sacred to Shakespeare. Painting under the stress of a 
 noble ambition, with the sad certainty that the age could
 
 42 THE AVON 
 
 not perceive his greatness, had injured his health j instead 
 of joining " the vulgar idlers at a watering-place " he sought 
 change of scene at Stratford. How the man enjoyed it, 
 and how vigorously he depicts his enjoyment ! " To 
 Charlecote," says he, " I walked as fast as my legs could 
 carry me, and crossing the meadow, entered the im- 
 mortalized park by a back pathway. Trees, gigantic and 
 umbrageous, at once announce the growth of centuries : 
 while I was strolling on, I caught a distant view of the old 
 red-bricked house, in the same style and condition as when 
 Shakespeare lived ; and on going close to the river-side, 
 came at once on two enormous old willows, with a large 
 branch across the stream, such as Ophelia hung to. Every 
 blade of grass, every daisy and cowslip, every hedge-flower 
 and tuft of tawny earth, every rustling, ancient and 
 enormous tree which curtains the sunny park with its cool 
 shadows, between which the sheep glitter on the emerald 
 green in long lines of light, every ripple of the river with 
 its placid tinkle, 
 
 " Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge 
 It overtaketh in its pilgrimage," 
 
 announced the place where Shakespeare imbibed his early, 
 deep, and native taste for forest scenery. Oh, it was de- 
 lightful, indeed ! Shakespeare seemed to hover and bless all 
 I saw, thought of, or trod on. Those great roots of the 
 lime and the oak, bursting, as it were, above the ground, 
 bent up by the depth they had struck into it, Shakespeare 
 had seen Shakespeare had sat on. 
 
 In the same spirit of delight, and with the same realizing 
 power, did the great painter one of those 
 
 " Mighty poets in their misery dead,"
 
 THE AVON 43 
 
 " of whom the world was not worthy " enjoy Stratford it- 
 self. Thus does he write of what he felt as sunset descended 
 on the church where lies all that was mortal of God's 
 greatest human creature. " I stood and drank into enthusi- 
 asm all a human being could feel ; all that the most ardent 
 and devoted lover of a great genius could have a sensation 
 of; all that the most tender scenery of river, trees, and sun- 
 set sky together could excite. I was lost, quite lost ; and 
 in such a moment should wish my soul to take its flight (if 
 it please God) when my time is finished." God willed 
 otherwise ; that great soul took flight in a moment, not of 
 delight, but of agony. 
 
 There seem to be always American visitors at Stratford. 
 The refined and thoughtful Americans, like Washington 
 Irving and Hawthorne, have by the intensity of their 
 reverie, thrown a halo of fresh beauty around many places 
 sacred to genius. But too many of these trans-atlantic 
 travellers merely visit a place like Stratford just to say they 
 have been there ; and people of that kind are singularly un- 
 pleasant to meet. There is a story that one Yankee offered 
 an enormous sum of money for Shakespeare's house, to take 
 it to the States for exhibition. 
 
 I must hurry on. Village after village, quaint and 
 beautiful, lie along the margin of Avon ; the keen eye will 
 notice whence Shakespeare drew^his choicest descriptions of 
 nature ; the longest summer-day will not be too long to 
 loiter around the vicinity of Stratford. One of the best 
 proofs that Avon River flows through rich and lovely 
 country is the multitude of monastic institutions which have 
 left their names to the villages, with here and there a noble 
 tower or graceful gateway. 
 
 Founders of abbeys loved a pleasant river flowing
 
 44 THE AVON 
 
 through fertile meadows j salmon and trout and eels for fast- 
 days were as important as beeves and deer for festivals. 
 So there are more conventual remains between Naseby and 
 Tewkesbury than in almost any equal distance of which I 
 have knowledge ; and the glory of those old ecclesiastic 
 foundations is peculiarly realized as the noble bell-tower of 
 Evesham Abbey rises above the town. The great monas- 
 tery had lasted more than a thousand years when the ruth- 
 less hand of Henry VIII. fell upon it. The bell-tower 
 and a most delightful old gateway are the only relics of it 
 left. 
 
 The pilgrim through the beautiful Vale of Evesham 
 comes upon another battle-field, where, 600 years ago, fell 
 a famous leader of the Commons against the Crown. 
 Simon de Montfort fought for the right, so far as we can 
 judge at this remote period ; but his antagonist was the 
 greatest general of the day, and afterwards became Eng- 
 land's greatest king. He was but twenty-six when he won 
 the immortal victory known as the Murder of Evesham. 
 If Montfort gave England its first parliament, Edward 
 gave us Wales and Scotland, and made the priests pay taxes 
 in defiance of the Pope. A poetic prince, as well as a 
 gallant ; for did he not, when Eleanora the Castilian died in 
 Lincolnshire, cause Peter 1'Imagineur to build a stately 
 cross wherever her corpse rested on its way to Westmin- 
 ster ? Thanks to the poetry of a railway company, 
 London sees the last and stateliest of those crosses rebuilt in 
 what was once the quiet village of Charing. 
 
 There was another abbey at Pershore, which takes its 
 name from its abundant pear-trees. Bredon Hill, not far 
 from this town, is worth climbing, for its fine view towards 
 the Malverns. At the village of Strensham the author of
 
 THE AVON 45 
 
 Hudibras was born. I must not be retarded by reminis- 
 cences of that most humorous writer of wonderful doggerel i 
 but pass on to Tewkesbury, last of the towns on the Avon, 
 which here falls into the wide and shining Severn. Tewkes- 
 bury had also its abbey and its famous battle ; it has, more- 
 over, its legend of that unfortunate gentleman, Brictric of 
 Bristol, who, somewhere about the noon of the Eleventh 
 Century, made love to Matilda, daughter of Count Baldwin 
 of Flanders, and then jilted her. 'Twas the unluckiest 
 action of his life. For Matilda married a certain fierce and 
 resolute Duke of Normandy, who used to thrash her occa- 
 sionally ; and this same duke became King of England by 
 the strong hand ; and then Matilda coaxed him (nothing 
 loth, I guess) to seize all Brictric's wide demesnes, and 
 imprison their owner. So the poor fellow died in Win- 
 chester Castle ; and his manors in half-a-dozen counties, as 
 may be seen by Domesday book, passed into the hands of 
 the queen. So much for the spretce injuria formes.
 
 DOWN THE ST. LAWRENCE 
 
 CHARLES DICKENS 
 
 QUEENSTON, at which place the steamboats start 
 from Toronto (or I should rather say at which place 
 they call, for their wharf is at Lewiston, on the opposite 
 shore), is situated in a delicious valley, through which the 
 Niagara River, in colour a very deep green, pursues its 
 course. It is approached by a road that takes its winding 
 way among the heights by which the town is sheltered ; 
 and seen from this point is extremely beautiful and pic- 
 turesque. 
 
 Our steamboat came up directly this had left the wharf, 
 and soon bore us to the mouth of the Niagara : where the 
 Stars and Stripes of America flutter on one side, and the 
 Union Jack of England on the other : and so narrow is the 
 space between them that the sentinels in either fort can 
 often hear the watchword of the other country given. 
 Thence we emerged on Lake Ontario, an inland sea ; and 
 by half-past six o'clock were at Toronto. 
 
 The country round this town being very flat, is bare of 
 scenic interest ; but the town itself is full of life and mo- 
 tion, bustle, business, and improvement. The streets are 
 well paved, and lighted with gas ; the houses are large and 
 good ; the shops excellent. Many of them have a display 
 of goods in their windows, such as may be seen in thriving 
 county towns in England ; and there are some which would 
 do no discredit to the metropolis itself. 
 
 The time of leaving Toronto for Kingston is noon. By
 
 DOWN THE ST. LAWRENCE 47 
 
 eight o'clock next morning, the traveller is at the end of 
 his journey, which is performed by steamboat upon Lake 
 Ontario, calling at Port Hope and Coburg, the latter a 
 cheerful, thriving little town. Vast quantities of flour form 
 the chief item in the freight of these vessels. We had no 
 fewer than one thousand and eighty barrels on board, be- 
 tween Coburg and Kingston. 
 
 We left Kingston for Montreal on the tenth of May, at 
 half-past nine in the morning, and proceeded in a steam- 
 boat down the St. Lawrence River. The beauty of this 
 noble stream at almost any point, but especially in the 
 commencement of this journey when it winds its way among 
 the Thousand Islands, can hardly be imagined. The num- 
 ber and constant successions of these islands, all green and 
 richly wooded ; their fluctuating sizes, some so large that 
 for half an hour together one among them will appear as 
 the opposite bank of the river, and some so small that they 
 are mere dimples on its broad bosom ; their infinite variety 
 of shapes ; and the numberless combinations of beautiful 
 forms which the trees growing on them present : all form 
 a picture fraught with uncommon interest and pleasure. 
 
 In the afternoon we shot down some rapids where the 
 river boiled and bubbled strangely, and where the force 
 and headlong violence of the current were tremendous. At 
 seven o'clock we reached Dickenson's Landing, whence 
 travellers proceed for two or three hours by stage-coach : 
 the navigation of the river being rendered so dangerous and 
 difficult in the interval, by rapids, that steamboats do not 
 make the passage. The number and length of those port- 
 ages, over which the roads are bad, and the travelling slow, 
 render the way between the towns of Montreal and Kings- 
 ton somewhat tedious.
 
 48 DOWN THE ST. LAWRENCE 
 
 Our course lay over a wide, uninclosed tract of country 
 at a little distance from the riverside, whence the bright 
 warning lights on the dangerous parts of the St. Lawrence 
 shone vividly. The night was dark and raw, and the way 
 dreary enough. It was nearly ten o'clock when we reached 
 the wharf where the next steamboat lay; and went on 
 board, and to bed. 
 
 She lay there all night, and started as soon as it was day. 
 The morning was ushered in by a violent thunder-storm, 
 and was very wet, but gradually improved and brightened 
 up. Going on deck after breakfast, I was amazed to see 
 floating down with the stream, a most gigantic raft, with some 
 thirty or forty wooden houses upon it, and at least as many 
 flag-masts, so that it looked like a nautical street. I saw 
 many of these rafts afterwards, but never one so large. All 
 the timber, or " lumber," as it is called in America, which 
 is brought down the St. Lawrence, is floated down in this 
 manner. When the raft reaches its place of destination, it 
 is broken up ; the materials are sold, and the boatmen re- 
 turn for more. 
 
 At eight we landed again, and travelled by a stage-coach 
 for four hours through a pleasant and well-cultivated coun- 
 try, perfectly French in every respect : in the appearance 
 of the cottages ; the air, language, and dress of the peas- 
 antry ; the signboards on the shops and taverns ; and the 
 Virgin's shrines, and crosses, by the wayside. Nearly every 
 common labourer and boy, though he had no shoes to his 
 feet, wore round his waist a sash of some bright colour: 
 generally red : and the women, who were working in the 
 fields and gardens, and doing all kinds of husbandry, wore, 
 one and all, great flat straw hats with most capacious brims. 
 There were Catholic Priests and Sisters of Charity in the
 
 DOWN THE ST. LAWRENCE 49 
 
 village streets ; and images of the Saviour at the corners of 
 cross-roads, and in other public places. 
 
 At noon we went on board another steamboat, and reached 
 the village of Lachine, nine miles from Montreal, by three 
 o'clock. There we left the river, and went on by land. 
 
 Montreal is pleasantly situated on the margin of the St. 
 Lawrence, and is backed by some bold heights, about which 
 there are charming rides and drives. The streets are gen- 
 erally narrow and irregular, as in most French towns of 
 any age ; but in the more modern parts of the city, they are 
 wide and airy. They display a great variety of very good 
 shops ; and both in the town and suburbs there are many 
 excellent private dwellings. The granite quays are re- 
 markable for their beauty, solidity and extent. 
 
 There is a very large Catholic cathedral here, recently 
 erected; with two tall spires, of which one is yet unfin- 
 ished. In the open space in front of this edifice, stands a 
 solitary, grim-looking, square brick tower, which has a 
 quaint and remarkable appearance, and which the wiseacres 
 of the place have consequently determined to pull down 
 immediately. The Government House is very superior to 
 that at Kingston, and the town is full of life and bustle. 
 In one of the suburbs is a plank road not foot-path five 
 or six miles long, and a famous road it is, too. All the rides 
 in the vicinity were made doubly interesting by the burst- 
 ing out of spring, which is here so rapid, that it is but a 
 day's leap from barren winter, to the blooming youth of 
 summer. 
 
 The steamboats to Quebec perform the journey in the 
 night; that is to say, they leave Montreal at six in the 
 evening, and arrive in Quebec at six next morning. We 
 made this excursion during our stay in Montreal (which ex-
 
 50 DOWN THE ST. LAWRENCE 
 
 ceeded a fortnight), and were charmed by its interest and 
 beauty. 
 
 The impression made upon the visitor by this Gibraltar 
 of America : its giddy heights ; its citadel suspended, as it 
 were, in the air j its picturesque steep streets and frowning 
 gateways ; and the splendid views which burst upon the 
 eye at every turn : is at once unique and lasting. It is a 
 place not to be forgotten or mixed up in the mind with 
 other places, or altered for a moment in the crowd of scenes 
 a traveller can recall. Apart from the realities of this most 
 picturesque city, there are associations clustering about it 
 which would make a desert rich in interest. The danger- 
 ous precipice along whose rocky front Wolfe and his brave 
 companions climbed to glory ; the Plains of Abraham, 
 where he received his mortal wound ; the fortress, so chiv- 
 alrously defended by Montcalm; and his soldier's grave, 
 dug for him while yet alive, by the bursting of a shell ; 
 are not the least among them, or among the gallant inci- 
 dents of history. That is a noble Monument, too, and 
 worthy of two great nations, which perpetuates the memory 
 of both brave generals, and on which their names are 
 jointly written. 
 
 The city is rich in public institutions and in Catholic 
 churches and charities, but it is mainly in the prospect 
 from the site of the Old Government House, and from the 
 Citadel, that its surpassing beauty lies. The exquisite ex- 
 panse of country, rich in field and forest, mountain-height 
 and water, which lies stretched out before the view, with 
 miles of Canadian villages, glancing in long white streaks, 
 like veins along the landscape ; the motley crowd of gables, 
 roofs, and chimney-tops in the old hilly town immediately 
 at hand; the beautiful St. Lawrence sparkling and flashing
 
 DOWN THE ST. LAWRENCE 51 
 
 in the sunlight ; and the tiny ships below the rock from 
 which you gaze, whose distant rigging looks like spiders' 
 webs against the light, while casks and barrels on their 
 decks dwindle into toys, and busy mariners become so many 
 puppets : all this, framed by a sunken window in the fortress 
 and looked at from the shadowed room within, forms one 
 of the brightest and the most enchanting pictures that the 
 eye can rest upon. 
 
 In the spring of the year, vast numbers of emigrants who 
 have newly arrived from England or from Ireland, pass be- 
 tween Quebec and Montreal on their way to the backwoods 
 and new settlements of Canada. If it be an entertaining 
 lounge (as I very often found it) to take a morning stroll 
 upon the quay at Montreal, and see them grouped in hun- 
 dreds on the public wharfs about their chests and boxes, it 
 is matter of deep interest to be their fellow-passenger on 
 one of these steamboats, and, mingling with the concourse, 
 see and hear them unobserved.
 
 THE TIGRIS 
 
 GEORGE RAWLINSON 
 
 THE Tigris, like the Euphrates, rises from two prin- 
 cipal sources. The most distant, and therefore the 
 true source is the western one, which is in latitude 38 10' 
 longitude, 39 20', nearly, a little to the south of the high 
 mountain lake called Goljik, in the peninsula formed by 
 the Euphrates where it sweeps round between Palon and 
 Telek. The Tigris's source is near the south-western angle 
 of the lake, and cannot be more than two or three miles 
 from the channel of the Euphrates. The course of the 
 Tigris is at first somewhat north of east, but after pursuing 
 this direction for about twenty-five miles it makes a sweep 
 round to the south, and descends by Arghani Maden upon 
 Diarbekr. Here is a river of considerable size, and it is 
 crossed by a bridge of ten arches a little below that city. 
 It then turns suddenly to the east, and flows in this direc- 
 tion past Osman Kieui to Til where it once more alters 
 its course and takes that south-easterly direction, which it 
 pursues with certain slight variations, to its final junctions 
 with the Euphrates. At Osman Kieui it receives the sec- 
 ond or Eastern Tigris, which descends from Niphates, with 
 a due course south, .and, collecting on its way the waters of 
 a large number of streams, unites with the Tigris half-way 
 between Diarbekr and Til, in longitude 41 nearly. Near 
 Til a large stream flows into it from the north-east, bringing 
 almost as much water as the main channel ordinarily holds.
 
 THE TIGRIS 53 
 
 The length of the whole stream, exclusive of meanders, is 
 reckoned at 1,146 miles. From Diarbekr to Samara the 
 navigation is much impeded by rapids, rocks and shallows, 
 as well as by artificial bunds or dams, which in ancient 
 times were thrown across the stream, probably for purposes 
 of irrigation. The average width of the Tigris in this 
 part of its course is 200 yards, while its depth is very con- 
 siderable. From the west the Tigris obtains no tributary 
 of the slightest importance, for the Tharthar, which is said 
 to have once reached it, now ends in a salt lake, a little be- 
 low Tekrit. Its volume, however, is continually increasing 
 as it descends, in consequence of the great bulk of water 
 brought in from the east, particularly by the Great Zab and 
 the Diyaleh. 
 
 The Tigris, like the Euphrates, has a flood season. Early 
 in the month of March, in consequence of the melting of 
 the snow on the southern flank of Niphates, the river rises 
 rapidly. Its breadth gradually increases at Diarbekr from 
 100 or 1 20 to 250 yards. The stream is swift and turbid. 
 The rise continues through March and April, reaching its 
 full height generally in the first or second week of May. 
 At this time the country about Baghdad is often extensively 
 flooded, not, however, so much from the Tigris as from the 
 overflow of the Euphrates, which is here poured into the 
 eastern stream through a canal. About the middle of May 
 the Tigris begins to fall, and by midsummer it has reached 
 its normal level. 
 
 We find but little mention of the Tigris in Scripture. It 
 appears indeed under the name of Hiddekel, among the 
 rivers of Eden, and is there correctly described as " run- 
 ning eastward to Assyria." But after this we hear no more 
 of it, if we except one doubtful allusion in Nahum, until
 
 54 THE TIGRIS 
 
 the Captivity, when it becomes well known to the prophet 
 Daniel, who had to cross it in his journeys to and from 
 Susa. With Daniel it is " the Great River " an expres- 
 sion commonly applied to the Euphrates ; and by its side he 
 sees some of his most important visions. No other men- 
 tion seems to occur except in the apocryphal books; and 
 there it is unconnected with any real history. The Tigris, 
 in its upper course, anciently ran through Armenia and 
 Assyria. Lower down, from above the point where it 
 enters on the alluvial plain, it separated Babylonia from Su- 
 siana. In the wars between the Romans and the Parthians 
 we find it constituting, for a short time (from A. D. 1 14 to 
 A. D. 117), the boundary line between these two em- 
 pires. Otherwise it has scarcely been of any political im- 
 portance. The great chain of Zagros is the main natural 
 boundary between Western and Central Asia ; and beyond 
 this, the next defensible line is the Euphrates. Historically 
 it is found that either the central power pushes itself west- 
 ward to that river ; or the power ruling the west advances 
 eastward to the mountain barrier. 
 
 The water of the Tigris, in its lower course, is yellowish, 
 and is regarded as unwholesome. The stream abounds 
 with fish of many kinds, which are often of a large size. 
 Abundant water- fowl float on the waters. The banks are 
 fringed with palm trees and pomegranates, or clothed with 
 jungle and reeds, the haunt of the wild-boar and the lion.
 
 THE OISE 
 
 ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON 
 
 THE river was swollen with the long rains. From 
 Vadencourt all the way to Origny, it ran with ever 
 quickening speed, taking fresh heart at each mile, and rac- 
 ing as though it already smelt the sea. The water was yel- 
 low and turbulent, swung with an angry eddy among half- 
 submerged willows, and made an angry clatter along stony 
 shores. The course kept turning and turning in a narrow 
 and well-timbered valley. Now, the river would approach 
 the side, and run grinding along the chalky base of the hill, 
 and show us a few open colza fields among the trees. 
 Now, it would skirt the garden-walls of houses, where we 
 might catch a glimpse through a doorway and see a priest 
 pacing in the chequered sunlight. Again the foliage closed 
 so thickly in front, that there seemed to be no issue ; only 
 a thicket of willows, overtopped by elms and poplars, under 
 which the river ran flush and fleet, and where a kingfisher 
 flew past like a piece of the blue sky. On these different 
 manifestations, the sun poured its clear and catholic looks. 
 The shadows lay as solid on the swift surface of the stream 
 as on the stable meadows. The light sparkled golden in 
 the dancing poplar leaves, and brought the hills into com- 
 munion with our eyes. And all the while the river never 
 stopped running or took breath ; and the reeds along the 
 whole valley stood shivering from top to toe. 
 
 There should be some myth (but if there is, I know it
 
 56 THE OISE 
 
 not) founded on the shivering of the reeds. There are 
 not many things in nature more striking to man's eye. It 
 is such an eloquent pantomime of terror ; and to see such 
 a number of terrified creatures taking sanctuary in every 
 nook along the shore, is enough to infect a silly human 
 with alarm. Perhaps they are only a-cold, and no 
 wonder, standing waist deep in the stream. Or perhaps 
 they have never got accustomed to the speed and fury of 
 the river's flux, or the miracle of its continuous body. 
 Pan once played upon their forefathers ; and so, by the 
 hands of the river, he still plays upon these later genera- 
 tions down all the valley of the Oise ; and plays the same 
 air, both sweet and shrill, to tell us of the beauty and the 
 terror of the world. 
 
 The canoe was like a leaf in the current. It took it up 
 and shook it and carried it masterfully away, like a Centaur 
 carrying ofF a nymph. To keep some command on our 
 direction, required hard and diligent plying of the paddle. 
 The river was in such a hurry for the sea ! Every drop 
 of water ran in a panic, like as many people in a fright- 
 ened crowd. 
 
 There was never any mistake about the Oise, as a 
 matter of fact. In these upper reaches, it was still in a 
 prodigious hurry for the sea. It ran so fast and merrily, 
 through all the windings of its channel that I strained my 
 thumb, fighting with the rapids, and had to paddle all the 
 rest of the way with one hand turned up. Sometimes it 
 had to serve mills ; and being still a little river, ran very 
 dry and shallow in the meanwhile. We had to put our 
 legs out of the boat, and shove ourselves off* the sand of 
 the bottom with our feet. And still it went on its way 
 singing among the poplars and making a green valley in
 
 THE OISE 57 
 
 the world. After a good woman and a good book, and 
 tobacco, there is nothing so agreeable on earth as a river. 
 I forgave it its attempt on my life j which was after all 
 one part owing to the unruly winds of heaven that had 
 blown down the tree, one part to my own mismanage- 
 ment, and only a third part to the river itself, and that 
 not out of malice, but from its great preoccupation over 
 its business of getting to the sea. A difficult business, 
 too j for the detours it had to make are not to be counted. 
 The geographers seem to have given up the attempt j for 
 I found no map representing the infinite contortion of its 
 course. A fact will say more than any of them. After 
 we had been some hours, three if I mistake not, flitting by 
 the trees at this smooth, breakneck gallop, when we came 
 upon a hamlet and asked where we were, we had got no 
 farther than four kilometres (say two miles and a half) 
 from Origny. If it were not for the honour of the thing 
 (in the Scotch saying), we might almost as well have been 
 standing still. 
 
 Moy (pronounce Moy) was a pleasant little village 
 gathered round a chateau with a moat. The air was 
 perfumed with hemp from neighbouring fields. At the 
 Golden Sheep we found excellent entertainment. German 
 shells from the siege of La Fere, Niirnberg figures, gold 
 fish in a bowl, and all manner of knick-knacks embellished 
 the public room. The landlady was a stout, plain, short- 
 sighted, motherly body, with something not far short of 
 a genius for cookery. . . . We made a very short 
 day of it to La Fere ; but the dusk was falling and a small 
 rain had begun before we stowed the boats. . . . 
 
 Below La Fere the river runs through a piece of open 
 pastoral country ; green, opulent, loved by breeders; called
 
 58 THE OISE 
 
 the Golden Valley. In wide sweeps, and with a swift 
 and equable gallop, the ceaseless stream of water visits 
 and makes green the fields. Kine and horses, and little 
 humorous donkeys browse together in the meadows, and 
 come down in troops to the riverside to drink. They 
 make a strange feature in the landscape; above all when 
 startled, and you can see them galloping to and fro, with 
 their incongruous forms and faces. It gives a feeling as 
 of great unfenced pampas and the herds of wandering 
 nations. There were hills in the distance upon either 
 hand ; and on one side the river sometimes bordered on 
 the wooded spurs of Coucy and St. Gobain. . . . 
 
 All the time, the river stole away like a thief in straight 
 places, or swung round corners with an eddy, the willows 
 nodded and were undermined all day long ; the clay banks 
 tumbled in ; the Oise, which had been so many centuries 
 making the Golden Valley, seemed to have changed its 
 fancy, and be bent upon undoing its performance. What a 
 number of things a river does, by simply following Gravity 
 in the innocence of its heart ! 
 
 Noyon stands about a mile from the river, in a little 
 plain surrounded by wooded hills, and entirely covers an 
 eminence with its tile roofs surmounted by a long, straight- 
 backed cathedral with two stiff towers. As we got into 
 the town, the tile roofs seemed to tumble up hill one upon 
 another, in the oddest disorder ; but for all their scramb- 
 ling, they did not attain above the knees of the cathedral, 
 which stood upright and solemn, over all. As the streets 
 drew near to this presiding genius, through the market- 
 place under the Hotel de Ville, they grew emptier and 
 more composed. Blank walls and shuttered windows were 
 turned to the great edifice and grass grew on the white
 
 THE OISE 59 
 
 causeway. u Put off thy shoes from off thy feet for the 
 place whereon thou standest is holy ground." The Hotel 
 du Nord, nevertheless, lights its secular tapers within a 
 stone cast of the church, and we had the superb east end 
 before our eyes all morning from the window of our bed- 
 room. . . . 
 
 The most patient people grow weary at last with being 
 continually wetted with rain ; except of course in the 
 Scotch Highlands, where there are not enough fine inter- 
 vals to point the difference. That was like to be our 
 case the day we left Noyon. I remember nothing of the 
 voyage; it was nothing but clay banks and willows and 
 rain ; incessant, pitiless, beating rain ; until we stopped to 
 lunch at a little inn in Pimprez, where the canal ran very 
 near the river. . . . That was our last wetting. The 
 afternoon faired up : grand clouds still voyaged in the sky, 
 but now singly and with a depth of blue around their path ; 
 and a sunset, in the daintiest rose and gold, inaugurated a 
 thick night of stars and a month of unbroken weather. At 
 the same time, the river began to give us a better outlook 
 into the country. The banks were not so high, the 
 willows disappeared from along the margin, and pleasant 
 hills stood all along its course and marked their profile on 
 the sky. 
 
 In a little while, the canal, coming to its last lock, began 
 to discharge its water-houses on the Oise ; so that we had 
 no lack of company to fear. Here were all our old friends ; 
 the Deo Gratias of Conde and the Four Sons of Aymon 
 journeyed cheerily down stream along with us ; we ex- 
 changed waterside pleasantries with the steersman perched 
 among the lumber, or the driver hoarse with bawling to his 
 horses ; and the children came and looked over the side as
 
 60 THE OISE 
 
 we paddled by. We had never known all this while how 
 much we missed them j but it gave us a fillip to see the 
 smoke from their chimneys. 
 
 A little below this junction we made another meeting of 
 yet more account. For there we were joined by the Aisne, 
 already a far travelled river and fresh out of Campagne. 
 Here ended the adolescence of the Oise ; this was his mar- 
 riage day ; thenceforward he had a stately, brimming march, 
 conscious of his own dignity and sundry dams. He be- 
 came a tranquil feature in the scene. The trees and towns 
 saw themselves in him, as in a mirror. He carried the 
 canoes lightly on his broad breast ; there was no need to 
 work hard against an eddy : but idleness became the order 
 of the day, and mere straightforward dipping of the paddle, 
 now on this side, now on that, without intelligence or effort. 
 Truly we were coming into halcyon weather upon all ac- 
 counts, and were floated towards the sea like gentlemen. 
 
 We made Compiegne as the sun was going down : a fine 
 profile of a town above the river. Over the bridge, a regi- 
 ment was parading to the drum. People loitered on the 
 quay, some fishing, some looking idly at the stream. And 
 as the two boats shot in along the water, we could see them 
 pointing them out and speaking one to another. We 
 landed at a floating lavatory, where the washerwomen were 
 still beating the clothes. 
 
 We put up at a big, bustling hotel in Compiegne, where 
 nobody observed our presence. . . . It is not possible 
 to rise before a village ; but Compiegne was so grown a town 
 that it took its ease in the morning ; and we were up and 
 away while it was still in dressing-gown and slippers. The 
 streets were left to people washing door-steps ; nobody was 
 in full dress but the cavaliers upon the town-hall ; they were
 
 THE OISE 6 1 
 
 all washed with dew, spruce in their gilding and full of in- 
 telligence and a sense of professional responsibility. Kling, 
 went they on the bells for the half-past six, as we went by. 
 I took it kind of them to make me this parting compliment j 
 they never were in better form, not even at noon upon a 
 Sunday. 
 
 There was no one to see us off but the early washer- 
 women early and late who were already beating the linen 
 in their floating lavatory on the river. They were very 
 merry and matutinal in their ways ; plunged their arms 
 boldly in and seemed not to feel the shock. It would be 
 dispiriting to me, this early beginning and first cold dabble, 
 of a most dispiriting day's work. But I believe they would 
 have been as unwilling to change days with us, as we could 
 be to change with them. They crowded to the door to 
 watch us paddle away into the thin sunny mists upon the 
 river ; and shouted heartily after us till we were through the 
 bridge. 
 
 There is a sense in which those mists never rose from ofF 
 our journey ; and from that time forth they lie very densely 
 in my note-book. As long as the Oise was a small rural 
 river, it took us near by people's doors and we could hold 
 a conversation with natives in the riparian fields. But now 
 that it had gone so wide, the life along shore passed us by 
 at a distance. It was the same difference as between a 
 great public highway and a country by-path that wanders in 
 and out of cottage gardens. We now lay in towns, where 
 nobody troubled us with questions ; we had floated into 
 civilized life, where people pass without salutation. In 
 sparsely inhabited places, we make all we can of each en- 
 counter ; but when it comes to a city, we keep to ourselves, 
 and never speak unless we have trodden on a man's toes.
 
 62 THE OISE 
 
 In these waters, we were no longer strange birds, and no- 
 body supposed we had travelled further than from the last 
 town. I remember when we came into L' Isle Adam, for 
 instance, how we met dozens of pleasure-boats, outing it for 
 the afternoon, and there was nothing to distinguish the true 
 voyager from the amateur, except, perhaps, the filthy con- 
 dition of my sail. The company in one boat actually 
 thought they recognized me for a neighbour. Was there 
 ever anything more wounding ? All the romance had come 
 down to that. Now, on the upper Oise, where nothing 
 sailed as a general thing but fish, a pair of canoeists could 
 not be thus vulgarly explained away j we were strange and 
 picturesque intruders ; and out of people's wonder sprang 
 a sort of light and passing intimacy all along our 
 route. . . . 
 
 In our earlier adventures there was generally something 
 to do, and that quickened us. Even the showers of rain 
 had a revivifying effect, and shook up the brain from torpor. 
 But now, when the river no longer ran in a proper sense, 
 only glided seaward with an even, outright, but impercep- 
 tible speed, and when the sky smiled upon us day after day 
 without variety, we began to slip into that golden doze of 
 the wind which follows upon much exercise in the open 
 air. I have stupefied myself in this way more than once ; 
 indeed, I dearly love the feeling ; but I never had it to the 
 same degree as when paddling down the Oise. It was the 
 apotheosis of stupidity. . . . 
 
 We made our first stage below Compiegne to Pont 
 Sainte Maxence. I was abroad a little after six the next 
 morning. The air was biting and smelt of frost. In an 
 open place a score of women wrangled together over the 
 day's market; and the noise of their negotiation sounded
 
 THE OISE 63 
 
 thin and querulous like that of sparrows on a winter's morn- 
 ing. The rare passengers blew into their hands and 
 shuffled in their wooden shoes to set the blood agog. The 
 streets were full of icy shadow, although the chimneys were 
 smoking overhead in golden sunshine. If you wake early 
 enough at this season of the year, you may get up in 
 December to break your fast in June. 
 
 At Creil, where we stopped to lunch, we left the canoes 
 in another floating lavatory, which, as it was high noon, 
 was packed with washerwomen, red-handed and loud-voiced j 
 and they and their broad jokes are about all I remember of 
 the place. . . . The church at Creil was a nondescript 
 place in the inside, splashed with gaudy lights from the 
 windows and picked out with medallions of the Dolorous 
 Way. But there was one oddity, in the way of an ex voto, 
 which pleased me hugely : a faithful model of a canal boat, 
 swung from the vault, with a written aspiration that God 
 should conduct the Saint Nicholas of Creil to a good haven. 
 
 We made Precy about sundown. The plain is rich with 
 tufts of poplar. In a wide, luminous curve, the Oise lay 
 under the hillside. A faint mist began to rise and con- 
 found the different distances together. There was not a 
 sound audible but that of the sheep-bells in some meadows 
 by the river and the creaking of a cart down the long road 
 that descends the hill. The villas in their gardens, the 
 shops along the street, all seemed to have been deserted the 
 day before ; and I felt inclined to walk discreetly as one 
 feels in a silent forest. 
 
 Of the next two days' sail little remains in my mind, and 
 nothing whatever in my note-book. The river streamed 
 on steadily through pleasant riverside landscapes. Washer- 
 women in blue dresses, fishers in blue blouses, diversified
 
 64 THE OISE 
 
 the green banks j and the relation of the two colours was 
 like that of the flower and leaf in the forget-me-not. A 
 symphony in forget-me-not ; I think Theophile Gautier 
 might thus have characterized that two days' panorama. 
 The sky was blue and cloudless ; and the sliding surface of 
 the river held up, in smooth places, a mirror to the heaven 
 and the shores. The washerwomen hailed us laughingly 
 and the noise of trees and water made an accompaniment to 
 our dozing thoughts, as we fleeted down the stream. 
 
 The great volume, the indefatigable purpose of the river 
 held the mind in chain. It seemed now so sure of its end, 
 so strong and easy in its gait, like a grown man full of 
 determination. The surf was roaring for it on the sands of 
 Havre.
 
 THE HUDSON 
 
 ESTHER SINGLETON 
 
 THE Hudson is considered the most beautiful river of 
 the United States. Its scenery is so enchanting 
 that it has been called the " Rhine of America." Its hills 
 and banks are dotted with palatial'residences. To the his- 
 torian they are eloquent of the brave generals and their 
 armies who fought for Liberty and they charm the dreamer 
 by the legends that cluster around them. It is no trouble 
 for him to see the Phantom Ship scudding across the Tap- 
 pan Zee, or to people Sleepy Hollow with vanished forms. 
 
 George William Curtis pronounced the Rhine of 
 America even grander than the Rhine. He says: "The 
 Danube has in part glimpses of such grandeur. The Elbe 
 has sometimes such delicately pencilled effects. But no 
 European river is so lordly in its bearing, none flows in 
 such state to the sea." 
 
 The Hudson's course of three hundred miles told briefly 
 is as follows : 
 
 It rises in the Adirondacks about 4,000 feet above the 
 sea, where innumerable little streams fed by mountain 
 lakes unite to form the headwaters of the noble river 
 that begins a tortuous course and receives the outlet of 
 Schroon Lake and the Sacondaga River. Turning to the 
 east, it finally reaches Glen's Falls, where it drops fifty 
 feet. From thence to Troy, it is much broken by rapids, 
 and it is not until it reaches Albany, six miles below Troy,
 
 66 THE HUDSON 
 
 that the Hudson becomes wide and flows through elevated 
 and picturesque banks. Then, in its journey, it passes by 
 the Catskills, or as the Indians called them the Ontioras 
 (Mountains of the Sky) which are but seven miles from its 
 banks. A short distance below Newburg, sixty-one miles 
 from New York, it begins its passage through the noble 
 hills called The Highlands, an area of about sixteen by 
 twenty-five miles. In the midst of this beautiful scenery 
 on a bold promontory stands the United States Military 
 Academy at West Point. The river then widens into 
 Haverstraw Bay, immediately below which is Tappan Zee, 
 extending from Teller's Point to Piermont, twelve miles 
 long and from three to four miles wide. Just below Pier- 
 mont, a range of trap rock the Palisades extends to Fort 
 Lee, a distance of about fifteen miles. From Fort Lee to 
 its mouth the Hudson is from one mile to two miles long. 
 The Hudson has been called Shatemuck, the Mohegan, the 
 Manhattan, the Mauritius (in honour of Prince Maurice of 
 Nassau) the Noordt Montaigne, the North River (to dis- 
 tinguish it from the Delaware or South River) the River of 
 the Mountains, and, finally, the Hudson in honour of its 
 discoverer. 
 
 Although Verrazano practically discovered this river in 
 1524, its first navigator was Henry Hudson who in the 
 service of the Dutch West India Company on his voyage 
 in the Half Moon passed through the Narrows in 1609, 
 entered New York Bay and sailed up the Mohegan River 
 as far as Albany. 
 
 The Hudson was divided by the old navigators into four- 
 teen reaches, one of which, Claverack (Clover Reach), has 
 survived. First came the Great Chip-Rock Reach (the 
 Palisades) ; then the Tappan Reach where dwelt the Man-
 
 THE HUDSON 67 
 
 hattans, the Saulrickans and the Tappans ; the next reach 
 ended at Haverstrooj following came Seylmaker's Reach, 
 Crescent Reach, Hoges Reach and Vorsen Reach which 
 extended to Klinkersberg (Storm King). Fisher's Reach, 
 Claverack, Backerack, Playsier and Vaste Reach as far as 
 Hinnenhock; then Hunter's Reach to Kinderhook ; and 
 Fisher's Hook near Shad Island, where dwelt the Mohe- 
 gans. 
 
 No river in America presents so animated a scene as the 
 Hudson from the Battery to the beginning of the Palisades. 
 Ocean steamers, ferry-boats, excursion boats, private yachts, 
 and craft of all sizes and kinds sail or steam down the nar- 
 row channel or cross between the shores of Manhattan and 
 New Jersey. The river is always gay and beautiful in 
 sunshine and fog, winter and summer. 
 
 On ascending the river, the first point of interest is 
 Weehawken, on the west, where, on a narrow ledge of 
 rock, Aaron Burr killed Alexander Hamilton in a duel, 
 July n, 1804. Next, and on the eastern shore, is Spuyten 
 Duyvel Creek, associated with the earliest history of the 
 river. This is a narrow stream formed by the in-flowing tide- 
 water of the Hudson and joining at Kingsbridge with the 
 so-called Harlem River, which is a similar in-flowing of the 
 tide-water of Long Island Sound. Here a bridge was built 
 in 1693 > an d nere j on tne 2d of October, Henry Hudson 
 had a severe fight with the Indians who attacked the Half 
 Moon. The origin of the name is unknown j but Irving's 
 legend clings to the spot as a limpet to a rock. He tells 
 the story that the trumpeter, Antony van Corlear, was dis- 
 patched one evening on a message up the Hudson. When 
 he arrived at this creek, the wind was high, the elements 
 were in an uproar, and no boatman was at hand. He de-
 
 68 THE HUDSON 
 
 clared he would swim across en spijt en Duyvel (in spite of 
 the Devil), but was drowned on the way. 
 
 Yonkers is the next point of interest on this side of the 
 river, supposed to have derived its name from yonk-herr, 
 the young heir. After passing Hastings and Dobbs Ferry 
 (named after an old ferryman), the river widens into a 
 beautiful bay. Across the river, opposite Spuyten Duyvel, 
 is Fort Lee, from which Washington watched the battle 
 that resulted in the loss of Fort Washington. From this 
 point the Palisades begin. This range of rocks is from two 
 hundred and fifty to six hundred feet high and extends 
 about fifteen miles from Fort Lee to the hills of Rockland 
 County. 
 
 Opposite Dobbs Ferry, the northern boundary line of 
 New Jersey strikes the Hudson ; and from this point north 
 the river runs solely through the state of New York. At 
 this point is Piermont ; and near it Tappan, where Andre 
 was hanged. Directly opposite Piermont is Irvington, 
 twenty-four miles from New York, where close to the 
 water's edge stands Sunnyside, the charming home of Wash- 
 ington Irving, " made up of gable-ends and full of angles 
 and corners as an old cocked hat," to quote the description 
 of the author, who bought and beautified an old Dutch 
 dwelling called Wolferfs Roost. 
 
 Three miles north is Tarrytown, a name derived from 
 the Dutch Tarwen-Dorp, or wheat town, and not, as 
 Diedrich Knickerbocker said, because husbands would 
 tarry at the village tavern. A mile north of Tarrytown is 
 the romantic Sleepy Hollow, where still stands the old 
 Dutch Church. Six miles above Tarrytown and Sing Sing, 
 now called by its original name, Ossin (a stone) and ing (a 
 place) is reached. The name is derived from the rocky
 
 THE HUDSON 69 
 
 and stony character of the bank. Here the State Prison is 
 situated. 
 
 Rockland and the old " tedious spot " Verdietege Hook 
 of the old Dutch sailors are opposite, and a little above 
 the latter, Diedrich Hook, or Point No Point. Croton 
 River meets the Hudson about a mile above Sing Sing and 
 forms Croton Bay. Croton Point, on which the Van Cort- 
 landt Manor House stands, juts out here and separates 
 Tappan Zee from Haverstraw Bay, and at the end of 
 which, once called Teller's Point, a great Indian battle is 
 said to have taken place. The spot is haunted by the 
 ghosts of warriors and sachems. Three miles more, and 
 we reach Stony Point on the west ; and, passing Verplanck's 
 Point on the east, come to Peekskill, where Nathan Palmer, 
 the spy, was hanged. This was also the headquarters of 
 General Israel Putnam. 
 
 Turning Kidd's Point, or Caldwell's landing, with Peek- 
 skill opposite, we pass through the " Southern Gate of the 
 Highlands." It is at this spot that Captain Kidd's ship is 
 supposed to have been scuttled. Here the Dunderberg, or 
 Thunder Mountain rises abruptly from the river; and, 
 as the latter turns to the west (now called for a brief time 
 The Horse Race), another bold mass of rock, Anthony's 
 Nose (1,228 feet), looms into view. 
 
 On the other side of the river is Fort Montgomery 
 Creek, once called Poplopen's Kill, and here stood Fort 
 Montgomery and Fort Clinton on either side of the mouth. 
 From Fort Montgomery to Anthony's Nose a chain of 
 iron and wood was stretched across the river during the 
 Revolutionary War to prevent the passage of British boats. 
 
 Opposite Anthony's Nose is the Island of lona ; and now 
 we see the Sugar Loaf, not one hill, as first appears, but a
 
 70 THE HUDSON 
 
 series of hills. At the foot of Sugar Loaf stood Beverly 
 House, where Arnold lived at the time of his treason. 
 
 Half a mile below West Point, on the west side of the 
 river, a small stream, rushing down the rocky precipice, 
 forms a snowy cascade, known as Buttermilk Falls. 
 
 West Point, with its academy buildings and parade 
 ground on a plateau two hundred feet above the river the 
 " Gibraltar of the Hudson " near which may be seen the 
 ruins of old Fort Putnam on Mount Independence, five 
 hundred feet above the river, takes us into historic ground 
 and beautiful scenery. We pass a succession of lofty hills 
 on the same side of the river, the chief of which is Old 
 Cro' Nest (1,418 feet). Its name was given to it from a 
 circular lake on the summit suggesting a nest in the moun- 
 tains ; and it is thus described by Rodman Drake, in the 
 Culprit Fay: 
 
 " 'Tis the middle watch of a summer night, 
 The earth is dark, but the heavens are bright, 
 The moon looks down on Old Cro' Nest 
 She mellows the shade on his shaggy breast, 
 And seems his huge grey form to throw 
 In a silver cone on the wave below." 
 
 To the north of Cro' Nest comes Storm King, the highest 
 peak of the Highlands (1,800 feet). First it was called 
 Klinkersberg and then Boterberg (Butter Hill) and renamed 
 Storm King by N. P. Willis. Storm King with Breakneck 
 (1,187 feet), on the opposite side form the "Northern 
 Gate of the Highlands." The river here is deep and 
 narrow as it cuts its way through what is practically a 
 gorge in the Alleghany Mountains. 
 
 The Highlands now trend off to the north-east and the
 
 THE HUDSON Jl 
 
 New Beacon or Grand Sachem Mountain (1,685 ^ eet ) an ^ 
 the Old Beacon (1,471 feet). The names are explained by 
 the fact that signal fires were kindled on their summits 
 during the Revolution. The Indians called them Mat- 
 teawan and sometimes referred to the whole range of High- 
 lands as Wequehachke (Hill Country). They also believed 
 that the great Manito confined here rebellious spirits whose 
 groans could often be heard. 
 
 On the west shore are situated the towns of Cornwall and 
 Newburg, where Washington had his headquarters in the 
 old Hasbrouck House. 
 
 Opposite Newburg is Fishkill Landing and above New- 
 burg on the west side is the Devil's Danskammer, or 
 Devil's Dancing Chamber, where the Indians celebrated 
 their religious rites. Several villages and towns are passed 
 on both sides of the river. 
 
 One spot of romantic interest on the west shore is Blue 
 Point, where on moonlight nights a phantom ship is often 
 seen at anchor beneath the bluff. It is supposed to be the 
 Half Moon, which one day passed the Battery and sailed 
 up the river without paying the slightest heed to signals. 
 The u Storm Ship," as she is called, is often seen in bad 
 weather in the Tappan Zee and in Haverstraw Bay ; but 
 more frequently she appears at rest beneath the shadow of 
 Blue Point. 
 
 Across the river is Poughkeepsie, so called from the 
 Indian word Apokeepsing, meaning safe harbour. At this 
 point is the only bridge that crosses the river between New 
 York and Albany. 
 
 Six miles above Poughkeepsie, the river makes a sudden 
 turn. The Dutch called this point Krom Elleboge 
 (Crooked Elbow), now Crum Elbow. Ten miles further
 
 7i THE HUDSON 
 
 is Rhinebeck Landing, the approach to the old Dutch 
 village of Rhinebeck, founded by \Villiam Beckman in 
 1647. On the opposite side of the river are Rondout and 
 Kingston on Esopus Creek, which flows north and joins 
 the Hudson at Saugerties. 
 
 North of Rhinebeck comes Lower Red Hook Landing 
 or Barrytown, North Bay where the Clermont was built by 
 Robert Fulton, and then Tivoli. 
 
 The next point of interest on the west side is Catskill 
 Landing, just above the mouth of the Kaaterskill Creek. 
 On the east bank is the city of Hudson ; on the west bank 
 Athens. Nearly opposite Four Mile Point Lighthouse is 
 Kinderhook River or Creek on whose banks Martin Van 
 Buren lived. Opposite Kinderhook is Coxsackie and 
 above this New Baltimore and Coeymans. On the eastern 
 bank are Schodack Landing, Castleton and Greenbush or 
 East Albany. A bridge leads across to Albany on the west 
 bank of the river. Six miles above Albany is the city of 
 Troy, on the east bank. Above Cohoes on the west bank 
 the Hudson receives the Mohawk, its largest tributary (150 
 miles long). Above Troy navigation is interrupted by 
 many rapids and falls. 
 
 During the winter the river constantly freezes and it is 
 not uncommon in the upper reaches to see skaters and 
 sleighs crossing the ice. The breaking up of the ice is a 
 marvellous spectacle. 
 
 In her Memoirs of an American Lady, Mrs. Grant of 
 Laggan has vividly described this " sublime spectacle." 
 She notes that the whole population of Albany was down 
 at the riverside in a moment when the first sound was heard 
 like a u loud and long peal of thunder." She writes : 
 
 " The ice, which had been all winter very thick, instead
 
 THE HUDSON 73 
 
 of diminishing, as might be expected in spring, still in- 
 creased, as the sunshine came, and the days lengthened. 
 Much snow fell in February, which, melted by the heat of 
 the sun, was stagnant for a day on the surface of the ice, 
 and then by the night frosts, which were still severe, was 
 added, as a new accession to the thickness of it, above the 
 former surface. This was so often repeated, that, in some 
 years, the ice gained two feet in thickness, after the heat of 
 the sun became such as one would have expected should 
 have entirely dissolved it. So conscious were the natives of 
 the safety this accumulation of ice afforded, that the sledges 
 continued to drive on the ice when the trees were budding, 
 and everything looked like spring ; nay, when there was so 
 much melted on the surface that the horses were knee-deep 
 in water while travelling on it, and portentous cracks on 
 every side announced the approaching rupture. This could 
 scarce have been produced by the mere influence of the sun 
 till midsummer. It was the swelling of the waters under 
 the ice, increased by rivulets, enlarged by melted snows, 
 that produced this catastrophe ; for such the awful concus- 
 sion made it appear. The prelude to the general bursting 
 of this mighty mass, was a fracture, lengthways, in the 
 middle of the stream, produced by the effort of the impris- 
 oned waters, now increased too much to be contained 
 within their wonted bounds. Conceive a solid mass, from 
 six to eight feet thick, bursting for many miles in one con- 
 tinued rupture, produced by a force inconceivably great, 
 and, in a manner, inexpressibly sudden. Thunder is no 
 adequate image of this awful explosion, which roused all the 
 sleepers, within reach of the sound, as completely as the 
 final convulsion of nature, and the solemn peal of the awak- 
 ening trumpet might be supposed to do. The stream in
 
 74 THE HUDSON 
 
 summer was confined by a pebbly strand, overhung with 
 high and steep banks, crowned with lofty trees, which were 
 considered as a sacred barrier against encroachments of this 
 annual visitation. Never dryads dwelt in more security 
 than those of the vine-clad elms, that extended their ample 
 branches over this mighty stream. Their tangled roots, 
 laid bare by the impetuous torrents, formed caverns ever 
 fresh and fragrant; where the most delicate plants flour- 
 ished, unvisited by scorching suns, or snipping blasts; and 
 nothing could be more singular than the variety of plants 
 and birds that were sheltered in these intricate and safe re- 
 cesses. But when the bursting of the crystal surface set 
 loose the many waters that had rushed down, swollen with 
 the annual tribute of dissolving snow, the islands and low- 
 lands were all flooded in an instant ; and the lofty banks, 
 from which you were wont to overlook the stream, were 
 now entirely filled by an impetuous torrent, bearing down, 
 with incredible and tumultuous rage, immense shoals of ice ; 
 which, breaking every instant by the concussion of others, 
 jammed together in some places, in others erecting them- 
 selves in gigantic heights for an instant in the air, and seem- 
 ing to combat with their fellow-giants crowding on in all 
 directions, and falling together with an inconceivable crash, 
 formed a terrible moving-picture, animated and various be- 
 yond conception ; for it was not only the cerulean ice, 
 whose broken edges, combating with the stream, refracted 
 light into a thousand rainbows, that charmed your attention ; 
 lofty pines, large pieces of the bank torn off by the ice with 
 all their early green and tender foliage, were driven on like 
 travelling islands, amid this battle of breakers, for such it 
 seemed. I am absurdly attempting to paint a scene, under 
 which the powers of language sink."
 
 THE HUDSON 75 
 
 Since the days of the old Dutch settlers the Hudson has 
 witnessed all the triumphs of modern ship-building and 
 navigation. It was on the Hudson that Robert Fulton 
 made his first experiments in steam navigation and into the 
 Hudson have come the new turbine steamships that have 
 crossed the Atlantic in five days ; and beneath its waters 
 tunnels have lately been opened. 
 
 Many changes have taken place on its banks since 
 Washington Irving wrote : " I thank God that I was 
 born on the banks of the Hudson. I fancy I can trace 
 much of what is good and pleasant in my own heterogeneous 
 compound to my early companionship with this glorious 
 river. In the warmth of youthful enthusiasm, I used to 
 clothe it with moral attributes, and, as it were, give it a 
 soul. I delighted in its frank, bold, honest character ; its 
 noble sincerity and perfect truth. Here was no specious, 
 smiling surface, covering the shifting sand-bar and per- 
 fidious rock, but a stream deep as it was broad and bearing 
 with honourable faith the bark that trusted to its waves. I 
 gloried in its simple, quiet, majestic, epic flow, ever straight 
 forward, or, if forced aside for once by opposing mountains, 
 struggling bravely through them, and resuming its onward 
 march. Behold, thought I, an emblem of a good man's 
 course through life, ever simple, open and direct, or if, 
 overpowered by adverse circumstances, he deviate into 
 error, it is but momentary ; he soon resumes his onward and 
 honourable career, and continues it to the end of his pil- 
 grimage."
 
 THE TIBER 
 
 STROTHER A. SMITH 
 
 THOUGH the Tiber is insignificant in size, compared 
 with the great rivers of the world, it is one of the 
 most famous, and even its tributaries, down to the smallest 
 brook, have some historical or poetic association connected 
 with them, or exhibit some singular natural peculiarity. 
 Its stream is swelled by the superfluous waters of the 
 historic Thrasymene ; its affluents, the Velino and the 
 Anio, form the celebrated Cascades of Terni and Tivoli ; 
 the Clitumnus and the Nar are invested with poetic interest 
 by the verses of Virgil, Ovid, and Silius Italians ; while 
 the Chiana presents the singular phenomenon of a river 
 which, within the historic period, has divided itself into 
 two, and now forms a connecting link between the Arno 
 and the Tiber, discharging a portion of its waters into 
 each. The smaller streams, also, the Cremera, the Allia, 
 and the Almo, have each their legend, historical, or 
 mythological ; while the rivulet of the Aqua Crabra, or 
 Marrana, recalls the memory of Cicero and his litigation 
 with the company which supplied his establishment at 
 Tusculum with water from the brook. 
 
 The Tiber rises nearly due east of Florence, and on 
 the opposite side of the ridge which gives birth to the 
 Arno. It issues in a copious spring of limpid water, 
 which at the distance of a mile has force enough to turn
 
 THE TIBER 77 
 
 a mill. If we are to believe Bacci, it exhales so warm a 
 vapour that snow, notwithstanding the elevation of the 
 region, will not lie along its course within half a mile. 
 For a distance of fifty-six miles it flows in a south-easterly 
 direction through an elevated valley, in the upper part of 
 which the cold, according to Pliny the younger, who had 
 a villa there, was too great for the olive, and where the 
 snow often accumulates to a considerable depth. Not far 
 from Perugia it turns to the south, and about fourteen 
 miles lower down by the windings of the stream, receives 
 its first affluent, the Chiascia, which brings with it the 
 Topino (anciently Tineas), and the waters of the classic 
 Clitumnus, known to the readers of Virgil, Propertius, 
 and Silius Italicus as the river on whose banks were bred, 
 and in whose stream were washed, " the milk-white oxen 
 which drew the Roman triumphs to the temples of the 
 gods," and the same which is so picturesquely described by 
 the younger Pliny. At a place called La Vene, one of the 
 sources of the Clitumnus rises at the foot of a hill. Like 
 the fountain of Vaucluse, it issues a small river from the 
 earth, and according to Pliny, had sufficient depth of water 
 to float a boat. It is clear as crystal, delightfully cool in 
 summer, and of an agreeable warmth in winter. Near it 
 stands a temple once sacred to the river god, but now 
 surmounted by the triumphant cross. It seems to have 
 been a favourite place of resort for the Romans, as far as 
 their limited means of locomotion would permit ; since 
 even the ferocious Caligula, as Suetonius tells us, attended 
 by his body-guard of Batavians, was among the visitors 
 to these celebrated springs. The beauty of the scenery 
 appears to have been the attraction ; for there were no 
 mineral sources, and a refined superstition would have
 
 78 THE TIBER 
 
 prevented the Romans from availing themselves of the 
 agreeable temperature of the water to indulge in the luxury 
 of bathing, rivers near their sources being accounted 
 sacred, and polluted by the contact of a naked body. Of 
 all the misdeeds of Nero none, perhaps, contributed more 
 to his unpopularity than his swimming, during one of his 
 drunken frolics, in the source of the Aqua Marcia, the 
 same which is brought by the aqueduct to Rome, and 
 which rises in the mountains of the Abruzzi, where Nero 
 was staying at the time. 
 
 When the news of this act of profanation arrived in the 
 city it created a great sensation ; and an illness with which 
 he was shortly afterwards seized was attributed to the 
 anger of the god. 
 
 Seven miles lower down on the right, the Tiber receives 
 the Nestore, a large and impetuous torrent, or torrentaccio^ 
 as it is called by the Italians. The Nestore, where it 
 enters the Tiber flows in a bed of sand and shingle no less 
 than a third of a Roman mile in width, and after heavy 
 rains must bring down an enormous body of water. Into 
 the Cina, one of its tributaries, by means of a tunnel, the 
 overflow of the lake of Thrasymene is discharged. The 
 emissary originates in the south-eastern bay of the lake, 
 but when, or by whom, the work was executed is a matter 
 of dispute. Thirty and a half miles further on, the Tiber 
 is joined by the Chiana (anciently Clanis), which, after 
 uniting with the Paglia, flows into it on the same side as 
 the Nestore and in the neighbourhood of Orvieto. 
 
 The Paglia rises in the high volcanic mountain of 
 Monte Amiata, and in summer is nearly dry ; but its 
 broad stony channel at Acquapendente shows what a con- 
 tribution it must bring to the main stream in time of floods.
 
 THE TIBER 79 
 
 The Chiana, which from the black and muddy colour of its 
 waters has received the name of the Lethe of Tuscany, 
 but which might with more propriety be called the Tuscan 
 Cocytus, was once a single stream originating in the 
 neighbourhood of Arezzo, and flowing southward into the 
 Tiber. But in the Middle Ages a large portion of the 
 valley in which it flowed was filled up by the debris which 
 in time of floods was brought down by the lateral torrents. 
 A sort of plateau was thus formed, sloping at its edges 
 towards the valleys of the Tiber and the Arno. The 
 streams which entered this plateau stagnated in the level 
 which it formed, converting it into an unproductive and 
 unhealthy marsh, the abode of malaria and the pest-house 
 of Dante's Purgatorio. They then flowed over the north- 
 ern and southern edges of the plateau, and, uniting with 
 others, formed two distinct rivers called the Tuscan and 
 Roman Chianas. 
 
 The torrent of the Tresa, rising not far from the lake 
 of Thrasymene, and now diverted into the lake of Chiusi, 
 may be considered as the head waters of the Tuscan Chiana, 
 the torrent of the Astrone, rising in the direction of Monte- 
 pulciano, as the main branch of the Roman Chiana. The 
 two are connected by canals and wet ditches, so that it is 
 conceivable that a small piece of wood thrown into one of 
 these might, according to circumstances and the direction 
 of the wind, find its way to Florence or to Rome. 
 
 The district which I have described, the celebrated 
 Val di Chiana, is now one of the most productive regions 
 of Italy, green with vineyards and pastures, and golden 
 with waving crops. Nor is it unhealthy, except in the 
 immediate vicinity of the lakes. The change was effected 
 by canalizing the streams, and by the process called warp-
 
 8o THE TIBER 
 
 ing, which is the method adopted in Lincolnshire for re- 
 claiming land from the sea. A certain space was enclosed 
 with banks, into which the streams were diverted when 
 they were swollen and charged with mud. The opening 
 was then closed with a floodgate, and the water left to de- 
 posit the matter which it held in suspension. In this way 
 an inch or two of soil was gained every year, until the 
 land became sufficiently dry and firm. It was then sown 
 with crops, and planted with trees, which served still 
 further to purify the air by decomposing with their leaves 
 and fixing in their tissues the vapours which had given the 
 Val di Chiana so deadly a name. 
 
 Turning again to the south-east and at a distance of 
 136^ miles from its source, the Tiber is swelled by the 
 united streams of the Neva, the Velino, and the Salto. The 
 Neva, the " sulphured Nar albus aqua" of Virgil, and 
 " Narque albescentibus undis " of Silius Italicus, rises at the 
 foot of the lofty peak of Monte Vettore, part of the Sibyl- 
 line range, and is the tributary which is most affected by 
 the melting of the snows. 
 
 The Velino also has its source in the great central chain 
 of the Apennines, and after being joined by the Salto and 
 Turano, forms the cascade of Terni by dashing over the 
 precipice which terminates the valley, and hastens to meet 
 the Neva. The Salto, rising in the kingdom of Naples, 
 flows northward for fifty miles, and after passing beneath 
 the lofty range of Monte Velino, and receiving a contribu- 
 tion from its snows, mingles its waters with the Velino. 
 Swelled by these tributaries the Neva rolls along a full and 
 rapid stream, and sweeping past Terni and Narni, loses 
 itself in the Tiber. 
 
 About sixty-four miles lower down, and four and a half
 
 THE TIBER 8 1 
 
 above Rome by the river, the Tiber is joined by the Anio, 
 or Teverone, the most important, with the exception of the 
 Neva, of all its tributaries. No river is better known than 
 the Anio. The scenery of its valley, the classical associa- 
 tions of its neighbourhood, and the celebrated cascades of 
 Tivoli, have made it the favourite resort of tourists. The 
 Anio rises in the mountains of the Hernici, part of the 
 modern Abruzzi, and after flowing for about thirty-six 
 miles through a narrow valley whose general course is to the 
 west, precipitates itself into the gorge which is overlooked 
 by the town of Tivoli ; emerging from which it turns west- 
 south-west and joins the Tiber, after a further course of 
 twenty miles. Midway between its source and Tivoli, it 
 passes the town of Subiaco, anciently Sublaqueum, which 
 derives its name from three picturesque lakes, " tres lacus 
 amcenitate nobilis." Tivoli is well known to have been the 
 favourite retreat of the wealthy Romans from the turmoil, 
 and what Horace calls the " fumus," of Rome. The names 
 and ruins of these villas yet remain, but no trace is left of 
 those which once adorned the banks of the Tiber, and per- 
 haps of the Anio in the lower part of its course. 
 
 Pliny the younger calls the Anio " delicatissimus amnium" 
 " softest and gentlest of rivers " ; and adds " that it was 
 for this reason invited, as it were, and retained by the 
 neighbouring villas " for their own exclusive use. Yet, 
 this " delicate river " indulged occasionally in the wildest 
 escapades, and Pliny himself, in this very letter, describes 
 an inundation in which it swept away woods, undermined 
 hills, and committed extraordinary havoc among the neigh- 
 bouring farms. From this time to the year 1826 it was a 
 source of apprehension to the people of Tivoli, and an 
 anxiety to the government at Rome, which expended con-
 
 82 THE TIBER 
 
 siderable sums in trying to prevent some great calamity, or 
 in repairing the damage which had been done. Once since 
 the time of Strabo the river is thought to have changed its 
 course, discharging itself at a lower level into the Grotto of 
 Neptune, but still forming a lofty and picturesque cascade. 
 
 At different periods it had destroyed buildings, under- 
 mined the foundation of others, and defied every effort to 
 control its violence. At length these floods culminated in 
 the great inundation of 1826, which entirely altered the 
 character of the cascade, and necessitated the formation of 
 the tunnel through Monte Catillo. 
 
 The work was let on contract to two rival firms, and 
 pushed forward with such vigour that, though it was con- 
 sidered a most arduous undertaking in those times, it was 
 completed in 1836, during the Pontificate of Gregory XVI. 
 
 From the Anio, or its tributaries, was drawn the water 
 which supplied the principal aqueducts of Rome, the Anio 
 Vetus, the Marcia, the Anio Novus, and the Claudia. 
 When the original Aqua Appia and Anio Vetus were 
 found insufficient for the increasing wants of Rome, it 
 was resolved to seek for a fresh supply. This was found 
 in a stream of limpid water rising about thirty-six miles 
 from Rome in the Marsian Mountains, and flowing into 
 the Anio. As the water of the Vetus was often turbid 
 after rain, and even the Piscina, or reservoir, through which 
 it was made to pass, often failed to purify it, Quintus 
 Marcius Rex, who was appointed to superintend the work, 
 was desirous that the water of the new aqueduct should be 
 taken from one of the tributaries of the river, and as near 
 as possible to its source. 
 
 As the source was in the country beyond the Anio, the 
 aqueduct was of course more expensive than any of the
 
 THE TIBER 83 
 
 preceding ones, and the entire length of it was no less than 
 sixty-one miles, of which several were on arches, the rest 
 being subterranean. But, if the expense was greater, the 
 quality of the water was superior to that of any other 
 with which Rome was acquainted. 
 
 The aqueducts of the Anio Novus, and the Aqua 
 Claudia, of which I have spoken, were completed in the 
 reign of Claudius. The Aqua Claudia, which came from 
 springs, was nearly equal in quality to the Marcia, while 
 the two Anios were often turbid, even in fine weather, 
 from the falling in of their banks. But Claudius improved 
 the quality of the Anio Novus, by abandoning the river at 
 the point from which the water had been drawn, and taking 
 it from a lake, out of which the stream issues limpid, after 
 having deposited the greater part of its impurities. 
 
 Altogether, according to the calculation of Fea, half the 
 volume of Anio was abstracted by the four aqueducts 
 which have been mentioned. 
 
 Four tributaries remain to be described the Cremera, 
 the Allia, the Aqua Crabra, and the Almo streams insig- 
 nificant in size, but famous in the annals of Rome, or pos- 
 sessing an interest for the classical scholar and the archae- 
 ologist. The Cremera, a mere brook, over which an 
 active person might leap, rises in the little lake Baccano, 
 and flowing past the site of Veii, crosses the Flaminian way 
 about six miles from Rome. 
 
 This brook must not be confounded with another a little 
 higher up, and which is a rivulet unknown to fame. The 
 Cremera is associated, as every student of Roman history is 
 aware, with the patriotic devotion of the Fabii. 
 
 On the banks of the Allia, the "flebilis Allia " of Ovid, 
 a still smaller stream, though dignified by the historians
 
 84 THE TIBER 
 
 with the name of river, was fought a battle with the Gauls, 
 in which the Romans sustained a signal defeat. 
 
 The Allia cannot be identified with certainty, but it is 
 supposed to be a small stream flowing in a deep ravine, 
 which joins the Tiber on the side opposite to Veii, and 
 about three miles above Castel Guibileo, the site of the 
 ancient Fidenae. This stream agrees with the description 
 of Livy. 
 
 The Aqua Crabra is generally known by the name of 
 the Marrana, but is also called Aqua Mariana, and Mar- 
 rana del Maria ; Marrana being a name frequently given to 
 brooks by the modern Romans. Thus we have Marrana 
 della Caffarella, another name for the Almone, and Marrana 
 di Grotta perfetta. The rivulet anciently known by the 
 name of the Aqua Crabra rises in the heart of the Alban 
 hills, and after passing beneath the heights on which Tus- 
 culum and Frascati are situated, turned northwards in obe- 
 dience to the configuration of the ground and flowed into 
 the Anio. But, at some unknown period after the fall of 
 the Roman Empire, it was diverted by means of a tunnel 
 into the channel in which it at present runs, for the purpose 
 of turning mills and irrigating the land. The little stream, 
 also, which flows in the valley between Marino and the 
 ridge encircling the Alban lake, whose source is considered 
 by some to be the Aqua Ferentina of Livy, is conveyed 
 through a similar tunnel to swell the scanty waters of the 
 Aqua Crabra. In ancient times this rivulet was considered 
 of such importance to the people of Tusculum, who lived 
 out of the way of the great aqueducts, that Agrippa, as 
 Frontinus tells us, consented not to turn it into the " caput," 
 or well head, of the Aqua Julia, as he had originally pro- 
 posed. It was looked upon as a treasure to be doled out in
 
 THE TIBER 85 
 
 measures to the thirsty people of Tusculum, and was often 
 contended for by legal proceedings. Cicero, in his Oration 
 de lege Agraria, ///, 2, informs us that he paid rates to the 
 authorities of Tusculum for his share of the precious fluid. 
 And in his Oration pro Balbo, ch. 22, he refers to a litigation 
 with the municipality which furnished the water, probably 
 on account of the deficient supply. In this action " he was 
 in the habit," he tells us, " of consulting the lawyer, Tugio, 
 on account of his long experience in similar cases." Tugio 
 seems to have justified his choice, and to have frightened 
 the municipality into granting a more abundant supply, for 
 we find Cicero in his letter to Tiro, observing, " that now 
 there was more water than enough." " I should like to 
 know," he says, " how the business of the Aqua Crabra is 
 going on, though now indeed there is more water than 
 enough." 
 
 The Almo is the stream which flows in the valley of 
 Caffarella, close to the Nymphaeum, which does duty for 
 the grotto of Egeria. Its most remote source is about six 
 miles from Rome, in the direction of Albano, and this is 
 usually dry ; so that the Almo is with great propriety called 
 " brevissimus" in comparison with the other rivers which 
 Ovid is enumerating. The perennial source is at Aqua 
 Santa, not more than three miles from the city. The 
 stream that rises in the valley between Marino and the Al- 
 ban lake is represented in most maps as flowing into the 
 Almo. It is really diverted by a tunnel into the Aqua 
 Crabra. At the junction of the Almo with the Tiber were 
 washed every year, the statue of the Goddess Cybele, her 
 chariot and the sacred instruments of her worship. 
 
 Among the remaining tributaries of the Tiber may be 
 enumerated the Farfarus, which is a torrent joining the
 
 86 THE TIBER 
 
 Tiber a little above Correse. Also the little stream, the 
 Aqua Albana, which is discharged by the emissary of 
 the Alban Lake, a work executed 393 years before 
 Christ.
 
 THE SHANNON 
 
 ARTHUR SHADWELL MARTIN 
 
 THE greatest body of running water in the British Isles 
 has long claimed and received the love, admiration 
 and praise of natives and foreigners. Its banks are fringed 
 with ruins of castles, round towers, abbeys and churches, and 
 its islands and hills reek with historical associations, pagan 
 folklore and mediaeval tradition. Steamers now run prac- 
 tically from its mouth to its source, and to the tourist all its 
 beauties are now displayed. The enthusiasm of foreigners 
 over the beautiful stream equals that of Erin's own sons. 
 Writing in 1844, Johann Georg Kohl said : 
 
 " Well may the Irish speak of the ' Royal Shannon,' for 
 he is the king of all their rivers. A foreigner, when he 
 thinks of some of our large continental streams, may at first 
 consider the epithet somewhat of an exaggeration, but let 
 him go down this glorious river and its lakes, and he will 
 be at no loss to understand that royal majesty, in the matter 
 of rivers, may be quite independent of length or extent. 
 
 "The British Islands certainly can boast of no second 
 stream, the beauties of whose banks could for a moment be 
 compared to those of the Shannon. 
 
 " At his very birth he is broad and mighty, for he starts on 
 his course strong with the tribute of a lake (Lough Allen), 
 and traverses the middle of Ireland, in a direction from 
 north-east to south-west. Thrice again he widens out into 
 a lake ; first into the little Lough Boffin, then into the
 
 88 THE SHANNON 
 
 larger Lough Ree, and lastly, when he has got more than 
 half way to the ocean, into the yet longer Lough Derg. 
 Below Limerick he opens into a noble estuary, and when 
 at length he falls into the sea between Loop Head and 
 Kerry Head, the glorious river has completed a course of 
 two hundred and fourteen English miles. The greater part 
 of the Shannon runs through the central plain which 
 separates the mountainous north from the mountainous 
 south. 
 
 " It was on a beautiful day that I embarked to descend 
 the Shannon. Flowing out of a lake, and forming several 
 other lakes in its progress, the water is extremely clear and 
 beautiful. The movement is in general equable, excepting 
 a few rapids which are avoided by means of canals. The 
 banks, too, are pleasing to the eye. Large green meadows 
 stretch along the sides of the river, and villages alternate 
 with handsome country seats, surrounded by their parks. 
 Herons abound along the margin, and many of these beau- 
 tiful birds were continually wheeling over us in the air, 
 their plumage glittering again in the rays of the sun. 
 
 /' We arrived at Banagher. Then gliding along by Red- 
 wood Castle and the beautiful meadows of Portumna, we 
 left the town of Portumna to our right, and entered the 
 waters of Lough Derg. The steamer in which we had 
 hitherto travelled was of small dimensions, with a wheel 
 under the stern, to allow of its passing through some canals 
 of no great breadth ; but on the broad lake a new and larger 
 vessel prepared to receive us. The two steamers came 
 close to one another, to exchange their respective passen- 
 gers, and their manoeuvre, as they swept round on the wide 
 water, pleased me much. 
 
 " Of the lakes that like so many rich pearls are strung
 
 THE SHANNON 89 
 
 upon the silver thread of the Shannon, Lough Ree and 
 Lough Bodarrig, lying in a level country, and in a great 
 measure surrounded by bogs, present little that is pleasing 
 to the eye. Lough Allen is situated almost wholly within 
 the mountainous districts of the north, and a large portion 
 of Lough Derg is made picturesque by the mountains of the 
 south. Like all Irish lakes, Lough Derg contains a num- 
 ber of small green islands, of which the most renowned is 
 Inniscaltra, an ancient holy place, containing the ruins of 
 seven venerable churches of great antiquity, and the re- 
 mains of one of those remarkable columnal erections known 
 in Ireland under the name of " round towers." We passed 
 the sacred isle at the distance of a mile and a half, but we 
 could very distinctly make out all its monuments by the aid 
 of a telescope." 
 
 It is not every visitor to Shannon's shores that has un- 
 qualified praise for the scenery. Thus speaking of the 
 sites selected by the saints of old for their retreats, Caesar 
 Otway exclaims : " What a dreary place is Glendalough ! 
 what a lonely isle is Inniscaltra ! what a hideous place 
 is Patrick's Purgatory ! what a desolate spot is Clon- 
 macnoise! From the hill of Bentullagh on which we 
 now stood, the numerous churches, the two round towers, 
 the curiously overhanging bastion of O'Melaghlin's 
 Castle, all before us to the south, and rising in relief from 
 the dreary sameness of the surrounding red bogs, pre- 
 sented such a picture of tottering ruins and encompassing 
 desolation as I am sure few places in Europe could paral- 
 lel." 
 
 The traveller who wants to see the most accessible 
 beauties of the Shannon usually starts at Limerick and 
 leaves the river at Athlone, though some go as far as Car-
 
 90 THE SHANNON 
 
 rick on Shannon. The chief loughs traversed are Derg 
 and Ree; and the only towns of any importance are Killa- 
 loe, Portumna and Athlone. 
 
 About eight miles above Limerick are the Rapids or Falls 
 of Doonass, where the Shannon pours an immense body of 
 water, which above the rapids is forty feet deep and 300 
 yards wide, through and above a congregation of huge rocks 
 and stones that extend nearly half a mile, and offers not 
 only an unusual scene, but a spectacle approaching much 
 nearer to the sublime than any moderate-sized stream can 
 offer even in the highest cascade. 
 
 Castleconnell is beautifully situated on the east bank. It 
 has a popular Spa, and is a famous centre for salmon fish- 
 ing. The castle, from which the town is named, stands on 
 an isolated rock in the middle of the town. It was 
 anciently the seat of the O'Briens. When Ginkell, 
 William the Third's General, took the castle, he caused it 
 to be dismantled. Castleconnell is famous for its salmon 
 fishing and eel weirs. The Castleconnell fishing rods are 
 famed all over the world. 
 
 Eight miles above Castleconnell near the entrance to 
 Lough Derg is Killaloe. 
 
 The navigation from Limerick to Killaloe is carried on 
 by canal so as to avoid the rapids of Killaloe and Castle- 
 connell. Killaloe is a charmingly placed village, but it is 
 probably best known as the place above all others in Ireland 
 dear to the heart of the angler. The fine old cathedral, on 
 the site of a much older church, dates from the Twelfth 
 Century. The Choir is used as the parish church. Com- 
 mencing at Killaloe is Lough Derg, an expansion of the 
 Shannon to the proportions of a lake. The Duke and 
 Duchess of Cornwall and York made atrip up Lough Derg
 
 THE SHANNON 9 1 
 
 to Banagher in the summer of 1897, anc ^ l ^ e route is now 
 known as the " Duke of York " route. 
 
 As every one knows, the Shannon is much the largest 
 river in the United Kingdom. Its breadth, where it ex- 
 pands into the long narrow lakes that mark so much of its 
 course, stretches to as much as thirteen miles. Lough 
 Derg, the first of these expanded stretches, is twenty-three 
 miles long, and exceedingly picturesque. Its shining sur- 
 face, overshadowed by blue hills, is broken here and 
 there by woody islands famous in history and song. Killa- 
 loe itself takes its name from the ruined church on the 
 island below the twelve-arched bridge (" the church on the 
 water"). The salmon fisheries here are very important 
 and profitable, and which is probably more interesting to 
 the traveller the river is free to every one who possesses 
 a rod and line. 
 
 It was here, at the lower end of Lough Derg, that Brian 
 Boru's palace of Kincora once stood, in the Ninth Century. 
 The mound on which it was built is all that remains of a 
 place that displayed, 1,200 years ago, the utmost glory of 
 the fierce, proud Irish kings. The ruined castle of Derry 
 crowns another small islet; and Holy Island, thirty acres in 
 extent, is a spot full of interest. Like Glendalough, it was 
 chosen out, early in the Christian era, for a retreat of piety 
 and learning. One cannot but observe the excellent taste 
 in scenery displayed by the monks of ancient days, in se- 
 lecting these peaceful refuges from a stormy world. What 
 can be more lovely than the vale of the seven churches, or 
 than Innisfallen Island ? and Holy Island compares not at 
 all ill with these still more famous places. St. Caimin, in 
 the early part of the Seventh Century, settled here, and 
 built a monastery, which soon became famous for its learn-
 
 92 THE SHANNON 
 
 ing. Seven different churches afterwards grew up on the 
 island, and one of the most beautiful round towers in Ireland 
 still raises its head seventy feet above the waters of the 
 lake, among the ruins of these sacred places. This part of 
 the lake is crowded with islands, and the ruined castles and 
 monasteries are very numerous. At the town of Portumna, 
 some miles further on, another stop is made, as the castle 
 and abbey are particularly well worth seeing. This was 
 another spot celebrated for its learning. The monastery 
 of Tirdaglass, whence many manuscripts issued, was founded 
 by St. Columba in the Sixth Century. At Clonmacnoise, 
 further on, the traveller may see the cradle of the ancient 
 art and learning of Ireland, and the most important seat of 
 religion in early days. St. Cearan (early Sixth Century) is 
 especially associated with the spot; the great cathedral was 
 built in his honour, and the holy well, dedicated to the 
 Saint, is still the object of constant pilgrimage. Round 
 towers, ancient Irish crosses, ruined churches and monas- 
 teries, are here in abundance. The ancient city of Clon- 
 macnoise has disappeared altogether. This is a place of 
 the greatest possible interest to antiquarians, and even ordi- 
 nary travellers will find much pleasure in the beauty of the 
 picturesque ruins. 
 
 At Banagher is the fortified bridge of seven arches, pro- 
 tected by two towers and a battery. This is all the more 
 interesting, for, not being an antiquity in any sense, it was 
 finished in 1843, as a matter of fact. 
 
 Above Lough Derg, the country is fertile, but not es- 
 pecially striking until Lough Ree is reached. This second 
 great expansion of the river fairly rivals the first in beauty. 
 Of its twenty-seven islands, the most attractive is Inis 
 Clothran, on which the famous Queen Maev of Connaught
 
 THE SHANNON 93 
 
 spent her declining years. She is said to have built a 
 splendid stone house for herself here, and lived on the 
 island until she died, at the age of a hundred and two. 
 Some ruins still remain to mark the spot, although the date 
 of Queen Maev goes back nearly two thousand years. 
 Antiquarians consider that Shakespeare's fairy Queen Mab 
 was a development of the many legends told about this 
 powerful, wicked, and fascinating Queen of far-off days. 
 
 Portumna, at the head of the lake, commands fine views 
 of Lough Derg, and the hilly land to the west. After 
 leaving this town the scenery becomes dull and monotonous 
 till we reach Meelick, where the river is so devious that a 
 canal rejoins the Shannon at the mouth of the Little Brosna. 
 Immediately above, the stream begins to divide and becomes 
 very tortuous till Banagher is reached. 
 
 At the upper end of Lough Ree is Lanesborough, a small 
 town with a fine bridge of six arches and a swivel arch. 
 From this point the sail to Tarmonbarry presents little 
 beauty or interest. The country is generally a wide extent 
 of bog, abounding in remains of trees and the extinct Irish 
 elk. Opposite Xarmonbarry, the Royal Canal, communi- 
 cating with Dublin, joins the Shannon. When the river 
 again widens into Lough Forbes, the Seven Churches of 
 Kilbarry come into view : only three and part of a round 
 tower are now standing. Lough Forbes is triangular in 
 shape, and the shores are low boggy land not destitute of 
 a certain quiet beauty. Lough Boderg shaped like a T is 
 the only remaining sheet of water before reaching Carrick 
 on Shannon where the tourist's voyage generally ends.
 
 THE DANUBE 
 I. BOWES 
 
 NEXT to the Volga, the Danube is the largest river in 
 Europe, and for volume of water and commercial 
 importance it far exceeds that river. It is estimated that 
 the Danube carries more water to the sea than all the rivers 
 of France. 
 
 The river rises at the head of a pleasant little valley high 
 up in the mountains of the Black Forest ; coming tumbling 
 down the rocks a tiny stream of clear water, and, gathering 
 strength and volume from numerous springs and rivulets, it 
 cuts a deep channel into the rich soil and dances gaily 
 along, presently to be joined by the Brigach and its twin- 
 sister, the Brege, which rise about ten miles further to the 
 south. These are the highest sources of the mighty River 
 Danube, the great water highway of Europe, celebrated for 
 ages in legend and song and in ancient and modern history 
 for important military events, and, in its flow of nearly 
 2,000 miles to the Black Sea, unfolding the most remarkable 
 panoramas of natural beauty known to the geographer; 
 whilst on its banks may be found groups of the most inter- 
 esting nationalities of the world. 
 
 Donaueschingen, a tidy little town in the Grand Duchy 
 of Baden, is sometimes called the source of the Danube. 
 It is situated about a mile and a half below the point where 
 the Brigach and the Brege join the river, which from this 
 point is called the Donau or Danube, and it is the head of
 
 THE DANUBE 95 
 
 the navigation for small boats on the upper river. Between 
 here and Ulm there are twenty-one weirs and dams, and 
 many pleasant villages, pretty little towns, ruined castles, and 
 princely residences ; amongst the latter may be named 
 Hohenzollern, near Sigmaringen, the seat of the Imperial 
 family of Prussia. The scenery in the locality of the castle 
 is of great beauty, and the town, pleasantly situated on the 
 banks of the river, has a charming appearance. 
 
 The river below Sigmaringen flows through a broad, 
 fertile valley, and with a quicker current, as the banks have 
 been partially canalized ; and small towns, with names 
 of wondrous length and ponderous sound, such as Munder- 
 kingen, Kiedlingen, Reichenstein, etc., suggest places that 
 are or have been of great importance. In the distance the 
 great tower of the Cathedral of Ulm is seen rising up out 
 of the low horizon. Ulm is a great military stronghold, 
 and the old town a maze of narrow, crooked streets. The 
 Cathedral is said to be next in size to that at Cologne, and 
 is a fine specimen of Gothic architecture, with the highest 
 stone tower in the world. 
 
 Below Ulm several smaller towns are passed before 
 reaching Ratisbon, a city of 40,000 inhabitants, famous for 
 many historical events. The Cathedral of Saint Peter is 
 one of the architectural glories of Germany. Freight 
 steamers, barges, tugboats, and passenger steamers abound 
 on this part of the river. Long flat boats sixty feet long, 
 such as we see on the Rhine, pass down to the Lower 
 Danube, laden with grain, timber, etc. 
 
 Linz, with its 500,000 inhabitants, is an interesting 
 town ; and the river scenery, between here and Vienna, is 
 said to rival the Rhine scenery, the hills being more varied 
 in outline and the slopes richer in verdure.
 
 g6 THE DANUBE 
 
 At Vienna the river is more crowded still, and is crossed 
 by some fine road and railway bridges ; and many show 
 sights are here, such as cathedrals, historical buildings, etc., 
 and more than a fair share of cafes, theatres and music- 
 halls. In this respect it rivals Paris, and, some say, exceeds 
 it in wickedness. 
 
 After leaving Vienna, Hamburg, Kieben and Presburg 
 (with its 50,000 inhabitants), where the Hungarian kings 
 have for ages been crowned, are passed ; then Komorn, and 
 through the fertile plains of Hungary to Buda Pesth, a 
 beautiful, prosperous city, with a population of 500,000. 
 It is said that the extensive quays facing the river and the 
 imposing buildings are the finest on the whole course of the 
 Danube. Lower down the river the inhabitants on either 
 bank show distinct traces of Magyar descent. 
 
 And now leaving the Hungarian territory for Servia, 
 Belgrade with its great fortress comes in sight. Many 
 parts of the city are Turkish in appearance, and the in- 
 habitants are a mixture of Hungarians, Turks and Servians. 
 
 About sixty miles below Belgrade the river leaves the 
 Hungarian plains, and at Bazias the chief hindrances to the 
 navigation of the Danube begin and extend to Sibb, a dis- 
 tance of about eighty-two miles. The obstructions may be 
 divided into four sections, viz : No. I. The Stenka 
 Rapids; No. 2. The Kozla Dojke ; No. 3. The Greben 
 Section ; and No. 4. The Iron Gates. The first named 
 rapids are about 1,100 yards long; nine miles lower down 
 the second section about one and a half miles long be- 
 gins, and the river is narrowed from about 1,000 yards in 
 width to about 300 and in some places 170 yards. These 
 rapids are caused by rocks in the bed of the river, some of 
 which are almost dry at low water, extending nearly across
 
 THE DANUBE 97 
 
 it, and causing sudden alterations in the currents and 
 dangerous whirlpools and eddies. 
 
 At Greben, four miles lower down, there were formi- 
 dable obstacles to be overcome, and some of the heaviest 
 work in the undertaking had to be faced ; for at this point 
 a spur of the Greben Mountain juts out into the river, and 
 suddenly reduces its width at low water. When the snow 
 and ice in the upper reaches of the river melt, or in heavy 
 rain, the river rapidly rises, and, being blocked by these ob- 
 stacles, causes damaging floods in the fertile valleys of 
 Hungary. 
 
 Below the Greben rapids the river widens out to about 
 one and a half miles, and passing the cutting and training 
 walls at the rapids of Jucz enters the Kazan defile, which 
 is said to be the most picturesque part of the Lower Danube. 
 The cliffs, of great height, approach nearer and nearer to 
 each other, until the river is contracted to 120 yards wide. 
 
 Passing through this dark and sombre defile into the 
 valley of Dubova, it widens to 500 metres ; the mountains 
 again approach and reduce the width to about 200 yards. 
 The depth at these straits varies from ten metres to fifty 
 metres. It was through this defile that Trajan, nearly 
 2,000 years ago, made riverside roads and towing paths in 
 continuation of the small canals and waterways to evade the 
 rocks and currents and to facilitate the transport of his 
 armies and military trains for the Roman campaigns in 
 Central Europe. The ruins of these works are a proof 
 of the great labour expended upon them, and also of the 
 skill in engineering possessed by the Romans in those days. 
 The tablets engraved on the rocks, still in part visible, com- 
 memorate their heroic deeds. 
 
 Following our course down the river, at ten kilometres
 
 98 THE DANUBE 
 
 from the Kazan, we come to Orsova, a rather important 
 place of call for steamers and trading-vessels ; and, now 
 that the river is navigable for larger vessels, this place is 
 destined, from its railway communications, etc., to become 
 a great trading centre. 
 
 At a distance of eight kilometres from Orsova, the Iron 
 Gate, situated between Roumania and Servia begins, and is 
 for a length of about three kilometres the largest and most 
 dangerous obstacle on the Lower Danube. The rocks in 
 the channel impede the current, forming dangerous eddies 
 and cataracts. 
 
 The Prigrada Rock rises above low water with a width 
 of 250 metres and a length of about two kilometres, 
 stretches in a crooked line across the river to the Rou- 
 manian shore, with a narrow channel, through which ves- 
 sels of light draught only can be navigated with difficulty. 
 The river, pouring over this rock, forms dangerous whirl- 
 pools and cataracts, requiring the greatest watchfulness, 
 care, and experience on the part of the navigator to over- 
 come the dangers of what has well been called " The Iron 
 Gates." Hundreds of steamers and vessels have been 
 wrecked in attempting this dangerous passage. 
 
 Like many other great projects many schemes had been 
 proposed and plans for carrying them out by different 
 authorities had been considered, but nothing definite was 
 done until in 1888, the Hungarian Government, under 
 rights conferred upon it by the Berlin Treaty of 1878, and 
 the London Treaty of 1871, undertook the work of con- 
 struction and administration under the conditions of the 
 treaties which gave them the power to levy tolls on trade 
 ships for covering the expenses of the works. 
 
 The ceremony of the inauguration took place on the
 
 THE DANUBE 99 
 
 27th of September, 1896, when the Emperor of Austria, 
 King Charles of Roumania, and King Alexander of Servia, 
 with an immense gathering of bishops, generals and diplo- 
 matic representatives, etc., met at Orsova, and proceeded 
 through the Iron Gates and the beautiful and romantic 
 Kazan Pass with a procession of six vessels, which included 
 a monitor and torpedo boat, and accompanied by a con- 
 tinuous discharge of artillery and the loud huzzas of the 
 immense gathering of soldiers, visitors and inhabitants. 
 
 Below the Iron Gates the river broadens out and the 
 scenery is tame and uninteresting, for the vast plains of 
 Roumania extend from the foot of the hills here to the 
 shores of the Black Sea, and the maritime and commercial 
 aspects of the surroundings begin to manifest themselves 
 the river becomes more crowded with craft of all kinds as 
 we approach the towns on the Lower Danube. 
 
 We pass Widin, and, lower down, Sistova where, in the 
 Russo-Turkish war, the Russians crossed the river to 
 Plevna and the Balkan passes. Thirty-five miles lower 
 down we reach Rustchuk, the most important Bulgarian 
 town on the river, and fast becoming a great emporium of 
 trade, being on the main line of railway to Constantinople, 
 via Varna. 
 
 We then pass Silistria and approach the longest railroad 
 bridge in the world. This bridge crosses the Danube be- 
 low Silistria, and carries the railway from Kustendji on the 
 Black Sea into Roumania. 
 
 Braila, 125 miles from the mouth of the river, is the 
 chief port for the shipment of produce, etc., from the grain- 
 growing regions of Roumania and Northern Bulgaria. 
 Here are extensive docks, grain elevators, and thousands of 
 men of all nationalities engaged in loading steamers and
 
 100 THE DANUBE 
 
 sailing vessels from all countries. The British flag is 
 everywhere present. As a commercial port the place is 
 fast outstripping its neighbour, Galatz, fifteen miles lower 
 down. 
 
 From Galatz to the sea, the navigation of the river, the 
 dredging, removing of obstacles, levying of tolls, etc., is 
 controlled by an International Commission established by 
 treaty in 1878, since which date great improvements have 
 been made, chiefly in the lower reaches and the Sulina 
 mouth of the river, by the construction of groynes, revet- 
 ments and cuttings to avoid the bends, and constant dredg 
 ings by powerful dredgers are carried on.
 
 THE NIGER 
 
 J. HAMPDEN JACKSON 
 
 IT will probably be a century hence before men fully 
 realize the extent of the world's debt to those English 
 noblemen and gentlemen who in the last decade of the last 
 century, sent forth Mungo Park as their emissary to find 
 and trace specifically upon the map all he might discover as 
 to this mysterious river. Their choice of the man was ex- 
 ceptionally fortunate. 
 
 I pass over all their disappointments, and the persistent 
 courage with which they bore them, and need only remind 
 you that these Englishmen of the African Association 
 soon afterwards to become the Royal Geographical Society 
 not only found and equipped Park and Clapperton and 
 Lander, but it was at their cost, on their business and for 
 their entertainment alone, that Earth, the German explorer 
 (whose brilliant and most accurate explorations are in our 
 day constantly credited to his own nation instead of ours), 
 undertook and finished his great journeys into Hausaland 
 from North Africa. 
 
 We follow Park from his first discovery of the Niger at 
 Sego, look with him on the breadth at that spot of its 
 stream, realize his disappointment at having to return to 
 England ; his joy at coming for the second time to Bam- 
 barra, and then his voyage in the little craft bearing his 
 country's flag down to the devious waters of the unexplored 
 river; past Kabara, from whose hill-top he might have
 
 IO2 THE NIGER 
 
 seen Timbuktu had he but known and had he not been at- 
 tacked there by the people on trying to land. Next we 
 sail with Park past Birni, close to the capital of the former 
 Songhay Empire, past Say, up the stream to Boussa, the 
 capital of Borgu, 650 miles from the sea ; and here on that 
 memorable day of 1806 we see poor Park meet his death, 
 and I hope it may not be long ere some worthy obelisk at 
 the spot shall set forth indelibly the great record of his mis- 
 sion. 
 
 We come now to Richard Lander, and in like manner I 
 take you over the route of this famous voyager, from 
 Badagry (whence he struck inland) to Boussa, where he 
 found the relics of Park, and then in his boats down 
 stream past Mount Jebba standing midway in the river, 
 with an elevation above sea level of some 300 feet past 
 Rabbah then the largest city on the Niger to Egga, 
 where the great ferry of the Kano-Ilorin traffic makes pros- 
 perous the chief port of Nupe, and now in the distance 
 appears the table-topped Mount Patteh, rising 1,300 feet 
 from the right bank, and as we sail with Lander under its 
 shadow there opens out before us the noble confluence at 
 Lokoja, where the Benue, the Niger's mighty tributary, 
 pours its mile-broad current into this great West African 
 river. Next Lander passes between the jagged and stunted 
 peaks of the Nigretian Alps, and nearing Idda, sees its bold 
 precipices of red sandstone rear themselves on the left bank, 
 and admires the giant baobab trees, the clustered round- 
 roofed huts, and the busy throngs of Igara people passing 
 to and fro from the riverside. But our explorer has vowed 
 to follow the great Niger to its outflow, and we are still 
 some 280 miles from the sea. 
 
 So Lander passes on in his boats, and nearing Asaba
 
 THE NIGER 103 
 
 now the seat of English government on the river he notes 
 that the native houses are now all of rectangular shape, and 
 the people of Eboe type, and soon he is at Abo, and the 
 tidal waters are recognized just as the ruffians of the Brass 
 slaving fleet rush upon him and capsizing his craft 
 Lander barely escapes with his life to find his brother 
 drowning also. Rescued at last, John Lander is brought 
 prisoner, together with Richard to the Brass mouth of the 
 Niger, and their sufferings whilst waiting release and sub- 
 sequently until landed at Fernando Po may well have made 
 them dread the name of Brassmen. It may be that some 
 day at Brass, or Akassa, English hands will raise a fitting 
 and permanent memorial to this modest, uncultured and 
 sterling character, who solved for all mankind the greatest 
 geographical problem of his time, and opened the door for 
 European commerce and civilization into West Central 
 Africa. It must not be forgotten that MacQueen had all 
 along contended that the Niger would be found to issue 
 into the Atlantic through the swamps of the Bights of Benin 
 and Biafra, nor are the reasons now obscure that account 
 for that long hiding of geographical truth in the Gulf of 
 Guinea. The Niger Delta is one covering 14,000 square 
 miles ; the Delta rivers creep into the sea almost unper- 
 ceived through the low-level mangrove swamp ; the whole 
 region reeks with fevers and dysentery, and at the time of 
 Lander's discovery the only trade to be done in that " God- 
 forgotten Guinea" was the slave-trade. Such white men 
 as ventured to the Delta, therefore, were bent on secrecy 
 rather than on discovery ; and this had been the state of 
 things for centuries. No wonder that the Niger had been a 
 mystery, but it was a mystery no more. 
 
 The next step for its exploration was taken by Liverpool.
 
 104 THE NIGER 
 
 Macgregor Laird raised a large fund among his merchant 
 friends on the exchange, and added thereto a large part of 
 his own fortune, built and equipped two steamships the 
 ^uorra and Alburka and (with but little aid from the 
 Government) took charge personally of this bold expedition, 
 and in 1832 sailed for the Niger. Now, look at these 
 banks forty feet at least above the river level, and remem- 
 ber that for three to four months of the year the villages 
 lining them are simply floating in the vast waste of the 
 Niger inundations. Mr. Laird found by a bitter experience 
 that it was all very well to steam up the Niger when the 
 stream was at flood, but when your crew were all down with 
 fever and the river began to fall at the rate of a foot per 
 day, the least accident such as the stranding of the little 
 tjhiorra locked you up bag and baggage for a whole 
 twelve months, and brought you face to face with terrible 
 dangers. The mortality on board the steamers was awful, 
 but Laird kept the expedition well in hand ; he explored a 
 great part of the upper middle Niger, a considerable dis- 
 tance up the Benue, and established the first English trad- 
 ing factories, 350 miles from the mouth of the Niger, ere 
 his return to Liverpool. Like all other travellers who have 
 seen the Benue, Laird was greatly impressed with the vol- 
 ume and purity of its waters, the beauty of its landscape on 
 either bank, and the rich promise of development in its al- 
 ready quickened commerce. Look at the woodland beauty 
 at Ribago, for instance ; or the fine cultivated plain at Yola ; 
 and the impressive rock-fortress at Imaha. And see these 
 fine Hausa peoples who inhabit the Sokoto and Bornu coun- 
 tries of the inter-riverine plateau. They are an ancient 
 race, grave and industrious, of fine physique and highly in- 
 tellectual phrenological type.
 
 THE NIGER 105 
 
 Centuries ago Macrisi the Egyptian historian told of 
 their gourd-ferries, and the world laughed at such a " trav- 
 eller's tale " } but here you see them for yourselves. Cen- 
 turies ago men wrote of the vast city of Timbuktu, but 
 what is Timbuktu to Kano, the Hausa capital ? Look at 
 this wall surrounding Sokoto City, and think of the wall of 
 Kano being as high as that and fifteen miles round ! The 
 Fulah aristocracy live at Sokoto, and their Sultan bears 
 spiritual rule over the greater part of Hausaland ; his 
 temporal power is no myth, either, for in 1891 he raised 
 an army of 40,000 men half of whom were cavalry un- 
 der the eyes of Monteil. But the crumbling houses of 
 Sokoto tell their own tale of a city that has long passed its 
 zenith, and like Timbuktu, whose population has fallen from 
 200,000 to 7,000, like Katsena, whose population has fallen 
 from 100,000 to 6,000, so Sokoto is daily yielding its 
 temporal sceptre to Kano, the city of markets and manu- 
 factures, the centre of literature as well as of prosperous 
 agriculture, the starting-point of the Soudan caravans, the 
 central slave market, cloth market, metal market and the 
 busy focus of all industries. See the great market square 
 in which 30,000 people assemble for commercial exchange 
 every week; these fourteen gates, through which the hosts 
 of organized caravans are ever issuing, most of them 600 
 or 800 strong at the very least, and twenty of which go 
 every year to Salaga for Kola-nut alone ! Think of the 
 Mecca pilgrims who all assembled here to form their great 
 cavalcades yearly ; of the 60,000 artificers and cultivators 
 living in this Kano, with its enclosed fields of rich crops, 
 its leather factories, shoe and sandal factories, dyeing 
 works, cotton spinning and weaving, basket making, brass 
 manufacture and ornamentation, etc. And remember that,
 
 106 THE NIGER 
 
 thanks to our English chartered companies, this Kano, and 
 these fine Hausa people whose language has long been 
 the key-tongue of all trade in Central Africa are brought 
 securely under the flag and influence of Great Britain. It 
 is, from our point of view, a drawback that Kano lies at an 
 unhealthy level, and its people defy every sanitary decency 
 in their abbatoir and cemetery arrangements, but that is 
 their way of being happy. Katsena is much more salubri- 
 ous, having 1,500 feet of elevation. 
 
 Ere long, under British tutelage, and freed from dread of 
 the Fulah slave-raider, the rascal who raids his own people 
 for the mere joy of it, freed from this curse, the Hausa 
 States will rise to preeminence through the aptitude and ca- 
 pacity for discipline inherent in that virile people. 
 
 I must pass over Bornu and its great chief city of Kuka, 
 but would like to dwell for a moment on the deeply inter- 
 esting fact that here in the Chartered State of British 
 Nigretia we tread upon the dust of empires. At the time 
 of our Heptarchy this very Bornu was the seat of a Negro 
 empire covering a million and a half square miles, and ex- 
 tending from the Niger to the Nile. And Sokoto and 
 Gandu our Treaty states formed but part of the Negro 
 empire of Songhay, having its capital at Gogo on the 
 Niger, and extending westward and northward as far as the 
 Atlantic and Morocco.
 
 THE AMAZON 
 
 JOSEPH JONES 
 
 THE main stream of the Amazon is about 4,000 miles 
 long long enough that is to go in a circle twice 
 round the British Isles, or 600 miles longer than the voyage 
 from Liverpool to New York. For the lowest 250 miles 
 of its course it is fifty miles wide, or if the Island of Marajo 
 in its mouth be regarded as a huge sand bank, which is 
 what it really is, then it is 20O miles wide at its mouth. In 
 other words, one might take the whole of Scotland, push it 
 into the mouth of this river and leave only a small piece 
 projecting. The Amazon has nineteen very large tribu- 
 taries, each of which is really a gigantic river in itself, and 
 through these tributaries it is connected with the Orinoco 
 and the River Plata. The Amazon rises near the west 
 coast of South America, about sixty miles from Lima in 
 Peru, and runs into the Atlantic, traversing nearly the whole 
 width of the widest part of South America in its course. 
 Its depth in places is twenty fathoms or 120 feet. It drains 
 an area nearly the size of all Europe, and is the largest body 
 of fresh water in the world. Its average speed of flow is 
 two and a half miles per hour. Hence in going up-stream 
 a boat hugs the bank to avoid the current, whilst in descend- 
 ing it sails in mid-stream in order to obtain full advantage 
 of the same. As may be guessed, progress is quicker down- 
 stream than up. The influence of its flow can be felt 150 
 miles from the shore. On one occasion the mess-room
 
 108 THE AMAZON 
 
 steward filled the filter direct from the sea when the ship 
 was long out of sight of land, yet the water was only very 
 slightly brackish. The inland navigation of the Amazon 
 and its branches extends over 20,000 miles. The name is 
 supposed to be derived from " Amassona," the Indian word 
 for " boat-destroyer," on account of the tidal wave which 
 rages in the channel to the north of the Island of Marajo, 
 and on account of which boats enter by the south channel. 
 
 The river is high at the end of the rainy season and low 
 after the dry season, but even at low river the ship in which 
 I sailed, an ocean-going steamer, experienced no difficulty 
 in sailing as far as Manaos. The difference in level is a 
 matter of thirty feet, so that whereas in August you step 
 out of a small boat on to the landing-stage, in October, when 
 the river is about at its lowest, you have to walk on planks, 
 from the boat to the foot of the landing-stage, mount this 
 by a ladder and go ashore. 
 
 Being so near the equator, the Amazon is in a warm 
 district. In the coolest part of the ship the temperature 
 used to rise to 84 Fahrenheit in the afternoon, whilst in 
 the sun 120 Fahrenheit was registered, and some of the 
 pitch in the seams of the deck was melted. This was when 
 ascending the river. There is a ten knot breeze from the 
 sea which makes it cooler on returning, but on the inward 
 journey when travelling with the wind and at practically 
 the same speed, one is of course in a dead calm and uncom- 
 fortably hot. The river water itself at 6 A. M., was always 
 between 88 Fahrenheit and 89 Fahrenheit. 
 
 Besides steamers the Amazon is navigated by battalongs, 
 wooden craft, about twelve yards in length, covered with 
 an awning of palm branches, which come from Peru and 
 elsewhere with native produce, are manned by Indians who
 
 THE AMAZON 109 
 
 live aboard, and which take two months to get back home 
 from Manaos against the stream. Smaller boats are driven 
 by square sails of blue and white cotton, which bear traces 
 of Manchester origin, and there are also native canoes pro- 
 pelled by paddles. 
 
 The Indians fish in an interesting manner by means of 
 bow and arrow, with a line attached to the arrow. If they 
 can get a couple of arrows firmly shot in they can usually 
 haul in a river turtle or other large fish. There is a large 
 fish with red flesh which serves the people in some parts 
 instead of beef (cattle being dear). Thus they don't fulfil 
 the old definition of an angler as " a worm at one end and 
 a fool at the other." River turtle when caught are laid on 
 their backs, in which position they are helpless, and one on 
 board the ship laid eighty-six eggs at one break whilst in 
 this position. The eggs are spherical, covered with a flexi- 
 ble limy shell, and resemble in appearance a small tennis- 
 ball. They are a treat out there, where eggs are very 
 scarce. The flesh of this kind of turtle is rather tough and 
 not unlike pork. 
 
 A great variety of animal life is to be found, including 
 mosquitoes, cockroaches, moths, butterflies, alligators, 
 snakes, tarantulas, centipedes, and grasshoppers. 
 
 The savage people, who live some little distance from 
 the river, are of about our average height and build, 
 walnut-coloured, with long straight jet-black hair. In 
 war they fight with bamboo-headed spears and poisoned 
 arrows, the latter propelled by a powerful bow seven feet 
 long. The arrow-heads, of bone, are dipped in snake 
 venom and inflict a mortal wound. The venom is said to 
 be procured by boiling snakes' heads to extract it from the 
 glands and evaporating the solution to almost dryness.
 
 110 THE AMAZON 
 
 Right inland the tribes often have battles, and the victors 
 kill the women and children of the vanquished. They 
 have a horrible habit of cutting off the heads of girls, 
 skinning them, and curing the skin in such a way that it 
 shrinks, but retains its colour and texture, when they stuff 
 it, producing a head the size of one's fist, but perfect in 
 shape. They sell them at from 12 to ^30 to Europeans, 
 who ought to know better than to buy them. 
 
 The civilized people speak the Portuguese language 
 and are of European habits. They are more polite than 
 the British, though this is noticeable by their habits being 
 different from ours rather than by being better. For in- 
 stance, I have seen a first-class passenger expectorate on 
 the saloon floor when at dinner and never blush, but he 
 would think himself dreadfully impolite if he wore his hat 
 in a restaurant. One is impelled to Max O'Rell's con- 
 clusion that " one nation is not better or worse than 
 another. One nation is different from another, that is all." 
 
 The money is mostly paper, and there is no paper legal 
 tender less than the milreis (2s. 3d. nominally, actually 
 about yd.). In Para small change is given in tram tickets. 
 
 The vegetable kingdom numbers 17,000 species and is 
 a veritable fairy-land. Orchids, which with us are so 
 highly prized, are much cheaper there. Very many 
 varieties grow quite wild and are little esteemed. I know 
 one man who had an orange tree in his garden and con- 
 sidered it a nuisance. It crowded out some valuable exotic 
 orchids. He would willingly have let any one take it away 
 but no one would have it. The whole country resembles a 
 gigantic greenhouse, and it is not without a touch of annoy- 
 ance that a Briton sees beautiful palms and other trees 
 wasted on people who do not appreciate them when they
 
 THE AMAZON 1 1 1 
 
 would be welcome at home. The hanging roots or tendrils, 
 which grow downwards from the branches until they take 
 root in the ground, are quite strange to us, and they offer 
 great resistance to path-making. The most important tree 
 is the india rubber, Herveia Brasilensis, which is a large 
 tree, and entirely different from the Ficus elasticus, which 
 is commonly called " india rubber " here and grown in 
 rooms. The raw rubber is obtained by incising the bark 
 and collecting the "milk" in a can. A paddle is dipped 
 into this and the milk adhering to it smoked over some 
 burning nuts. This is done with successive dippings until 
 a piece the size of a ham is on the paddle, when a slit is 
 made in the side and the paddle withdrawn. It is quite 
 possible that the wily native may insert a pebble, when he 
 has withdrawn the paddle, since rubber is sold by weight. 
 The best quality is that obtained from the Island of Marajo 
 and known as Island Rubber. This is said to be because 
 a species of nut grows there the smoke of which cures the 
 rubber better than any other kind of smoke. It is said 
 that every kind of rubber requires some admixture of the 
 Para variety to make it useful in commerce. Many of the 
 rubber cutters live in shanties on the river's edge and keep 
 a canoe moored at the door. More inland the poorer 
 classes live in mud huts built on a framework of light wood. 
 Some of these when whitewashed make very presentable 
 houses, as seen in the view of the main street of Parentins, 
 where the post-office and neighbouring buildings are all of 
 this sort. The cathedrals are generally handsome build- 
 ings, and the post-office at Para is a pretty structure. 
 
 The shops are open fronted and usually have no 
 windows, so that at a short distance one cannot tell of 
 what kind they are unless the goods are displayed outside.
 
 112 THE AMAZON 
 
 The streets are peculiarly named, for instance " Fifteenth 
 of November Square " (date of foundation of the Republic), 
 " Dr. Guimarez Lane," and so on. 
 
 The cities bear very evident traces of newness. You 
 may see a public square enclosing a tract of virgin soil and 
 except that the palms are planted in straight rows all the 
 vegetation is natural. There are handsome walnut counters 
 in whitewashed stores and burglar-proof safes inside offices 
 which you could demolish with your foot. 
 
 Outside the cities the general appearance of the country 
 gives one an idea of what Britain must have been like at 
 the time of the Roman invasion, and shows how civiliza- 
 tion spread along the course of the rivers.
 
 THE YANGTSE CHIANG 
 
 W. R. CARLES 
 
 THE great river of China which foreigners call the 
 Yangtse Chiang, has its sources on the south-east 
 edge of the great steppes which form Central Asia. Rising 
 almost due north of Calcutta, it flows eastwards for some 
 500 miles, draining a very considerable area on its way, 
 and then turns southwards until it is penned in by the 
 great parallel ranges which until recent years have hidden 
 it and its great neighbours from European eyes. Even after 
 entering China its course has remained obscure, and the 
 deep rift through which it makes its way to the navigable 
 portion of its waters in Sze Chuen is, save here and there, 
 still unexplored. In the eastern half of Sze Chuen it re- 
 ceives the drainage of another large area, before entering 
 the country commonly known as the Ichang Gorges, and 
 on leaving the Gorges its arms spread north and south 
 from the Yellow River to the Canton province, affording 
 easily navigable routes through the heart of China, and by 
 the Grand Canal to Tientsin. 
 
 One of the largest rivers in the world, its importance 
 to China as a waterway in some of the wealthiest and most 
 thickly populated provinces of the empire completely over- 
 shadows all the other river-systems of the country. 
 
 The actual length of the Yangtse Chiang is at present 
 unknown. The navigable portion, /'. *., to Ping-shan 
 Hsien, is 1,550 miles. West of Ping-shan Hsien the river
 
 114 THE YANGTSE CHIANG 
 
 attains its extreme southern and northern limits ; but from 
 a careful measurement made for me of the best maps owned 
 by the Royal Geographical Society, its entire length is not 
 much more than 3,000 miles. The area of drainage is 
 probably between 650,000 and 700,000 square miles. 
 
 Between the Tangla Mountains, whose south slopes 
 drain into the Tsang-po and the Salwin Rivers, and the 
 Kuenlun Mountains, which form the south buttress of the 
 Tsaidam steppes, the Yangtse Chiang, even at its source 
 near the goth meridian, draws on a basin nearly 240 
 miles in depth from north to south. Below the con- 
 fluence of the three main streams this basin is somewhat 
 contracted by the north-west south-east trend of the Baian 
 Kara range, and the river is gradually deflected southwards. 
 From the ggth meridian its course is almost due south, 
 passing through the country of the Tanguts, or St. Fans, 
 until at last it enters China. 
 
 This part of its course is, roughly speaking, parallel with 
 the Mekong and Salwin Rivers. Penned in by high moun- 
 tains, which form an extension of the great plateau of 
 Central Asia, these rivers continue in close proximity to 
 each other for nearly two hundred miles. 
 
 The immense depth of the gorges through which the 
 Yangtse Chiang has cut its way in Yun Nan and west Sze 
 Chuen, and the extraordinary freaks played by its tributaries 
 on the right bank, have prevented the course of the Yangtse 
 Chiang below the Ya-lung from being thoroughly ascer- 
 tained. Its course, as laid down by the Jesuits, appears to 
 have been mainly mere guesswork, and some corrections have 
 recently been made. Apparently it here attains its lowest 
 latitude 26 north. The strength of the stream and the 
 height of the banks above the river prevent much use being
 
 THE YANGTSE CHIANG 1 15 
 
 made of it for boat traffic, even in the few portions where no 
 dangers exist. The grandness of these gorges culminates 
 in the " Sunbridge," Tai-yang-chiao, a mountain at least 
 20,000 feet high, " which falls to the Yangtse Chiang in 
 a series of terraces, which from below appear like parallel 
 ridges, and abuts on the river into a precipice or precipices, 
 which must be 8,000 feet above its waters. The main 
 affluent on the right bank received in this part of its course 
 is the Niu-lan River, the gorges of which are also very 
 grand. 
 
 Ping-shan is generally regarded as the head of continu- 
 ous navigation, but Mr. Hosie descended the river by 
 boat from Man-i-sau, forty // higher up. 
 
 The Fu-ling, Chien Chiang, Kung-t'an or Wu-chiang, 
 which joins the Yangtse Chiang at Fu-Chau on the right 
 bank, is the last considerable tributary received before reach- 
 ing the gorges leading to Ichang. This river is important 
 as the first of the streams which form the great network of 
 water-communication which binds Peking and Canton with 
 Central China. By the Fu-ling Canton can be reached 
 with only two short portages, and a certain amount of trade 
 with Hankau is carried on by this and the Yuan River in 
 preference to taking goods up the Yangtse Chiang. 
 
 The gorges which have shut in the Yangtse Chiang almost 
 from its source close in upon it again below Fu-Chau, and 
 continue to within a few miles of Ichang, contracting the 
 river at one or two points to a width of 150 yards. 
 
 In the autumn of 1896, some forty miles below Wan 
 Hsien, a landslip occurred, which carried down into 
 the river a portion of the mountainside, estimated by 
 Mr. Bourne at 700 yards by 400 yards. This at present 
 forms a complete obstacle to any hope of steam navigation
 
 Il6 THE YANGTSE CHIANG 
 
 between Ichang and Chung-King, and is much more formi- 
 dable than the Yeh-tan, Hsin-tan, or any of the other rapids 
 which had hitherto been in question. The Ching-tan, or 
 Hsin-tan, was similarly formed some two hundred and fifty 
 years ago, and it is probable, therefore, that other rapids 
 originated in the same way. 
 
 Many rivers are received on either bank before Ichang is 
 reached, of which the most important is the Ching-Chiang, 
 which enters the Yangtse Chiang on the right bank below 
 Ichang. 
 
 At Sha-shih, the port of Chong-Chau Fu, the character of 
 the country changes, and an extensive embankment thirty 
 feet high, and from seventy feet to three hundred feet wide at 
 the base, is necessary to protect the country from inundation. 
 The inland water communication extending from Ching- 
 chau to Hankau, on the east, and connecting with the 
 higher parts of the Han River, exposes an immense area to 
 suffering from floods, and the city itself was almost destroyed 
 on one occasion by freshets in the inland waters. The 
 facilities of communication afforded by these routes make 
 Sha-shih a centre of great commercial value, for, independent 
 of the great highway of the Yangtse Chiang and of the 
 canals already mentioned, there are also two large canals on 
 the right bank of the river connecting with the Tung-ting 
 Lake. 
 
 Driven onwards by the immense pressure from behind, the 
 waters of the Yangtse Chiang, though moving in an almost 
 perfect plane, have an average surface current throughout 
 the year of two knots at Hankau, where the river is 1,450 
 yards broad, and has an average depth of forty-two feet. In 
 their course to the sea, the entrance to the Poyang Lake is 
 almost the only place below Wuhsueh at which a passenger
 
 THE YANGTSE CHIANG 1 17 
 
 on a steamer can detect the influx of any other river. The 
 main river, its tributaries, and the inland canals all form a 
 part of one great network, which proclaims the delta of 
 the river. The rivers of East Hu Peh, North Kiang Si, 
 An Hui, and Kiang Su, which enter the Yangtse Chiang, 
 are very scarcely recognizable as fresh contributions. Even 
 the waters of the Yellow River drained into the Yangtse 
 Chiang in 1889 without for some time exciting any com- 
 ment on the addition to its volume. 
 
 The coal fields of Hu Nan have of late concentrated at- 
 tention on the Tung-ting Lake and the valley of the Hsaing 
 as the future trade route between South and Central China ; 
 but until recently the valley of the Kan, which is navigable 
 by boat from near the Mei-ling Pass on the frontier of 
 Kwang-Tung to the Poyang Lake, was the great official 
 waterway from Canton to Peking. 
 
 The Shu or Chin Chiang, which passes Nan-Chang-Fu 
 to the north-west of the lake, and the Chin or Chin-Chia 
 Chiang, which descends from Kwang-Hsin-Fu on the 
 north-east, are the largest of the other rivers which drain 
 into the Poyang Lake, but part of the waters of Hui- 
 chu-Fu in An Hui are also received by it, and it is note- 
 worthy how many routes exist through the mountains on the 
 east to the Che Kiang and Fu Kein. 
 
 The lake, which is reported to be 1,800 square miles in 
 extent, acts, like the Tung-ting Lake, as a great reservoir 
 to check inundations. 
 
 On leaving Kiang Si and entering An Hui, the river at 
 Wuhu reaches the point where a branch in olden days 
 made its way southwards to the Chien-tang Gulf, near 
 Hang-Chau Fu. Its course is conjectured to have been 
 through a series of lagoons, known in ancient times as the
 
 Il8 THE YANGTSE CHIANG 
 
 five lakes (the Chen-tse) and its delta is presumed not to 
 have extended further east than the Lang-shan Hills, but 
 the whole subject has been a fertile source of controversy. 
 Another branch must have passed by Sung-kiang Fu, and 
 thence near to Shanghai. The south bank of the present 
 course of the river seems to give indications that its bed 
 was in former days on a higher level than now, but at the 
 present day it is only by embankments that the Yangtse 
 Chiang is prevented from finding a way for some of its 
 surplus waters by the Tai Hu and Su-chau to the sea. 
 
 The area of the Tai-Hu and the other lakes in the 
 southern delta of the Yangtse Chiang has been estimated at 
 i, 200 square miles (out of a total area of 5,400 square 
 miles), and the total length of the small channels used for 
 irrigation and navigation at 36,000 miles. But these figures 
 are based upon imperfect maps of the country, and there- 
 fore not thoroughly trustworthy. 
 
 On the north bank of the river an even more marvel- 
 lous system of artificial waterworks exists. The Huai 
 River, which, with its seventy-two tributaries, is a most im- 
 portant commercial route to north An Hui and Ho Nan, 
 used to find a natural course to the sea to the south of Shan 
 Tung, but has been diverted by a double series of lakes and 
 innumerable canals, and has now no existence as a river 
 east of the Grand Canal. The enlargement of some lakes 
 and the excavations of others were carried out with a view 
 to preventing too great a pressure on any one point of the 
 Grand Canal south of the old course of the Yellow River. 
 The greater part of the Huai now finds its way to the 
 Yangtse Chiang through different openings in a large canal, 
 which runs almost parallel with the river for a distance of 
 140 miles. North of this canal lies an immense parallel-
 
 THE YANGTSE CHIANG 119 
 
 ogram, estimated by Pere Gandar at 2,300,000 hectares 
 8,876 square miles) in extent, which is below the water- 
 level. This is intersected by a series of waterways kept 
 under the most careful control, and constitutes one of the 
 most valuable rice fields in the country. To protect it 
 from inundations by the sea, immense dykes and a large 
 canal stretch north and south between the Yangtse Chiang 
 and the old course of the Yellow River. Through these 
 dykes are eighteen openings for canals to the sea, but the 
 main drainage is southwards to the Yangtse Chiang. Be- 
 tween the dykes and the sea lie the flats which form the 
 great salt-fields of Central China. 
 
 The Yangtse Chiang in its lower reaches is subject to 
 great and rapid changes, of which little trace is evident to 
 the eye after the lapse of a few years, though the depth of 
 the river in many parts is 140 feet and more. One of the 
 most notable instances is at Chin-Kiang. The earliest 
 European travellers to Peking by the Grand Canal speak 
 invariably of the city of Kua Chau, and only incidentally 
 refer to the passage of the Yangtse Chiang. At present 
 the nearest entrances to the northern and southern portions 
 of the Grand Canal are miles apart ; the passage between 
 them, along the waters of the Yangtse Chiang, is often 
 tedious and sometimes impracticable. But at the time the 
 southern entrance to the canal was by a canal which ran 
 between Chin-Kiang and the river, and debouched opposite 
 Golden Island, which was within hailing distance of Kua 
 Chau. 
 
 When our fleet ascended the Yangtse Chiang in 1842, 
 it was to the south of this island that it passed. Now to 
 the south of " the island " is cultivated land, studded with 
 trees and villages, and the only existing canal south of
 
 120 THE YANGTSE CHIANG 
 
 Golden Island is so shallow as to be in winter not navi- 
 gable even to boats. On the north of the so-called island 
 (Golden Island) the city of Kua Chau has been completely 
 engulfed, and even its north wall has long since been lost 
 to sight. 
 
 The changes which are taking place in the lower reaches 
 of the river, in the formation of islands and the alteration 
 of channels, are on an even larger scale. One of the best- 
 known instances is the island of Tsungming, near Shanghai, 
 the population which rose from 12,700 families at the end 
 of the Thirteenth Century to 89,000 at the beginning of the 
 Eighteenth, and is now estimated at 1,150,000 souls. 
 
 The great river known to Europeans throughout its 
 whole length as the Yangtse, or Yangtse Chiang, from the 
 name which it bears on Chinese maps in its tidal portion 
 only, undergoes many a change of name. In its higher 
 waters in Tibet, the Murus, or Mur-usu, or Murui-osu 
 (" Tortuous River ") joins the Napchitai-ulan-muren and 
 Tokton-ai-ulan-muren, and below their confluence the 
 river is known as the Dre-chu, or Di-chu, variations of 
 which have reached us through different travellers in Bichu, 
 Bicui, Brichu, and the Brius of Marco Polo. Its Tibetan 
 name is Link-arab, and the Chinese name Tung-tien-ho. 
 Where the river forms the boundary between Tibet and 
 China, it is called by Chinese the Chin (or Kin) Sha 
 Chiang, and by the Tibetans the N'geh-chu ; near the con- 
 fluence of the Yalung it is called the Pai-Shui-Chiang, or 
 White Water River; and as far as Sui Fu (or Sii-chu Fu) 
 the Chin Ho. In the gorges of Ichang it is the Ta-ch'a 
 Ho (river of great debris). At Sha-shih it has the name of 
 Ching Chiang, from Ching, an ancient Division of China, 
 through which it passes. Below Hankau it is called the
 
 THE YANGTSE CHIANG 121 
 
 Chiang, Ch'ang Chiang (Long River) Ta Chiang, or Ta- 
 Kuan-Chiang (Great Official River), and for the last two 
 hundred miles of its course it appears as the Yangtse 
 Chiang, a name which it gains from Yang, another of the 
 ancient divisions of the empire, and which is still retained 
 by Yang-chau-Fu. 
 
 The fall of the river is very rapid. Mr. Rockhill assigns 
 an altitude of 1 3,000 feet to the place where he first crossed 
 it, some distance below the junction of the Mur-usu with 
 the Napchitai and Toktonai Rivers, and of 12,000 feet to 
 the ferry where he recrossed it eighty-four miles lower 
 down. From Batang (8,540 feet) to Wa-Wu, in Sze 
 Chuen (1,900 feet), the fall was estimated by Mr. Baber at 
 not less than eight feet per mile ; thence to Huang-kuo-shu 
 (1,200 feet) at six feet per mile; below this to Ping-shan 
 (1,025 f eet ) about three feet; and from Ping-shan to 
 Chung-Ching (630 feet) approximately nineteen inches, 
 and in its lower course less than six inches. The fall be- 
 tween Chung-Ching and Ichang (129 feet) is about thirteen 
 and a half inches ; thence to Hankau (fifty-three feet) only 
 two and a half inches, and from Hankau to the sea little 
 more than one inch per mile.
 
 THE THAMES 
 
 CHARLES DICKENS, JR. 
 
 A LTHOUGH scarcely any of the scenery of the 
 JT\. Thames above Oxford is to be mentioned in the 
 same breath with the beauties of Nuneham, of Henley, of 
 Marlow, or of Cliveden, there is still much to attract the 
 lover of nature who is content with quiet and pastoral land- 
 scapes and to whom the peaceful solitude through which the 
 greater part of the journey lies, will have a peculiar charm. 
 It is not advisable to take boat at Cricklade. For some 
 distance below this little Wiltshire town the stream is nar- 
 row, and in dry seasons uncomfortably shallow. Travel- 
 lers, therefore, who come to Cricklade, with the intention 
 of seeing as much of the river as possible, may be recom- 
 mended to take the very pretty walk of about ten miles 
 along the towing-path of the Thames and Severn Canal to 
 Lechlade. Here the river proper may be said to begin. 
 Half a mile after leaving Lechlade on the right is St. John's 
 Lock with an average fall of three feet ; and just below it 
 is the St. John's Bridge, with the Trout Inn on the left 
 bank. For some distance below this stream is very nar- 
 row, and generally weedy ; and, after passing Buscot 
 Church, a couple of sharp turns brings us on the left to 
 Buscot Lock. A couple of miles lower down is the little 
 village of Eaton Hastings ; Faringdon Hill, with its large 
 clump of Scotch firs being a conspicuous object on the
 
 THE THAMES 123 
 
 right bank and two miles further again is Radcot Bridge, 
 distant from Oxford twenty-six miles. The next point is 
 Old Man's Bridge, twenty-five miles from Oxford, and af- 
 ter about two miles of rather monotonous travelling, we 
 come sharp on the left to Rushy Lock and a mile further 
 to Tadpole Bridge, twenty-two miles from Oxford, with 
 the Trout Inn, a convenient place for luncheon. About a 
 couple of miles from Tadpole is Ten Foot Bridge and a 
 mile or so lower down are the village and ferry of Duxford. 
 A mile or so below this there is considerable shoaling and 
 half a mile further an island with Poplars, where the Berks 
 bank should be followed. After making two or three bends, 
 beyond this point, there is a prettily wooded bank on the 
 right, and a short mile of capital water for rowing brings us 
 to New Bridge from Oxford fifteen miles, which, notwith- 
 standing its name, is of great antiquity. Another mile 
 brings us to the bridge where was formerly Langley's or 
 Ridge's Weir. About four and a half miles from New 
 Bridge is Bablock Hithe Ferry, ten and a half miles from 
 Oxford, below which there is a fine stream, the scenery be- 
 coming very good, with fine bold hills and the Earl of 
 Abingdon's woods at Wytham. After passing Skinner's 
 Weir, the river twists and turns about a good deal until we 
 reach Pinkhill Lock, eight and a half miles from Oxford, 
 with a fall of about three feet. Round a good many 
 corners and rather more than a mile off is Eynsham Bridge. 
 Good reaches for about three miles bring us to King's 
 Weir, sharp on the right, the stream to the left going to 
 the Duke's Lock, the junction with the Oxford Canal. 
 Passing presently under Godstow Bridge, are seen the 
 ruins of Godstow Nunnery and Godstow Lock, three 
 and a half miles from Oxford, on leaving which a pretty
 
 124 THE THAMES 
 
 view of the city is obtained. Three hundred yards further 
 is Osney Lock. A little further is Folly Bridge, Oxford. 
 
 The towing-path after leaving Folly Bridge, Oxford, 
 follows the right bank. On the left are the boat-rafts and 
 the barges of the various colleges moored off Christ Church 
 Meadows, where in the winter, after a flood, there is some- 
 times capital skating. About three-quarters of a mile from 
 Folly Bridge are the long bridges across a backwater, which 
 reenters the Thames in this part of its course sometimes 
 called the Isis half a mile below Iffley. Half a mile be- 
 low Iffley is the iron bridge of the Great Western Railway, 
 from beneath which is a very pretty view of the spires of 
 Oxford, particularly of the tower of Magdalen College. 
 Along the left bank for some distance is one of those grand 
 pieces of woodland scenery for which the Thames is so re- 
 nowned. The woods extend as far as the iron railway 
 bridge, after passing which the spire of Abingdon church 
 appears above the trees to the right. Rather more than a 
 mile below the cottages at Nuneham is the fall on the left 
 where the old and present channels divide. Half a mile 
 further and sharp to the left is Abingdon Lock, average fall 
 six feet, from London 104^ miles, from Oxford seven and 
 one-quarter miles. The river here runs through flat mead- 
 ows. The view of Abingdon, with the spire of St. Helen's, 
 is very pretty. Culham Lock, a good stone lock with an 
 average fall of seven feet ; Clifton Lock with an average 
 fall of three feet ; and Days Lock with an average fall of 
 four feet six inches, are passed. A little over a mile on the 
 left bank is Dorchester with its famous abbey church. 
 The footpath crosses the Roman remains known as The 
 Dyke Hills. On Sinodun Hill on the right is a fine Ro- 
 man camp. Below the ferry on the right is Bensington
 
 THE THAMES 125 
 
 Lock, with an average fall of six feet six inches. The 
 country from here to Wallingford is charmingly wooded. 
 
 Wallingford, from London ninety and three-quarter miles, 
 from Oxford twenty and three-quarter miles is a very con- 
 venient place to break the journey, and the breakfasts and 
 ale at the " Lamb " deserve particular attention. From 
 Cleeve Lock there is a lovely view of the hills and woods 
 above Streatley. Goring Lock is a favourite place for 
 campers. Further on to the right are Basildon church and 
 village and further still, opposite the beech woods and on 
 the brow of the hill to the right is Basildon Park. At this 
 point a fine stretch of water runs almost in a straight line 
 for a considerable distance j the banks on either side are 
 well wooded, and the view up or down is one of the most 
 sylvan on the river. Just before making the bend before 
 Pangbourne Reach is Coombe Lodge with its beautiful 
 park, and at the end of the chalk ridge on the right is Pang- 
 bourne, from London eighty and three-quarter miles, from 
 Oxford thirty and three-quarter miles. 
 
 Below Whitchurch Lock a wooden bridge connects 
 Whitchurch and Pangbourne, and at its foot is the pretty 
 house known as Thames Bank. After leaving Maple- 
 durham Lock on the right, there is a charming view. 
 Caversham Bridge, the nearest point for Reading, and 
 Caversham Lock, Sonning Lock and Sonning Shiplake 
 Lock and Wargrave and Marsh Lock bring us distant from 
 London sixty-six miles. 
 
 A mile from Marsh Lock we come to Henley. A hand- 
 some bridge spans the river here ; the tow-path crosses to 
 the right bank. A short half mile below greenlands on 
 the right is Hambleden Lock. At the next bend in the 
 river the red brick house on the right is Culham Court,
 
 126 THE THAMES 
 
 and here the view up the river to the poplars and wooded 
 hills above Hambleden is very charming. Passing Culham 
 keep to the left bank, leaving the island known as Magpie 
 Island on the right. Half a mile farther, on the top of the 
 high wooded hill on the left, is a farmhouse on a site where 
 has been a farm since Domesday Book was compiled. 
 Two miles from the lock is Medmenham Abbey, with the 
 Abbey Hotel, a well-known and convenient place for water- 
 parties. 
 
 On the right bank at Hurley Lock is the village of 
 Hurley with Lady Place, so well known in connection 
 with Lord Lovelace in the revolution of 1688. About 
 half a mile further is Marlow, with its graceful suspension 
 bridge and ugly church. Three hundred yards below the 
 bridge is Marlow Lock. Another three-quarters of a mile 
 brings us to Cookham. Cookham Lock is the most beauti- 
 fully situated on the river, just under the woods of Hedsor 
 and Cliveden. The scenery down the next reach and past 
 the islands is exceedingly beautiful and is generally con- 
 sidered the finest on the river. Not quite two and a half 
 miles from Cookham Lock is Boulter's Lock, from London 
 fifty miles. 
 
 Below Maidenhead Bridge is the Great Western Rail- 
 way bridge, supposed to be the largest brick bridge in the 
 world. A mile from Maidenhead is the pleasant village of 
 Bray. Rather more than a quarter of a mile on the left 
 is Bray Lock. Half a mile further is Monkey Island, and 
 here for a little distance there is a good stream. Two 
 miles and a half from Bray Lock, on the right bank, is 
 Surly Hall, an inn well known to Etonians. About 
 another half mile brings us to Boveney Lock on the left. 
 On the right is Windsor racecourse, and three-quarters
 
 THE THAMES I2J 
 
 of a mile down is Athens, the bathing-place of the senior 
 Eton boys. The Great Western Railway bridge and the 
 Brocas clump on the left are next passed, and we arrive 
 at Windsor on the right bank and Eton on the left. The 
 river is here crossed by an iron and stone bridge of three 
 arches. After passing through Windsor bridge, the right 
 bank on which is the tow-path should be kept. The rapid 
 and dangerous stream to the left runs to the weir and the 
 neighbourhood of the Cobbler, as the long projection from 
 the island is called, is undesirable when there is much 
 water in the river. Not half a mile below Windsor bridge 
 is Romney Lock. After passing through Romney Lock, 
 beautiful views of Eton College, the playing-fields and 
 Poet's walk are obtained on the left, and on the right are 
 Windsor Castle and the Home Park. Farther down is 
 the Victoria Bridge, one of two which cross the river at 
 each extremity of the park, and about a mile and a half 
 from Romney Lock is Datchet on the left bank. After 
 the second of the royal bridges, the Albert, is passed, the 
 right bank must be kept, and a long narrow cut crossed 
 half way by a wooden bridge leads to Old Windsor Lock. 
 Three-quarters of a mile from the lock, in pretty scenery, 
 is the well-known " Bells of Ousely " tavern. Half a mile 
 farther down Magna Charta Island, with its cottage is on 
 the left. Runny mead is on the right bank, which should 
 be followed to Bell Weir Lock. 
 
 The Colne enters the Thames on the left between Bell 
 Weir Lock and Staines. Two or three hundred yards farther 
 are Staines Bridge and the town of Staines. After Penton 
 Hook Lock about one and three-quarter miles from Staines 
 is Laleham and the ferry. Still keeping to the left bank, 
 we next come to Chertsey Lock. Hence the river winds
 
 128 THE THAMES 
 
 very much between flat banks to Shepperton Lock on the 
 left. Here the Wey enters the Thames. Three-quarters 
 of a mile below Halliford are Coway or Causeway Stakes, 
 and immediately afterwards comes Walton Bridge which 
 consists of four arches. On the right below is Mount 
 Felix and the village of Walton. Half a mile on the left 
 is a tumbling bay, whose neighbourhood will best be 
 avoided, and half a mile below this on the right, is the 
 cut leading to Sunbury Lock. About one and a half 
 miles below the lock is an island, either side of which may 
 be taken. On the right are Molesey Hurst and race- 
 course and on the left, Hampton. Here is a ferry, and 
 on the left bank below the church Garrick's Villa. Below 
 Molesey Lock is Hampton Court Bridge, an ugly iron 
 erection, Hampton Court being on the left and East 
 Molesey, with the railway station, on the right. Nearly 
 a mile below the bridge, on the right, is Thames Ditton. 
 Passing Messenger's Island we come to Surbiton, and 
 nearly a mile lower down to Kingston Bridge. The next 
 point is Teddington Lock. On the left Teddington and 
 an almost uninterrupted line of villas extends along the 
 bank as far as Twickenham. There is an iron foot bridge 
 from Teddington to the lock. About a mile from the 
 lock is Eel Pie Island, opposite which are Petersham, and 
 Ham House, the seat of the Earl of Dysart, almost hidden 
 among the trees. On the left is Orleans House, and down 
 the river rises Richmond Hill, crowned with the famous 
 " Star and Garter." Making the bend just below the next 
 island is, on the right bank, the ivy-clad residence of the 
 Duke of Buccleuch. Not quite three miles from Tedding- 
 ton Lock is Richmond Bridge. A short distance below 
 the Bridge is Richmond Lock, ninety-six and a half miles
 
 THE THAMES 1 29 
 
 from Oxford and fifteen and a half miles from London. 
 The trip is generally concluded here, the banks of the 
 river below this point presenting little or nothing to attract 
 the visitor. 
 
 Passing Isleworth, Sion House, the seat of the Duke of 
 Northumberland, Brentford, Kew with its Palace, Church 
 and Observatory, the famous Kew Gardens, Chiswick and 
 Chiswick Eyot (famous for its swans), we arrive at Ham- 
 mersmith with its long bridge, opened in June, 1887, and 
 are practically in London. From here we note Fulham 
 Episcopal Palace, the summer home of the Bishops of Lon- 
 don who have been lords of the manor from an early date, 
 Putney, Hurlingham House, Wandesworth, Battersea Park, 
 Chelsea and its iron bridge, Vauxhall, Lambeth Palace, the 
 London residence of the Archbishop of Canterbury, West- 
 minster Bridge, the Houses of Parliament and Westminster 
 Abbey, Charing Cross Railway Bridge, the Victoria Em- 
 bankment with Cleopatra's Needle, Waterloo Bridge, 
 Somerset House, The Temple Gardens, Blackfriar's Bridge, 
 St. Paul's Cathedral, Southwark Bridge, St. Saviour's and 
 come to London Bridge, opened by King W'illiam IV. and 
 Queen Adelaide in 1831. Here old London Bridge stood 
 for more than six hundred years, a quaint structure adorned 
 " with sumptuous buildings and statelie and beautiful houses 
 on either syde " ; and at the gatehouse of the bridge the 
 heads of traitors were exposed. On leaving London Bridge 
 we enter the Pool, which extends to Limehouse and is di- 
 vided into the Upper and Lower Pool by an imaginary 
 line drawn across the Thames at Wapping. The Pool is 
 always crowded with steamers, sailing-vessels and barges. 
 On the left bank stands The Monument, commemorating 
 the Great Fire of 1666, which began in the house of the
 
 130 THE THAMES 
 
 King's baker in Pudding Lane. Not far from it is Bil- 
 lingsgate Fish Market, then follows the Custom House and 
 the massive, solemn and impressive Tower. Tower 
 Bridge, the foundation stone for which was laid in 1886, is 
 passed, below which begin the great docks. Wapping Old 
 Stairs, made classic by Dibdin's song, and Shadwell are 
 passed before we leave the Pool and enter Limehouse 
 Reach. 
 
 The Thames now bends to the south and we pass the 
 great West India docks, the wall of which includes an area 
 of nearly three hundred acres. We pass Greenwich, fam- 
 ous for its Hospital (the old Palace), Observatory and Park, 
 after which the river takes a northerly course. Woolwich 
 with its Arsenal and Barracks, Shooter's Hill, from which 
 a fine view of London is obtained and now the river turns 
 south, for the Thames is a river of many windings. At 
 length we reach Tilbury and its Docks and Gravesend, and 
 here we are at the mouth of the river. The Midway enters 
 the Thames between the Isle of Grain and the Isle of 
 Sheppey and is now a muddy river with nothing beautiful 
 on either bank. Half way across the estuary, and fifty 
 miles from London Bridge, is the Nore Lightship, established 
 in 1730.
 
 THE CONNECTICUT 
 
 TIMOTHY DWIGHT 
 
 CONNECTICUT RIVER rises in New Hampshire. 
 \^s Its fountains are between 44, 50' and 45 north 
 latitude, and nearly in 71 west longitude from London ; 
 about twenty-five miles eastward from its channel, where 
 in the same latitude it divides Stuart 1 and Colebrook from 
 Canaan in Vermont. These fountains, which are at the 
 distance of two or three miles from each other, flow in two 
 small converging rivulets ; one of which empties its waters 
 into a pond, covering about six acres, whence it proceeds 
 to a lake, which from its resemblance to the numerical figure 
 8, I shall name Double Lake. The other rivulet, also, 
 unites with the same lake ; which is two miles long and 
 half a mile wide ; and covers between five and six hundred 
 acres. Hence the waters flow in a single channel, about 
 seven miles, into another lake, which from its figure I shall 
 call Heart Lake ; 2 about six miles long and three broad, and 
 covering between nine and ten thousand acres. From 
 Heart Lake with a material addition to its current, the river 
 runs north-westward for four miles and a half; and is a 
 continual rapid through the whole distance. In one part 
 of this reach it descends fifty feet in a course of three hun- 
 dred. Below the rapid, it receives from the northward a 
 stream called Perry's Brook; and a little further down, 
 
 1 Now Stewartstown. 8 Now Connecticut Lake.
 
 132 THE CONNECTICUT 
 
 another, called Cedar Brook. About two miles further on 
 it receives another from the south, called Dear Water 
 Brook ; and, about a mile further, a fourth from the north 
 called Back Brook, conveying into it the waters of a small 
 lake, called Back Lake. That portion of the Connecticut, 
 which is between Perry's Brook and Back Brook, four 
 miles in length, is named the Dead Water : the ground on 
 either side being low and level ; and the stream winding, 
 sluggish and deep. After receiving the waters of Back 
 Brook, it runs for one mile over a succession of rocks, 
 termed the Great Falls ; in one part of which it descends, 
 perpendicularly, over a ledge twelve feet. 
 
 Before its junction with Indian River, the Connecticut 
 runs about the same distance with that stream, and dis- 
 charges more than twice its quantity of water into the com- 
 mon channel. Hall's River is sensibly less than Indian 
 River. 
 
 The course of the Connecticut to Perry's brook, between 
 twenty-five and thirty miles is north-westward ; thence to 
 the forty-fifth degree of north latitude west-south-west; 
 thence to the city of Hartford south-south-west, and thence 
 to the Sound about south-east. 
 
 The length of this river is about four hundred and ten 
 miles. From Griswold's point, in Lyme, to the forty-fifth 
 degree of north latitude, the distance measured by its waters, 
 is about three hundred and seventy-four ; and thence to the 
 head-waters from thirty-five to forty. Its meanders 
 throughout a great part of its course are almost perpetual. 
 
 The number of its tributary streams is very great. The 
 waters which form the Connecticut are remarkably pure 
 and light, such as we commonly term the best water for 
 washing. The tributary streams, almost without an excep-
 
 THE CONNECTICUT 1 33 
 
 tion, issue from hills formed of stone, covered with a 
 gravelly soil ; and roll over a gravelly and stony bed 
 through their whole progress. The waters of the parent 
 stream are, therefore, everywhere pure, potable, perfectly 
 salubrious, and inferior to none in the world for the use of 
 seamen in long voyages. 
 
 As a navigable water, this river is inferior to many others 
 of a smaller size. This is owing to two causes; falls and 
 shallows. The falls are the following : Little Falls, Great, 
 Indian, Judd's, Fifteen-mile, Lebanon, Waterqueechy, Bel- 
 low's, Miller's, South Hadley, Enfield. 
 
 The Fifteen-mile falls, Waterqueechy, and Enfield, and 
 the greatest part of the distance attributed to the others, are 
 mere rapids ; and there are also other small rapids, which are 
 of no consequence. 
 
 The Valley of the Connecticut is a tract of land, ex- 
 tending from the Sound to Hereford Mountain ; five miles 
 beyond the forty-fifth degree of latitude. In the largest 
 sense it includes the tract which is bounded by the Lyme 
 range on the east, and by a confused cluster of hills, com- 
 mencing at the Sound, and terminating below Middletown, 
 then by the Middletown range, then by that of Mount 
 Tom, and then by that of the Green Mountains, on the 
 west. In this sense it is of very different breadths, from 
 five miles perhaps to forty-five; and its surface is com- 
 posed of an indefinite succession of hills, valleys and plains. 
 But there is another sense in which the phrase is used with 
 more obvious propriety and in which it denotes that portion 
 of this vast extent, which appears as a valley to the eye, 
 moving in the road along its course from its mouth to the 
 great bend in the northern part of the township of Stuart. 
 
 The Valley of the Connecticut extends through almost
 
 134 THE CONNECTICUT 
 
 four degrees of latitude, and is bounded on the north by 
 Hereford Mountain; a magnificent eminence, ascending 
 five miles beyond the line. The superior limit of this 
 mountain is an arch more gracefully formed than that of 
 any other within my remembrance. Its elevation is about 
 2,000 feet above the neighbouring country. 
 
 The Intervals on this Valley begin at Hall's River, about 
 twelve or fourteen miles from its mouth. The word, In- 
 terval is used by me in a sense altogether different from 
 that which it has in an English Dictionary. Doctor Bel- 
 knap spells it Intervale, and confesses his want of authority 
 for the use of the word. There is in truth no such word ; 
 unless we are to look for its existence in vulgar and mis- 
 taken pronunciation. Originally, when applied to this very 
 subject, it seems to have meant nothing more than that ex- 
 tent of ground which lay between the original bank of the 
 river and the river itself. 
 
 This extent was composed of land, peculiar in its form 
 and qualities. The English, so far as I know, have no ap- 
 propriate name for grounds of this class. Whether such 
 lands exist on the rivers of Great Britain, I am ignorant, 
 having never seen any definite account of them, or allusion 
 to them in any book descriptive of the surface of that 
 country. From the accounts of Sir John Sinclair's Statis- 
 tical History of Scotland of the lands on some rivers in that 
 country, I should suppose that a part of them might be 
 Intervals, yet they are distinguished by no appropriate 
 name. On some rivers in this country there are none ; 
 and on others very few. Wherever they exist, they are 
 objects of peculiar attention to farmers and subjects of 
 much customary conversation. That a name should be given 
 to them, therefore, is a thing of course. Interval is the name
 
 THE CONNECTICUT 135 
 
 which they have accidentally obtained in this country j and 
 a New Englander relishes it more than fats or bottoms. 
 
 This word, in its appropriate meaning denotes lands 
 formed by a long continued and gradual alluvion of a river. 
 
 Beauty of landscape is an eminent characteristic of this 
 Valley. From Hereford Mountain to Saybrook, it is 
 almost a continued succession of delightful scenery. No 
 other tract within my knowledge, and from the extensive in- 
 formation which I have received, I am persuaded that no 
 other tract within the United States of the same extent can 
 be compared to it, with respect to those objects which 
 arrest the eye of the painter and the poet. There are 
 indeed dull, uninteresting spots in considerable numbers. 
 These, however, are little more than the discords which 
 are generally regarded as necessary to perfect the harmony. 
 The beauty and the grandeur are here more varied than 
 elsewhere. They return oftener; they are longer con- 
 tinued; they are finished by a hand operating in a superior 
 manner. A gentleman 1 of great respectability, who had 
 travelled in England, France and Spain, informed me, that 
 the prospects along the Connecticut excelled those on the 
 beautiful rivers in these three countries in two great par- 
 ticulars the Forests and the Mountains (he might, I be- 
 lieve, have added the Intervals also) ; and fell short of them 
 in nothing but population and the productions of art. It is 
 hardly necessary to observe that both these are advancing 
 with a rapid step (perhaps sufficiently rapid), towards a 
 strong resemblance to European improvement. 
 
 Nor are these grounds less distinguished by their beauty. 
 The form of most of them is elegant. A river, passing 
 through them, becomes almost of course winding. As the 
 
 'The late Chief Justice Ellsworth.
 
 136 THE CONNECTICUT 
 
 earth, of which they are composed, is of uniform texture, the 
 impressions made by the stream upon the border, are also 
 nearly uniform. Hence this border is almost universally a 
 handsome arch with a margin entirely neat, and very com- 
 monly ornamented with a fine fringe of shrubs and trees. 
 Nor is the surface of these grounds less pleasing. The 
 terraced form and the undulations are both eminently hand- 
 some. In a country abounding in hills, plains moderate in 
 their extent, like these, are always agreeable. Their uni- 
 versal fertility makes a cheerful impression on every eye. 
 A great part of them is formed into meadows. Meadows 
 are here more profitable, and everywhere more beautiful, 
 than lands devoted to any other culture. Here they are 
 extended from five to five hundred acres, and are every- 
 where covered with a verdure peculiarly rich and varied. 
 The vast fields, also, which are not in meadow, exhibit all 
 the productions of the climate, interspersed in parallelo- 
 grams, divided only by mathematical lines, and mingled in 
 a charming confusion. In many places, large and thrifty 
 orchards, and everywhere forest trees standing singly, of 
 great height and graceful figures, diversify the landscape. 
 
 The first object, however, in the whole landscape is un- 
 doubtedly the Connecticut itself. This stream may, per- 
 haps, with as much propriety as any in the world be named 
 the Beautiful River. From Stuart to the Sound, it uniformly 
 sustains this character. The purity, salubrity and sweet- 
 ness of its waters ; the frequency and elegance of its 
 meanders ; its absolute freedom from all aquatic vegetables ; 
 the uncommon and universal beauty of its banks ; here a 
 smooth and winding beach ; there covered with rich verdure ; 
 now fringed with bushes ; now crowned with lofty trees ; 
 and now formed by the intruding hill, the rude bluff and
 
 THE CONNECTICUT 137 
 
 the shaggy mountain ; are objects which no traveller can 
 thoroughly describe and no reader adequately imagine. When 
 to these are added the numerous towns, villages and ham- 
 lets, almost everywhere exhibiting marks of prosperity and 
 improvement ; the rare appearance of decline j the nu- 
 merous churches lifting their spires in frequent succession j 
 the neat schoolhouses, everywhere occupied ; and the 
 mills busied on such a multitude of streams j it may be 
 safely asserted that a pleasanter journey will rarely be found 
 than that which is made in the Connecticut Valley.
 
 MOSEL 
 
 F. WARRE CORNISH 
 
 SO we embarked under a bright evening sky, and the 
 smooth stream took us swiftly down. It was a 
 beautiful moment ; the evening deepened over the green 
 water and the red rocks, till dusk fell, and we ran the boat 
 aground, hiding the oars in a willow-bed, and tramped with 
 our luggage into Ruwer, the neighbouring village, having 
 been assured that wherever we stopped we should find good 
 lodging. And so it proved ; not a village which failed to 
 supply good food, decently cooked, excellent wine and 
 golden beer, clean beds, moderate charges, and, best of all, 
 willing and cheerful hospitality, such as one finds in Tyrol 
 and the Bavarian highlands. There was not a dull reach 
 from Trier to Coblenz. The scenery is not so impressive 
 as that of the Danube or the famous windings of the Rhine. 
 
 But the hills of the Mosel Valley are beautiful in form 
 and varied with rocks red as those of Devonshire, or grey 
 slate in slabs and spires, or dark volcanic, like the Eifel. 
 Everywhere there are beautiful woods, valleys guarded 
 by ancient castles, and smiling upland meadows far away 
 among the hills. 
 
 As we embarked on the Mosel, let us praise the water 
 itself, to be in company with which was joy enough ; in 
 colour green, neither like emerald nor chrysoprase, nor like 
 the crystal of the rushing Traun, or of the deep basin, the 
 home of the soaring grayling, where the river leaps over
 
 MOSEL 139 
 
 the Traun fall. Nor like the water that comes down at 
 Locarno or Verallo j but a deeper, statelier colour, lighter 
 than the Kyle between Mull and Argyll, darker than the 
 Thames at Cookham when at its best after a dry July. In 
 all the shallows wave long tresses of Undine's hair, and the 
 surface of the water is broken by little ruffing eddies into 
 the loveliest water-pattern. Perhaps other rivers are like 
 this ; I do not know them. It seemed to me a peculiar 
 and native charm of this river, never sullen, never bois- 
 terous, the lady of German rivers. Smooth-sliding is the 
 proper epithet. I wish my reed were vocal to praise her 
 aright. She has her own poet Ausonius ; but his poem 
 is rather a catalogue than a hymn of praise, and he takes 
 her for a river, not a goddess, as she revealed herself to us. 
 
 Ruwer, the village where we were to spend the night, 
 was shimmering between sunset and starlight, and had its 
 own light besides, for the military were here, and all the 
 windows ablaze, and Faust and Wagner and their loves had 
 come out of Trier to take the air and drink, noisy but re- 
 spectable. 
 
 The next morning was the ist of September, a dawn of 
 golden haze telling of hot tramps over stubbles and turnip- 
 fields. We were cool and contented, and did not lust after 
 partridges. We find our boat in the dewy willow-bed and 
 give ourselves to the stream. We have got used to the 
 rustic oars, and it is no exertion to row with the swift cur- 
 rent, which here and there breaks into a little rapid and 
 makes the boat dance on one occasion we shipped nearly 
 half a pint of water. It is no good to describe what was 
 enjoyed and is remembered ; but here are the facts, though 
 mere facts tell little. Red sandstone cliffs, alternating with 
 grey slate ; broad meadows of Alpine grass freckled with
 
 140 MOSEL 
 
 pink crocus ; walnut and apple orchards ; sober villages 
 with dark roofs and spires ; here and there a ruined castle ; 
 high " faraways " of pasture and forest ; cavalry and 
 artillery flashing and rumbling as they march to the 
 manoeuvres along the riverside roads; slow wagons drawn 
 by fox-coloured cows; on and on we slide, stopping where 
 we like, bathing when we like, till at evening we see a lofty 
 rock at a bend of the river ; and a party of ladies in a punt. 
 Boldly we call out to ask if there is a good lodging here, 
 and gaily " "Jo. freilicb !" comes back the answer across the 
 river, and we land and put up at a clean and friendly inn. 
 The parents and two hard-featured and hospitable 
 daughters welcome us ; the whole family turn out of their 
 rooms and turn us in, and we sup under the stars and the 
 velvet sky in front of the wooded rock, which plunges 
 straight into the river and gives its name, " Echo," to the 
 inn. The stars were very grand that night, and the invo- 
 cation of Echo unearthly as always ; it was impossible not 
 to believe here in Kuhlebjorn and wood-spirits. 
 
 The next morning (Sedan-day) we were taken down to 
 the bank by father, mother and the two daughters, and find 
 the little brother clearing out the boat. How much 
 willingness and courtesy for so small a payment. We said 
 good-bye to the friendly family, wishing them many guests 
 and good weather for their wine, and dropped down to 
 Muhtheim and Berncastle, famous for its " Doctor," the 
 best wine on the Mosel, though much "Doctor" is sold 
 which did not grow at Berncastle, as there are not vines 
 enough at Zeltinger to furnish half the Zeltinger drunk in 
 England. But the name matters little if the wine is good. 
 At Berncastle or rather at Cues, on the opposite bank, 
 there is a large modern hotel near an iron bridge ; but
 
 MOSEL 141 
 
 there is also an ancient castle, and a conventual building 
 founded by Cardinal Cusanus in 1465, no longer occupied 
 by Monks. 
 
 I wish I could convey something of the pleasure which 
 the rare beauty of the green water and the continual 
 variety of the landscape gave us ; the strong rippling of the 
 stream when the rowers, out of mere idleness, put on a 
 spurt and the steerer enjoys his ease ; the still backwaters 
 among the rushes, where the current is guided by groynes 
 into the mid-stream ; the sun-smitten cliffs ; the soft, green 
 slopes and valleys, where cloud-shadows sleep. The new 
 landscapes came gliding into view with a change at every 
 bend ; but all is harmony. We pass pious processions of 
 country people with banners and " Aves," the priest lead- 
 ing them. They seem tired but happy country people of 
 the humblest kind, unreached by tourists. The trains tin- 
 kle to warn people of the crossings, the slow cow-wains creak 
 along the roads, little boys shout injurious remarks to the 
 " Engelander" women kneel by the stream and wash linen, 
 the fish leap in the shallows, the sun shines, and the day 
 goes by. How good the remembrance of the walk over 
 the hills, cutting off a long loop, while two of us took the 
 boat round ; for the Mosel bends round more than once 
 almost in a circle, as at Durham and Chateau Gaillard, and 
 you walk across through grasshopper pastures and steep 
 vineyard paths, through cool dark woods and heathy sum- 
 mits looking far away, through quivering haze, towards 
 Coblenz and Mainz. How good, too, the blazing sun in 
 little Kinsheim, the Mittagsessen and reposeful hour under 
 the tulip-tree in the hot shady garden at the back of the inn. 
 
 Another great loop to Alf, a little boy and his sister 
 bringing the boat from picturesque Punderich, their dwell-
 
 142 MOSEL 
 
 ing place. Alf will be remembered, not for itself for it is 
 a tiresome little watering place, crowded and hot, and 
 noisy with voices of German trippers, but for our ex- 
 cursion to Elz. We climbed out of the trench in which the 
 river runs, and drove across a happy tableland of orchards ; 
 roads bordered with fruit-trees, wide-spreading meadows, 
 cornland and wood peaceful German country sleeping in 
 afternoon sunshine, mowing and reaping, planting and 
 building, unchanged for a thousand years; then the road 
 descended through shady woods, and, lo ! at a turning, 
 "pricked with incredible pinnacles into heaven," with gables, 
 roofs and turrets innumerable, a castle, but, oh, what a 
 castle ! Here lived the Sleeping Beauty ; hither King 
 Thrushbeard brought his bride ; such a building Hop-o-my- 
 Thumb descried from his tree-top. Up in that turret was 
 the spinning-wheel ; under that window twanged Blondel's 
 zither; from that gateway Sintram and the trusty Rolf 
 spurred forward, and St. Hubert set out to chase the holy 
 stag ; and knights and ladies, with falcon on wrist or with 
 cross bow and spear, went out a-hunting, or rode " a stately 
 train in pomp of gold and jewels, velvet and vair" to joust 
 at Worms-upon-the-Rhine. Henceforward I have seen the 
 German Zauberland ; henceforward nothing can add to or 
 take from this impression. My dream is come true. 
 
 The castle stands on an isolated rock with deep wooded 
 ravines on all sides, to which no stranger may go. The 
 saucy castle defied all its neighbours and vexed the lands of 
 my lord archbishop the Elector of Trier, who, to curb its 
 pride, built another castle over against it and called it 
 " Trutz-Elz " (Who care for Elz ?). I don't know the rest 
 of the story, but there stands Elz as good as ever, possessed 
 by the lords of that ilk, and Trutz-Elz is a ruin.
 
 MOSEL 143 
 
 Our time is running out. We left Alf in a dawning of 
 golden mist, and rowed merrily down to Ediger, with its 
 picturesque church, all flying buttresses, pinnacles and 
 crockets, like a church in a Diirer background, to Cochem, 
 with its restored castle and a sense of modern prosperity 
 which is better for the town than for the contemplative 
 traveller. Another clean little hostelry at Treis, with good 
 wine and a cheery landlord. There is a river at Treis and 
 a possibility of small trout if we take great trouble ; but we 
 don't ; it is too hot to take trouble j there is no water in 
 the stream, and the fish are asleep. The river now makes 
 up its devious mind to go straight for Coblenz in long 
 reaches, with groynes on either bank. It comes on to rain ; 
 we bump a rock and dance along a rapid. Then come 
 commercial buildings with chimneys, reminding us that we 
 live in the iron age. The stream widens, the rain pours 
 down, the Roman bridge comes in sight. Coblenz finis 
 cbartaeque viceque. 
 
 May we go there again.
 
 THE IRRAWADDY 
 EMILY A. RICHINGS 
 
 THE mighty Irrawaddy, which traverses the entire 
 length of Burma, impresses itself on popular 
 imagination as the living soul of the land, moulded and 
 coloured through countless ages by the influence of the 
 majestic river. If Egypt be the gift of the Nile, Burma is 
 scarcely less the gift of the Irrawaddy, deepened by myriad 
 tributary streams, and flowing in ever-widening volume 
 from forest cradle to fan-shaped Delta. The source of the 
 historic stream is still veiled in mystery, as it winds through 
 impenetrable jungle and untrodden mountains until it be- 
 comes navigable for the last thousand miles to the sea. 
 Manifold traditions encompass the great river with that 
 atmosphere of glamour which invests Burma with romantic 
 charm. 
 
 The song of the river breathes of nomadic hordes and 
 contending races, of old-world kings, mythical warriors, 
 and legendary saints, until the dominant Burmese united in 
 the Irrawaddy Valley, and the tribes wandering down the 
 lateral tributaries were absorbed or subjected by the ruling 
 power. 
 
 The modern voyager generally takes the downward 
 course of the river, journeying by train to Katha, through 
 the palm-studded plains and dense forests skirting the blue 
 hills which divide Burma from the Shan States on the bor- 
 ders of Siam. Under the hovering mists of dawn giant
 
 THE IRRAWADDY 145 
 
 teak and feathery bamboo, looped together with coils of all- 
 embracing creeper, make a rich tangle of matted foliage. 
 Bhamo, the head of navigation as regards the great steamers 
 of the Irrawaddy Flotilla, and the frontier town on the 
 borders of China, lies along the yellow sand-bank of the 
 foreshore. The Siamese name, signifying " City of Pans," 
 is derived from the local manufacture of iron and earthen- 
 ware jars, cauldrons, and pitchers, dating from primitive 
 times. Bhamo, formerly a walled Shan town, fiercely con- 
 tested both by China and Burma, was captured four times 
 by the Chinese, easily reinforced from their own frontier 
 only thirty miles away. The town of 12,000 inhabitants, 
 protected by an English battery and a police force of Indi- 
 ans and Kachins, is still the meeting-place of converging 
 races. Chinese, Moslems, and Hindus possess their own 
 quarters in the squalid city, where the astute Celestials re- 
 tain the largest share of local trade, importing cotton and 
 salt, or exporting honey, hides, ochre and chestnuts, with 
 thousands of cooking pans. Blue robes, sun-hats and pig- 
 tails, grey roofs with upcurved eaves, and tinselled banners 
 waving round the tarnished red of a Joss-house bristling 
 with weird figures, transport our thoughts to the Middle 
 Kingdom, reached by the sandy track beyond the ruined 
 walls. Tom-toms beat in the Hindu quarter, and dark 
 figures glide past with jingling anklets and filigree nose- 
 rings, or lie supine on rickety charpoys in the open street. 
 A muezzin chants from the minaret of a tiny mosque, and 
 the bearded sons of Islam spread their prayer-carpets in the 
 dust, prostrating themselves in obedience to the voice which 
 summons them to prayer on these alien shores. Beneath 
 the banyan trees of an arcaded court a marble Buddha 
 dreams amid the shadows, and kneeling Shan women offer
 
 146 THE IRRAWADDY 
 
 their morning orisons at the crumbling altar. Tall black 
 head-dresses and dark-blue skirts, embroidered with many- 
 coloured wools, mark a distinct racial type. Silver cylin- 
 ders weigh down dusky ears, silver hoops encircle sunburned 
 necks, and the glittering chain of a silver needle-case hung 
 from the waist-belt of an almond-eyed girl denotes her rank 
 as a Shan lady. The intelligent faces are bright and ani- 
 mated, but every smile discloses teeth blackened with betel- 
 nut. The men of the party sip tea and smoke their silver 
 pipes under the green boughs, leaving the devotional exer- 
 cises to their womankind. A Burman in rose-coloured 
 turban and plaid kilt lolls upon a stone parapet, and Kachin 
 women, with mops of rough hair and furtive faces washed 
 in grease, pass the gateway with loads of elephant-grass 
 on their backs, bringing a barbaric element into the 
 scene. 
 
 Pagoda, Joss-house, and Buddhist temple stand in friendly 
 proximity, and no war of sect or creed disturbs the harmony 
 of life under the tolerant British rule ; but the Buddhism of 
 the Shan and the Nature-worship of the Kachin show many 
 points of contact. 
 
 The arrival of the Irrawaddy steamer, towing cargo 
 " flats " in its wake, is the event of the week, and rustic 
 barges thread the narrow defile above Bhamo, bringing their 
 contingent of produce and passengers from distant villages 
 on the confines of civilization. One of the great " flats " 
 is a floating market, where Burman and Kachin, Shan and 
 Chin, display their varied merchandise to the motley throng 
 of customers. Gaudy silks and cottons, rude pottery and 
 quaint lacquer-work, barbaric toys and trinkets, fruit, vege- 
 tables, and sweetmeats, with household utensils of every 
 kind, fill the dusky space of the covered deck with brilliant
 
 THE IRRAWADDY 147 
 
 colour. Indolent Burmese doze and smoke on gaily-striped 
 quilts, while their wives chaffer and barter with business- 
 like aplomb; for the Burmese woman is the breadwinner 
 of the family, and retains most of the commercial transac- 
 tions of the country in her capable hands. A pretty girl 
 in white jacket and apple-green skirt, with a pink pawa 
 floating on her shoulders, sits on a pile of yellow cushions 
 and smokes her big cheroot of chopped wood and tobacco 
 in meditative calm. Diamonds glitter in her ears, and ruby 
 studs fasten her muslin bodice, for she goes as a bride to 
 some distant riverside town, and carries her " dot " on her 
 back. Strings of onions and scarlet chillies hang from the 
 rafters above bales of fur from China. Children flit up and 
 down, like many-coloured butterflies, in quaint costumes 
 brightened with pink scarfs and tiny turban, miniature 
 replicas of their elders, 'for no special garb of childhood 
 exists in Burma, and the general effect suggests an assem- 
 blage of gaily-dressed dolls. Shan women in tall black 
 turbans stand round a harper as he twangs the silken strings 
 of a black and gold lyre with sounding-board of varnished 
 deerskin. The weird fractional tones of native music, dis- 
 cordant to European ears, harmonize with the semi-barbaric 
 environment as the musician chants some heroic legend of 
 the mythical past. Presently he approaches a mattress of 
 white and scarlet, occupied by a woman whose brown 
 Mongolian face is blanched to the pallor of age-worn 
 marble by chronic pain, and sings a wild incantation over 
 the sufferer, who by the advice of a fortune-teller under- 
 takes the weary journey to pray for healing at the Golden 
 Pagoda of Rangoon. The charm apparently succeeds, for 
 the tired eyes close, and as the song dies off in a whisper- 
 ing cadence a peaceful slumber smoothes the lines of pain
 
 148 THE IRRAWADDY 
 
 in the troubled face. Family parties sit round iron tea- 
 kettles, and girls bring bowls of steaming rice from the 
 rude galley where native passengers cook their food. 
 
 Past green islets in sandy reaches, hemmed in by bold 
 cliffs conveying vague suggestions of Nile scenery, the great 
 steamer pursues her way. Above dark clumps of banyan 
 and tamarind, the golden spires of Buddhist monasteries, or 
 the shining tee of village pagodas, invest the changing land- 
 scape with the unique individuality of Burma, distinct in 
 character from the Indian Empire, though politically com- 
 prised within it. A magical peace and purity, suggesting a 
 world fresh from the Creator's hand, transfigures hill and 
 dale with ineffable lucidity of atmosphere and delicacy of 
 colour. The solemnity of the deep gorges piercing the 
 profound gloom of virgin forest supplies a contrasting note 
 of haunting mystery, the loneliness of these upper reaches 
 merely accentuated by occasional signs of human life and 
 activity in the vast solitudes through which the river flows. 
 As the steamer swings round a projecting rock, the grotesque 
 forms of two colossal leographs the hybrid lion and gryphon 
 of Burmese mythology rear their white bulk against a 
 green tuft of towering palms at the gate of a Buddhist tem- 
 ple flanking the grey cone of a tall pagoda. Yellow-robed 
 monks lean on the balustrade of an island monastery hidden 
 like a bird's nest amid the thick foliage, and beautiful even 
 in decay. The broad-eaved roofs, with their carved and 
 gilded pinnacles, are miracles of art, for the historic founda- 
 tion was formerly renowned throughout Upper Burma, and 
 on festivals even the dog-fish, for which this reach of water 
 is famous, were decorated with strips of gold-leaf, and tamed 
 to come at the call of the monks. Farther on a yellow 
 procession descends a long flight of rocky steps cut in the
 
 THE IRRAWADDY [ 149 
 
 face of a steep cliff crowned by a monastic pile bristling 
 with gilt finials and vermilion spires. At the foot of the 
 mountain stairway a huge funeral pyre of forest trees attracts 
 groups of villagers, who land from a fleet of carved and 
 decorated boats in festal array, for a monk is to be cremated 
 after the invariable custom of Buddhist orders, and the 
 ceremony is observed as a general holiday. The light- 
 hearted Burmese only extract pleasure from the gruesome 
 spectacle, for what matters this little incident in the mani- 
 fold cycles of progressive existence reserved for the rein- 
 carnating soul ? 
 
 Stockaded villages line the foreshore, and hilltops glitter 
 with the golden tee of clustering shrines. The sublime 
 defiles of the glorious river, with their frowning cliffs and 
 toppling crags, widen into the dreamy calm of land-locked 
 reaches, where pagodas multiply on every point of vantage, 
 in monumental testimony to the zeal and devotion of the 
 Burmese past. The nomadic races of Burma impressed 
 their character on the multitude of ruined cities and deserted 
 capitals buried under the veil of verdure in the tropical jun- 
 gle, or covering hill and plain with decaying splendour. In 
 a shadowy channel beneath overhanging rocks the wrecked 
 yacht of the luckless King Theebaw lies overturned, the 
 lapsing water rippling against red funnel and gilded poop. 
 No effort is made to raise the melancholy derelict, a fitting 
 emblem of past sovereignty. At the sacred heights of 
 Sagaing, transformed by the white and golden spires of 
 graceful pagodas into ideal loveliness, a potkoodaw, or " man 
 of both worlds," in semi-monastic garb with yellow parasol, 
 awaits the arrival of the steamer. 
 
 The gentle humility of this old pothoodaw contrasts 
 favourably with the aggressive importance of a village
 
 150 THE IRRAWADDY 
 
 " head-man," or local magistrate, who pushes him aside, 
 and struts along the narrow wharf in tartan silk and spot- 
 less muslin, an obsequious attendant carrying his master's 
 red umbrella and silver betel-box. Yellow-robed brethren 
 dismount from creaking bullock-wagons lined with hay, 
 and await the coming steamer to bear them to the crema- 
 tion ceremony up-stream. Palm-leaf fans are raised to the 
 brown faces, but two youthful novices satisfy their curiosity 
 concerning European womankind by peeping through the 
 interstices of the sun-dried fronds. Other waiting passen- 
 gers set out the huge pieces of a clumsy chessboard on a 
 pile of flour bags ; for time is no account on these dreamy 
 shores, and two hours must elapse before the Bhamo boat 
 swings in sight. 
 
 Evening turns the noble river into a sheet of flaming 
 gold ; pink clouds lie like scattered rose-leaves in the path 
 of the sinking sun, and through the deepening veil of twi- 
 light the red fires twinkling outside reed-thatched huts of 
 tiny villages supply local colour to riverside life. Jungle- 
 grown Ava and ruined Amapura lie on the water's brink; 
 the Pagan, grandest of ancient capitals, covers a wide plain 
 with the imposing architecture of a thousand pagodas, the 
 colossal Ananda Dagon soaring like a huge cathedral above 
 multitudinous domes and spires, gold and crimson, white 
 and grey, of the deserted metropolis; for the tide of life 
 swept away from royal Pagan seven hundred years ago. 
 The white tents of the Government elephant camp cover 
 a stretch of sand above the bathing place of the herd, and 
 the officer in charge gives a fascinating account of his ad- 
 venturous life ; though many perils attend the capture of the 
 three hundred elephants annually required by authority, and 
 in the past year fifteen hunters have fallen victims to the
 
 THE IRRAWADDY 15! 
 
 dangers which beset horse and rider from sharp tusks, 
 trampling feet, falling trees, and tangling creepers in the 
 dark recesses of primeval forest. The typical denizen of 
 Burmese woods possesses a sacred character in popular 
 estimation, and carven elephants loom through the tropical 
 greenery of the shores, supporting tapering pagoda or pil- 
 lared portico. 
 
 The steamer stops before the unfinished temple and 
 colossal Bell of Mingoon, cracked by earthquake, but the 
 second largest in the world, the grandeur of the uncom- 
 pleted design memorializing the frustrated ambition of a 
 Burmese king who desired to be immortalized as a Phaya- 
 Taga^ or " Pagoda- Builder," rather than by memories of 
 war and conquest. The spiritual idealism which colours 
 Burmese idiosyncrasy tinges the story of the past, and a 
 modern writer aptly epitomizes one aspect of British rule 
 as " an attempt to turn poetic philosophers into efficient 
 policemen." The charm of this freshwater cruise is en- 
 hanced by frequent opportunities of landing at riverside 
 villages, visits to Burmese farms, and strolls through pictur- 
 esque markets or beneath the palms and tamarinds of coun- 
 try roads leading to mouldering pagodas and forgotten 
 shrines. The inhabitants of these verdant shores are true 
 " children of the river" the mystic flood which supplies 
 their wants and moulds their character, affording them an 
 " education of contact " with the outside world to soften 
 the crude asperity of mental isolation. The mother plunges 
 her little ones into the eddying waters so early that even in 
 helpless infancy they become amphibious as the croaking 
 frogs in the iris beds at the river's edge. Merry bathing 
 parties display their skill in diving, swimming, or fishing by 
 hand in the crystal depths ; and graceful girls, like brown
 
 151 THE IRRAWADDY 
 
 Naiads, disport themselves beneath the drooping boughs 
 which kiss the ripples of some sheltered creek fit for a 
 fairy's haunt. Parrots call from the trees, and kingfishers 
 flit across the shallows in flashes of emerald light. Luxuri- 
 ance of vegetation and depth of colour increase with every 
 hour of the downward voyage. Gold mohur and scarlet 
 cotton-tree dazzle the eye as they tower up into the burn- 
 ing blue of the tropical sky, and when the crescent moon 
 sinks beneath the horizon myriads of glittering fireflies sug- 
 gest, in the beautiful words of an Oriental poet, that " the 
 night is adrift with her stream of stars." 
 
 Thabetkein, the busy port of the ruby mines sixty miles 
 away ; Yandoon, the malodorous fish-curing town a la 
 mode de Burma^ which buries the native hors d' oeuvre to eat 
 it in decay ; and beautiful Prome, asleep in the moonlight, 
 are visited in turn, the character of the scenery changing as 
 the wide Delta opens up before the advancing steamer in 
 branching channels, like numerous rivers springing from 
 the parent Irrawaddy. Above us rises the sacred cliff of 
 Guadama, an ancient resort of religious pilgrimage, with 
 countless statues of Buddha carved to inaccessible heights 
 in the living rock. The romance of this watery world 
 turns over a new page on entering the great Bassein Creek, 
 the last stage of the thousand mile course. Elephants feed- 
 ing in the Jungle, and requiring a whole day for a full 
 meal, crash through the canes regardless of the passing 
 steamer. Peacocks drag their gorgeous trains over pink 
 river-grass and golden sands. Grey egrets preen their soft 
 plumage at the water's edge, and purple hornbills rest on 
 swaying palms. The Delta is alive with craft rice boats 
 and launches, cargo-boats and steamers. The barbaric 
 fenaw, with swelling sails and twenty oars ; the curving native
 
 THE IRRAWADDY 153 
 
 barge, and the graceful Sampans, flitting like brown-winged 
 moths across the stream. Boys, tattooed from head to 
 foot in elaborate patterns, descend side-creek and canal in 
 a rude dug-out the hollow tree which forms the primitive 
 boat and the green tunnels of foliage show houses of 
 plaited mats, raised on piles and reached by ladders. 
 
 Miles of malarious marsh have been reclaimed by Gov- 
 ernment from the new land ever silting up above the level of 
 the water, and forming the rich rice-fields of this alluvial 
 soil. Riverside towns and villages become more frequent 
 in the lower reaches, and miniature markets of country pro- 
 duce make patches of brilliant colour on the sandy shore. 
 Silken-clad girls, with flower-decked heads, sit beneath pink 
 and green umbrellas, shading piles of golden plantains and 
 pineapples. Bamboo stalls of curious lacquer-ware and 
 trays of clay Buddhas, packets of gold-leaf, and sheaves of 
 incense-sticks appeal to the religious instincts of pilgrims 
 bound for the Golden Pagoda of distant Rangoon. The 
 trade here, as elsewhere, is monopolized by the Burmese 
 women, though many pink-turbaned admirers lie on the 
 sand, smoking, flirting, and singing with the characteristic 
 dolce ar niente of masculine life. The long fresh-water 
 cruise floats us from wilderness to the sea, from dreamland 
 to reality. Rice-mills line the shores, ocean-going ships 
 rush towards the forest of masts encircling busy Rangoon, 
 and huge teak-rafts, floated down from distant woods, and 
 sometimes two years on the way, reach their moorings at 
 the Ahlone timber-yards. Elephants, working with mili- 
 tary precision, drag the giant trunks by chains from the 
 river's brink and pile them up with mathematical exact- 
 ness, pushing them with their heads until perfectly level. 
 Even commercial Burma can never be commonplace, for
 
 154 THE IRRAWADDY 
 
 beyond the motley throngs of the cosmopolitan port, the 
 golden spire of the Shway Dagon, queen of pagodas and goal 
 of the Irrawaddy voyager, idealizes the city clustering 
 round the sacred hill, and created by the central sanctuary 
 of Burma's ancient faith.
 
 THE CLYDE 
 
 ROBERT WALKER 
 
 GLASGOW and its river have acted and reacted the 
 one upon the other ; and the conditions of the 
 city's prosperity and well-being are indissolubly linked with 
 the stream that wanders down from the upland moors of 
 Lanarkshire, tumbling over precipices, meandering through 
 rich orchard grounds, flowing through the busy haunts of 
 men, until it widens into the noble estuary whose waves 
 reflect the peaks of Arran and wash round the rugged steeps 
 of Ailsa Craig. In its course the Clyde runs amid all 
 variety of scenery : moorland, pastoral, woodland. It is, 
 at one time, a shallow stream, humming over a pebbly bed 
 and glittering in the clear sunshine ; at another, a foul and 
 sullen mass of water, which the energy of man has turned 
 to good account in his commercial enterprises ; and then 
 again, a restless sea, whose white-crested waves break upon 
 the base of Highland hills. Through all its changes, it is 
 dear to the heart of every true Glasgovian. It has been a 
 source of untold wealth to the place of his birth, and most 
 of his happiest memories are connected with the sunny days 
 of leisure he has spent among its lochs and by its sand- 
 edged bays. Glasgow looks upon the Clyde as its own 
 special glory and possession ; it is proud of the manner in 
 which the resources of the river have been developed ; it is 
 prouder still of its many natural beauties familiar to its 
 citizens from their earliest youth, and an all-powerful at-
 
 156 THE CLYDE 
 
 traction for the strangers who are led to our shores by the 
 fame of its charms. 
 
 Glasgow, although it has many picturesque vistas within 
 its bounds which the ordinary business man, engrossed with 
 the cares of the Exchange, recks nothing of, is not, in itself, 
 a magnet to draw tourists who are simply in search of the 
 picturesque. Edinburgh, among Scottish cities, is, from its 
 own natural beauty, the cynosure of neighbouring and far- 
 away eyes. But Glasgow has the Clyde ; and the Clyde, 
 notwithstanding the advantages of the Callander and Oban 
 Railway, is still the pleasantest and most picturesque gate- 
 way and avenue to the West Highlands, where tourists 
 rightly love to congregate. 
 
 The practical energy and shrewdness of the Glasgow 
 people early turned to the best advantage the inducements 
 the Frith of Clyde offered to the thousands who were anx- 
 ious for " change of air," and on the outlook for summer 
 resorts. In no district of our island are travelling facilities 
 greater and travelling cheaper than on the Clyde. A 
 wonderful change has taken place since 1812, when the 
 Cornet^ the pioneer boat of a vast fleet of steamers, began to 
 sail between Glasgow, Greenock and Helensburgh. Out 
 of the Comet, with its forty-two feet of length, has been 
 evolved what is generally regarded as the premier boat on 
 the river, Mr. MacBrayne's Columba, which carries the 
 tourist-flocks from Glasgow to Ardrishaig, whence Mr. 
 MacBrayne's West Highland service is continued through 
 the Crinan Canal. 
 
 The Columba starts on her journey at seven o'clock in 
 the morning, and as she threads her way down the busy 
 river-channel, the passengers can note the stir and bustle 
 of the wharves, and the evidences in ever-extending docks
 
 THE CLYDE 157 
 
 and quayage, the dredgers and divers, of the indefatigable 
 energy and well-directed skill of the Clyde Trustees, that 
 have turned a shallow meandering stream into a highway 
 for the largest ships that float. Down past the building 
 yards with their clanging hammers and great ships " of 
 iron framed," past what were once ,the cheerful rural 
 villages of Govan and Partick, now the grimy hives of 
 busy human bees, we steam, leaving behind us the ancient 
 royal burgh of Renfrew and the mouth of the Cart, and 
 come in view of Bowling and the Kilpatrick Hills, among 
 which the patron saint of Ireland is said to have first seen 
 the light. The river here broadens into something like an 
 inland lake and the landscape grows decidedly picturesque. 
 This has been a favourite subject for many Scottish land- 
 scape painters Nasmyth, McCulloch and Bough among 
 the rest. There is a wide stretch of view and the hills 
 near and distant the first glimpse we have yet had of the 
 beginning of the Highlands give to it dignity and variety. 
 To the water, studded with craft of all rigs, Dalnottar 
 Hill, Dunglass (where stands the monument to Bell, who 
 introduced steam navigation to the Clyde), Dumbuck Hill 
 and the mass of Dumbarton Castle, are effective back- 
 ground and setting. 
 
 At the Tail of the Bank, as the anchorage off Greenock 
 is called, lie a motley crowd of craft : bluff-bowed timber 
 ships, smart Australian clippers, handsome steam vessels 
 of the various lines to America, gaily-painted foreign ships, 
 and in the midst of them, an embodiment of power and 
 authority, rides the guardship, a formidable ironclad. 
 
 The steamer at Greenock gathers passengers who have 
 come down from Glasgow by rail, and she takes in more 
 at Gourock, to which the Caledonian Company now run
 
 158 THE CLYDE 
 
 trains. The old Gourock pier, dear from its fishing as- 
 sociations to the hearts of many generations of Glasgow 
 boys, is now completely altered j a fine quay front has been 
 put up and a handsome station erected. Gourock is one 
 of the oldest of the Clyde watering-places ; in its day it 
 was fashionable and thought to be pretty far removed from 
 the giddy world ; now it is the resort of the cheap-tripper, 
 and has about its houses something of a second-rate 
 look. 
 
 The view of the Frith from both Greenock and 
 Gourock piers is one of great extent and beauty. Oppo- 
 site, rise in the background range after range of hills, the 
 fantastic ridges of " Argyle's Bowling-green," the Cobbler, 
 the Black Hill of Kilmun, the steeps around Glen Messan, 
 and stealing between these mountain masses are the lochs 
 that are among the chief charms of the district. We have 
 fronting us the entrances to the Gareloch, Loch Long and 
 the Holy Loch, with wooded Roseneath and a white 
 stretch along the shore of cottages and little towns. If we 
 can only secure a day when the waves glitter in the sun 
 and the fleecy clouds fleck the hillsides with alternate 
 lights and shadows, then we need scarcely wish for a fairer 
 scene. 
 
 Glasgow men are enthusiastic yachtsmen, and the re- 
 gattas, the opening cruises and closing cruises of the 
 various clubs are among the chief galas of the westcoast 
 season. Our yachts and their builders such as Watson 
 and Fife our skippers and our crews, are famous all the 
 world over. The " white wings " spot the Frith at every 
 turn, and there are few prettier sights than one of these 
 Clyde greyhounds, bursting through the water under a 
 cloud of canvas, with her lee-rail well buried in the sea.
 
 THE CLYDE 159 
 
 Down the Cowal shore the steamer slips and the long 
 belt of houses and villas that extends from Hunter's Quay 
 to Innellan once all a lonely shore is left behind, and 
 we round Toward Point and its lighthouse into Rothsay 
 Bay. This bay, with its environment of hills, is one of 
 the choice bits on the Clyde ; the natives all declare it to 
 be finer than the Bay of Naples. Few Rothsay men have 
 been at Naples. When a yacht club holds a regatta here, 
 and the boats cluster at anchor off Rothsay and there are 
 fireworks and illuminations, there is no livelier place than 
 this same bay. 
 
 The town itself is beautifully situated, but looks best at 
 a distance. From Barone Hill, at the back, a fine view 
 can be obtained of the panorama of the bay. Rothsay 
 has a long history : it is a royal burgh, and like Renfrew, 
 gives a title to the Prince of Wales. Its chief glory is its 
 ruined castle, over which Norsemen and Scots, Bruces and 
 Baliols, have fought and murdered one another. Old 
 memories and traditions cluster as thick round it as the 
 ivy on its walls. 
 
 Leaving Rothsay, we sail into the Kyles of Bute, a 
 narrow passage between the island and the mainland. 
 The wonder is how the steamer can thread its way through 
 the twisting, twining channel, that appears hardly broad 
 enough for the Columba's paddle-wheels. Now and 
 again it almost seems as if we should run ashore from 
 the sharpness of the turns. The Kyles are full of quiet 
 beauty. As we look at the little hamlets sheltered under 
 the wooded hills, they seem so out of the world and so re- 
 mote from the common cares that burden humanity, that 
 we wonder can ordinary sins and sorrows ever disturb 
 there the calm routine of life. The evening hour is the
 
 160 THE CLYDE 
 
 hour of enchantment, when your boat gently drifts on the 
 slow heaving water. The voices on the shore seem to 
 reach you through a muffled and mysterious air ; the opales- 
 cent light in the sky is reflected from the waves that lap 
 against the boat ; sweet scents are wafted from the hill- 
 sides that loom solemn in the gathering darkness ; earth's 
 uneasy passions are at rest ; for the young, it is a pleasant 
 pause in the hurly-burly ; for those who are growing old, 
 it is the time of memories and regrets. 
 
 It is the garish light of day now, and with a long gaze at 
 the rugged mist-wreathed peaks of Arran, we round Ardla- 
 mont Point and, away to the left, meet the sparkling waters 
 and fresh breezes of Loch Fyne. 
 
 Tarbert, our first stoppage after the ferry at Ardlamont, 
 is one of the most noted fishing-villages in the west of 
 Scotland. The entrance to East Loch Tarbert, at which 
 the steamer calls, is exceedingly picturesque, and the dis- 
 trict, with its brown sails and its brawny fishermen, is one 
 much beloved of artists. Henry Moore, Colin Hunter, 
 David Murray, among the rest, have turned its beauties to 
 great use. Tarbert is the great centre of the trawl (or 
 seine) net fishing, which in Loch Fyne, after much dis- 
 cussion and many bickerings, has practically superseded in 
 the Loch the old drift-net method. Trawl boats work in 
 pairs with four men and a boy in each boat. Tarbert sends 
 out between eighty and ninety boats, and an exceptionally 
 good night's catch for a pair of trawls is about four or five 
 hundred boxes each box containing, depending on the 
 size of the herring, from three to five hundred fish. The 
 men are sturdy, fine-looking fellows and are fishermen 
 proper, as distinguished from the half crofter, half- fisher- 
 men of the farther North-west Highlands. The fishing-
 
 THE CLYDE l6l 
 
 fleet going out before sundown is, on a good evening, the 
 sight of Tarbert, the brown sails and the yellow-brown 
 boats glancing in the golden light, as they rush and 
 hum through the clear blue-grey water. Tarbert itself, 
 which lies principally round the inner harbour, is not a par- 
 ticularly inviting place it smells generally strongly of 
 herrings but the hills around it are very pleasant to ramble 
 over, and the walk to West Loch Tarbert leads through 
 delightful highland country. There is a ruined castle here, 
 which dominates the harbour and is redolent of memories 
 of Robert the Bruce, the builder of the castle in 1325. 
 The narrow isthmus that separates the East from the West 
 Loch has been more than once surmounted by invading 
 Norsemen and other bold buccaneers, who dragged their 
 boats overland. Sir Walter Scott makes use of this fact in 
 The Lord of the Isles. 
 
 At Ardrishaig, six miles beyond Tarbert and on the 
 west side of Loch Gilp, the outward run of the Columba 
 ends, and passengers for the West Highlands tranship to 
 the Linnet, in order to be conveyed through the Crinan 
 Canal.
 
 THE VOLGA 
 
 ELISEE RECLUS 
 
 THE rivulet which, at its farthest source, takes the 
 name of Volga, rises not in a highland region, but 
 in the midst of lakes, marshes and low wooded hills, little 
 elevated above the Volkosniky Les (" Volkon Forest ") and 
 Valdai plateau, which may be taken as the true source of 
 the stream. The highest ridges of the Valdai' scarcely rise 
 220 feet above the plateau, although the chief crest, the 
 Popova Gora, attains an altitude of 1,170 feet. The mean 
 elevation of the land is also sufficient to give it a far more 
 severe aspect than that of the Lovat and Lake Ilmen plains 
 on the north-west. Its peat beds, lakes and fir forests are 
 more suggestive of the neighbourhood of Lake Onega, 
 some 300 miles farther north, and the climate is, in fact, 
 about two degrees colder than in the surrounding districts. 
 Yet the Valdai flora differs on the whole but little, if at all, 
 from that of the plains stretching towards the great lakes, 
 whence it has been concluded that these heights are of 
 comparatively recent origin. They have no indigenous 
 vegetation, all their species coming from the region re- 
 leased from its icy fetters at the close of the long glacial 
 epoch. The plateau, now furrowed by rain and frost, 
 formed at that time a continuation of the uniform slope of 
 the land, and like it, was covered by the ice-fields from 
 Finland. The fish of its lakes, and even of the Upper 
 Volga itself, do not belong to the Volga basin proper, which
 
 THE VOLGA 163 
 
 the Valdai streams seem to have only recently joined. To 
 judge from their fauna, the true origin of the Volga 
 should be sought, not in the Valdai, but in Lake Belo 
 Ozero (" White Lake "), east of Lagoda. The sturgeon 
 and sterlet inhabit the Shesksna, the outlet of this lake, as 
 they do in the middle Volga itself. The region giving 
 birth to the Volga is one of the swampiest in West Russia, 
 resembling a lowland tract rather than a true water-parting. 
 Separated by a simple peat bed from a tributary of the 
 Volkhov, the streamlet rising in the Volgino Verkhovye, 
 and sometimes called the Jordan from its sacred character, 
 flows from a spot now marked by the ruins of a chapel, 
 thence oozing rather than flowing from bog to bog for a 
 distance of about twenty-two miles, when it successively 
 traverses three terraced lakes, whose levels differ only a few 
 inches from the other. The Jukopa, one of the southern 
 affluents, often causes a back flow to Lake Peno near its 
 course, the natural fall being so slight that the impulse of a 
 lateral current suffices to reverse it. After leaving Lake 
 Peno, which is close to Lake Dvinetz, source of the 
 Dvina, the Volga turns eastward to Lake Volgo, where it 
 is already a considerable stream, with a volume of from 
 3,500 to 3,600 cubic feet per second, according to the sea- 
 sons. Three miles farther down occurs its first rapid, 
 where a dam has now been constructed, which during the 
 rains converts the upper valley, with its lakes, into one vast 
 reservoir forty-eight miles long, over one mile wide, and 
 containing 6,300,000 cubic feet of water. Boats and rafts 
 are then able to descend from the lake region, and higher 
 up the river becomes regularly navigable. Near this point 
 the Volga is nearly doubled by the Selijarovka from the 
 winding Lake Seligen, whose insular monastery of St.
 
 164 THE VOLGA 
 
 Nilus is still visited yearly by about 20,000 pilgrims. Here 
 may be said to begin the commercial stream, the Ra, Rhas, 
 or Rhos of the ancients and of the Mordvinians, the Yul 
 of the Cheremissiams, the Atel or Etil of the Tatars, the 
 Tamar of the Armenians that is in these languages, the 
 " River " and in Finnish the Volga, or the " Holy 
 River." 
 
 Below the Selijarovka it descends the slopes of the plateau 
 through a series of thirty-five porogi, or rapids, which, how- 
 ever, do not stop the navigation, and beyond the last of the 
 series it winds unimpeded through the great Russian low- 
 lands, receiving numerous navigable tributaries, and com- 
 municating by canal with the Baltic basin. After passing the 
 populous towns of Tver, Ribinsk, Yaroslav, and Kostroma, 
 it is joined at Niji-Novgorod by the Oka, of nearly equal 
 volume, and historically even more important than the main 
 stream. The Oka, which long served as the frontier be- 
 tween Tartar and Muscovite, rises in the region of the 
 " black lands " and throughout a course of 900 miles waters 
 the most fertile plains of Great Russia, bringing to the Nijni 
 fair the produce of Orol, Kaluga, Tula, Riazan, Tambov, 
 Vladimir, and Moscow. Over 1,440 yards broad, it seems 
 like an arm of the sea at its confluence with the Volga. 
 East of this point the main artery is swollen by other tribu- 
 taries, which, though as large as the Seine, seem insignifi- 
 cant compared with the mighty Kama, joining it below 
 Kazan from the Urals, and draining an area at least equal 
 in extent to the whole of France. Judging from the direc- 
 tion of its course, the Kama seems to be the main stream, 
 for below the junction the united rivers continue the south- 
 erly and south-westerly course of the Kama, whose clear 
 waters flow for some distance before intermingling with the
 
 THE VOLGA 165 
 
 grey stream of the Volga. Below Simbirsk the tributaries 
 are few and unimportant, and as the rainfall is here also 
 slight, and the evaporation considerable, the mean discharge 
 is probably as great at this place as at the delta. 
 
 Below the Kama junction there formerly existed a vast 
 lacustrine basin, which has been gradually filled in by the 
 alluvia of both streams. Here is the natural limit of the 
 peat region, and here begins, on the right bank, that of the 
 steppes. As we proceed southwards the atmosphere be- 
 comes less humid, the ground firmer, and below Simbirsk 
 we no longer meet those mossy and wooded quagmires 
 bound together by the tangled roots of trees, resembling 
 matted cordage. But even in the boggy districts those 
 floating forests are slowly disappearing as the land is brought 
 more and more under cultivation. 
 
 Below the dried- up Simbirsk Lake the stream is deflected 
 by an impassable limestone barrier eastwards to Samara, 
 where it escapes through a breach and reverses its course 
 along the southern escarpment of the hills, thus forming a 
 long narrow peninsula projecting from the western plateau. 
 Here is the most picturesque scenery on the Volga, which 
 is now skirted by steep wooded cliffs, terminating in pyra- 
 mids and sharp rocky peaks. Some of the more inaccessible 
 summits are surmounted by the so-called " Stenka " Kur- 
 gans, raised in memory of Razin, Chief of the Cossacks and 
 revolted peasantry, who had established themselves in this 
 natural stronghold of the Volga. The hills often rise more 
 than 300 feet above the stream, the Beliy Kluch, south- 
 west of Sizran, attaining an absolute elevation of 1,155 
 feet or 1, 120 feet above the mean level of the Volga. 
 
 The region of the delta really begins at the Tzaritzin 
 bend, some 300 miles from the Caspian, for the stream
 
 1 66 THE VOLGA 
 
 here branches into countless channels between the beds of 
 the Volga and the Akhtuba, known near the coast as the 
 Bereket. Still the delta, properly so called, is formed only 
 about thirty miles above Astrakhan, by the forking of the 
 Buzan branch from the main bed. Near Astrakhan the 
 Belda and Kutum, and, lower down, the Tzarova, Tzagan, 
 Birul, and other arms, break away, and in the vast alluvial 
 peninsula projecting into the Caspian, and which is at least 
 no miles round, there are altogether about two hundred 
 mouths, most of them, however, shifting streams choked 
 with mud. During the spring floods all the delta and lower 
 courses below Tzaritzin form one vast body of moving 
 waters, broken only by a few islands here and there, and 
 after each of these floods new beds are formed, old ones 
 filled up, so that the chart of the delta has to be constantly 
 planned afresh. Two hundred years ago the navigable 
 channel flowed due east from Astrakhan : since then it has 
 shifted continually more to the right and now runs south- 
 south-west. 
 
 Without including the shorter windings, the Volga has a 
 total length of 2,230 miles, presenting with its tributaries, 
 about 7,200 miles of navigable waters. From the sources 
 of the Kama to the delta, these waters cross sixteen paral- 
 lels of latitude, and nine isothermal degrees, so that while 
 the mean annual temperature of the region is at freezing 
 point, it oscillates about 9 in the delta. At Astrakhan the 
 Volga is frozen for about ninety-eight days, and at Kazan 
 for one hundred and fifty-two, while the Kama is ice-bound 
 for six months at the junction of the Chusovaya above 
 Perm. The rainfall of the basin is about sixteen inches, 
 which would give 700,000 cubic feet per second, were all 
 the moisture to be carried off by the bed of the Volga.
 
 THE VOLGA 167 
 
 But much is absorbed by vegetation in the forests and 
 steppes and in the latter region direct evaporation may 
 dissipate about forty inches during the year in tracts fully 
 exposed to the winds. 
 
 Altogether about three-fourths of the rainfall are thus 
 lost en route, and preliminary estimates have determined the 
 mean discharge at about 203,000 cubic feet, which is less 
 than two-thirds of that of the Danube, draining an area 
 scarcely half as large as that of the Russian River. 
 
 The volume of water discharged by the Volga, which is 
 at least equal to that of all the other influents of the Caspian 
 together, is sufficient to exercise a considerable influence on 
 the level of the sea. Thus the floods of 1867, the heaviest 
 that had occurred for forty years, raised it by more than 
 two feet, the abnormal excess representing 9,600 billions 
 of cubic feet, or about three times the volume of the Lake 
 of Geneva. On the other hand, the delta steadily en- 
 croaches on the sea, though at a rate which it is almost impos- 
 sible to determine. The sedimentary matter held in solution, 
 estimated by Mrczkovski at about the two-thousandth part 
 of the fluid, continues to form islands and sand-banks, 
 while generally raising the bed of the sea round the face of 
 the delta. 
 
 The Volga abounds in fish, and the fishing industry sup- 
 ports a large number of hands. Its lower reaches espe- 
 cially form for the whole of Russia a vast reservoir of food, 
 varying with the seasons, and yielding large quantities even 
 in winter by means of holes broken in the ice at certain 
 intervals. 
 
 On the islands of the delta are numerous stations where 
 the fish is cut up, and the roe prepared to be converted into 
 fresh and salt caviar. The bieluga and the sterlet, both of
 
 168 THE VOLGA 
 
 the sturgeon family, attain the greatest size, and are the 
 most highly esteemed, but their number seems to have di- 
 minished since the appearance of the steamboat in these 
 waters.
 
 THE CONGO 
 
 J. HOWARD REED 
 
 THE Congo is not only the largest river of the " Dark 
 Continent," but is second only in point of size and 
 volume to the majestic Amazon of South America. It 
 may, therefore, truly be called the largest river of the Old 
 World. 
 
 On referring to the latest maps of Africa we find that 
 the most distant source of the Congo is to be found in the 
 River Chambeze, which rises about midway between the 
 south end of Lake Tanganyika and the north end of 
 Lake Nyasa, at a height of 4,750 feet above the level of 
 the sea. Taking a south-westerly course, this stream flows 
 for some 250 miles, until it reaches a huge depression, 
 where it forms a lake, known to the natives by the name 
 Bangweolo. This lake is about 115 miles long by from 
 forty to sixty miles wide, with an area of from 6,000 to 
 7,000 square miles. At the south-west corner of Bang- 
 weolo the river emerges, having a width equal to that of 
 the Thames at London Bridge, and flows northward under 
 the name of Luapula. About 200 miles further to the 
 north Lake Moero, with an area of about 3,500 square 
 miles, is reached. From the north end of this lake the river 
 again issues, flowing away generally in a northward direc- 
 tion. 
 
 At a point about 200 miles from Lake Moero the river, 
 known from the lake to this point as the Luwa, is joined
 
 IJO THE CONGO 
 
 by another stream of much larger size, which rises some 
 500 miles to the south-west, and is known as the Lualaba. 
 Both these branches of the main river, from their sources to 
 this point, have, of course, had their volumes greatly in- 
 creased by the innumerable tributary streams flowing into 
 them from the hills and highlands on either side. The 
 two great rivers are now united into one majestic stream, 
 which, bearing the name of Lualaba, continues its flow in 
 a north-north-westerly direction. A little above the point of 
 junction the river receives, on its eastern side, the Lukuga 
 River, which drains the surplus waters of Lake Tanganyika 
 and its tributaries, and augments the mighty volume of the 
 main river. 
 
 When we remember that Lake Tanganyika is 400 miles 
 long, from twenty to forty miles broad, has an area of 
 12,650 square miles, and is fed by tributaries which drain 
 about 70,000 square miles of country, we can form some 
 idea of the enormous body of water which is added to the 
 main stream by the Lukuga River. 
 
 About 100 miles to the north of where the Lukuga joins 
 the Lualaba, namely, at the Arab settlement of Nyangwe, 
 the main river is more than a mile wide, with a volume and 
 velocity, according to Stanley, of 230,000 cubit feet of 
 water per second. About 300 miles to the north of 
 Nyangwe are to be found the Stanley Falls, where the 
 river, augmented by the discharged waters of a number of 
 important tributary streams, dashes itself madly down a 
 series of wild rapids and terrible cataracts. These falls ex- 
 tend for a distance of from sixty to seventy miles. From 
 this point the majestic river begins to turn slightly to the 
 westward, and, continuing its course first north-west, then 
 west, and finally south-west in the form of a gigantic
 
 COPYRIGHT BY UNDERWOOD & UNDERWOOD, N. Y. 
 
 THE CONGO
 
 THE CONGO 171 
 
 horseshoe reaches, after a thousand miles' uninterrupted 
 flow, the open expanse of Stanley Pool. Between Stanley 
 Falls and Stanley Pool the volume of the great river is still 
 further increased by the addition of the waters of a great 
 number of large tributary streams, many of which are 
 themselves extensive rivers, draining many thousands of 
 square miles of territory, and navigable for several hundred 
 miles. 
 
 Among the great tributaries should be mentioned specially 
 the following ; the Aruwimi, noted as the scene of the ter- 
 rible sufferings of the famous Emin Pasha relief expedition ; 
 the Ubangi, or Welle-Makua, which is itself a mighty river, 
 rising away in the " Heart of Africa," and flowing some 
 1,200 miles before it joins the main stream. On the south 
 bank may be named the Lubilash or Boloko, navigable for 
 200 miles ; the Lulongo, with its branches the Lopori and 
 Maringa navigated for 500 miles by the Rev. George 
 Grenfell ; the Chuapa, with its branch, the Busera, up which 
 Mr. Grenfell has also steamed some 500 miles. To these 
 may be added the Kwa, which with its tributaries the 
 Lukenye, the Kasai, the Sankurn, the Kwango, and a 
 number of others adds enormously to the volume of 
 the Congo, and affords some 1,500 miles of navigable 
 water. 
 
 The great river from Stanley Falls to Stanley Pool has 
 an average width of some five miles, but in places it reaches 
 as much as sixteen miles wide, and is split up into separate 
 channels by large islands, with which its bosom is studded. 
 After passing through Stanley Pool the river ceases to be 
 navigable for about 235 miles except for one comparatively 
 short break of eighty miles owing to the angry cataracts 
 known as the Livingstone Falls. Below the falls the river
 
 172 THE CONGO 
 
 again becomes navigable to the Atlantic Ocean, some no 
 miles distant. 
 
 The majestic river rushes with such an enormous vol- 
 ume into the open ocean that, for many miles out at sea, 
 its stream can be distinctly traced, and its waters remain 
 fresh, refusing for a long time to become contaminated by 
 the salt of the mighty waste of waters. 
 
 The main river and its tributaries have already been ex- 
 plored for at least 11,000 miles. This, of course, gives a 
 length of river banks of no less than 22,000 miles. It can 
 be better grasped what this means when we remember that 
 the whole coast-line of Europe, following every indentation 
 of the shore from the most northern point of Norway to 
 the spot in the Black Sea where the Caucasus Mountains 
 separate Europe from Asia is only 17,000 miles, or 5,000 
 miles less than the total length of river banks past 
 which the mighty Congo continually sweeps. To give 
 another illustration, I may remind you that the circumfer- 
 ence of the globe on which we live is 24,000 miles. So 
 that the length of the banks of the Congo so far as they 
 are at present known only falls some 2,000 miles short of 
 the total girth of our planet. When the great river be- 
 comes more completely known the extent of the river's 
 banks may probably be found to equal, and very possibly to 
 exceed, the earth's circumference. 
 
 The total length of the main river omitting the 
 branches from source to mouth is close upon three thou- 
 sand miles, equal to the distance from Liverpool to New 
 York. 
 
 The area of territory drained is something over 1,500,000 
 square miles, or equal, roughly speaking, to about one- 
 eight of the whole continent of Africa. It exceeds the
 
 THE CONGO 173 
 
 total area of India by 200,000 square miles, and would 
 only be equalled by thirty-two Englands. It is needless 
 to quote further figures in order to impress upon us the 
 enormous extent and importance of Africa's greatest water- 
 way. 
 
 The wide-spreading arms of the Congo reach themselves 
 out on all sides to such a distance and extent that the re- 
 mote headwaters, or fountains, overlap and almost inter- 
 mingle with the streams which contribute their waters to 
 the other great rivers of the continent. On the north-west 
 we find some of the early streams flowing almost from the 
 same sources which supply tributaries of the Niger and 
 the Shari. In the north-east we find the remote tribu- 
 taries of the Welle-Makua almost touching those of the 
 Bahr-el-Ghazal, which helps to swell the Nile. The head- 
 waters of the Aruwimi, again, flow from within a few 
 minutes' walk of where a view can be obtained of the 
 Albert Lake, also belonging to the Nile system. The 
 Malagarazi River, which flows into Lake Tanganyika, and 
 so finds its way to the Congo, rises in the same hills which 
 gave birth to the Alexandra Nile, a western affluent to 
 Lake Victoria. We find, also, many of the great tribu- 
 taries on the southern bank of the Congo flow from high- 
 lands which also pay tribute to streams flowing to the 
 Zambezi. 
 
 In comparison with the historic tales the Nile and Niger 
 have to tell us, the story of the Congo is only very modern. 
 The early history of the great river is very meagre indeed, 
 and we search the ancient classics in vain for any mention 
 of even its existence. 
 
 The river was, and is to this day, known to the Portu- 
 guese as the Zaire, but the actual meaning of the word is
 
 174 THE CONGO 
 
 doubtful. Some consider it to simply mean river. The 
 country through which the great river flows was known to 
 the Portuguese as the kingdom of the Congo. The Zaire, 
 therefore, appeared upon the early Portuguese maps as Rio 
 de Congo, which, when translated, became, of course, on 
 English maps, River of Congo, and finally simply Congo, 
 as we now know it. 
 
 Although the mouth of the Congo was discovered by the 
 Portuguese over four hundred years ago, very little was 
 known of the geography of the river itself until our own 
 century. Jesuit missionaries certainly settled in the 
 kingdom of the Congo, and they doubtless collected much 
 information from the native travellers regarding the geog- 
 raphy of the interior. 
 
 The English geographer, Peter Heylyn, writing in 1657, 
 speaks of the Zaire, or River of Congo, rising in Lake 
 Zembre. After naming the rivers of the Country of 
 Congo, he goes on to say : " This last (the Zaire), the 
 greatest of them all, if not of all Africk also : Of which, 
 though we have spoke already, we shall add this here, that 
 it falleth into the JEth'iopic Sea with so great violence, that 
 for ten miles commonly, for fifteen sometimes, the Waters 
 of it do retain their natural sweetness : not intermingled 
 nor corrupted with the Salt Sea-water : Nor can the people 
 sail above five miles against the stream of the cataracts, 
 or huge falls which it hath from the Mountains ; more 
 terrible and turbulent than those of the Nile." 
 
 The great discoveries connected with the Congo have 
 been in almost all cases the result of inquiries set on foot 
 for other purposes, and not the outcome of direct research. 
 This is especially the case with regard to the long and 
 tedious wanderings of Dr. Livingstone, between the years
 
 THE CONGO 175 
 
 1866 and 1873, which terminated only in' his death in the 
 latter year. When Livingstone started upon his last and 
 greatest expedition in 1866, it was with the idea of clearing 
 up certain doubtful points connected with Lakes Tangan- 
 yika and Nyasa, and of establishing, if possible, the 
 southern limit of the Nile watershed. He had no inten- 
 tion of working at the Congo at all, and, in fact, remarks 
 in his journal, in a half jocular manner, that he had no 
 desire to become " blackman's meat " for anything less than 
 the Nile. 
 
 Stanley's great journey from Nyangwe to Boma made 
 known, of course, only the main stream of the river, but 
 it opened the way, and from that day down to the present 
 a whole legion of travellers, both British and European, 
 have devoted themselves to the filling in of the details. 
 The great traveller himself shortly after discovered lakes 
 Leopold II. and Mantumba; and so recently as 1887 ex- 
 plored the great Aruwimi territory, following it to its 
 source in the neighbourhood of the Albert Lake, when 
 engaged in his last great journey through " Darkest 
 Africa." 
 
 The Nineteenth Century has been what we may call 
 the age of discovery, so far as the Congo is concerned. 
 The geography of the river is now fairly well known, the 
 discoveries of the past twenty years having undoubtedly 
 transcended all possible expectations or even conceptions. 
 The next century will in all probability be one of Congo 
 commerce and Congo engineering. Already we find a 
 railway some 250 miles in length, in course of con- 
 struction, which, when completed, will overcome the 
 natural difficulties of transport in the neighbourhood of 
 the Livingstone Falls, and throw open to the world the
 
 176 THE CONGO 
 
 mighty natural highway to the heart of the Continent. 
 Already we find, in spite of the difficulties of the cataract 
 region, that some thirty odd steamers are daily ploughing 
 their way up and down the Congo's giant stream. Thus 
 has the great river begun the work of bearing the naturally 
 rich products of the Congo basin to the coast, and of 
 carrying the return commodities into the interior. 
 
 The work of the explorer, the trader, and the mission- 
 ary is already beginning to bear fruit. In their wake will 
 follow civilization, commerce and Christianity. Cities 
 centres of industry and light will be founded, and in due 
 time the peoples of the " Heart of Africa " will take their 
 place in the progress of the world.
 
 THE MACKENZIE RIVER 
 
 WILLIAM OGILVIE 
 
 TTORT McPHERSON stands on a high bank of gravel 
 JL and slate, on the east side of the Peel River, about 
 fourteen miles above the point where it divides and joins 
 the Mackenzie delta, which is common to both rivers. 
 The height of this bank rapidly decreases towards the 
 mouth of the river, where it almost entirely disappears. 
 The country surrounding has evidently at one time been 
 a part of the Arctic Ocean which has been gradually filled 
 up with alluvial deposits brought down by the two rivers. 
 
 On this rich soil, the timber, mostly spruce, with some 
 tamarack, birch and poplar, is, for the latitude, very large. 
 When I arrived at Fort McPherson, on the 2Oth of June, 
 the new buds on the trees were just perceptible, and on the 
 evening of the 22d, when I left, the trees were almost fully 
 in leaf. 
 
 Between Peel River and the Mackenzie about two-thirds 
 of the channel in the delta averages more than a quarter of 
 a mile wide ; the remainder about one hundred yards. All 
 of it was deep when I passed through, and the Hudson's 
 Bay Company's steamer, Wrigley, drawing five feet of 
 water, finds no difficulty in navigating it. The banks do 
 not rise more than ten or fifteen feet above the water, and 
 the current is continually wearing away the soft deposit and 
 carrying it down to the lower part of the delta and to the 
 Arctic Ocean.
 
 178 THE MACKENZIE RIVER 
 
 Where we enter the Mackenzie proper, the channel is 
 three-fourths of a mile wide, but it is only one of four, 
 there being three large islands at this point. The whole 
 width of the river cannot be less than three or four miles. 
 Looking northward, down the westerly channel, the view 
 is bounded by the sky, and widens in the distance so that 
 one can fancy he is looking out to sea. 
 
 A north wind raises quite a swell here, and the salty odour 
 of the sea air is plainly perceptible above the delta. The 
 banks continue low, and the country flat on both sides of 
 the river, for some nine or ten miles above the islands. 
 The shore on the east side is sloping, while that on the 
 west is generally perpendicular, showing the action of the 
 current, which is wearing into and carrying away portions 
 of it. This form of bank changes into steep shale rock on 
 both sides, gradually increasing in height as far as the Nar- 
 rows, where they are probably one hundred and fifty feet 
 above the water. 
 
 On the Mackenzie I did not stay long enough to learn 
 much about the Indians in the district, nor did I see many 
 of them. While we were in the delta, nine large boats 
 loaded with Esquimaux from the coast passed us on the 
 way up to Fort McPherson to do their trading for the sea- 
 son, in one of which I noticed a young woman devouring 
 a raw musk-rat with evident relish. These people come 
 up from the coast in " skin " boats, called oumiaks^ made, 
 it is said, of whale skin put round a wood frame. These 
 boats present a very neat appearance, and are capable of car- 
 rying about two tons each. Whale oil is one of the princi- 
 pal articles which they bring in for sale. 
 
 A few miles above the Narrows the banks change from 
 rock to clay and gravel, and continue generally steep and
 
 THE MACKENZIE RIVER 179 
 
 high as far as Fort Good Hope. In a few places the bank 
 recedes from the river for a short distance, forming a low 
 flat, on ' which generally grows some fair spruce timber. 
 No rivers of importance flow into the Mackenzie between 
 Red and Hare Indian Rivers. One hundred and thirty 
 miles further on, Loon River enters from the east, and, 
 twenty miles above this Hare Indian River also enters from 
 the same side. The Indians report that Hare Indian River 
 rises in a range of hills on the north-west side of Great 
 Bear Lake, but about its navigability I could learn nothing. 
 
 We reached Fort Good Hope on Saturday, the 24th of 
 July, and remained over Sunday. The Fort is built on the 
 east side of the Mackenzie, about two miles above Hare 
 Indian River, and two below the " Ramparts." The Hud- 
 son's Bay Company has quite a large establishment at this 
 point, consisting of half a dozen houses and some stables. 
 The Roman Catholic Church has a flourishing mission 
 here, and the church is said to possess one of the best fin- 
 ished interiors in the country. 
 
 Two miles above the Fort we enter what is known in 
 the vicinity as the " Ramparts," though in the more 
 south-westerly it would be called a "Cafion." Here, 
 for a distance of seven miles, the river runs perpendicular 
 and occasionally over hanging walls of rock. At the lower 
 end they rise one hundred and fifty feet above the water. 
 But their height decreases as we near the upper end, at 
 which point they are not more than fifty or sixty feet. 
 The river, at the lower end of the " Ramparts," is nearly a 
 mile wide, but its walls gradually converge until, about 
 three miles up, the width is not more than half a mile, and 
 this continues to the end. Sir Alexander Mackenzie, when 
 passing through, sounded at its upper end, and found three
 
 l8o THE MACKENZIE RIVER 
 
 hundred feet of water, which accounts for the fact that 
 although the Canon is so narrow the current is not per- 
 ceptibly increased. 
 
 When Mackenzie discovered and explored this river in 
 1789, he met some Indians a short distance above this 
 place. After confidence had been established by means of 
 presents, he prepared to start onward; and, although his 
 newly-made friends told him there was great danger 
 ahead in the form of a rapid or cataract which would swal- 
 low him and his party without fail, he continued, the Indi- 
 ans following and warning him of his danger. He advanced 
 cautiously into the " Ramparts," but could hear or see 
 nothing to verify their statements. At last, when through, 
 they admitted that the only bad weather to be encountered 
 was now passed, but that behind the island just below was 
 a bad spirit or monster which would devour the whole 
 party : failing there, the next island below would surely 
 reveal him. 
 
 From this incident the two islands have received the 
 names of Upper and Lower Manitou, respectively. 
 
 Forty-eight miles from Fort Good Hope, Sans Sault 
 Rapid is reached. It is caused by a ledge of rocks extend- 
 ing partially across the river. 
 
 A ridge of hills here extend beyond the river from the 
 Rocky Mountains, occasional glimpses of which can be 
 caught from the water. 
 
 Just above this the Mackenzie turns sharply to the east 
 from its southerly course, and skirts the base of the moun- 
 tains for six miles. Its course then curves a little to the 
 south, when, what might be termed a canon, is entered, 
 which extends for nine or ten miles. The river here aver- 
 ages a mile in width, and is walled on both sides by perpen-
 
 THE MACKENZIE RIVER l8l 
 
 dicular limestone cliffs, rising from one to two hundred feet 
 above the water. On the south side, this wall terminates 
 in what is known as " Wolverine Rock," which rises per- 
 pendicularly from the water to a height of three hundred 
 feet. The formation is limestone, the strata of which 
 stand almost on edge, and the water has worn through them 
 in several places, so that one can sail underneath. Above 
 this point the mountains again approach the river for a few 
 miles, when they suddenly drop almost to the level of the 
 plain. The banks here are clay and gravel, with an aver- 
 age height of from one hundred to one hundred and fifty 
 feet. 
 
 Six and one-half miles above Sans Sault Rapids, Car- 
 cajou River empties its waters into the Mackenzie from 
 the west. This river I believe to be the largest tributary 
 of the Mackenzie below the Laird. 
 
 Four hundred and forty-four miles from Fort McPherson 
 brought us to Fort Norman, which is situated on the east 
 bank of the Mackenzie just above the entrance of Great 
 Bear River. I arrived here on Saturday, the 28th of July. 
 
 About three and a half miles above Fort Norman on the 
 east bank of the river, two extensive exposures of lignite 
 occur. The upper one is overlaid by about fifty feet of 
 clay and a few feet of friable sandstone, and is about fifteen 
 feet thick. The other seam is of about the same thick- 
 ness, and probably forty feet lower. When I was there, it 
 was nearly all under water. 
 
 The upper seam has been on fire for over a hundred years^ 
 as it was burning when Sir Alexander Mackenzie passed in 
 1789, and according to Indian tradition, it must have been 
 burning much longer. The place is locally known as " Le 
 Boucan," from the fact that the Indians hereabout smoke
 
 182 THE MACKENZIE RIVER 
 
 and cook large quantities of meat or fish in these convenient 
 fire pits. The fire extends at present about two miles 
 along the river, not continuously, but at intervals ; when I 
 passed, it was burning in three or four places. After it has 
 burned a certain distance into the seam, the overlaying 
 mass of clay falls in, and, to some extinct, suppresses the 
 fire. This clay is, in time, baked into a red coloured rock, 
 in which are found innumerable impressions of leaves and 
 plants. 
 
 About a hundred miles above Fort Norman, on the 
 west side, a river discharges a large volume of clear, 
 black water, which rushes bodily half-way across the 
 Mackenzie, and preserves its distinctive character for 
 several miles before it mingles with the main stream. The 
 name applied to this river by the people at Fort Wrigley 
 was " La riviere du vieux grand luc." It is said to 
 flow out of a lake of considerable extent, lying not far 
 from the Mackenzie. Many peaks can be seen up its 
 valley. 
 
 Six hundred and twenty-four miles from Fort McPherson 
 brings us to Fort \Vrigley. This post was formerly known 
 as " Little Rapid," but has received the name it now bears 
 in honour of Chief Commissioner Wrigley, of the Hud- 
 son's Bay Company. Just above the Fort there is a swift 
 rush of water over some limestone rock which appears to 
 extend across the river. On the west side two small islands 
 confine a part of the stream in a funnel-like channel, which, 
 being shallow, causes a slight rapid, and gives rise to the 
 former name of the post. 
 
 At Fort Wrigley, some slight attempts had been made at 
 cultivation, but I do not consider them a fair test of the 
 capabilities of the place. When I was there, the people
 
 THE MACKENZIE RIVER 183 
 
 were gathering blueberries, then fully ripe, and as large and 
 well-flavoured as they are in Ontario. Ripe strawberries 
 were found on the gth of August ninety miles below this, 
 and a few raspberries soon afterwards. Above Fort Wrig- 
 ley, wild gooseberries, and both red and black currants were 
 found in abundance ; some of the islands being literally cov- 
 ered with the bushes. 
 
 For about sixty miles below Fort Wrigley a range of 
 mountains runs parallel to the river on its east side. Above 
 Fort Wrigley the east bank is generally low and swampy, 
 but the west (although low near the river) gradually rises to a 
 height of seven or eight hundred feet. Fifty-eight miles 
 above Fort Wrigley this hill terminates in a bold, high 
 point, and the ridge turns off to the south-west, enclosing a 
 deep, wide valley between it and the mountains, which here 
 approach the river. This range continues south-eastward 
 out of sight. The positions and heights of some of the 
 peaks were determined by triangulation. One of them was 
 found to rise 4,675 feet above the river. 
 
 We arrived at Fort Simpson on Friday, the 24th of Au- 
 gust, and remained until the following Tuesday. 
 
 We arrived at Fort Providence on Saturday, the 8th of 
 September. Wild gooseberries and currants were plentiful 
 along the banks, but at this season somewhat over-ripe. 
 At the fort, where we remained over Sunday, the usual col- 
 lection of buildings at a Hudson Bay Company's post is to 
 be found. The Roman Catholic Church has also a mission 
 here. 
 
 Forty-six miles from Fort Providence we enter Great 
 Slave Lake. The south shore of the lake, between the 
 Mackenzie and Great Slave Rivers, is so low and flat that 
 most of it was submerged when I passed. Fish are numer-
 
 184 THE MACKENZIE RIVER 
 
 ous in the Mackenzie. The principal species is that 
 known as the " Inconnu." Those caught in the lower 
 river are very good eating, much resembling salmon in 
 taste, being also firm and juicy.
 
 THE LOIRE 
 
 VICTOR HUGO 
 
 I HAVE some recollection of having already said so else- 
 where : the Loire and Touraine have been far too 
 much praised. It is time to render justice. The Seine 
 is much more beautiful than the Loire ; Normandy is 
 a much more charming " garden " than Touraine. 
 
 A broad, yellow strip of water, flat banks, and poplars 
 everywhere that is the Loire. The poplar is the only 
 tree that is stupid. It masks all the horizons of the Loire. 
 Along the river and on the islands, on the edge of the dyke 
 and far away in the distance, one sees only poplars. In my 
 mind there is a strangely intimate relationship, a strangely 
 indefinable resemblance, between a landscape made up of 
 poplars and a tragedy written in Alexandrines. The pop- 
 lar, like the Alexandrine, is one of the classic forms of 
 boredom. 
 
 It rained ; I had passed a sleepless night. I do not know 
 whether that put me out of temper, but everything on the 
 Loire seemed to me cold, dull, methodical, monotonous, 
 formal, and lugubrious. 
 
 From time to time one meets convoys of five or six small 
 craft ascending or descending the river. Each vessel has 
 but one mast with a square sail. The one that has the big- 
 gest sail precedes the others and tows them. The convoy 
 is arranged in such a fashion that the sails grow smaller in 
 size from one boat to the other, from the first to the last,
 
 1 86 THE LOIRE 
 
 with a sort of symmetric decrease unbroken by any uneven- 
 ness, undisturbed by any vagary. One involuntarily recalls 
 the caricature of the English family; one might imagine 
 one saw a chromatic scale sweeping along under full 
 sail. I have seen this only on the Loire ; and I confess 
 that I prefer the Norman sloops and luggers, of all 
 shapes and sizes, flying like birds of prey, and ming- 
 ling their yellow and red sails with the squall, the rain, and 
 the sun, between Quillebosuf and Tancarville. 
 
 The Spaniards call the Manzanares " the viscount of 
 waterways " ; I suggest that the Loire be called " the dow- 
 ager of rivers." 
 
 The Loire has not, like the Seine and the Rhine, a host 
 of pretty towns and lovely villages built on the very edge 
 of the river and mirroring their gables, church-spires, and 
 house-fronts in the water. The Loire flows through a 
 great alluvion caused by the floods and called La Sologne. 
 It carries back from it the sand which its waters bear down 
 and which often encumber and obstruct its bed. Hence 
 the frequent risings and inundations in these low plains 
 which thrust back the villages. On the right bank they 
 hide themselves behind the dyke. But there they are almost 
 lost to sight. The wayfarer does not see them. 
 
 Nevertheless, the Loire has its beauties. Madame de 
 Stael, banished by Napoleon to fifty leagues' distance from 
 Paris, learned that on the banks of the Loire, exactly fifty 
 leagues from Paris, there was a chateau called, I believe, 
 Chaumont. It was thither that she repaired, not wishing 
 to aggravate her exile by a quarter of a league. I do not 
 commiserate her. Chaumont is a dignified and lordly 
 dwelling. The chateau which must date from the Six- 
 teenth Century, is fine in style; the towers are massive.
 
 fc
 
 THE LOIRE 187 
 
 The village at the foot of the wooded hill presents an aspect 
 perhaps unique on the Loire, the precise aspect of a Rhine 
 village of a long frontage stretching along the edge of the 
 water. 
 
 Amboise is a pleasant, pretty town, half a league from 
 Tours, crowned with a magnificent edifice, facing those 
 three precious arches of the ancient bridge, which will dis- 
 appear one of these days in some scheme of municipal im- 
 provement. 
 
 The ruin of the Abbey of Marmontiers is both great and 
 beautiful. In particular there is, a few paces from the road, 
 a structure of the Fifteenth Century the most original I 
 have seen : by its dimensions a house, by its machicoulis a 
 fortress, by its belfry an hotel de ville, by its pointed door- 
 way a church. This structure sums up, and, as it were, 
 renders visible to the eye, the species of hybrid and com- 
 plex authority which in feudal times appertained to abbeys 
 in general, and, in particular, to the Abbey of Mar- 
 montiers. 
 
 But the most picturesque and imposing feature of the 
 Loire is an immense calcareous wall, mixed with sandstone, 
 millstone, and potter's clay, which skirts and banks up its 
 right shore, and stretches itself out before the eye from 
 Blois to Tours, with inexpressible variety and charm, now 
 wild rock, now an English garden, covered with trees and 
 flowers, crowned with ripening vines and smoking chim- 
 neys, perforated like a sponge, as full of life as an ant-hill. 
 
 Then there are deep caves which long ago hid the 
 coiners who counterfeited the E. of the Tours mint, and 
 flooded the province with spurious sous of Tours. To-day 
 the rude embrasures of these dens are filled with pretty 
 window-frames coquettishly fitted into the rock, and from
 
 1 88 THE LOIRE 
 
 time to time one perceives through the glass the fantastic 
 head-dress of some young girl occupied in packing aniseed, 
 angelica, and coriander in boxes. The confectioners have 
 replaced the coiners.
 
 THE LOIRE 
 
 HONORS DE BALZAC 
 
 THE banks of the Loire, from Blois to Angers, have 
 been high in favour with the two last branches of 
 the royal race that occupied the throne before the House 
 of Bourbon. This beautiful basin so richly deserves the 
 honours paid to it by royalty that this is what one of our 
 most elegant writers has said of it : 
 
 " There exists in France a province that has never been 
 sufficiently admired. Perfumed like Italy, flowered like 
 the banks of the Guadalquiver, and beautiful in addition 
 with its individual physiognomy, and entirely French, hav- 
 ing always been French, in contrast to our northern prov- 
 inces, corrupted by German contact, and our southern 
 provinces that have lived in concubinage with the Moors, 
 Spaniards and all races that desired to ; this province pure, 
 chaste, brave and loyal is Touraine ! Historic France is 
 there ! Auvergne is Auvergne ; Languedoc is only Lan- 
 guedoc, but Touraine is France ; and for us the most na- 
 tional river of all is the Loire that waters Touraine. Hence, 
 we should not be so astonished at the quantity of monu- 
 ments found in the Departments that have taken the name 
 and derivatives of the name of the Loire. At every step 
 we take in this land of enchantment, we discover a picture 
 the frame of which is a river or a tranquil oval sheet that 
 reflects in its liquid depths a castle with its turrets, woods 
 and springing waters. It was only natural that where
 
 IQO THE LOIRE 
 
 royalty abode by preference and established its court for 
 such a long period the great fortunes and distinctions of 
 race and merit should group themselves and raise palaces 
 there grand as themselves." 
 
 Is it not incomprehensible that Royalty did not follow 
 the advice given by Louis XI. indirectly to make Tours 
 the capital of the kingdom ? There, without much expend- 
 iture, the Loire could have been made accessible to trading 
 vessels and to ships of war of light draught. There, the 
 seat of government would have been secure from the sur- 
 prise of an invasion. The northern strongholds would not 
 then have demanded so much money for their fortifications, 
 as costly to themselves as the sumptuousness of Versailles. 
 If Louis XIV. had listened to the advice of Vauban, who 
 wanted to build a residence for him at Mont Louis, between 
 the Loire and the Cher, perhaps the Revolution of 1789 
 would not have occurred. Still, here and there, those 
 lovely banks bear the marks of the royal affection. The 
 castles of Chambord, Blois, Amboise, Chenonceaux, Chau- 
 mont, Plessis-lez-Tours, all those which the mistresses of 
 our kings, and the financiers and great lords built for them- 
 selves at Veretz, Azay-le-Rideau, Ussi, Villandri, Valencay, 
 Chanteloup, Duretal (some of which have disappeared but 
 the majority still exist) are admirable monuments that are 
 redolent with the marvels of that epoch that is so ill com- 
 prehended by the literary sect of Medievalists. Among all 
 these castles, that of Blois is the one on which the mag- 
 nificence of the Orleans and the Valois has set its most 
 brilliant seal ; and is the most interesting of all for the his- 
 torian, the archaeologist, and the Reman Catholic.
 
 THE POTOMAC 
 
 ESTHER SINGLETON 
 
 THE Potomac was an important river from the earliest 
 period of the country's history. Explorers followed 
 its route to the interior of the country, and as early as 1784 
 The Potomac Company was chartered with Washington as 
 its president for the purpose of connecting the Potomac 
 Valley with the west by means of a canal for general land 
 improvement. This was succeeded by the Chesapeake and 
 Ohio Canal Company, whose canal runs parallel with and 
 near to the river all the way from Georgetown to Cumber- 
 land. 
 
 The first attempt to explore the Chesapeake Bay and its 
 tributary rivers was made in 1608 by Captain John Smith, 
 who speaks of the Patawomeke as six or seven miles broad 
 and navigable for 140 miles. Another Indian name was 
 Cohonguroton (River of Swans). No less than forty tribes 
 of the warlike Algonquins lived upon its banks and held 
 their councils at the point of land now occupied by the 
 Arsenal. 
 
 In 1634, Henry Fleet with some of Cal vert's people visited 
 the Falls of the Potomac ; and early in the Seventeenth 
 Century several tracts of land on the river banks were 
 granted to settlers. Among these was one Francis Pope, 
 gentleman, who in 1663 had four hundred acres laid out 
 which he called Rome, on the east side of the Anacostian 
 River and to the mouth of the Tiber, for so this little arm
 
 192 THE POTOMAC 
 
 of the Potomac was called more than a century before 
 Washington was founded, there being a tradition that on 
 its banks would rise a capital greater than Rome. The 
 Tiber has now disappeared beneath the streets of Wash- 
 ington, but it once flowed below the hill on which the 
 Capitol now stands between forest-lined banks and was 
 noted for its shad and herring. 
 
 The Potomac is formed by the junction of two rivers on 
 the boundary between Maryland and West Virginia. The 
 North Branch rises in the Western Alleghanies and the 
 South Branch in the Central ; and, flowing north-east, they 
 unite about fifteen miles south-east of Cumberland. The 
 Potomac thus forms an irregular boundary between Mary- 
 land and West Virginia and Maryland and Virginia through- 
 out its entire course of four hundred miles. Its chief trib- 
 utaries are the Shenandoah from Virginia and the Monocacy 
 from Maryland. At Harper's Ferry the Potomac breaks 
 through the Blue Ridge meeting the Shenandoah " Daugh- 
 ter of the Stars " which has cut its way through the 
 mist-wreathed mountains, laved the Luray Caverns and 
 watered a lovely valley. These rivers winding around 
 Loudon Heights, Bolivar Heights and Maryland Heights 
 are picturesque in the highest degree, and the scenery is 
 rendered more interesting by the associations with John 
 Brown's raid and capture and other thrilling incidents of 
 the Civil War. 
 
 Twelve miles below is Point of Rocks and below this 
 the Monocacy joins the main stream. 
 
 A number of falls mark its course through the mountains ; 
 and about fifteen miles above Washington it descends 
 rapidly until it reaches Great Falls, at which point it breaks 
 through the mountain in a channel narrowing to a hundred
 
 w.
 
 THE POTOMAC 193 
 
 yards in width and bounded on the Virginia side by per- 
 pendicular rocks seventy feet high. Cedars, oaks, willows 
 and other forest trees contribute beauty to this wild spot, 
 where cherries and strawberries abound, and which is the 
 haunt of the rattlesnake and other venomous reptiles. The 
 water falls in a series of cascades. Not far from this point 
 Cabin-John Bridge is reached, a bridge formed of large 
 blocks of granite 420 feet long and twenty feet wide, which 
 springs the chasm of Cabin-John Creek at a height of 101 
 feet in a single arch of 220 feet. This is the largest stone 
 arch in the world, the second being the Grosvenor Bridge 
 (with a span of 200 feet), over the Dee. 
 
 At a distance of four miles below Great Falls, the stream 
 widens and flows quietly for ten miles; and then descends 
 thirty-seven feet in a second series of cascades known as 
 Little Falls, about three miles above Georgetown. The 
 Potomac, thus released from the hills above Georgetown, 
 expands into a broad lake-like river, and receives the 
 Anacostia at Washington, where it meets the tide. 
 About twenty-five miles below Washington, it becomes 
 an estuary from two to eight miles wide, and enters the 
 Chesapeake Bay, after having made a journey of four hun- 
 dred miles. 
 
 The chief places of interest on the banks of the Potomac 
 are, of course, Washington, Arlington House, Mount Ver- 
 non, and the sleepy old town of Alexandria founded in 1748 
 and once a rival of Annapolis and Baltimore. It is full of 
 associations with Washington, whose estate, Mount Vernon, 
 is but a few miles below. Mount Fernon, in Washington's 
 time, an estate of two thousand acres, belonged originally 
 to his half-brother, Lawrence, who named it for Admiral 
 Vernon under whom he had served.
 
 194 THE POTOMAC 
 
 Arlington House y the residence of the adopted son of 
 General Washington, George Washington Parke Custis, 
 came into possession of Gen. Robert E. Lee through his 
 wife who was the daughter of Mr. Custis. The house, 
 built from drawings of the temple at Paestum, near Naples, 
 stands on a bluff two hundred feet above the river about 
 four miles from Washington. The building with its two 
 wings has a frontage of 140 feet and the portico sixty feet 
 long is surmounted by a pediment resting on eight Doric 
 columns twenty-six feet high and five feet in diameter. On 
 the south were the gardens and greenhouses, and in the 
 rear the kitchens, slave quarters and stables. In 1863 
 Arlington House and the estate of 1,000 acres was sold under 
 the Confiscation Act and taken possession of by the 
 National Government; and in 1867 the grounds were ap- 
 propriated for a National Cemetery. 
 
 The Potomac was the scene of skirmishes in 1814, when 
 Alexandria surrendered to the British ; and in this connec- 
 tion it is interesting to learn what Admiral Napier, who com- 
 manded the fleet, has to say regarding the ascent of the river : 
 
 " The river Potomac is navigable for frigates as high up 
 as Washington, but the navigation is extremely intricate 
 and nature has done much for the protection of the country 
 by placing one-third of the way up, very extensive and 
 intricate shoals, called the 4 Kettle Bottoms.' They are 
 composed of oyster banks of various dimensions, some not 
 larger than a boat, with passages between them. 
 
 41 The best channel is on the Virginia shore ; but the 
 charts gave us mostly very bad directions and no pilots 
 could be procured. A frigate had attempted some time be- 
 fore to effect a passage, and, after being frequently aground, 
 gave it up as impossible. The American frigates them-
 
 THE POTOMAC 195 
 
 selves never attempted it with their guns in, and were sev- 
 eral weeks in the passage from the naval yard at Washing- 
 ton to the mouth of the Potomac. 
 
 " When the tide was favourable and the wind light, we 
 warped by hand ; with the ebb and the wind strong, the 
 hawsers were brought to the capstan. This operation be- 
 gan at daylight and was carried on without interruption till 
 dark and lasted five days, during which the squadron warped 
 upwards of fifty miles, and on the evening of the fifth day 
 anchored off Maryland Point. The same day the public 
 buildings of Washington were burnt. The reflection of the 
 fire on the heavens was plainly seen from the ships, much 
 to our mortification and disappointment, as we concluded 
 that that act was committed at the moment of evacuating 
 the town. . . . 
 
 " The following morning, to our great joy, the wind be- 
 came fair, and we made all sail up the river, which now as- 
 sumed a more pleasing aspect. At five o'clock in the after- 
 noon Mount Vernon the retreat of the illustrious Wash- 
 ington opened to our view and showed us, for the first 
 time since we entered the Potomac, a gentleman's residence. 
 Higher up the river, on the opposite side, Fort Washington 
 appeared to our anxious eyes ; and, to our great satisfaction, 
 it was considered assailable. 
 
 "A little before sunset the squadron anchored just out of 
 gun-shot; the bomb vessels at once took up their positions 
 to cover the frigates in the projected attack at daylight 
 next morning and began throwing shells. The garrison, to 
 our great surprise, retreated from the Fort ; and, a short 
 time after, Fort Washington was blown up which left the 
 capital of America, and the populous town of Alexandria, 
 open to the squadron, without the loss of a man.
 
 196 THE POTOMAC 
 
 " A deputation from the town arrived to treat ; but 
 Captain Gordon declined entering into any arrangement 
 till the squadron arrived before Alexandria. The channel 
 was buoyed, and next morning the ayth, we anchored 
 abreast of the town and dictated terms. 
 
 "Alexandria is a large well-built town and a place of great 
 trade. It is eight miles below Washington, where few 
 merchant ships go, and is, in fact, the mercantile capital, and, 
 before the war, was a most flourishing town, but at the time 
 of its capture had been going rapidly to decay. Agricultural 
 produce was of little value ; the storehouses were full of it. 
 We learnt that the army after destroying Barney's flotilla, 
 had made a forced march on Washington, beat the Ameri- 
 cans at Bladensburg, destroyed the public buildings and 
 navy yard, and retreated to their ships. Had our little 
 squadron been favoured by wind, the retreat would have 
 been made along the right bank of the Potomac, under our 
 protection, and the whole country in the course of that 
 river would have been laid under contribution."
 
 THE EUPHRATES 
 
 GEORGE RAWLINSON 
 
 EUPHRATES is probably a word of Arian origin. It 
 is not improbable that in common parlance the name 
 was soon shortened to its modern form of Prat, which is 
 almost exactly what the Hebrew literation expresses. 
 
 The Euphrates is the largest, the longest, and by far the 
 most important of the rivers of Western Asia. It rises 
 from two chief sources in the Armenian Mountains, one of 
 them at Domli, twenty-five miles north-east of Ezeroum, 
 and little more than a degree from the Black Sea ; the other 
 on the northern slope of the .mountain range called Ala- 
 Tagh, near the village of Diyadin, and not far from Mount 
 Ararat. Both branches flow at first towards the west or 
 south-west, passing through the wildest mountain-districts of 
 Armenia; they meet at Kebban-Maden, nearly in longitude 
 39 east from Greenwich, having run respectively 400 and 
 270 miles. Here the stream formed by their combined 
 waters is 120 yards wide, rapid and very deep. The last 
 part of its course, from Hit downwards, is through a low, 
 flat, and alluvial plain, over which it has a tendency to 
 spread and stagnate ; above Hit, and from thence to Sa- 
 mosata, the country along its banks is for the most part 
 open but hilly ; north of Samosata, the stream runs in a 
 narrow valley among high mountains, and is interrupted by 
 numerous rapids. The entire course is calculated at 1,780 
 miles, nearly 650 more than that of the Tigris, and only
 
 198 THE EUPHRATES 
 
 200 short of that of the Indus ; and of this distance more 
 than two-thirds (1,200 miles) is navigable for boats, and 
 even, as the expedition of Col. Chesney proved, for small 
 steamers. The width of the river is greatest at the dis- 
 tance of 700 or 800 miles from its mouth. The river has 
 also in this part of its course the tendency already noted, to 
 run off and waste itself in vast marshes, which every year 
 more and more cover the alluvial tract west and south of 
 the stream. From this cause its lower course is continually 
 varying, and it is doubted whether at present, except in the 
 season of the inundation, any portion of the Euphrates water 
 is poured into the Shat-el-Arab. 
 
 The annual inundation of the Euphrates is caused by the 
 melting of the snows in the Armenian highlands. It oc- 
 curs in the month of May. The rise of the Tigris is 
 earlier, since it drains the southern flank of the great Ar- 
 menian chain. The Tigris scarcely overflows, but the 
 Euphrates inundates large tracts on both sides of its course 
 from Hit downwards. 
 
 The Euphrates has at all times been of some importance 
 as furnishing a line of traffic between the east and the west. 
 Herodotus speaks of persons, probably merchants, using it 
 regularly on their passage from the Mediterranean to Babylon. 
 Alexander appears to have brought to Babylon by the Eu- 
 phrates route vessels of some considerable size, which he 
 had had made in Cyprus and Phosnicia. They were so 
 constructed that they could be taken to pieces, and were thus 
 carried piecemeal to Thapsacus, where they were put to- 
 gether and launched. The disadvantage of the route was 
 the difficulty of conveying return cargoes against the cur- 
 rent. According to Herodotus, the boats which descended 
 the river were broken to pieces and sold at Babylon, and
 
 THE EUPHRATES 19$ 
 
 the owners returned on foot to Armenia, taking with them 
 only the skins. The spices and other products of Arabia 
 formed their principal merchandise. On the whole there 
 are sufficient grounds for believing that throughout the Baby- 
 lonian and Persian periods this route was made use of by 
 the merchants of various nations, and that by it the east and 
 west continually interchanged their most important prod- 
 ucts. 
 
 The Euphrates is first mentioned in Scripture as one of 
 the four rivers of Eden. We next hear of it in the cove- 
 nant made with Abraham where the whole country from 
 " the great river Euphrates " to the river of Egypt is 
 promised to the chosen race. In Deuteronomy and Joshua 
 we find this promise was borne in mind at the time of the 
 settlement in Canaan ; and from an important passage in 
 the first Book of Chronicles it appears that the tribe of 
 Reuben did actually extend itself to the Euphrates in the 
 times anterior to Saul. Here they came in contact with 
 the Hagarites, who appear upon the middle Euphrates in 
 the Assyrian inscription of the later empire. It is David, 
 however, who seems for the first time to have entered on 
 the full enjoyment of the promise, by the victories which 
 he gained over Hadadezer, king of Zobah, and his allies, 
 the Syrians of Damascus. The object of his expedition 
 was " to recover his border," and " to establish his do- 
 minion by the river Euphrates" ; and in this object he ap- 
 pears to have been altogether successful ; in so much that 
 Solomon, his son, who was not a man of war, but only in- 
 herited his father's dominions, is said to have" reigned over 
 all kingdoms from the river (the Euphrates) unto the land 
 of the Philistines and unto the border of Egypt. Thus 
 during the reigns of David and Solomon the dominion of
 
 26d THE EUPHRATES 
 
 Israel actually attained to the full extent both ways of the 
 original promise, the Euphrates forming the boundary of 
 their empire to the north-east, and the river of Egypt to 
 the south-west. The " Great River " had meanwhile 
 served for some time as a boundary between Assyria and 
 the country of the Hittites, but had repeatedly been crossed 
 by the armies of the Ninevite kings, who gradually estab- 
 lished their sway over the countries upon its right bank. 
 The crossing of the river was always difficult ; and at the 
 point where certain natural facilities fixed the ordinary pass- 
 age, the strong fort of Carchemish had been built, probably 
 in very early times, to command the position. Hence, 
 when Necho determined to attempt the permanent con- 
 quest of Syria, his march was directed upon " Carchemish 
 by Euphrates," which he captured and held, thus extending 
 the dominion of Egypt to the Euphrates, and renewing the 
 old glories of the Rameside kings. 
 
 These are the chief events which Scripture distinctly con- 
 nects with the " Great River." It is probably included 
 among the " rivers of Babylon," by the side of which the 
 Jewish captives " remembered Zion," and wept, and no 
 doubt is glanced at in the threats of Jeremiah against the 
 Chaldean " waters " and " springs," upon which there is to 
 be a " drought," that shall " dry them up." The fulfil- 
 ment of these prophecies has been noticed under the head 
 of Chaldaea. The river still brings down as much water 
 as of old, but the precious element is wasted by neglect of 
 man ; the various water-courses along which it was in for- 
 mer times conveyed, are dry ; the main channel has 
 shrunk ; and the water stagnates in unwholesome marshes.
 
 THE WYE 
 
 A. R. QUINTON 
 
 AMONG the many beautiful streams of Britain there 
 is perhaps not one of which has so many and so 
 varied charms as the River Wye. Issuing from the south- 
 ern slopes of the great Welsh mountain, Plinlimmon, it be- 
 gins its life as a mountain torrent, but gradually sobers 
 down into a placid stream, flowing in a sinuous course of 
 one hundred and thirty odd miles, and receiving many trib- 
 utary streamlets before it mingles its waters with those of 
 its big sister, the Severn, a few miles below Chepstow. 
 Thickly dotted along its banks are picturesque ruined cas- 
 tles, abbeys, and manor-houses each with its own story to 
 tell of bygone days ; quaint old towns, and at least one 
 stately cathedral, each bearing names which often recur in 
 the pages of history, and still retaining signs of the age 
 when kings, barons, and Commoners, priests and laymen, 
 struggled for supremacy. 
 
 Although there is much that is interesting and pleasing 
 in the earlier part of its course, it is at Ross that the roman- 
 tic scenery of the Wye may be said to commence. Above 
 that town the river flows for many miles through a fairly 
 open valley, bordered indeed with wooded hills, but with a 
 broad expanse of meadow land between their feet and its 
 margin. But on approaching Ross the slopes draw nearer 
 to the brink of the stream, and for twenty miles or more 
 the Wye flows through an almost continuous glen, carved 
 deeply out of a lofty and undulating table-land.
 
 202 THE WYE 
 
 The ancient town of Ross, our starting place, is chiefly 
 built upon the slope of a hill terminating on a plateau, de- 
 scending steeply to the river. Upon this plateau stands the 
 church, with its adjoining garden, the Prospect, which com- 
 mands a lovely view over the valley of the Wye ; whence 
 the graceful spire of the church forms a landmark for all 
 the country round. 
 
 The district traversed by the Wye in the first stage of its 
 seaward journey, from Ross to Monmouth, is an elevated 
 upland, a region of rolling hills shelving down towards 
 winding valleys, whose declivities become abrupt towards 
 the margin of the main river. Near to this the hills are 
 often scarped into cliffs and carved into ridges, but further 
 back we have slopes and undulations, cornfields and scattered 
 woodlands, in marked contrast with the crags and forest- 
 clad glades near the edge of the swift and strong stream. 
 The valley narrows after leaving Ross, but the scenery im- 
 proves as we come in view of Goodrich Castle, crowning 
 a wooded steep above the river, and Goodrich Court, also 
 seated on an eminence. The latter is a modern imitation 
 of a mediaeval dwelling, and formerly contained the remark- 
 ably fine collection of ancient armour which has since found 
 a home in the South Kensington Museum, and is known 
 as the Meyrick Collection. The Castle, which is some 
 distance beyond the Court, was in its day a fortress of 
 formidable strength. There is little doubt that the keep 
 was built about the period 1135-1154, in the time of King 
 Stephen. 
 
 In the time of the civil wars it was held for the King 
 Charles I. by Sir Henry Lingen, but was taken from him by 
 the Parliamentarians in 1646. 
 
 At Goodrich the river commences one of its most re-
 
 THE WYE 203 
 
 markable bends. From Goodrich Ferry to Huntsholme 
 Ferry is little more than a mile overland, but by the river it 
 is eight miles. The Wye sweeps round in an easterly di- 
 rection after Kern Bridge is passed, then turns abruptly and 
 flows for a mile in an opposite course, enclosing in the loop 
 thus formed the house and grounds of Courtfield, where, in 
 a more ancient mansion, " Wild Prince Hal " is reported to 
 have passed the days of early childhood, under the care of 
 the Countess of Salisbury. The pretty village of Welsh 
 Bicknor is also passed, and then we presently come in view 
 of the lofty Coldwell Rocks, where the river, which for a 
 time has pursued a southerly direction, now doubles back 
 almost upon its former course, and makes the most remark- 
 able curve in the whole of its windings from Plinlimmon to 
 the sea. It is far-famed Symonds' Yat, a limestone plateau 
 some 600 feet above the river, which here describes a huge 
 elongated loop, so that after a course of between four and 
 five miles it returns again to within less than half a mile of 
 its former channel. 
 
 More extensive prospects may, doubtless, be obtained 
 from other view points, but for a grand combination of 
 rocks and woodlands, this spot may well take the palm. 
 After leaving the Yat, the Wye bends round the stone hills 
 on its right bank. On both are remarkable encampments, 
 whilst fossil remains of hyena, elephant, stag, and other 
 animals have been found in a cave known as King Arthur's 
 Cave, on the former hill. 
 
 Very lovely is the course of the river as it flows onward 
 through steep and densely wooded slopes and presently 
 brings us in view of a detached cluster of rocks called the 
 " Seven Sisters." This part of the Wye is reported to 
 have a greater depth than any other length in its course.
 
 204 THE WYE 
 
 At the end of the reach is the beautiful level height called 
 King Arthur's Plain, which in the distance assumes the ap- 
 pearance of towers belonging to an ancient castle. The 
 high road turns away from the river at the apex of Sy- 
 monds' Yat, but a foot-path follows the banks on either side 
 as far as Monmouth. Shortly before reaching that town 
 the wilder and more romantic part of the Wye ends and the 
 river pursues a straighter and less ruffled course. 
 
 The situation of the town of Monmouth is remarkably 
 picturesque. Beautiful hills surround it on all sides, but the 
 valley has expanded to allow the Monnow and the Trothy 
 to form a junction with the Wye. A curious old bridge 
 spans the Monnow, bearing on its first pier an ancient gate- 
 house, one of the few survivors of a defensive work once 
 common in England, which, though somewhat altered 
 by being pierced with postern arches for foot-passengers, 
 still retains the place for its portcullis and much of its an- 
 cient aspect. Formerly the town was surrounded by a wall 
 and moat, and was entered by four gates, of which the Mon- 
 now Gate alone remains. 
 
 A short distance below Monmouth the Wye again enters 
 a narrow glen, hardly less beautiful if less romantic, than 
 the gorge which it has traversed on its course from Ross to 
 Monmouth. The hills once more close in upon the river, 
 leaving but seldom even a strip of level meadow between its 
 margin and their slopes. The steeply wooded banks are so 
 wild and so continuous that at times we seem to be passing 
 through an undisturbed remnant of primeval forest. At Red 
 Brook, however, there are signs of human activity. A 
 pretty glen here descends from among the hills to the left 
 bank of the Wye. By the riverside are little quays with 
 barges alongside, and, alas, it must also be added, tall chim-
 
 THE WYE 205 
 
 neys pouring forth smoke to mar the beauty of a lovely 
 spot. 
 
 At Bigswier the river is spanned by an iron bridge, thrown 
 lightly from bank to bank, and is of sufficiently pleasing de- 
 sign to harmonize with the surroundings. From this point 
 the Wye is affected by the tide, but not to any appreciable 
 extent, until a few miles below, in the neighbourhood of 
 Tintern. On a hill overlooking Bigswier stand the church 
 and castle of St. Briavels. The castle was erected soon 
 after the Norman conquest as one of the border defenses ; 
 it stands on the edge of the ancient Forest of Dean, and 
 saw much rough work in its early days. The old keep is 
 in ruins, but the other portions are used as a residence. 
 
 The next village encountered, on our way down the 
 stream, is Llandago, which nestles among gardens and 
 orchards, and rises tier above tier on the thickly wooded hill 
 which rises steeply from the road beside the river. Near 
 by is Offa's Chair a point in the great earthwork known 
 as Offa's Dyke, which once extended from Tidenham, 
 across Herefordshire and Radnorshire, to the Flintshire 
 hills beyond Mold, and perhaps to the coast of North 
 Wales. As the valley again slightly expands, shelving 
 bands of sward, dotted with houses, announce that we are 
 approaching the precincts of the far-famed Tintern Abbey. 
 First we must pass the long and scattered village of Tintern 
 Parva, whose pretty white cottages and pleasant gardens ex- 
 tend for a mile along the river's bank, which here makes 
 another of its sharp bends. Cunningly indeed did the 
 monks of old choose their dwelling places. There is no 
 spot for many a mile which so completely fulfils the re- 
 quirements of quiet and seclusion with certain mundane 
 comforts, as that which they have selected. As one gazes
 
 206 THE WYE 
 
 at this noble relic, and the winding Wye stealing past it 
 through the hills, one must accord the first place among the 
 classic ruins of this island, in so far as regards the beauty 
 of its situation. Forests were near at hand to supply them 
 with fuel without stint, and game for their table on days of 
 feasting. The tidal river would bring the barks of mer- 
 chandise to their very door, and its leaping salmon would 
 alleviate the severity of their fast days. Chepstow, with its 
 castle, guarded them from marauders by the sea, and they 
 were far enough within the line of border fortresses to fear 
 no ill from incursions from the mountains of Wales. 
 
 The plan of the foundation of the Abbey is cruciform, 
 and what remains of the grey skeleton of the edifice affords 
 a fine example of early Twelfth-Century work. It was 
 founded in the year 1131 by one Walter de Clare " for the 
 good of his soul, and the soul of his kinsmen," and was con- 
 fined to the use of monks of the Cistercian order. Two 
 inscribed tombs in the cloisters give the names of two of the 
 abbots, but, apart from such fragmentary scraps of informa- 
 tion, the history of Tintern may be said to have perished 
 with the Abbey. The scene on entering the interior, is 
 most impressive. Vaulted roof and central tower are gone, 
 but the arches which supported the latter are intact. The 
 glass, of course, has long since perished with the windows, 
 even the mullions and tracery are gone ; ivy, ferns, and 
 herbage, form a coping for the wall ; the greensward has 
 replaced the pavement of stone or tiles ; but still it is hardly 
 possible to imagine a more imposing and lovely scene than 
 these ruins. 
 
 Between Tintern and Chepstow the scenery of the Wye 
 assumes an entirely fresh character. As we approach the 
 Wynd cliff, the grassy bed of the river opens out into a
 
 THE WYE 207 
 
 sort of amphitheatre, and we can trace the huge horseshoe 
 curve swept out upon its floors by the stream, between the 
 base of the Wynd cliff which it washes, and the mural es- 
 carpment of Bannagor and Tidenham Crags, which form 
 the opposite boundary of this great river-trench. It is a 
 steep climb to the top of the Wynd clifF, but the glorious 
 prospect obtained from the summit well repays the effort. 
 Below is the beautiful horseshoe fold of the Wye, bounded 
 by richly-wooded slopes that sweep from the right with a 
 curve in the form of a sickle. Where the curve ends there 
 stands an imposing wall of rock with a reddish base, its 
 brow of dazzling white lined with green woodland, while 
 far away towards the coast the point where the river enters 
 the Severn estuary, which is here broadening out on its 
 way towards the distant sea, is faintly visible. The beauti- 
 ful grounds of Piercefield lie between the Wynd cliff and 
 Chepstow. Art has here assisted Nature, in this domain, by 
 carrying paths through a belt of woodland, with outlooks 
 cunningly contrived to command the best views. These 
 grounds are thrown open to the public on certain days. 
 
 The town of Chepstow occupies the right bank of the 
 Wye, and is built upon a slope, which descends in places 
 rather abruptly from the general level of the surrounding 
 country to the river's brink. Formerly it was enclosed by 
 walls, like Monmouth, considerable portions of which are 
 here and there preserved, especially in the neighbourhood 
 of the castle. One of the gates still remains in High 
 Street. It is called the Town Gate, and was for a long time 
 used as a prison. Chepstow Castle is approached by a gen- 
 tle acclivity clothed with greensward.
 
 THE INDIAN RIVER 
 
 L. C. BRYAN 
 
 THIS river, or sound, spans a region of a hundred and 
 forty miles from north to south, is salt, and yet al- 
 most without tide, neither rising nor falling more than a few 
 inches by the winds ; lies upon the very shore of the Atlan- 
 tic, and from one to seven miles wide a most placid, safe 
 and beautiful inland sea in the very teeth of a wild tem- 
 pestuous ocean. 
 
 Unlike the St. John's or any other possible river, having 
 no considerable rise or fall, its bordering lands are not over- 
 flowed, and unlike other seacoast waterways, it is not cum- 
 bered with interminable salt marshes. Its waters beat upon 
 a bold, often abrupt shore, diversified into high and low 
 lands of every grade and covered with the luxuriant vegeta- 
 tion common to warm climates. 
 
 Wonderfully beautiful is Indian River. There is no 
 other such sheet of water in the world. Nature, with lavish 
 hand, spread its waters and adorned its shores. The design 
 of the Great Master Artist is seen in the narrow strip of 
 land as a levee separating the river from the Atlantic, and 
 in the forest on the levee as a great wind-break to curb 
 the fierce winds of the ocean. Properly speaking, it is not 
 a river, but a sound, or arm of the sea. Its centre is on an 
 air line north and south 140 miles long, while its banks 
 curve in and out in beautiful bays and grottoes. A few 
 small creeks empty into it from the west, while the water
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1901, BY DETROIT PHOTOGRAPHIC COMPANY 
 THE INDIAN
 
 THE INDIAN RIVER 2Og 
 
 empties into it from the Atlantic through Indian River In- 
 let and Jupiter Inlet. 
 
 It is a sea without its dangers, a river without a current, 
 seldom calm, but always in motion from the winds. From 
 this constant motion its water is kept pure. The winds of 
 winter, coming from the north-west, are softened and 
 warmed by the waters of the upper St. John's River, and 
 the pine forests on the west of the hammocks of this river, 
 and the winds of summer coming from the east, are tempered 
 and cooled by the Gulf Stream, making the climate most 
 delightful in winter and summer, and, perhaps, most to be 
 desired of any in America. 
 
 Of the Indian River we find the following from the able 
 pen of ex-Governor Gleason : 
 
 " Indian River, as it is called, is a sound, and lies parallel 
 to the Atlantic, separated from it by a narrow strip of land 
 varying from a few rods to three miles in width ; it is a 
 sheet of pure tide water, salt, clear and transparent. It has 
 two inlets from the ocean Indian River Inlet, about 100 
 miles from its north head, and Jupiter Inlet at its extreme 
 southern end. From its north head to within twenty-five 
 miles of Jupiter Inlet, it is from one to six miles wide ; 
 from Jupiter Inlet to the mouth of the St. Lucie River, a 
 distance of about twenty-five miles, it is from one-fourth of 
 a mile to a mile in width, and is known as Jupiter Narrows. 
 It is affected very little by the tide and the current moves 
 by the wind. Being in the region of the trade winds, with 
 almost a constant breeze from the east during the daytime, 
 it affords peculiar facilities for sailing up and down the river, 
 and the people take advantage of it. Every house is either 
 on the river bank or a short distance up some navigable 
 stream flowing into it, and has a boat landing. It is the
 
 210 THE INDIAN RIVER 
 
 Venice of America, and one can seldom look out upon the 
 water without seeing boats sailing both ways. The river is 
 well supplied with the finest oysters, sea-turtles, and a great 
 variety of fish, among which are mullet, cavalli, snapper, 
 blue fish, sheepshead and sea-trout. The manatee is 
 caught at the mouth of the St. Lucie and Jupiter Inlet. 
 Some of them weigh from 1,500 to 2,000 pounds and are 
 very grand eating. They are found nowhere else in the 
 United States, their principal habitat being near the mouths 
 of the streams flowing into the Caribbean Sea, where they 
 feed upon a peculiar grass called manatee, which grows at 
 the bottom of most tide-water streams in the tropics." 
 
 Merritt's Island, which is about forty miles long and con- 
 tains about thirty thousand acres is situated in the northern 
 part of the river. The water on its east side is from one- 
 fourth of a mile to six miles wide, and is known as Banana 
 River. The shores of Indian River, both on the west side 
 of Merritt's Island and on the main land, are free from 
 swamps and marshes, and rise at an angle of from twenty 
 to twenty-five degrees to an elevation of from twenty-five 
 to fifty feet. In many places the banks are high bluffs 
 The country on Merritt's Island, and the west shore has 
 the appearance of an endless park, the timber being princi- 
 pally scattered pines, with an undergrowth of palmettos 
 and grass, interspersed with an occasional forest of palm, 
 live oak and other hard wood timbers. 
 
 The orange belt is from one to three miles in width, and 
 is principally on the west side near the river. West of the 
 orange belt are the St. John's prairies, which are unfit for 
 orange culture, but afford fine pasturage, and are good for 
 vegetables and the culture of sugar-cane and hay. 
 
 The river south of Indian River Inlet, on the eastern
 
 THE INDIAN RIVER 211 
 
 shore, is skirted with a narrow belt of mangrove timber of 
 only a few rods in width, which is very dense and almost 
 impenetrable. It is a deep green the entire year, and pre- 
 sents a beautiful appearance. The strip of land adjacent to 
 the ocean between Jupiter Inlet and the mouth of St. Lucie 
 River, is known as Jupiter Island, and is about half a mile 
 wide and twenty miles long. It has some excellent land 
 and is elevated from fifteen to thirty feet above the sea. 
 The river here, at Jupiter Narrows, is less than half a mile 
 wide. The western bank is from forty to fifty feet high 
 and covered with a dense low scrub of live oak bushes, not 
 more than two or three feet high, and when viewed from 
 the Island, these heights remind one of the green pastures 
 of the north they are always the same colour, a beautiful 
 green. This portion of the river is full of oysters and the 
 inlet is the finest fishing on the coast. On the bank of 
 the river, at various places, are large mounds of clam and 
 oyster shells ; the largest of them near Jupiter Inlet, is 
 nearly a quarter of a mile long and about forty feet high. 
 
 At the north end of the river are some fine live oak and 
 palm hummock lands, very rich and suitable for orange, 
 groves, sugar-cane and garden vegetables. The climate 
 from October to May is a perpetual Indian summer, com- 
 mingled with the balm-iest days of spring, seldom interrupted 
 by storms and only with occasional showers, while most of 
 the time there is a gentle breeze coming inland from the 
 even-tempered waters of the Gulf Stream. The pre- 
 vailing winds are easterly, being the trade winds, which ex- 
 tend as far north as Cape Carnaveral and are perceptible as 
 far north as New Smyrna and St. Augustine. The nights 
 are cool even in summer the atmosphere invigourating 
 and health restoring.
 
 212 THE INDIAN RIVER 
 
 Mineral and other springs are frequent, many of them 
 possessing medicinal properties. Game is abundant bear, 
 deer, quail and wild turkeys on the land, ducks on the lakes 
 and rivers, and green turtle and fish in the waters. All of 
 these, with its beautiful building sites, its superior surf bath- 
 ing and boat sailing, the absence of swamps and marshes, 
 will eventually cause the banks of this magnificent sheet of 
 water to become one vast villa of winter residences.
 
 THE NILE 
 
 J. HOWARD REED 
 
 THE holy river " the Jove-descended Nile " formerly 
 bore the name of ^Egyptus. Professor Rawlinson 
 in his History of the Ancient Egyptians, says : " The term 
 Egypt was not known to the ancient Egyptians themselves, 
 but appears to have been first used by the Greeks as a name 
 for the Nile, and thence extended to the country. It is 
 stated by some authorities that the river received its present 
 title from Nilus, an ancient king of Thebes, who named the 
 stream after himself." 
 
 " Father Nile " was an object of great veneration to the 
 ancients, and a gift of its waters was considered by them as 
 a present fit for kings and queens. The veneration in 
 which the river was held, of course, arose from the bless- 
 ings of its annual overflow spread broadcast over its banks 
 by fertilizing the seed of the sower, producing abundant 
 crops for the sickle of the reaper, and thus making glad the 
 heart of man. It is stated that the Arabs in the present day 
 consider it a delicious privilege to slake their thirst with 
 the salubrious and agreeable waters of the river, and I have 
 read that they will even artificially excite thirst to indulge 
 in the pleasure of imbibing refreshing and satisfying 
 draughts from the " holy stream." The general Pescennius 
 Niger is said to have cried to his soldiers : " What ! crave 
 you for wine, when you have the water of the Nile to 
 drink ? " Homer is stated to have said, no doubt referring
 
 214 THE NILE 
 
 poetically to its regular and fertilizing overflow : " The 
 Nile flows down from heaven." The Egyptians say that 
 " If Mahomet had tasted the waters of the Nile, he would 
 have prayed God to make him immortal, that he might have 
 enjoyed them for ever." 
 
 The river has a total length of considerably over 3,000 
 miles, and is remarkable among the rivers of the world from 
 the fact that for about the last 1,500 miles of its flow it re- 
 ceives no tributary none, in fact, after the Albara or 
 Tacazze. The consequence is that, by the time it reaches 
 the sea, its volume is considerably reduced by evaporation, 
 and from the large quantity of water used along its banks 
 for irrigation and other purposes. The river is formed of 
 two principal branches, the Bahr-el-Azrek, or Blue Nile, 
 and the Bahr-el-Abiad, or White Nile, the latter of which 
 is the main branch or true Nile. It receives also, as trib- 
 utary rivers, the Atbara or Tacazze before mentioned, with 
 the Sobat and Asua on the east side ; and the Bahr-el-Ga- 
 zelle on the west ; besides other smaller and less important 
 streams. Its waters are discharged into the Mediterranean 
 through several mouths, the two principal of which are 
 known as the Rosetta and Damietta mouths the first-named 
 being to the west and the other to the^east. The princi- 
 pal island formed by the divisions of the river being shaped 
 like the fourth letter of the Greek alphabet, takes the name 
 of Delta ; and the Nile is doubtless the river which first 
 suggested what is now a technical name for all similar for- 
 mations at the mouths of rivers. 
 
 The rise and overflow of the Nile caused by the seasonal 
 rains of the interior, has been for ages noted for its regular- 
 ity. The rise commences about midsummer, reaches its 
 greatest height at the autumnal equinox, and has again sub-
 

 
 THE NILE 215 
 
 sided by Christmas ; leaving the land highly enriched by the 
 fertilizing sediment of red earth brought down by the Abys- 
 sinian tributaries and deposited by the river. The land 
 can then be worked and the crops planted. The rise and 
 fall of the river is watched with great anxiety by the inhab- 
 itants of the Nile valley. At intervals along its banks 
 river gauges, or nilometers, are fixed, upon which the varia- 
 tions of the river are duly recorded. 
 
 Nearly five centuries before the Christian era, the first 
 great African traveller, Herodotus, writing about the Nile, 
 said : " Respecting the nature of this river, I was unable to 
 gain any information, either from the priests or any one else. 
 I was very desirous, however, of learning from them why 
 the Nile, beginning at the summer solstice, fills and over- 
 flows for a hundred days ; and when it has nearly completed 
 this number of days, falls short in its stream and retires ; so 
 that it continues low all the winter, until the return of the 
 summer solstice." 
 
 Seneca writes that the Emperor Nero sent an exploring 
 expedition under two centurions with military force to ex- 
 plore the countries along the banks of the Astapus or 
 White River, and to search for the Nile's sources. They 
 passed down the river a considerable distance until immense 
 marshes were met with. They forced their way through, 
 and continued their journey southward, until the river was 
 seen " tumbling down or issuing out between the rocks." 
 They were then obliged to turn back and declare their 
 mission a failure. The centurions are stated to have brought 
 back with them a map of the districts they had passed 
 through, for the information of the Imperial Nero. 
 
 This early expedition succeeded in penetrating about 800 
 Roman miles south of Meroe that is to say, reaching three
 
 Il6 THE NILE 
 
 or four degrees north latitude. The place where water was 
 seen " tumbling down from between the rocks " was prob- 
 ably the Fola or Mekade cataract, again discovered in our 
 own day by the late General Gordon. The river here 
 rushes through a narrow ravine, over and between rocks of 
 from thirty to forty feet high. These falls are stated to be 
 the only insurmountable obstacle to the navigation of the 
 Nile, for vessels of considerable size, from the Mediter- 
 ranean to the Albert Lake. 
 
 About seventy years later, during the Second Century, 
 we find Claudius Ptolemy, a celebrated geographer and as- 
 trologer of Alexandria, writing about the Nile and its 
 sources. He tells us that the " holy stream " rises some 
 twelve degrees south of the equator, in a number of streams 
 that flow into two lakes, situated east and west of each 
 other; from which, in turn, issue two rivers; these after- 
 wards unite and form the Nile. Ptolemy also mentions 
 that in the interior of Africa were some mountains which 
 he called " Selenes Oros" generally translated " Mountains 
 of the Moon." 
 
 Following in the steps of Ptolemy, come the Arab geog- 
 raphers, and they are stated to have practically adopted all 
 his theories and geographical notions. 
 
 Later on we find that the Portugese travellers obtained a 
 considerable amount of information regarding the geography 
 of the interior of Africa. They appear to have had some 
 knowledge of the existence of several large lakes in the 
 centre of the continent, and in some of their early maps 
 these lakes find a place. 
 
 It appears to have been known to the ancients that the 
 Nile proper is formed of two principal branches, which 
 join and form one river close to where the town of Khar-
 
 THE NILE 217 
 
 toum (or its ruin) now stands ; but beyond this, as we have 
 seen, little authentic information has been handed down. 
 
 In the year 1770, Bruce gave his attention to the Blue 
 Nile. He was enabled to locate the sources of that branch 
 of the river among the mountains and highlands of Abys- 
 sinia, near Lake Dembea. In 1 788, the African Association 
 was founded, and in furtherance of its objects much in- 
 formation was obtained of the geography of the " Dark 
 Continent." In 1827, M. Linant, a French traveller, 
 passed up the White Nile to a considerable distance above 
 its junction with the Blue Nile branch. About the year 
 1840 two Egyptian naval officers headed an expedition, fitted 
 out by Mahommed Ali, the then ruler of Egypt; they 
 forced their way through the terrible marshes to within 3 
 4" of the equator ; but were, like the expedition of the Em- 
 peror Nero, at last obliged to turn back. 
 
 In 1831, the old African Association was merged into the 
 Royal Geographical Society, and from then, right down to 
 the present time, our knowledge of the Nile and its sources 
 has been perfecting itself. 
 
 While resting on the plateau land above the south-west 
 corner of the Albert Lake, on the 25th of May, 1888, Stan- 
 ley's attention was called to a towering mountain height 
 capped with snow, which, from where he stood, lay about 
 fifty miles away to the south-east. Twelve months later 
 on his homeward journey, after crossing the Semliki River, 
 which he found flowing into the south end of the Albert 
 Lake, Stanley found himself following a range of hills, the 
 tops of which towering up some 19,000 feet high, were 
 covered with perpetual snow. This melting under the 
 action of a tropical sun, poured its volumes of water into 
 the Semliki River at his feet, which in turn conveyed it
 
 2l8 THE NILE 
 
 thence to the Albert Lake and onwards to swell the torrent 
 of Father Nile. 
 
 Stanley writes : " Little did we imagine it, but the re- 
 sults of our journey from the Albert Nyanza to 
 
 where I turned away from the newly-discovered lake in 
 1876, established beyond a doubt that the snowy mountain, 
 which bears the native name of Ruwenzori or Ruwenjura, 
 is identical with what the ancients called l Mountains of 
 the Moon.' 
 
 " Note what Scheadeddin, an Arabian geographer of the 
 Fifteenth Century writes : 4 From the Mountains of the 
 Moon the Egyptian Nile takes its rise. It cuts horizon- 
 tally the equator in its course north. Many rivers come 
 from this mountain and unite in a great lake. From this 
 lake comes the Nile, the most beautiful and greatest of the 
 rivers of all the earth.' "
 
 THE NILE 
 
 ISAAC TAYLOR 
 
 AFTER a few days at Cairo one of the most amus- 
 ing and picturesque cities in the world the Ex- 
 press Nile Service of Messrs. Cook brings the traveller in 
 three days to Luxor, where he will find enough to occupy 
 him for as many weeks. The first view from the river 
 shows the appositeness of the epithet Hecatompylos, ap- 
 plied to Thebes by Homer. Huge cubical masses of 
 masonry not the gateways of the city, which was never 
 walled, but the pylons and propylons of the numerous tem- 
 ples are seen towering above the palms, and, separated 
 from each other by miles of verdant plain, roughly indicate 
 the limits of the ancient city. 
 
 At Luxor the Nile valley is about ten miles across. The 
 escarpment of the desert plateau, which elsewhere forms a 
 fringing clifF of nearly uniform elevation, here breaks into 
 cone-shaped peaks rising to a height of seventeen hundred 
 feet above the level plain, which in January is already wav- 
 ing with luxuriant crops the barley coming into ear, the 
 lentils and vetches in flower and the tall sugar-canes be- 
 ginning to turn yellow. The plain is dotted with Arab 
 villages, each raised above the level of the inundation on 
 its tell, or mound of ancient debris, and embosomed in a 
 grove of date-palms mingled with the quaint dom-palms 
 characteristic of the Thebiad. Animal life is far more 
 abundant than in Italy or France. We note the camels 
 and buffaloes feeding everywhere, tethered in the fields ; the
 
 220 THE NILE 
 
 great soaring kites floating in the air ; the graceful hoopoos, 
 which take the place of our English thrushes ; the white 
 paddy-birds fishing on the sand-banks of the river; gay 
 king-fishers, among them the fish-tiger pied in black and 
 white; the sun-bird, a bee-eater clad in a brilliant coat of 
 green and gold ; the crested lark, the greater and lesser owl, 
 as well as water-wagtails, pipits, chats and warblers, numer- 
 ous swifts and swallows, with an occasional vulture, eagle, 
 cormorant, pelican, or crane. The jackal is common ; and 
 the wolf, the hyena, and the fox are not unfrequently 
 heard, but seldom seen. 
 
 The sunsets on the Nile, if not the finest in the world, 
 are unique in character. This is probably due to the ex- 
 cessive dryness of the atmosphere, and to the haze of im- 
 palpable dust arising from the fine mud deposited by the 
 inundation. As the sun descends, he leaves a pathway or 
 glowing gold reflected from the smooth surface of the Nile. 
 Any faint streaks of cloud in the west shine out as the 
 tenderest and most translucent bars of rose ; a lurid reflec- 
 tion of the sunset lights up the eastern sky ; then half an 
 hour after sunset a great dome of glow arises in the west, 
 lemon, changing into the deepest orange, and slowly dying 
 away into a crimson fringe on the horizon the glassy mir- 
 ror of the Nile gleaming like molten metal ; and then, as 
 the last hues of sunset fade, the zodiacal light, a huge milky 
 cone, shoots up into the sky. 
 
 On moonless nights the stars shine out with a brilliancy 
 unknown in our misty northern latitudes. About three in 
 the morning the strange marvel of the Southern Cross rises 
 for an hour or two, the lowest star of the four appearing 
 through a fortunate depression in the chain of hills. When 
 the moon is nearly full, the visitors sally out into the tern-
 
 THE NILE 221 
 
 pies to enjoy in the clear, calm and balmy air the mystery 
 of their dark recesses, enhanced by the brilliant illumination 
 of the thickly clustered columns. It is a sight, once seen, 
 never to be forgotten. 
 
 But the charm of Luxor does not consist mainly in its 
 natural beauties, though these are not to be despised, but 
 in its unrivalled historical interest. There is no other site 
 of a great ancient city which takes you so far and so clearly 
 back into the past. All the greater monuments of Thebes, 
 all the chief tombs and temples, are older than the time of 
 Moses; they bear in clearly readable cartouches on their 
 sculptured walls the names of the great conquering kings of 
 the eighteenth and nineteenth dynasties Thotmes III., 
 Amenhotep III., Seti I., and Rameses II. who carried the 
 victorious arms of Egypt to Ethiopia, Lybia, the Euphrates 
 and the Orontes ; the great wall-faces forming a picture- 
 gallery of their exploits. More modern names on the tem- 
 ple-walls of Thebes are those of Shishak, who vanquished 
 Rehoboam, and Tirhakah, the contemporary of Hezekiah. 
 The earliest name yet found at Thebes is that of Usertasen, 
 a king of the twelfth dynasty, who lived some forty-three 
 centuries ago ; the latest considerable additions were made 
 by the Ptolemies, and the record finally closes with a car- 
 touche in which we spell out the hieroglyphic name of the 
 Emperor Tiberius. But practically the monumental history 
 of Thebes has ended before that of ancient Rome begins. 
 The arches of Titus and Constantine, the mausoleum of 
 Hadrian, Trajan's Column, the Colosseum and the Cata- 
 combs in short, all the great structures of pre-Christian 
 Rome date from a time when Thebes had begun to be 
 forsaken, and the ruin of her temples had commenced. 
 Even the oldest Roman monuments, the Cloaca Maxima,
 
 222 THE NILE 
 
 the Agger, and the substructures of the Palatine belong to 
 a period when the greater edifices of Thebes were hoary 
 with the dust of centuries. When Herodotus, the father 
 of European history, voyaged up the Nile to Thebes, at a 
 time when the Greeks had not even heard of an obscure 
 Italian town which bore the name of Rome, the great tem- 
 ples which he saw, the vocal Memnon which is the statue 
 of Amenhotep III., and the buildings which he ascribed to 
 a king he called Sesostris, already belonged to an antiquity 
 as venerable as that which separates the Heptarchy and the 
 Anglo-Saxon Kings from the reign of Queen Victoria. 
 
 Difficult as it is to realize the antiquity of these monu- 
 ments, in many of which the chiselling is as sharp and the 
 colouring as brilliant as if they had been executed only yes- 
 terday, it is still more difficult by any description to convey 
 an impression of their vastness. The temples and tombs 
 are scattered over a space of many square miles ; single 
 ruins cover an area of several acres ; thousands of square 
 yards of wall contain only the pictured story of a single 
 campaign. For splendour and magnitude the group of tem- 
 ples at Karnak, about two miles, from Luxor, forms the 
 most magnificent ruin in the world.
 
 THE DON 
 
 fiLISEE R^CLUS 
 
 THE lands draining to the Sea of Azov, form no sharply 
 defined region, with bold natural frontiers and 
 distinct populations. The sources of the Don and its head- 
 streams intermingle with those of the Volga and Dnieper 
 some like the Medveditza, flowing even for some 
 distance parallel with the Volga. As in the Dnieper and 
 Dniester valleys, the " black lands " and bare steppes here 
 also follow each other successively as we proceed south- 
 wards, while the population naturally diminishes in density 
 in the same direction. The land is occupied in the north 
 and east by the Great Russians, westwards by the Little 
 Russians, in the south and in New Russia by colonies of 
 every race and tongue, rendering this region a sort of com- 
 mon territory, where all the peoples of the empire except 
 the Finns are represented. Owing to the great extent of 
 the steppes, the population is somewhat less dense than in 
 the Dnieper basin and Central Russia, but it is yearly and 
 rapidly increasing. 
 
 The Don, the root of which is probably contained in its 
 Greek name Tanai's, is one of the great European rivers, if 
 not in the volume of its waters, at least in the length of its 
 course, with its windings some 1,335 miles altogether. 
 Rising in a lakelet in the government of Tula, it flows first 
 southwards to its junction with the nearly parallel Veronej, 
 beyond which point it trends to the south-east, and even 
 eastwards, as if extending to reach the Volga. After
 
 224 THE DON 
 
 being enlarged by the Khopor and Medveditza, it arrives 
 within forty-five miles of that river, above which it has a 
 mean elevation of 138 feet. Its banks, like those of the 
 Volga, present the normal appearance, the right being raised 
 and steep, while the left has already been levelled by the 
 action of the water. Thus the Don flows, as it were, on a 
 sort of terrace resembling a stair step, the right or western 
 cliffs seemingly diverting it to the lower Volga bed. Nev- 
 ertheless, before reaching that river, it makes a sharp bend 
 first southwards, then south-westwards to the Sea of Azov. 
 From a commercial stand-point, it really continues the 
 course of the Volga. Flowing to a sea which, through the 
 Straits of Yeni-Kaleh, the Bosphorus, Dardanelles, and 
 Gibraltar, communicates with the ocean, it has the im- 
 mense advantage over the Volga of not losing itself in a 
 land-locked basin. Hence most of the goods brought down 
 the Volga are landed at the bend nearest the Don, and 
 forwarded to that river. When besieging Astrakhan the 
 Sultan Selim II. had already endeavoured to cut a canal 
 between the two rivers, in order to transport his supplies 
 to the Caspian. Peter the Great resumed the works, but 
 the undertaking was abandoned, and until the middle of the 
 present century the portage was crossed only by beasts of 
 burden and wagons. But since 1861 the rivers have been 
 connected by rail. Free from ice for about two hundred 
 and forty days at its easternmost bend, the Don is some- 
 times so low and blocked with shoals that navigation be- 
 comes difficult even for flat-bottomed boats. During the 
 two floods, at the melting of the ice in spring, and in the 
 summer rains, its lower course rises eighteen to twenty feet 
 above its normal level, overflowing its banks in several 
 places for a distance of eighteen miles.
 
 THE DON 225 
 
 The most important, although not the most extensive, 
 coal-fields of Russia cover an area of about 10,000 square 
 miles, chiefly in the southern part of the Donetz basin. 
 Since 1865, nearly 650 beds have been found, mostly near 
 the surface, the seams varying in thickness from one foot to 
 twenty-four feet, and containing every description of com- 
 bustible material, from the anthracite to the richest bitu- 
 minous coal. The ravines here furrowing the land facili- 
 tate the study of the strata and the extraction of the min- 
 eral. Yet these valuable deposits were long neglected, and 
 even during the Crimean war the Russians, deprived of 
 their English supplies, were still without the necessary 
 apparatus to avail themselves of these treasures. 
 
 Even the iron ores, which here also abound, were little 
 utilized till that event, since when the extraction both of 
 coal and iron has gone on continually increasing in the 
 Donetz basin. In 1839, the yield scarcely exceeded 14,000 
 tons, whereas the output of the Grushova mines alone now 
 amounts to 210,000 tons, and the total yield of the coal- 
 pits exceeded 672,000 tons in 1872. The coal is now used 
 by the local railways and steamers of the Don, Sea of 
 Azov, and Euxine. 
 
 Already reduced in extent by the terrestrial revolutions 
 which separated it from the Caspian, the Sea of Azov has 
 been further diminished in historic times, although far less 
 than might be supposed from the local traditions. No 
 doubt Herodotus gives the Palus Maeotis an equal area to 
 that of the Euxine. But as soon as the Greeks had visited 
 and founded settlements on this inland sea they discovered 
 how limited it was compared with the open sea. Never- 
 theless, fifteen hundred years ago it was certainly somewhat 
 larger and deeper than at present, the alluvia of the Don
 
 226 THE DON, 
 
 having gradually narrowed its basin and raised its bed. Its 
 outline also has been completely changed, Strabo's descrip- 
 tion no longer answering to the actual form of its shores. 
 
 The town of Tanai's, founded by the Greeks, at the very 
 mouth of the Don, and which at the time of Ptolemy was 
 already at some distance from the coast, has ceased to exist. 
 But the architectural remains and inscriptions discovered 
 by Leontiyev between Siniavka and the village of Nedoi- 
 govka, show that its site was about six miles from the old 
 mouth of the Great Don, since changed to a dry bed. The 
 course of the main stream has been deflected southwards, 
 and here is the town of Azov, for a time the successor of 
 Tanai's in strategic and commercial importance. But where 
 the flow is most abundant, there also the alluvium encroaches 
 most rapidly, and the delta would increase even at a still 
 more accelerated rate for the fierce east and north-east 
 gales prevailing for a great part of the year. The sedi- 
 mentary matter brought down, in the proportion of about 
 one to 1,200 of fluid, amounts altogether to 230,160,000 
 cubic feet, causing a mean annual advance of nearly twenty- 
 two feet. 
 
 The Gulf of Taganrog, about eighty miles long and 
 forming the north-east extremity of the sea, may, on the 
 whole, be regarded as a simple continuation of the Don, as 
 regards both the character of its water and its current, and 
 the windings of its navigable channel. This gulf, with a 
 mean depth of from ten to twelve and nowhere exceeding 
 twenty-four feet, seems to have diminished by nearly two 
 feet since the first charts, dating from the time of Peter the 
 Great. But a comparison of the soundings taken at vari- 
 ous times is somewhat difficult, as the exact spots where 
 they were taken and the kind of feet employed are some-
 
 THE DON 227 
 
 what doubtful, not to mention the state of the weather, and 
 especially the direction of the winds during the operations. 
 Under the influence of the winds the level of the sea may be 
 temporarily raised or lowered at various points as much as 
 ten or even sixteen or seventeen feet. The mean depth of 
 the whole sea is about thirty-two feet, which, for an area 
 of 14,217 square miles, would give an approximate volume 
 of 13,000 billion cubic feet, or about four times that of 
 Lake Geneva. The bed, composed, like the surrounding 
 steppes, of argillaceous sands, unbroken anywhere by a 
 single rock, is covered, at an extremely low rate of progress, 
 with fresh strata, in which organic remains are mingled 
 with the sandy detritus of the shores. If a portion of the 
 sedimentary matter brought down by the Don were not 
 carried out to the Euxine, the inner sea would be filled up 
 in the space of 56,500 years.
 
 THE COLUMBIA 
 
 J. BODDAM-WHETHAM 
 
 THE Mackenzie River flows through the plain, and is 
 singularly beautiful. Great blocks of basalt come 
 sheer down to the water's edge, and are divided naturally 
 with great exactitude into huge segments. Their yellow 
 and brown colours are reflected with wondrous effect on 
 the surface of the stream. After a few most pleasant days, 
 passed in the neighbourhood of Eugene City, I went on to 
 Oregon City, and there remained to visit the Falls of the 
 Willamette. 
 
 The river narrows near the town, and the water, rushing 
 very swiftly, is precipitated down a fall of about fifty feet. 
 The rocks on either side are of deep black basalt ; and 
 these huge walls, when viewed from the south, are ex- 
 tremely grand. It is only when they are seen from below 
 that the mind is fully impressed with the magnificence of 
 these falls. They have been worn into a horseshoe form 
 by the action of the stream, and the river plunges into the 
 depths below in great curves and sweeping currents. 
 Masses of broken basalt show their heads amidst the rush 
 of foaming waters, and altogether there is a noise, mist, and 
 confusion enough to justify the Oregonians in their pride 
 of their miniature Niagara. Formerly, these falls were the 
 only obstruction to the free navigation of the river, but now 
 it is overcome by the construction of locks, which have
 
 THE COLUMBIA 2 29 
 
 been built in the most substantial manner. The scenery of 
 the river is very picturesque and diversified, and a lovely 
 panorama of hill and dale, water and forest is continually 
 passing before the view. 
 
 Portland had lately been nearly destroyed by fire, conse- 
 quently I had not a good opportunity of judging of the 
 town. It is, however, beautifully situated on the Willa- 
 mette River, and is surrounded by magnificent forests. 
 There are some delightful drives through the woods, one 
 especially to a place called the White House, through a 
 succession of glades and glens full of splendid trees and 
 sweet-scented shrubs, and with views of peculiar quiet 
 loveliness. 
 
 The Willamette runs into the Columbia River about 
 twelve miles below Portland ; so, taking the morning 
 steamer, I prepared to ascend that river, which for grandeur 
 of scenery is not surpassed by any river (with the exception, 
 perhaps, of the Fraser) on the American continent. 
 
 We started so early that a grey fog swallowed up every- 
 thing, and the only objects visible were the paddle-boxes 
 and the funnel. 
 
 We steamed very slowly and cautiously down the 
 Willamette, and as we approached the junction of that river 
 with the Columbia the mist lifted. As it slowly crept back 
 to the shores and up the hills and away to the north, moun- 
 tains, sky and river came out with intense brilliancy and 
 colour under the rays of the rising sun. 
 
 Wonderful forests extended from the far distance down 
 to the very edge of the river. Beeches, oaks, pines, and 
 firs of enormous size formed a sombre background, against 
 which the maple and ash flamed out in their early autumn 
 tints. On the north, the four stately snow-crowned moun-
 
 230 THE COLUMBIA 
 
 tains, Rainier, St. Helen's, Jefferson, and Adams lifted 
 themselves, rose-flushed, high up in the heavens ; the great 
 river flowed rapidly and smoothly between mountain shores, 
 from a mile to a mile and a quarter apart, and the bold 
 rocky heights towered thousands of feet in the air. 
 
 The mountains line the river for miles. When occasion- 
 ally a deep ravine opens you catch a glimpse of distant 
 levels, bounded, in their turn, by the never-ending chain of 
 mountains. 
 
 There is a rare combination, too, of beauty about these 
 mountains ; vegetation and great variety of colour height- 
 ening the picturesque effect of the huge masses of bold bare 
 rock. Now and then the cliffs impeded the flow of the 
 river, which then ran, disturbed and dangerous, between 
 rocky islands and sand-bars. Often the agitated waters be- 
 came gradually calm and formed long narrow lakes, with- 
 out any apparent outlet, until a sudden turn showed a 
 passage through the lofty walls into another link of the 
 water-chain. 
 
 Sometimes a cataract of marvellous beauty came leaping 
 down the rocks from a height of 200 and 300 feet. 
 
 The Multanomah Falls in particular are most beautiful, 
 possessing both the swift resistless rush of the downpour of 
 water and that broken picturesque outline which is the prin- 
 cipal charm of a fall. 
 
 Castle Rock, a huge boulder with basaltic columns like 
 those of Staffa, stands out grandly and alone from a feathery 
 mass of cotton-wood, whose golden splendour rivals in 
 beauty that of the spreading dark green boughs of the pines, 
 whilst the contrast of colour heightens the effect of each 
 brilliant hue. 
 
 On the crest of the rock a fringe of pine trees, growing
 
 THE COLUMBIA 23! 
 
 out of the bare stone and dwarfed to insignificance, shows 
 the vast height of this rifted dome. 
 
 And now we are approaching Cape Horn, whose ramparts 
 rise sheer and straight, like a columnar wall, 800 feet high. 
 
 This majestic portal forms a worthy entrance to the cas- 
 cades. Fierce, seething rapids extend for six miles up the 
 river, and the track of the " portage " runs near the water's 
 edge for the entire distance. The river is narrowed here 
 by lofty heights of trap rock, and the bed itself is nothing 
 but sharp gigantic rocks, sometimes hidden by the water and 
 sometimes forming small islands, between which the foam- 
 ing torrent rushes with tremendous uproar. 
 
 Near where the " portage " begins, a relic of Indian war- 
 fare, in the shape of an old block-house, stands under the 
 fir-trees. 
 
 A small party of white men held a very large body of In- 
 dians at bay for several days in 1856; and as the provi- 
 sions ran short, a grand attack was made on the red men, 
 who were totally routed with great slaughter. 
 
 The scene in this gorge is wild in the extreme. Passing 
 Rooster Rock, the mountain-sides approach each other, and 
 the river flows faster and fiercer; the pillared walls rise 
 sometimes to a height of nearly 3,000 feet, and the wind 
 roaring through the ravine beats up huge waves and adds to 
 the wild grandeur of the view. Whenever the mountains 
 recede to the south, Mount Hood fills the horizon. Ris- 
 ing 14,000 feet, its snow-covered head shines out magnifi- 
 cently against the blue sky, with unvarying grandeur and a 
 strangely attractive form. 
 
 Soon we pass an Indian burial-ground called Caffin 
 Rock, a more desolate slope, covered with rude monuments 
 of rock and circular heaps of piled grey stones.
 
 232 THE COLUMBIA 
 
 Dalles City, where we now arrive, ranks as the second 
 place of importance in Oregon. It takes its name from 
 the "dales " or rough flag-stones, which impede the river, 
 making narrow crooked channels, and thereby causing an- 
 other " portage " for a distance of fifteen miles. Above 
 the town the scene changes ; the cliffs disappear, and from 
 splendid forests and mountains we pass into a region of 
 sand and desert. One tall pillar of red rock, overlooking 
 the sandy waste, stands up forlorn and battered, as if it were 
 the last fragment of a giant peak; and numbers of birds 
 hovering over it seem to regard it as their special ob- 
 servatory. 
 
 Hot white sand is everywhere, and the wind scatters it 
 about in a most uncomfortable manner, covering the track 
 and half-stifling you in its blinding showers. The river 
 scenery is very fine all along this passage, the Dalles being 
 a succession of rapids, falls, and eddying currents. 
 
 Although it was late in the season hundreds of salmon 
 were still ascending, and on the flat shore-rocks were several 
 Indian lodges; their occupants busily engaged in spearing 
 and catching the fish. 
 
 Their usual mode of catching salmon is by means of 
 nets fastened to long handles. They erect wooden scaffolds 
 by the riverside among the rocks, and there await the ar- 
 rival of the fish scooping up thirty or forty per hour. 
 They are also very skilful at spearing them ; rarely missing 
 a fair mark. 
 
 At one of the falls we saw a most treacherous contrivance. 
 A large tree with all its branches' lopped off had been brought 
 to the edge of the river and there fastened, with its smaller 
 end overhanging the foaming fall. A large willow basket, 
 about ten feet deep and over twenty feet in circumference,
 
 THE COLUMBIA 233 
 
 was suspended at the end. The salmon in its efforts to 
 leap the fall would tumble in the basket, and an Indian 
 seated in it would then knock the fish on the head with a 
 club and throw it on shore. 
 
 This mode requires relays of men, as they soon get almost 
 drowned by the quantity of spray and water. Very often, 
 between two and three hundred salmon are caught in a day 
 in this manner. We saw about twenty, averaging in weight 
 from five to twenty pounds, caught in the hour during 
 which we watched the process. But the hook-nosed 
 salmon coarse, nasty fish were the most abundant. 
 They always appear in the autumn, and are found every- 
 where. The salmon are in their greatest perfection in the 
 Columbia River towards the end of June. The best va- 
 riety is called the " chinook," and weighs from twenty to 
 forty pounds. This species is generally accompanied in its 
 ascent by a smaller variety, weighing on an average about 
 ten pounds, and which is also extremely good eating. 
 Gradually as the salmon go higher and higher up the river, 
 their flesh changes from a bright red to a paler colour until 
 it becomes quite white. There are such enormous quanti- 
 ties of them that they can be easily jerked on shore with a 
 stick, and they actually jostle each other out of the water. 
 It is estimated that over 500,000 salmon were taken out 
 of the Columbia River during the year 1872. There is a 
 perfectly true story of a traveller who, when riding, had to 
 cross a stream running from the Cascade Mountains, at a 
 spot where the fish were toiling up in thousands ; and so 
 quickly were they packed as to impede the progress of the 
 horse, which became so frightened as almost to unseat his 
 rider. 
 
 When the salmon are caught, the squaws cure them by
 
 234 THE COLUMBIA 
 
 splitting them and drying the pieces upon wickerwork 
 scaffoldings. Afterwards they smoke them over fires of fir 
 branches. The wanton destruction and waste of these fish 
 is terrible. In the season the Indians will only take the 
 fish in the highest condition, and those that do not satisfy 
 their fastidious tastes are thrown back mutilated and dying 
 into the water. Even when they have killed sufficient to 
 last them for years, they still go to the falls and catch and 
 spear all they can, leaving the beautiful silvery salmon to 
 rot on the stones. Salmon ought certainly to have " Ex- 
 celsior " for a motto. Always moving higher and higher, 
 they are never content, but continue the ascent of the river 
 as far as possible. They go on till they drop, or become 
 so weak and torn from rubbing against the rocks and against 
 one another, that they are pushed into shallows by the 
 stronger ones and die from want of water. Out of the 
 hosts that ascend the rivers, it is generally supposed that a 
 very small proportion indeed ever find their way back to 
 the sea. 
 
 Just below the Great Salmon Falls the whole volume of 
 the stream rushes through a channel hardly one hundred 
 and fifty feet in width. At the falls themselves the river 
 is nearly a mile across, and pours over a rocky wall stretch- 
 ing from shore to shore and about twenty feet high. It is 
 fascinating in the extreme to watch the determined crea- 
 tures as they shoot up the rapids with wonderful agility. 
 They care neither for the seething torrent nor for the deep 
 still pools, and with a rush and with clenched teeth, per- 
 haps they dart up like a silver arrow, and defying rock 
 and fall, are at length safe in the smooth haven above.
 
 THE PO 
 
 GEORGE G. CHISHOLM 
 
 THE northern plain of Italy, whose area is estimated at 
 about 16,450 square miles, or about half that of 
 Scotland, is a geographical unit of the most unmistakable 
 kind. It is, indeed, made up of many river basins, but 
 these are all of one character and without marked lines of 
 delimitation. By far the greater part of the area belongs to 
 the basin of the Po, and the rivers that do not belong to 
 that basin present a general parallelism to the tributaries of 
 the Po. The general slope of the plain is that indicated 
 by the course of its main river, from west to east, but 
 there is also a slope from north to south, and another from 
 south to north, determining the general direction of at least 
 the upper portions of the numerous affluents descending from 
 the Alps and the Apennines. But before reaching the main 
 stream, these affluents are affected in their general direction 
 by the general easterly slope of the plain ; that is to say, 
 their course changes more or less to south-easterly (Dora 
 Baltea, Sesia, Ticino, Adda, Oglio, Mincio), or north- 
 easterly (Tanaro, Scrivia, Trebbia, Taro, Secchia, Panaro), 
 and the farthest east they are the larger is the proportion of 
 the entire course deflected in this manner. In the most 
 easterly portion of the plain, lying west of the Adriatic, so 
 marked is this effect that the rivers (Adige, Brenta, Piave, 
 Livenza) are carried to the sea before reaching the Po. 
 North of the Adriatic the slope and the general direction
 
 236 THE PO 
 
 of the rivers (Tagliamento, Stella, Cormor) become wholly 
 southerly. 
 
 Since ancient times the Po has been recognized as rising 
 to the height of 6,400 feet in the marshy valley of Piano del 
 Re at the foot of Monte Viso, the ancient Vesulus, and 
 after a course of only twenty-one miles and a fall of 5,250 
 feet, it enters the plain at the bridge of Revello, where its 
 middle course may be said to commence. Fed by the " aged 
 snows" of the <Alps, and by the heavy rains of the Alps 
 and Apennines, it is already at Turin, where it receives from 
 the west the Dora Riparia, a navigable stream with a 
 width of 525 feet. At the mouth of the Ticino, the outlet 
 of the Lago Maggiore, its lower course may be said to com- 
 mence. Thence onwards it winds sluggishly across the 
 great plains of 
 
 Fruitful Lombardy, 
 
 The pleasant garden of great Italy, 
 
 with a mean depth of about six and one-half to fifteen and 
 one-half feet, and a fall not exceeding 0.3 : 1,000, so that 
 the waters could hardly move onwards were it not for the 
 impetus imparted by the numerous mountain torrents which 
 it receives at an acute angle.. At last, charged thick with 
 sediment, it passes onwards through the mouths that intersect 
 its muddy delta into the Adriatic. 
 
 In this part of its course, artificial embankments have 
 been found necessary to protect the surrounding country 
 from inundation, and from Cremona onwards these dykes, 
 in part of unknown antiquity, are continuous. After re- 
 ceiving the Mincio, the last tributary on the north, the Po 
 assumes a south-easterly direction, which in ancient times 
 and during the Middle Ages down to about 1150, it main-
 
 THE PO 237 
 
 tained to its mouths, passing Ferrara on the south, and then 
 dividing into two main arms, the Po di Volano to the north, 
 and the Po di Primaro to the south of the Valli di Comacchio. 
 But about that date, it is said, the people of -Ficarolo cut 
 the dyke on the north side at Stellata, and thus gave rise to 
 a new mouth, known first as the Po di Venezia, now as the 
 Po della Maestra, by which the entire volume of the river 
 now runs eastwards, till it breaks up into several small 
 branches at the delta. Since then the arm of the Po be- 
 tween Stulata and Ferrara has become silted up. Since 1577 
 the Panaro which formerly entered this arm at Ferrara has 
 gradually moved its mouth backwards till it enters the main 
 stream just below Stellata. The Po di Volano, which in 
 the Second Century B. c. was the most accessible mouth 
 for shipping and afterwards the main mouth, has now be- 
 come wholly detached from the Po, and merely serves as a 
 drainage canal for the surrounding marshes, while the Po di 
 Primaro has been utilized since 1770 as the mouth for the 
 regulated Remo. 
 
 Long before the historic period, tens of thousands of 
 years ago, but which geologists call recent, the great valley 
 was an arm of the sea ; for beneath the gravels and alluvia 
 that form the soils of Piedmont and Lombardy, sea-shells of 
 living species are found in well-known unconsolidated strata 
 at no great depth. At this period the lakes of Como, Mag- 
 giore, and Garda may have been fiords, though much less 
 deep than now. Later still, the Alpine valleys through 
 which the affluents of the Po run were full to the brim 
 with the huge old glaciers already referred to. 
 
 When we consider the vast size of the moraines shed 
 from the ancient glaciers that fed the Po, it is evident that 
 at all times, but especially during floods, vast havoc must
 
 238 THE PO 
 
 often have occurred among the masses of loose debris. 
 Stones, sand, and mud, rolled along the bottom and borne 
 on in suspension, must have been scattered across the plains 
 by the swollen waters. 
 
 It will thus be easily understood how the vast plains that 
 bound the Po and its tributaries were gradually formed by 
 the constant annual increase of river gravels and finer 
 alluvia, and how these sediments rose in height by the over- 
 flow of the waters, and steadily encroached upon the sea by 
 the growth of the delta. The fact that the drainage line of 
 the plain lies not in the middle but farther from the Alps than 
 the Apennines, shows that in this process the loftier range 
 on the north has contributed more than the lower one to 
 the south. And this process, begun thousands of years be- 
 fore history began, has largely altered the face of the 
 country within historic times, and is powerfully in action 
 at the present day. 
 
 It has been estimated by Sir Archibald Geikie that the 
 area drained by the Po is on an average being lowered one 
 foot in 729 years, and a corresponding amount of sediment 
 carried away by the river. 
 
 It is hard to get at the historical records of the river more 
 than two thousand years ago, though we may form a good 
 guess as to its earlier geological history. \Vithin the histor- 
 ical period extensive lakes and marshes (some of them prob- 
 ably old sea lagoons) lay within its plains, since gradually 
 filled with sediment by periodical floods. The great lines 
 of dykes that have been erected to guard against those 
 floods have introduced an element that modifies this process. 
 The result has been that the alluvial flats on either side ot 
 the river outside the dykes have long received but little ad- 
 dition of surface sediment, and their level is nearly station-
 
 THE PO 239 
 
 ary. It thus happens that most of the sediment that in old 
 times would have been spread by overflows across the 
 land is now hurried along towards the Adriatic, there, with 
 the help of the Adige, steadily to advance the far-spreading 
 alluvial flats that form the delta of the two rivers. But the 
 confined river, unable by annual floods to dispose of part of 
 its sediment, just as the dykes were increased in height, 
 gradually raised its bottom by the deposition there of a por- 
 tion of the transported material, so that the risk of occa- 
 sional floods is again renewed. All these dangers have 
 been increased by the wanton destruction of the forests of 
 the Alps and Apennines, for when the shelter of the wood 
 is gone, the heavy rains of summer easily wash the soil from 
 the slopes down into the rivers, and many an upland pas- 
 ture has by this process been turned into bare rock. In this 
 way it happens that during the historical period the quantity 
 of detritus borne onwards by the Po has much increased ; 
 and whereas between the years 1200 and 1600 the delta ad- 
 vanced on an average only about twenty-five yards a year, 
 from 1600 to 1800 the annual advance has been more than 
 seventy-five yards. Between 1823 and 1893 tne deposits 
 at the Po di Maestra and the Po di Goro advanced on an 
 average 260 feet yearly, those of the Po di Tolle 315 feet, 
 and those of the Po della Gnocca no feet. The area of 
 the Po delta has increased within that time by twenty and 
 one-half square miles, and that of the whole coast from 
 44 20' to the Austrian frontier by 29.8 square miles. 
 Besides the Po and some of its chief tributaries, the Adige 
 is the only river in the northern plain of Italy of importance 
 as a waterway ; and even it, though navigable for vessels of 
 considerable size, as high as Trent in the Tirol, where 
 there is a depth of from thirteen to sixteen feet, is navigable
 
 240 THE PO 
 
 only with great difficulty in consequence of the great 
 rapidity of its course. Boats can descend from Trent to 
 Verona (fifty miles) in twenty-four hours, but for the as- 
 cent require from five to seven days. The country on the 
 banks of this river is much subject to inundations, protec- 
 tion against which is afforded, as on the Po, by dykes, 
 which begin about twelve miles below Verona.
 
 THE MENAM 
 
 MRS. UNSWORTH 
 
 THE River Menam (mother of waters) is the central 
 attraction of all life and trade ; it is the great high- 
 way for traffic and the great cleanser and purifier of the 
 cities ; its tide sweeps out to the sea all the dirt and refuse 
 accumulating therein ; it is the universal bath for all the 
 Siamese. The children paddle and play their games in it ; 
 it is the scene of their frolics in infancy, their means of 
 livelihood in manhood, and to many of them their grave in 
 death. At sunset, when work is suspended, there is a 
 great splashing and plunging going on all along the river 
 banks, everybody taking a bath or amusing themselves in 
 the water. The river bar is a great trouble to navigators. The 
 king will not have it dredged, as he, in his ignorance, thinks 
 it a natural protection to his country, as only ships of a 
 shallow draft can cross. Trading ships have to be built 
 specially constructed for that purpose. No large man-of- 
 war can cross, but the king did not take into consideration 
 the small torpedo boats that can do so much mischief; re- 
 cent events, however, must have opened his eyes. We 
 cannot rush into Siam at railway speed ; the ship must be 
 lightened as much as possible, and we must wait until the 
 tide is at its highest it may be two hours, or it may be 
 twenty-two and even then the channel is so narrow that 
 if we go a little to the right or to the left we run aground. 
 Many times there are two ships fast aground; once or
 
 242 THE MENAM 
 
 twice there have been four and five. Some have had to 
 stay seven and eight days, and have every movable thing 
 taken out before they could rise. Nothing can exceed the 
 monotony of lying aground there; there is nothing to see, 
 only in the distance some low-lying ground covered with a 
 scrub, no sign of habitations, no cliffs or green hills rising 
 out of the sea nothing but water, water all around, and a 
 glimpse of flat low-lying ground with wild shrubs on it. 
 
 After crossing this vexatious river bar, we proceed up the 
 river eight miles with nothing to see but low banks until 
 we come to the forts at Paknam. The river banks are 
 very low, and fringed at the water's edge with palms and 
 huge tree ferns ; the mango and tamarind trees hang over 
 and the banyan tree, with its branches hanging down and 
 taking root again, makes quite an entanglement of roots and 
 branches. At night these trees are lit up with thousands of 
 fire flies ; on a dark night they glisten and sparkle like the 
 firmament. But in the morning the river is alive with 
 buyers and sellers. We very soon come to a market lying 
 in the river all kinds of Eastern fruits and vegetables and 
 crockeryware are piled up on floating rafts, the sellers sit- 
 ting cross-legged beside their wares, and the buyers rushing 
 about in small canoes propelled with one oar. 
 
 If the officers in charge of steamships like to be mischievous 
 and go full speed, leaving a big swell in their track, they 
 have the fun of seeing the floating stalls swaying up and 
 down, banging against one another fruit and vegetables, 
 rolling off into the water, with the stall-holders shouting 
 and plunging into the river to save their wares ! 
 
 We then come to more floating houses and houses on 
 piles. Europeans find the advantage of living on the river 
 to be that they get more breeze and fewer mosquitoes j so
 
 THE MENAM 243 
 
 here and there, among the floating mat-shed erections, we 
 see a neat painted wooden house on piles ; it has to be ap- 
 proached by a boat, and you enter up a staircase on to a 
 wide verandah. The sitting-rooms and bedrooms all open 
 out of this verandah. No windows, no fireplaces are 
 needed in this country very strange un-home-like resi- 
 dences they are to any one coming fresh from England, yet 
 they are suitable for the climate. 
 
 Here and there amongst the palm trees, and under wide- 
 spreading tamarind trees we see white-washed temples, with 
 fantastically-shaped gilded roofs j they look very pictur- 
 esque amongst the trees ; they have a style of architecture 
 peculiar to the country, which is more prominent in the 
 shape of the roof, which is a sloping Gothic roof, 
 with all the corners branching out and turning up; one 
 roof is surmounted with another smaller, and then a 
 smaller one still. These buildings give quite a char- 
 acter to the country and are very numerous. It makes 
 Siamese architecture quite distinctive from that of other 
 countries. 
 
 As we get to the city of Bangkok, the sides of the river 
 are lined with timber and saw-mills and rice-mills, with tall 
 chimneys, and black smoke oozing out. This is European 
 enterprise ; they quite spoil the scenic effect on the river, 
 but not any more than the mean, dirty bamboo huts that 
 line the riversides. The Siamese have no medium re- 
 spectability ; it is all either gorgeously gilded palaces, and 
 fantastically-adorned temples, or filthy-looking huts. A 
 great many of the shopkeepers have their shops right on 
 the river. Some of them are neatly arranged, with a plat- 
 form in front, on which you land from your boat. All the 
 family are lounging about this platform, the wife carrying
 
 244 THE MENAM 
 
 on her domestic duties, washing up the cooking utensils by 
 dipping them into the river; the clothes (what few they 
 wear) go through the same process; and the children, 
 naked, are sporting about this narrow platform, or sitting 
 on the edge with their feet in the water. 
 
 It is very convenient for a shopkeeper who wishes to 
 change his place of business ; if he thinks there is a more 
 desirable and more frequented spot, he just unmoors his 
 floating shop and has it towed to the place he wants, with- 
 out disarranging his wares. 
 
 Branching off from the river are innumerable canals, or 
 creeks the Siamese call them klongs the banks of which 
 are lined with houses and shops ; they make a canal where 
 we would make a road or a street. Up some of these klongs 
 there are pretty views, especially at sunset. Graceful ferns 
 and palms, bamboo trees, with their branches dipping into 
 the water and reflected therein, and between the branches 
 the sloping roof of some house or temple is visible. But 
 many of these klongs or canals, in the most frequented part 
 of the city, are the reverse of pretty. They are just like a 
 large open sewer running down to the river, full of filthy 
 garbage. When the tide is low there are the black slime, the 
 naked children playing in it, and the dirty huts on rickety 
 piles leaning forward as if they wanted to slide down into 
 the mud ; sometimes a dead body comes floating down, and 
 plenty of dead animals. 
 
 It is very lively on the river in the city. Here are ocean- 
 going steamers and sailing vessels moored amid-stream, or 
 tied up to the various wharves, whilst an endless variety of 
 native craft are darting about narrow boats, like canoes, 
 propelled with one oarsman, hawking fruit and betel ; pretty 
 little house boats, fashioned something like the Venetian
 
 THE MENAM 245 
 
 gondolas, with four, six or more rowers, standing up, 
 dressed in bright uniforms, according to the rank of the 
 family they belong to; the rice boats from far up the 
 country, of very peculiar construction, flat-bottomed, to go 
 through shallow water, and wide bulging out sides, roofed 
 over like houses. In the rainy season, when the river is 
 full, the large teak-wood rafts about 1,000 feet long, come 
 floating down, with huts for the steersman built on them. 
 Small steam launches and ferries, running up and down 
 from various places, all combine to make the river scene 
 pretty and interesting. One enthusiastic newspaper corre- 
 spondent pronounced Bangkok to be the Venice of the 
 East. It may resemble Venice in the amount of water 
 traffic, but it would require a great stretch of imagination, 
 and the help of some glorifying and transfiguring tints from 
 the setting sun, before we could allow the comparison ; but 
 no doubt it bears the same relation to the East, where filth 
 and squalor predominate, as Venice bears to the refined and 
 cultured Europe. 
 
 There are a few well-kept houses of business and private 
 residences bordering the river, but not many, and these in 
 no way resemble the marble palaces of European Venice. 
 The general aspect of the river banks is dirty disorder 
 rotten piles, with untidy-looking floating houses, mat- 
 sheds, and bamboo huts, reaching up to the King's palace. 
 The palace walls enclose many buildings, offices, temples, 
 private residences, gardens, and residences for the sacred 
 white elephants. The attractive part of these buildings 
 and the great ornamentation are in the roofs, which are 
 very gorgeous. Some have tall pointed pinnacles, all 
 gilded; some are covered with a fantastic pattern in 
 porcelain, with little gilded peaks, which look dazzling in
 
 246 THE MENAM 
 
 the sun. Viewed from a distance these buildings realize 
 all that has been written in glowing terms of Eastern 
 palaces, but near to the charm is not so vivid, as there is 
 much tawdriness about them. Whilst remaining on the 
 river the filth and refuse are not so prominent ; the tide 
 sweeps all away. But leave the river, and take to the 
 woods. Oh ! the offensive sights and smells that greet 
 one's eyes and nose offal and waste of every description 
 thrown in front of the houses in the public streets. But 
 nature is kind and very luxurious here ; in a short time 
 these heaps of rubbish are covered with a growth of grass 
 and creeping plants. The principal shops are like those on 
 the river one large room open to the street, no doors or 
 windows, the family living there, and the domestic arrange- 
 ments mixed up with the business of selling. 
 
 Bangkok is a modern city. It is not more than 250 
 years old. It has risen to importance through the ever-in- 
 creasing exportation of rice and timber. It is not purely 
 Siamese, being a mixture of all Eastern nations, the 
 Chinese being very largely represented ; and the Euro- 
 pean influence is very prominent. The rice-mills 
 for cleaning the rice and the saw-mills are all fitted up 
 with modern machinery and are the outcome of European 
 enterprise. There is a fine naval dockyard entirely 
 managed by English engineers, and the regular lines of 
 steamers running here constantly are all British. I must 
 just mention that fifty years ago the Siamese had a fine 
 fleet of sailing vessels, built in Bangkok of teak-wood ; but 
 the steamers have taken away their trade and that industry 
 has died out. The ship-building yards are quite deserted 
 and silent now. 
 
 But if we wish to see a real Siamese city, we must leave
 
 THE MENAM 47 
 
 Bangkok and go to Ayuthia, the old capital, before 
 Bangkok was thought of. 
 
 It is sixty miles farther up the river. The scenery go- 
 ing up is monotonous no variety at all; it is a flat 
 country. In the months of October and November it is 
 all under water; the river rises and floods the country for 
 miles, so we can understand the reason for living in floating 
 houses and on piles. But how can any one describe 
 Ayuthia ? It is so different from any other city in the 
 world ; and entirely Siamese. 
 
 The inhabitants live principally on the river in small 
 houses of bamboo, roofed with Atap palm leaves. In 
 some parts there is only a narrow passage for a small boat, 
 the river is so crowded up with their houses. The trade 
 seems to be buying and selling, and the principal things 
 sold rice and fruit, with a few very simple cooking utensils. 
 There is an old palace here which illustrates how much 
 richer the kings must have grown with the increase of trade. 
 
 In the Siamese court there are several very interesting 
 ceremonies, probably unlike anything belonging to any 
 other country, a pageantry peculiar to Siam, and of great 
 magnificence. 
 
 One of the principal of these is a royal cremation. 
 Then there is a royal hair-cutting. This is an occasion 
 for very great rejoicing. When a boy attains the age of 
 fourteen or fifteen, his head is shaved, and then he enters the 
 priesthood. When it is one of the royal family, or the 
 Crown Prince, then not many other courts can exceed such 
 a magnificent and gorgeous festival. The ceremony lasts 
 for a week a continued succession of religious rites, with 
 processions and feasts. One of these is the sacred bath in the 
 river, where the priests dip the young prince.
 
 248 THE MENAM 
 
 Another elaborate spectacle is when the king, attended 
 by all his nobles, visits every great temple. This takes 
 some weeks to accomplish, is an annual event, and is 
 another series of grand processions. It is a water proces- 
 sion, and the barges which are kept and only used on this 
 occasion are most sumptuous. They are richly carved and 
 gilded, with silken awnings. They are long, narrow boats 
 about 100 feet long, rowed by over 150 oarsmen with 
 gilded oars. The whole procession is a scene of barbaric 
 splendour, and recalls the stories of Aladdin and his 
 Wonderful Lamp.
 
 THE MERRIMACK 
 
 HENRY D. THOREAU 
 
 WE were thus entering the state of New Hampshire 
 on the bosom of the flood formed by the tribute 
 of its innumerable valleys. The river was the only key 
 which could unlock its maze, presenting its hills and valleys, 
 its lakes and streams, in their natural order and position. 
 The Merritnack, or sturgeon river, is formed by the conflu- 
 ence of the Pemigewasset, which rises near the notch of 
 the White Mountains, and the Winnipiseogee, which drains 
 the lake of the same name, signifying " The smile of the 
 Great Spirit." From their junction it runs south seventy- 
 eight miles to Massachusetts, and thence east thirty-five 
 miles to the sea. I have traced its stream from where it 
 bubbles out of rocks of the White Mountains above the 
 clouds, to where it is lost amid the salt billows of the ocean 
 on Plum Island Beach. It was already the water of Squam 
 and Newfound Lake and Winnipiseogee, and White Moun- 
 tain snow dissolved, on which we were floating, and 
 Smith's and Baker's and Mad Rivers, and Nashua and 
 Souhegan and Piscataquong, and Suncook and Soucook and 
 Contoocook, mingled in incalculable proportions, still fluid, 
 yellowish, restless all, with an ancient, ineradicable inclina- 
 tion to the sea. 
 
 So it flows by Lowell and Haverhill, at which last place it 
 first suffers a sea change, and a few masts betray the vicinity 
 of the ocean. Between the towns of Amesbury and New-
 
 250 THE MERRIMACK 
 
 bury it is a broad, commercial river, from a third to half a 
 mile in width, no longer skirted with yellow and crumbling 
 banks, but backed by high green hills and pastures, with 
 frequent white beaches on which fishermen draw up their 
 nets. I have passed down this portion of the river in a 
 steamboat, and it was a pleasant sight to watch from its 
 deck the fishermen dragging their seines on the distant 
 shore, as in pictures of a foreign strand. At intervals you 
 may meet with a schooner laden with lumber, standing up 
 to Haverhill, or else lying at anchor or aground, waiting 
 for wind or tide, until, at last, you glide under the famous 
 Chain Bridge, and are landed at Newburyport. From the 
 steeples of Newburyport you may review this river stretch- 
 ing far up into the country, with many a white sail glanc- 
 ing over it like an island sea, and behold, as one wrote who 
 was born on its head-waters, " Down out at its mouth, the 
 dark inky main blending with the blue above, Plum Island, 
 its sand ridges scalloping along the horizon like the sea- 
 serpent, and the distant outline broken by many a tall ship, 
 leaning, stilly against the sky." 
 
 Rising at an equal height with the Connecticut, the Mer- 
 rimack reaches the sea by a course only half as long, and 
 hence has no leisure to form broad and fertile meadows, 
 like the former, but is hurried along rapids, and down nu- 
 merous falls, without long delay. The banks are generally 
 steep and high, with a narrow interval reaching back to the 
 hills, which is only rarely or partially overflown at present, 
 and is much valued by the farmers. Between Chelmsford 
 and Concord, in New Hampshire, it varies from twenty to 
 seventy-five rods in many places, owing to the trees having 
 been cut down, and the consequent wasting away of its 
 banks. The influence of the Pawtucket Dam is felt as far
 
 THE MERRIMACK 251 
 
 as Cromwell's Falls, and many think that the banks are be- 
 ing abraded and the river filled up again by this cause. 
 Like all our rivers, it is liable to freshets, and the Pemige- 
 wasset has been known to rise twenty-five feet in a few 
 hours. It is navigable to vessels of burden about twenty 
 miles ; for canal-boats, by means of locks, as far as Con- 
 cord in New Hampshire, about seventy-five miles from its 
 mouth ; and for smaller boats to Plymouth, one hundred 
 and thirteen miles. A small steamboat once plied between 
 Lowell and Nashua, before the railroad was built, and one 
 now runs from Newburyport to Haverhill. 
 
 Unfitted to some extent for the purposes of commerce by 
 the sand-bar at its mouth, see how this river was devoted to 
 the service of manufactures. Issuing from the iron regions 
 of Franconia, and flowing through still uncut forests, by in- 
 exhaustible ledges of granite, with Squam, and Winnipis- 
 eogee, and Newfound, and Massabesic Lakes for its mill- 
 ponds, it falls over a succession of natural dams, where it 
 has been offering its privileges in vain for ages, until at last 
 the Yankee race came to Improve them. Standing at its 
 mouth, look up its sparkling stream to its source, a silver 
 cascade which falls all the way from the White Mountains 
 to the sea, and behold a city of each successive plateau, a 
 busy colony of human beavers around every fall. Not to 
 mention Newburyport and Haverhill, see Lawrence, and 
 Lowell, and Nashua, and Manchester, and Concord, gleam- 
 ing one above the other. When at length it has escaped 
 from under the last of the factories, it has a level and un- 
 molested passage to the sea, a mere waste water, as it were, 
 bearing little with it but its fame ; its pleasant course re- 
 vealed by the morning fog which hangs over it, and the 
 sails of the few small vessels which transact the commerce
 
 252 THE MERRIMACK 
 
 of Haverhill and Newburyport. But its real vessels are 
 railroad cars, and its true and main stream, flowing by an 
 iron channel farther south, may be traced by a long line of 
 vapour amid the hills, which no morning wind ever disperses 
 to where it empties into the sea at Boston. This river was 
 at length discovered by the white man " trending up into 
 the land," he knew not how far, possibly an inlet to the 
 South Sea. Its valley, as far as the Winnipiseogee, was 
 surveyed in 1652. The first settlers of Massachusetts sup- 
 posed that the Connecticut, in one part of its course ran 
 north-west, " so near the great lake as the Indians do pass 
 their canoes into it over-land." From which lake and the 
 " hideous swamps " about it, as they supposed, came all the 
 beaver that was traded between Virginia and Canada and 
 the Potomac was thought to come out of or from very near 
 it. Afterwards the Connecticut came so near the course of 
 the Merrimack that, with a little pains they expected to di- 
 vert the current of the trade into the latter river, and its 
 profits from their Dutch neighbours into their own pockets. 
 Unlike the Concord, the Merrimack is not a dead but a 
 living stream, though it has less life within its waters and 
 on its banks. It has a swift current, and, in this part of its 
 course, a clayey bottom, almost no weeds, and comparatively 
 few fishes. We looked down into its yellow water with 
 the more curiosity, who were accustomed to the Nile-like 
 blackness of the former river. Shad and alewives are taken 
 here in their season, but salmon, though at one time more 
 numerous than shad, are now more rare. Bass, also, are 
 taken occasionally ; but locks and dams have proved more 
 or less destructive to the fisheries. The shad make their 
 appearance early in May, at the same time with the blos- 
 soms of the pyrus, one of the most conspicuous early flow-
 
 THE MERRIMACK 253 
 
 ers, which is for this reason called the shad-blossom. An 
 insect called the shad-fly also appears at the same time, 
 covering the houses and fences. We are told that " their 
 greatest run is when the apple-trees are in full blossom. 
 The old shad return in August ; the young, three or four 
 inches long, in September. These are very fond of flies." 
 A rather picturesque and luxurious mode of fishing was 
 formerly practised on the Connecticut, at Bellows Falls, 
 where a large rock divides the stream. "On the steep 
 sides of the island rock," says Belknap, " hang several arm- 
 chairs, fastened to ladders, and secured by a counterpoise, 
 in which fishermen sit to catch salmon and shad with dip- 
 ping nets." The remains of Indian weirs, made of large 
 stones, are still to be seen in the Winnipiseogee, one of the 
 head-waters of this river. 
 
 It cannot but affect our philosophy favourably to be re- 
 minded of these shoals of migratory fishes, of salmon, shad, 
 alewives, marsh-bankers, and others, which penetrate up the 
 innumerable rivers of our coast in the spring, even to the 
 interior lakes, their scales gleaming in the sun ; and again, 
 of the fry which in still greater numbers wend their way 
 downwards to the sea. " And is it not pretty sport," wrote 
 Captain John Smith, who was on this coast as early as 1614, 
 "to pull up twopence, sixpence, and twelvepence, as fast as 
 you can haul and veer a line ? " And what sport doth 
 yield a more pleasing content, and less hurt or charge, than 
 angling with a hook, and crossing the sweet air from isle to 
 isle, over the silent streams of a calm sea.
 
 THE YEN-E-SAY 
 
 HENRY SEEBOHM 
 
 WE left London on Thursday, the 1st of March, at 
 8:25 P. M., and reached Nishni Novgorod on 
 Saturday, the gth inst., at 10 A. M., having travelled by rail 
 a distance of 2,400 miles. We stopped three days in St. Pe- 
 tersburg to present our letters of introduction and to pay some 
 other visits. At Nishni we bought a sledge, and travelled 
 over the snow 3,240 English miles, employing for this pur- 
 pose about a thousand horses, eighteen dogs, and forty rein- 
 deer. We left Nishni on the evening of the loth of March, 
 and travelled day and night in a generally easterly direction, 
 stopping a couple of days at Tyu-main, and a day at Omsk, 
 and reached Kras-no-yarsk on the morning of the 2d of 
 April, soon after crossing the meridian of Calcutta. We 
 rested a day in Kras-no-yarsk, and sledged thence nearly 
 due north, spending four days in Yen-e-saisk and three 
 days in Toor-o-kansk. 
 
 The Yen-e-say is said to be the third largest river in the 
 world, being only exceeded in size by the Amazon and the 
 Mississippi. The principal stream rises in the mountains 
 of Central Mongolia, enters Siberia near the famous town 
 of Kyakh-ta, on the Chinese frontier, and flowing through 
 Lake By-kal, passes Eer-kutsk (Irkutsk) the capital of 
 Siberia, under the name of the An-go-ra or Vairkh-nya, 
 Tun-goosk, and enters the smaller stream, whose name it 
 subsequently bears, a few miles south of Yen-e-saisk. Up
 
 THE YEN-E-SAY 255 
 
 to this point its length may be roughly estimated at 2,000 
 miles, and judging from the time it takes to sledge across 
 the river at Yen-e-saisk, its width must exceed an English 
 mile. Following the windings of the river from the latter 
 town to the Arctic Circle, the road is calculated as a journey 
 of 800 miles, during which the waters are augmented by 
 two important tributaries, the Pod-kah-min-a-Tun-goosk 
 and the Nizh-ni-Tun-goosk, which increase the width of 
 the river to more than three English miles. On the Arctic 
 Circle it receives an important tributary, the Koo-ray-i-ka, 
 about a mile wide, and, somewhat more circuitously than 
 appears on our maps, travels to the islands of the delta, a 
 distance possibly slightly over-estimated, during which the 
 average width may be about four miles. The delta and 
 lagoon of the Yen-e-say are about 400 miles in length, and 
 must average twenty miles in width; making the total length 
 of the river about 4,000 miles. 
 
 Throughout the whole extent of the river, from Yen-e- 
 saisk, in latitude 58 to Gol-chee-ka in latitude 71^, the 
 banks are generally steep and lofty, from sixty to one hun- 
 dred feet above the water-level, and so far as I could learn, 
 comparatively little land is covered by the summer floods. 
 The villages on the banks are from twenty to thirty versts 
 (fifteen to twenty miles) apart, and are of course built upon 
 high ground. As we sledged down the river, we had al- 
 ways a heavy climb up to the port stations ; and in descend- 
 ing again into the bed of the river, it sometimes almost made 
 our hearts jump into our mouths to look down the precipice, 
 which our horses took at a gallop, with half-a-dozen vil- 
 lagers hanging on the sledge to prevent an upset, a feat 
 they performed so cleverly, that although many a peasant 
 got a roll in the snow, we always escaped without any seri-
 
 256 THE YEN-E-SAY 
 
 ous accident. We found a good supply of horses as far as 
 Too-ro-kansk. The second stage from this town we trav- 
 elled by dogs, and completed the rest of the journey by 
 reindeer. Soon after leaving Yen-e-saisk agriculture prac- 
 tically ceases. A few cows graze on the meadows near the 
 villages, and hay is cut for their use during winter, but the 
 villagers are too busy fishing during the short summer to 
 till the land. 
 
 The banks of the Yen-e-say are clothed with magnificent 
 forests up to the Arctic Circle, but northwards the trees 
 rapidly diminish in size, and disappear altogether soon after 
 leaving Doo-din-ka, in latitude 69 ^ p . These forests are 
 principally pine of various species. We reached the Koo- 
 ray-i-ka on the 23d of April, and found the crew of the 
 Thames in excellent health. 
 
 The winter quarters chosen by Captain Wiggins were 
 very picturesque. Standing at the door of the peasant's 
 house on the brow of the hill, we looked down on to the 
 " crow's nest " of the Thames. To the left the Koo-ray-i-ka, 
 a mile wide, stretched away some four or five miles, until a 
 sudden bend concealed it from view ; whilst to the right the 
 eye wandered across the snow-fields of the Yen-e-say, and 
 by the help of a binocular the little village of Koo-ray-i-ka 
 might be discerned about four miles off, on the opposite 
 bank of the great river. The land was undulating rather 
 than hilly, and everywhere covered with forest, the trees 
 reaching frequently two, and in some rare instances three 
 feet in diameter. The depth of the snow varied from four 
 to six feet ; and travelling without snow-shoes, except on 
 the hard-trodden roads, was of course utterly impossible. 
 
 When we arrived at the ship, we found that it was still 
 winter, and were told that there had not been a sign of rain
 
 THE YEN-E-SAY 257 
 
 since last autumn. April went by and May came in, but still 
 there was no sign of summer, except the arrival of some of 
 the earliest migratory birds. We generally had a cloudless 
 sky ; and the sun was often burning hot. On the 9th, 
 loth, and nth of May we had rain for the first time, and 
 the prospects of summer looked a little more hopeful. The 
 rest of May, however, was more dreary and wintry than 
 ever, alternations of hard frosts and driving snow-storms ; 
 but the river was slowly rising, and outside the thick centre 
 ice was a strip of thin, newly-frozen ice. There was, how- 
 ever, little or no change in the appearance of the snow. 
 Up to the end of May the forces of winter had gallantly 
 withstood the fiercest attacks of the sun, baffled at all points, 
 and entered into an alliance with the south wind, and a com- 
 bined attack was made upon the winter forces. The battle 
 raged for fourteen days, the battle of the Yen-e-say, the 
 great event of the year in this cold country, and certainly 
 the most stupendous display of the powers of nature that 
 it has ever been my lot to witness. On the morning of the 
 ist of June the pressure underneath the ice caused a large 
 field, about a mile long and a third of a mile wide, opposite 
 the lower angle of junction of the Koo-ray-i-ka and the 
 Yen-e-say, to break away. About half the mass found a pas- 
 sage down the strip of newly-formed thin ice, leaving open 
 water behind it. The other half rushed headlong on to the 
 steep banks of the river. The result of the collision was a 
 little range of mountains, fifty or sixty feet high, and pic- 
 turesque in the extreme. Huge blocks of ice, six feet 
 thick and twenty feet long, in many places, were standing 
 perpendicular, whilst others were crushed up into fragments 
 like broken glass ; and in many other places the ice was 
 piled up in layers one over the other. The real ice on the
 
 258 THE YEN-E-SAY 
 
 river did not appear to have been thicker than two or three 
 feet, clear as a glass, and blue as an Italian sky. Upon 
 the top of this was about four feet of white ice. This was 
 as hard as a rock, and had, no doubt, been caused by the 
 flooding of the snow when the waters of the river had risen, 
 and its subsequent freezing. Upon the top of the white 
 ice was eighteen inches of clean snow, which had evidently 
 never been flooded. When we turned into our berths in 
 the evening the captain thought it best to institute an 
 anchor-watch. We had scarcely been asleep an hour be- 
 fore the watch called us up with the intelligence that the 
 river was rising rapidly, and that the ice was beginning to 
 crack. We immediately dressed and went on deck. We 
 saw at once that the Yen-e-say was rising so rapidly that 
 it was beginning to flow up its tributaries. A strong cur- 
 rent was setting up the Koo-ray-i-ka, and small floes were 
 detaching themselves from the main body of the ice and 
 were running up the open water. By and by the whole 
 body of the Koo-ray-i-ka broke up and began to move up 
 stream. Some of the floes struck the ship some very ugly 
 blows on the stern, doing considerable damage to the rud- 
 der; but open water was beyond, and we were soon out of 
 the press of ice, with, we hoped, no irretrievable injury. 
 All this time we had been getting steam up as fast as 
 possible, to be ready for any emergency. It was hopeless 
 to attempt to enter the creek opposite which we were 
 moored, and which was now only just beginning to fill 
 with water ; but on the other side of the river, across only 
 a mile of open water, was a haven of perfect safety. But, 
 alas ! when the ice had passed us, before we could get up 
 sufficient steam, the river suddenly fell three feet, and left 
 aground by the stern, and immovable as a rock. Nor was
 
 THE YEN-E-SAY 259 
 
 it possible, with a swift current running up the river at the 
 rate of four knots an hour, to swing the ship round so as to 
 secure the rudder against any further attacks of the ice. 
 Half a mile ahead of us, as we looked down the river, was 
 the edge of the Yen-e-say ice. The river was rising again ; 
 but before the stern was afloat we discovered, to our dis- 
 may, that another large field of ice had broken up ; and the 
 Koo-ray-i-ka was soon full of ice again. In the course of 
 uie night the whole of the ice of Yen-e-say, as far as we 
 could see, broke up with a tremendous crash, and a dense 
 mass of ice-floes, pack-ice, and icebergs backed up the 
 Koo-ray-i-ka, and with irresistible force drove the Koo- 
 ray-i-ka ice before it. When it reached the ship, we 
 had but one alternative, to slip the anchor and let her 
 drive with the ice. For about a mile we had an exciting 
 ride, pitching and rolling as the floes of ice squeezed the 
 ship, and tried to lift her bodily out of the water, or crawl 
 up her sides like a snake. The rudder was soon broken to 
 pieces, and finally carried away. Some of the sailors 
 jumped on to the ice and scrambled ashore, whilst others 
 began to throw overboard their goods and chattels. Away 
 we went up the Koo-ray-i-ka, the ice rolling and tumbling 
 and squeezing along side, huge lumps climbing one on the 
 top of another, until we were finally jammed in a slight 
 bay, along with a lot of pack-ice. Early in the morning 
 the stream slackened, the river fell some five or six feet, 
 and the ice stood still. The ship went through the terrible 
 ordeal bravely. She made no water, and there was no evi- 
 dence of injury beyond the loss of the rudder. In the 
 evening the ship was lying amidst huge hummocks of ice, 
 almost high and dry. The Koo-ray-i-ka, and right across 
 the Yen-e-say, and southwards as far as the eye could reach
 
 260 THE YEN-E-SAY 
 
 was one immense field of pack-ice, white, black, brown, 
 blue, green, piled in wild confusion as close as it could be 
 jammed. Northwards the Yen-e-say was not yet broken 
 up. All this time the weather was warm and foggy, with 
 very little wind, and occasional, slight rain. There was a 
 perfect Babel of birds as an accompaniment to the crashing 
 of the ice. Gulls, geese, and swans were flying about in 
 all directions ; and their wild cries vied with the still wilder 
 screams of the divers. Flocks of red polls and shore larks, 
 and bramblings and wagtails in pairs, arrived, and added to 
 the interest of the scene. On the 2d of June there was 
 little or no movement in the ice until midnight, when an 
 enormous pressure from above came on somewhat suddenly, 
 and broke up the great field of ice to the north of the Koo- 
 ray-i-ka, but not to a sufficient extent to relieve the whole 
 of the pressure. The water in the Koo-ray-i-ka rose 
 rapidly. The immense field of pack-ice began to move up 
 stream at the rate of five or six knots an hour. The poor 
 ship was knocked and bumped along the rocky shore, and 
 a stream of water began to flow into the hold. At nine 
 o'clock all hands left her, and stood upon the snow on the 
 bank, expecting her instant destruction. The stream rose 
 and fell during the day ; but the leak, which was appar- 
 ently caused by the twisting of the stern-post, choked up. 
 Late in the evening an opportunity occurred of a few 
 hours' open water, during which steam was got up ; and by 
 the help of a couple of ropes ashore, the rudderless ship 
 was steered into the little creek opposite to which she 
 had wintered, and run ashore. Here the leak was after- 
 wards repaired and a new rudder made. We calculated 
 that about 50,000 acres of ice passed the ship up stream 
 during these two days; and we afterwards learned that
 
 THE YEN-E-SAY 261 
 
 most of this ice got away some miles up the Koo-ray-i-ka, 
 where the banks are low, and was lost in the forest. 
 
 The battle of the Yen-e-say raged for about a fortnight. 
 The sun was generally burning hot in the daytime ; but 
 every night there was more or less frost. The ice came 
 down the Yen-e-say at various spuds. Sometimes we 
 could see gigantic masses of pack-ice, estimated at twenty to 
 thirty feet in height, driven down the river at an incredible 
 pace, not less than twenty miles an hour. In the Koo-ray- 
 i-ka the scene was constantly changing. The river rose and 
 fell. Sometimes the pack-ice and floes were jammed so tight 
 together that it looked as if one might scramble across the 
 river without difficulty. At other times there was a good deal 
 of open water, and the icebergs " calved " as they went along 
 with much commotion and splashing, that could be heard 
 half a mile off. Underlayers of the iceberg ground ; and 
 after the velocity of the enormous mass has caused it to pass 
 on, the pieces left behind rise to the surface, like a whale 
 coming up to breathe. Some of these " calves " must come 
 up from a considerable depth. They rise up out of the 
 water with a great splash, and rock about for some time be- 
 fore they settle down to their floating level. At last the 
 final march past of the beaten winter-forces in this great 
 fourteen days' battle took place and for seven days more 
 the rag, tag, and bob-tail of the great Arctic army come 
 straggling down warm and weather-beaten little icebergs, 
 dirty ice-floes that looked like mud-banks floating down, 
 and straggling pack-ice in the last stages of consumption. 
 The total rise of the river was upwards of seventy feet. 
 
 The moment that the snow disappeared vegetation sprang 
 up as if by magic, and the birds made preparations for 
 breeding. As we passed through Yen-e-saisk I bought a
 
 262 THE YEN-E-SAY 
 
 schooner of a ship-builder of the name of Boiling, a Heli- 
 golander. I christened it the Ibis; and on the 2Qth of 
 June we left the Koo-ray-i-ka with this little craft in tow. 
 Our progress down the river, however, was one catalogue 
 of disasters, ending in our leaving the Thames on the Qth 
 of July a hopeless wreck, lying high and dry on a sand- 
 bank, in latitude 67. As we sailed northwards in the 
 Ibis, the forests became smaller and smaller, and disappeared 
 altogether about latitude 70. The highest point we 
 reached was latitude 71^, where I sold the Ibis to the cap- 
 tain of a Russian schooner, which had been totally wrecked 
 during the break-up of the ice. 
 
 On the 23rd of July I left Gol-chee-ka in the last Rus- 
 sian steamer up the river; and reached Yen-e-saisk on the 
 I4th of August. After a few days' delay I drove across 
 country to Tomsk, stopping a day or two in Kras-no-yarsk. 
 In Tomsk I found an excellent iron steamer, in which I 
 sailed down the river Tom into the Obb, down which we 
 steamed to its junction with the Eer-tish, up which we pro- 
 ceeded until we entered the Tob-ol, and afterwards steamed 
 up the Too-ra to Tyu-main, a distance by water of 2,200 
 miles. From the Tyu-main I drove through Ekatereenburg 
 across the Urals to Perm, where I took my passage on 
 board the Sam-o-lot, or self-flyer, down the Kama, and up 
 the Volga, to Nishni Novgorod.
 
 THE YARROW 
 
 JOHN MACWHIRTER 
 
 YARROW and its vale form one of the high places of 
 the earth. In this age of cheap trips it is easy to 
 get there, and perhaps you don't think much of it as you 
 rattle through on the coach. There is many a Highland 
 scene incomparably grander. After all 
 
 " What's Yarrow, but a river bare, 
 That glides the dark hills under ? 
 There are a thousand such elsewhere, 
 As worthy of your wonder." 
 
 A word of dry description must commence. The Yarrow 
 Water is in Yarrow and Selkirk parishes of the country of 
 Selkirk. It rises in St. Mary's Loch, it courses therefrom 
 to its junction with Ettrick Water fourteen and a half miles, 
 when the latter gives its name to the united currents. 
 They are soon lost in the Tweed. Beyond St. Mary's 
 Loch, and separated from it by a narrow strip of land, is the 
 Loch o' the Lowes (or Lochs). It is about two miles in 
 length, and is fed by the Yarrow, which rises some two 
 miles higher up, though it is usually taken as beginning in 
 the large lake. In the lower reach the banks are wooded ; 
 farther up the hills are bare, soft, rounded, the stream is 
 clear and swift-flowing, with a musical note on its large and 
 small stones ; there is no growth of sedge or underwood, 
 but the fresh green grass stretches up the slope till it is lost 
 in the heather. Between the hills are glens down which 
 wind greater or smaller tributaries to the Yarrow. Each
 
 264 THE YARROW 
 
 has its legend and its ruin. Dim, romantic, enticing, these 
 glens stretch away into the mysterious mountain solitude. 
 You begin your excursion from Selkirk, which is on Ettrick 
 Water, ten miles down stream from its junction with the 
 Yarrow, and two places soon take your attention, Carter- 
 haugh and Philiphaugh. There is a farm " toun," as they 
 name a steading in the north, that is called Carterhaugh ; 
 but what is meant here is a charming piece of greensward 
 and wood, that lies almost encircled by the two streams at 
 and near their meeting place. A very Faeryland ! and here 
 is laid the scene of the faery ballad of " The Young Tarn- 
 lane." The song is very old; it was well known in 1549, 
 as we learn from a chance mention in a work of the period. 
 It is a delicious poem, pure phantasy ; a very Mid-summer 
 Night's Dream, scarcely of the earth at all, far less dealing 
 with historical incident. The forgotten poet, lest he should 
 be all in the air, makes the young Tamlane son to Ran- 
 dolph, Earl Murray, and Fair Janet, daughter to Dunbar, 
 Earl March, but this is only because these were the noblest 
 names in Scotland, and he chooses Carterhaugh for his 
 stage ; as like as not he lived somewhere on the Yarrow, 
 and the stream sang in his ears as he built the song. Tam- 
 lane is nine when his uncle sends for him " to hunt and 
 hawk and ride," and on the way 
 
 " There came a wind out o' the north, 
 A sharp wind and a snell, 
 And a dead sleep came over me, 
 And frae my horse I fell. 
 The Queen of the Fairies she was there, 
 And took me to herself." 
 
 On the left bank of the Yarrow, just across from Carter-
 
 THE YARROW 265 
 
 haugh, is Philiphaugh. It is a large space of level ground, 
 and here the fortunes of the great Montrose and his High- 
 land army came to hopeless smash in the early morning of 
 13th September, 1645. Montrose had won six victories in 
 the Highlands, had been appointed Viceroy of Scotland, 
 and full of ill-placed confidence was preparing an invasion 
 of England. He spent the previous evening at ease in Sel- 
 kirk (they still show you the house) and was writing de- 
 spatches to the king, when he heard the sound of firing. 
 He galloped to the field and found everything practically 
 over ! David Leslie had been seeking him far and near for 
 some time, had found the camp and invaded it in a mist. 
 The Royalists were scattered ; Montrose no one ever 
 counted cowardice among his vices made a desperate effort 
 to retrieve the fortune of the day, but all in vain. Finally 
 he dashed through the opposing forces, galloped away up 
 the Yarrow, then by a wild mountain path, right over 
 Minchmoor, and drew not bridle till he dashed up to Tra- 
 quair House, sixteen miles from the battle-field. A num- 
 ber of prisoners were taken. The common lowland Scot 
 has still a certain contempt for the Highlander, whose ap- 
 preciation in the modern world is due to literature ; then he 
 looked upon him as an outcast and outlaw, "a broken 
 man," in the expressive phrase of an earlier day. The 
 captives were shot in the court-yard of Newark Castle, and 
 buried in a field still called Slain-mans-lee. Celtic troops 
 are very brave, but unless mixed with the steadier Saxon, 
 they don't seem reliable. 
 
 Still keeping on the left bank, follow the road by the 
 riverside and as before you come to two places, each with 
 an interest very different from the others. One is a ruined 
 house, a poor enough building at the best. An inscription
 
 266 THE YARROW 
 
 tells you that Mungo Park (1771-1805) the African travel- 
 ler, was born and lived here. He saw Scott a little before 
 his last voyage, told how he dreaded leave-taking (he had 
 been recently married ! ) and that he meant to leave for 
 Edinburgh on some pretence or other and make his adieux 
 from there. On Williamhope ridge the two parted. 
 
 " I stood and looked back, but he did not," says Scott. 
 He had put his hand to the plough. Poor Mungo Park ! 
 his discoveries seem little now-a-days, yet to me, he is 
 always the most attractive of African travellers, his life 
 the most interesting, his end the most melancholy. One 
 thinks how under the hot sun in those fearful swamps 
 he must have often remembered the cool delicious green 
 braes of his native Yarrow. But we turn our eyes to the 
 opposite bank and scarce need be told that the castle we 
 see, majestic, though in ruins, is " Newark's stately tower." 
 'Tis a great weather-beaten square keep, where Anna, relict 
 of the ill-fated Duke of Monmouth, lived for some years of 
 her widowed life. To her Scott's " Last Minstrel " sings his 
 lay. But the place was already centuries old. It was once 
 a hunting-seat of the Scots kings, when the whole region 
 was the densely wooded Ettrick Forest, and here there was 
 great sport with the wolf, the mountain bear, the wild-cat, 
 and all sorts of other small and large deer. Some place- 
 names still save the old memories, Oxcleugh, Durhame, 
 Hartleap, Hindshope, and so forth. 
 
 After Yarrow hamlet the land is more desolate, the 
 stream shrinks to a mountain burn, there are no more 
 clumps of trees, and the hills creep in near the water's 
 edge, and they are taller and steeper. You pass lofty 
 Mount Benger, near where Hogg, the Ettrick Shepherd, 
 who loved and sang of those sweet vales, had a farm.
 
 THE YARROW 267 
 
 Farther on the right bank is Altrive, where he afterwards 
 lived, and where he died. Almost opposite, the Douglas 
 Burn flows through a gloomy and solitary glen to Yarrow. 
 Follow this burn and you come to the ruins of Blackhouse 
 Tower. It was from here that Lord William and Lady 
 Margaret fled at midnight from Lord Douglas and his 
 seven sons. These were slain one by one, but it was only 
 when her lover began to press roughly on her father that 
 the lady interposed. 
 
 " Oh hold your hand, Lord William, she said, 
 For your strokes they are wondrous sair. 
 True lovers I can get many a one, 
 But a father I can never get mair." 
 
 An obvious if belated reflection ! 'Twas of no avail, the 
 father is left dead and dying, and the lady follows her 
 knight (" For ye've left me nae other guide," she says 
 somewhat bitterly). They light down at " yon wan 
 water" and his "gude heart's bluid " dyes the stream, 
 though he swears " 'Tis naething but the shadow of my 
 scarlet cloak." However, the lovers die that very night 
 and are buried in St. Marie's Kirke, and " a bonny red rose " 
 and a briar grew out of the grave and twined together to 
 the admiration of all who saw, but to the great wrath of 
 Black Douglas, who, a sworn foe to sentimentality, 
 
 " Pull'd up the bonny briar 
 And flang'd in St. Marie's Loch." 
 
 The wild path followed by the lovers over the hillside is 
 still to be traced, the place of the combat is marked by 
 seven stones ; but again these are of an earlier date, and 
 again it would be useless to criticise the creation of the 
 fancy too curiously.
 
 268 THE YARROW 
 
 And now we are at St. Mary's Loch, a beautiful sheet of 
 water three miles long and half a mile broad. At the head 
 of the loch is a monument to the Ettrick Shepherd. Near 
 the monument is St. Mary's Cottage, better known as 
 " Tibbie Shiel's," and scene of many a gay carouse of 
 Christopher North and his merry men, as you know very 
 well if you have read the Nodes Ambrosianoe. The cottage 
 is still kept by a relative of the original Tibbie, as a 
 humble sort of an inn. If you are wise you will prefer it 
 to the large new Rodona hotel not far off. It has a touch 
 of the old times with its huge fireplace and box beds. It 
 is something to hear the local anecdote, how one morning 
 " after " Christopher or the shepherd, being more than ever 
 consumed with the pangs of thirst, in a burst of wild 
 desire, cried " Tibbie, bring ben the Loch." It is said 
 that Scott was never farther than the door. Scott, Hogg, 
 Wilson were, we all know, great writers, though to-day 
 Wilson is but little read, Hogg popular through one or two 
 lyrics, whilst Scott is more and more known with the years. 
 But each of the three had an impressive and attractive 
 personality he is more than a writer, he is first of all 
 a man. Superior in interest to monument and cottage is St. 
 Mary's Kirk, which stands on a height on the left bank of 
 the loch. One should say stood, for nothing of it is left. 
 Here generations of martyrs and freebooters were carried, 
 and the heroes and heroines of so many of the tales and 
 ballads were laid to rest, but 
 
 " St. Mary's Loch lies slumbering still, 
 But St. Mary's Kirk-bells lang dune ringing, 
 There's naething now but the grave-stone hill, 
 To tell o' a' their loud Psalm-singing."
 
 THE YARROW 269 
 
 They still bury there, though at rare and distant intervals. 
 Hard by is Dryhope Tower. Here was born Mary 
 Scott, the " Flower of Yarrow." The romance of the 
 name caused this heroine to be incessantly be-rhymed 
 through all the subsequent centuries, but we don't know 
 much about her. She was married to Walter Scott of 
 Harden, a gentleman widely and justly renowned for his 
 skill in " lifting " other people's cattle. As a portion the 
 bride's father agreed to " find his son-in-law in man's meat 
 and horse's meat for a year and a day, five barons becoming 
 bound that, on the expiry of that period, Harden should 
 retire without compulsion." Not one of the parties to the 
 contract could write. A daughter of the " Flower of 
 Yarrow " was married to another freebooter called " Gilly 
 wi' the gouden garters." The bride was to remain at her 
 father's house for a year and a day, and in return Gilly 
 contracted to hand over the plunder of the first harvest 
 moon. By the way, there is rather a pretty though quite 
 untrustworthy tradition of the origin of the ballads con- 
 nected with the name of Mary Scott. In the spoils 
 brought home by her husband from one of his forays, was 
 a child. Him she took and reared. Of gentle nature, he 
 delighted to hear of and celebrate in songs the tragedies and 
 romances acted or repeated around him ; and so he, 
 " nameless as the race from whence he sprung, saved other 
 names and left his own unsung." The Meggat Water is 
 one of the many streams that fill the loch. On one of its 
 tributaries called Henderland-burn is a ruined tower, and 
 near it a large stone broken into three parts, on which you 
 may still make out the inscription, " Here lyes Perys of 
 Cockburne and his wyfe Marjory." Cockburne was in his 
 day a noted freebooter, and secure in his tower defied all
 
 270 THE YARROW 
 
 attempts to bring him to justice. But James V. in his 
 famous progress through the Border-land, heard of his pro- 
 ceedings, and came right over the hills and down upon 
 Henderland, whose proprietor he found eating his dinner. 
 It was his last meal ; he was at once seized and strung up 
 before his own door. His wife fled and concealed herself 
 in a place called the Lady's seat, and when she recovered the 
 silence of the glen told her that the invaders had departed, 
 and she returned and buried her husband. One of the most 
 pathetic of the old ballads is said to be her lament 
 
 " But think na' ye my heart was sair, 
 When I laid the moul' on his yellow hair ; 
 O think na' ye my heart was wae, 
 When I turned about, awa' to gae." 
 
 By the way, gold was found in the glen here j probably a 
 little might be extracted to-day ; but then it wouldn't pay 
 for the washing. Quite a different set of traditions deals 
 with the Covenanting period. Far up in the solitary side 
 glens were favourite meeting-places ; here the saints came 
 from far and near with Bible, and sword and gun, ready to 
 offer up their lives if need may be, but quite determined to 
 sell them as dearly as possible. Alas ! the minstrels were 
 not on their side, and no contemporary ballads tell the story 
 of the dangers and deaths, though those were dramatic 
 enough. In later times Hogg and Wilson did something to 
 weave them into song and story. It was near the loch of 
 the Lowes that Ren wick preached his last sermon. 
 " When he prayed that day few of his hearers' cheeks were 
 dry." On the lyth February, 1688, " he glorified God in 
 the grass-market," as the old phrase ran. 
 
 And now one can understand how Yarrow came to its
 
 THE YARROW 27 1 
 
 fame. Quieter, sweeter, softer than other vales, its green 
 braes, its delicious streams attracted the old singers who 
 preserved the memories of others' deeds. But why is 
 this music sad ? Well, most border ballads are little 
 tragedies, the strongest emotions are the saddest, and such 
 the singers preferred. And then one or two ballads gave a 
 decided tone to the others. The " Dowie Dens," in fact, 
 strikes the key-note of them all. William Hamilton, of 
 Bangour, and John Logan have both told a story of love 
 and death in excellent fashion in their poems on " The 
 Braes of Yarrow." As for the rest, Scott is chiefly de- 
 scriptive j Wordsworth, in spite of an occasional line or 
 even verse of high excellence, is on the whole very poor; 
 and Alan Ramsay is exceedingly bad.
 
 THE MISSISSIPPI 
 
 ALEXANDER D. ANDERSON 
 
 IN the early days of European discoveries and rivalries in 
 the Mississippi Valley its comprehensive river system 
 played a prominent part on the stage of public affairs. The 
 discovery of the river, in 1541, by De Soto and his Spanish 
 troops, was about a century later followed by explorations 
 by the French under the lead of Marquette, Joliet, La Salle 
 and others, who entered the valley from the north. La 
 Salle, during the years 1679-83, explored the river through- 
 out its whole length, took possession of the great valley in 
 the name of France, and called it Louisiana in honour of 
 his King, Louis XIV. Then resulted grand schemes for 
 developing the resources of the valley, which a French 
 writer characterized as " the regions watered by the Missis- 
 sippi, immense unknown virgin solitudes which the imag- 
 ination filled with riches." One Crozat, in 1712, secured 
 from the King a charter giving him almost imperial control 
 of the commerce of the whole Mississippi Valley. There 
 was at that date no European rival to dispute French dom- 
 ination, for the English of New England and the other At- 
 lantic colonies had not extended their settlements westward 
 across the Alleghanies, and the Spanish inhabitants of New 
 Spain or Mexico had not pushed their conquest farther 
 north than New Mexico. Crozat's trading privileges 
 covered an area many times as large as all France, and as 
 fertile as any on the face of the earth. But he was equal
 
 THE MISSISSIPPI 273 
 
 to the opportunity, and, failing in his efforts, soon sur- 
 rendered the charter. 
 
 John Law, a Scotchman, at first a gambler, and subse- 
 quently a bold, visionary, but brilliant financier, succeeded 
 Crozat in the privileges of this grand scheme, and secured 
 from the successor of Louis XIV. a monoply of the trade 
 and development of the French possessions in the valley. 
 In order to carry out his wild enterprise he organized a 
 colossal stock company, called " The Western Company," 
 but more generally known in history as the " Mississippi 
 Bubble." According to the historian Monette " it was 
 vested with the exclusive privilege of the entire commerce 
 of Louisiana and New France, and with authority to en- 
 force its rights. It was authorized to monopolize the trade 
 of all the colonies in the provinces, and of all the Indian 
 tribes within the limits of that extensive region, even to the 
 remotest source of every stream tributary in anywise to the 
 Mississippi." So skilful and daring were his manipulations 
 that he bewitched the French people with the fascinations 
 of stock gambling. The excitement in Paris is thus de- 
 scribed by Thiers : 
 
 " It was no longer the professional speculators and cred- 
 itors of the Government who frequented the rue Quincam- 
 poix ; all classes of society mingled there, cherishing the 
 same illusions noblemen famous on the field of battle, 
 distinguished in the Government, churchmen, traders, quiet 
 citizens, and servants whom their suddenly acquired fortune 
 had filled with the hope of rivalling their masters." 
 
 The rue Quincampoix was called the Mississippi. The 
 month of December was the time of the greatest infatua- 
 tion. The shares ended by rising to eighteen and twenty 
 thousand francs thirty-six and forty times the first price.
 
 274 THE MISSISSIPPI 
 
 At the price which they had attained, the six hundred 
 thousand shares represented a capital of ten or twelve bil- 
 lions of francs. 
 
 But the bubble soon burst; and its explosion upset the 
 finances of this whole kingdom. Some years later, in 1745, 
 a French engineer named Deverges made a report to his 
 Government in favour of improving the mouth of the Mis- 
 sissippi, and stated that the bars there existing were a se- 
 rious injury to commerce. 
 
 But France met with too powerful rivalry in the valley, 
 and in 1762 and 1763, after a supremacy of nearly a hun- 
 dred years, was crowded out by the English from the At- 
 lantic colonies and the Spaniards from the south-west, the 
 Mississippi River forming the dividing line between the re- 
 gions acquired by those two nations. The Spanish officials, 
 for the purpose of promoting colonization, and to aid in es- 
 tablishing trading-posts on the Mississippi, ' Missouri, Ar- 
 kansas, Red, and other rivers in the western half of the 
 valley, granted to certain individuals, pioneers, and settlers, 
 large tracts of land. They made little progress, however, 
 in peopling their new territory. 
 
 But whatever progress was made under the successive 
 supremacies of France and Spain, the Mississippi and its 
 navigable tributaries supplied the only highways of com- 
 munication and commerce. 
 
 In the year 1800, soon after Napoleon I. became the 
 civil ruler of France, he sought to add to the commercial 
 glory of his country by re-acquiring the territory resting 
 upon the Mississippi which his predecessors had parted 
 with in 1763. 
 
 To quote the language of a French historian : " The 
 cession that France made of Louisiana to Spain in 1763
 
 THE MISSISSIPPI 275 
 
 had been considered in all our maritime and com- 
 mercial cities as impolitic and injurious to the interests of 
 our navigation, as well as to the French West Indies, and 
 it was very generally wished that an opportunity might oc- 
 cur of recovering that colony. One of the first cares of 
 Bonaparte was to renew with the court of Madrid a nego- 
 tiation on that subject." 
 
 He succeeded in these negotiations, and by secret treaty 
 of St. Ildefonso, in 1800, French domination was once more 
 established over the great river. 
 
 Two years later, the commerce of the river had grown to 
 large proportions. Says Marbois, of that period : " No rivers 
 of Europe are more frequented than the Mississippi and 
 tributaries." A substantially correct idea of their patronage 
 may be obtained from the record of the foreign commerce 
 from the mouth of the Mississippi, for nearly all of the 
 commodities collected there for export had first floated 
 down the river. 
 
 Marbois well illustrates the intense indignation at this 
 order on the part of the Western people by attributing to 
 them the following language : " The Mississippi is ours 
 by the law of nature ; it belongs to us by our numbers, and 
 by the labour which we have bestowed on those spots 
 which before our arrival were desert and barren. Our in- 
 numerable rivers swell it and flow with it into the Gulf 
 Sea. Its mouth is the only issue which nature has given 
 to our waters, and we wish to use it for our vessels. No 
 power in the world shall deprive us of this right." 
 
 Of Morales's order James Madison, then Secretary of 
 State, wrote the official representative of the United States 
 at the court of Spain : 
 
 " You are aware of the sensibility of our Western citi-
 
 276 THE MISSISSIPPI 
 
 zens to such an occurrence. This sensibility is justified by 
 the interest they have at stake. The Mississippi to them 
 is everything. It is the Hudson, the Delaware, the Poto- 
 mac, and all the navigable rivers of the Atlantic States 
 formed into one stream." 
 
 At this time Thomas Jefferson was President, and in 
 view of the uneasiness of the Western settlers, he hastened 
 to send to France a special ambassador to negotiate for the 
 purchase of the Louisiana Territory. The opportunity was 
 a favourable one, for France was then in danger of a con- 
 flict with Great Britain. The latter country had become 
 alarmed at and jealous of Bonaparte's commercial conquests, 
 and he, apprehending war and fearing that he could not hold 
 Louisiana, had about determined to do the next best thing 
 dispose of it to one of England's rivals. 
 
 Marbois, the historian of Louisiana, from whom we have 
 above quoted, was chosen by Napoleon to represent France 
 in the negotiations with the representative of the United 
 States sent by Jefferson. His account of the cession the 
 consultation between Napoleon and his ministers and of 
 his remarks and motives, forms one of the most instructive 
 and interesting chapters of modern history. Napoleon fore- 
 shadowed his action by the following remark to one of his 
 counsellors : 
 
 " To emancipate nations from the commercial tyranny 
 of England it is necessary to balance her influence by a 
 maritime power that may one day become her rival ; that 
 power is the United States. The English aspire to dispose 
 of all the riches of the world. I shall be useful to the 
 whole universe if I can prevent their ruling America as 
 they rule Asia." 
 
 In a subsequent conversation with two of his ministers,
 
 THE MISSISSIPPI 277 
 
 on the loth of April, 1803, on the subject of the proposed 
 cession, he said in speaking of England : " They shall not 
 have the Mississippi which they covet." 
 
 In accordance with this conclusion, on the 3Oth day of 
 the same month, the sale was made to the United States. 
 When informed that his instructions had been carried out 
 and the treaty consummated, he remarked : 
 
 " This accession of territory strengthens forever the power 
 of the United States, and I have just given to England a 
 maritime rival that will sooner or later humble her pride." 
 
 Under the stimulating influence of American enterprise 
 the commerce of the valley rapidly developed. In 1812 it 
 entered upon a new era of progress by the introduction for 
 the first time upon the waters of the Mississippi of steam 
 transportation. 
 
 The river trade then grew from year to year, until the 
 total domestic exports of its sole outlet at the sea-board 
 the port of New Orleans had during the fiscal year 
 1855-56 reached the value of over $80,000,000. Its pres- 
 tige was then eclipsed by railways, the first line reaching 
 the Upper Mississippi in 1854, and the second the Lower 
 Mississippi, at St. Louis in 1857. $ a y s P r 
 
 " The line first opened in this state from Chicago to the 
 Mississippi was the Chicago and Rock Island, completed 
 in February, 1854. The completion of this road extended 
 the railway system of the country to the Mississippi, up to 
 this time the great route of commerce of the interior. This 
 work, in connection with the numerous other lines since 
 opened, has almost wholly diverted this commerce from 
 what may be termed its natural to artificial channels, so 
 that no considerable portion of it now flowed down the 
 river to New Orleans."
 
 278 THE MISSISSIPPI 
 
 The correctness of this assertion may be seen by refer- 
 ence to the statistics of the total domestic exports of New 
 Orleans during the year ending June 30, 1879. They 
 were $63,794,000 in value, or $16,000,000 less than in 
 1856, when the rivalry with railways began. 
 
 But since 1879 the river has entered upon a new and 
 important era. The successful completion of the jetties by 
 Capt. Jas. B. Eads inaugurated a new era of river com- 
 merce and regained for it some of its lost prestige. 
 
 Another step of great importance to the welfare of the 
 Mississippi was taken about this time. The control of its 
 improvement was transferred by Congress to a board of 
 skilled engineers known as the Mississippi River Commis- 
 sion. The various conflicting theories of improvement 
 which have for years past done much to defeat the grand 
 consummation desired will now be adjusted in a scientific 
 and business-like manner. 
 
 Again, the rapidly growing popular demand throughout 
 the United States for more intimate commercial relations 
 with Mexico and the several sister nations of Central and 
 South America, which lie opposite the mouth of this great 
 River System, is stimulating the long-neglected longitude 
 trade and thereby creating a new demand for new transpor- 
 tation on the longitudinal water-ways which comprise the 
 Mississippi and its tributaries. 
 
 The Mississippi and tributaries considered as a drainage 
 system, extend nearly the whole length of the United States 
 from Canada to the Gulf, and across more than half its 
 width, or from the summit of the Rocky Mountains to that 
 of the Alleghanies. 
 
 Steamers can now transport freight in unbroken bulk 
 from St. Anthony's Falls to the Gulf of Mexico, a distance
 
 THE MISSISSIPPI 279 
 
 of 2,161 miles, and from Pittsburg to Fort Benton, Mont., 
 4,333 miles. Lighter craft can ascend the Missouri to 
 Great Falls, near where that river leaves the Rocky Moun- 
 tains.
 
 THE ZAMBESI 
 
 HENRY DRUMMOND 
 
 ZAMBESI, the most important river on the East Coast 
 of Africa, and the fourth largest on the continent, 
 drains during its course of about 1,200 miles an area of 
 600,000 square miles. Its head-streams, which have not 
 yet been fully explored, are the Leeambye, or lambaji, ris- 
 ing in Cazembe's country ; the Lungebungo, which de- 
 scends from the Mossamba Mountains ; and the Leeba 
 River, from the marshy Lake Dilolo (4,740 feet), situated 
 between 10 and 12 south latitude and 22 and 23 east 
 longitude. These three rivers, reinforced by the Nhengo, 
 unite to form the upper Zambesi (Leeambye), which flows 
 at first southwards and slightly eastwards through the Barotse 
 valley, then turns prominently to the east near its junction 
 with the Chobe (Chuando or Linianti), and passes over the 
 Victoria Falls. Thence, as the middle reach of the Zam- 
 besi, the river sweeps north-east towards Zumbo and the 
 Kebrabassa rapids above Tete, and finally forms the lower 
 Zambesi, which curves southwards until it reaches the In- 
 dian Ocean at 18 50' south latitude. Fed chiefly from 
 the highland country which stretches from Lake Nyassa to 
 inner Angola, its chief tributaries are the Loangwa and the 
 Shire, the last an important river draining out of Lake 
 Nyassa, and which in the dry season contains probably as 
 great a volume of water as the Zambesi, and is much more 
 navigable. Except for an interruption of seventy miles at
 
 THE ZAMBESI 28 1 
 
 the Murchison cataracts, the Shire is open throughout its 
 entire length to the lake. 
 
 On the whole the Zambesi has a gentle current, and 
 flows through a succession of wide fertile valleys and richly 
 wooded plains; but, owing to the terrace-like structure of 
 the continent, the course of the river is interrupted from 
 point to point by cataracts and rapids. These form serious, 
 and in some cases insurmountable, hindrances to navi- 
 gation. Those on the lower Zambesi begin with its delta. 
 The bar here was long held to be impassable, except to ves- 
 sels of the shallowest draught, but the difficulty was exag- 
 gerated partly through ignorance and partly in the interests 
 of the Portuguese settlement of Quilimane, which, before 
 the merits of the Kongone entrance were understood, had 
 been already established on the Qua-qua River, sixty miles 
 to the north. The Zambesi is now known to have four 
 mouths, the Milambe to the west, the Kongone, the Leeabo, 
 and the Timbwe. The best of these, the Kongone, has 
 altered and the channel improved recently. There are at 
 least eighteen feet of water on the bar at high water neap 
 tides ; and steamers drawing fifteen feet, and sailing vessels 
 drawing three feet less, have no difficulty in entering. The 
 deep water continues only a short distance, and, after 
 Mazaro (sixty miles) is reached, where the river has already 
 dwindled to the breadth of a mile, the channel is open in 
 the dry season as far as Senna (120 miles from the mouth) 
 for vessels drawing four and one-half feet. Up to this point 
 navigation could only be successfully and continuously car- 
 ried on by vessels of much lighter draught stern-wheelers 
 for preference with a draught of little more than eighteen 
 inches. About ninety miles from Senna the river enters 
 the Lupata gorge, the impetuous current contracting between
 
 282 THE ZAMBESI 
 
 walls to a width of scarcely 200 yards. Passing Tete (240 
 miles from the mouth with a smooth course) the channel 
 becomes dangerous at Kebrabassa, ninety miles further on. 
 From the Kebrabassa rapids upwards, and past the Victoria 
 Falls, there are occasional stretches of navigable water ex- 
 tending for considerable distances, while the upper Zambesi 
 with its confluents and their tributaries forms a really fine 
 and extensive waterway. Like the Nile, the Zambesi is 
 visited by annual inundations, during which the whole 
 country is flooded and many of the minor falls and rapids 
 are then obliterated. 
 
 The chief physical feature of the Zambesi is the Mosi- 
 oa-tunya (" smoke sounds there ") or Victoria Falls, admitted 
 to be one of the noblest waterfalls in the world. The cat- 
 aract is bounded on three sides by ridges 300 or 400 feet 
 high, and these, along with many islands dotted over the 
 stream, are covered with sylvan vegetation. The falls, ac- 
 cording to Livingstone, are caused by a stupendous crack 
 or rent, with sharp and almost unbroken edges, stretching 
 right across the river in the hard black basalt which here 
 forms the bed. The cleft is 360 feet in sheer depth and 
 close upon a mile in length. Into this chasm, or more than 
 twice the depth of Niagara, the river rolls with a deafening 
 roar, sending up vast columns of spray, which are visible 
 for a distance of twenty miles. Unlike Niagara, the Mosi- 
 oa-tunya does not terminate in an open gorge, the river im- 
 mediately below the fall being blocked at eighty yards by 
 the opposing side of the (supposed) cleft running parallel to 
 the precipice which forms the waterfall. The only outlet 
 is a narrow channel cut in this barrier at a point 1,170 
 yards from the western end of the chasm and some 600 
 from its eastern, and through this the Zambesi, now only
 
 THE ZAMBESI 283 
 
 twenty or thirty yards wide, pours for 120 yards before 
 emerging into the enormous zigzag trough which conducts 
 the river past the basalt plateau. 
 
 The region drained by the Zambesi may be represented 
 as a vast broken-edged plateau 3,000 or 4,000 feet high, 
 composed in the remote interior of metamorphic beds and 
 fringed with the igneous rocks of the Victoria Falls. At 
 Shupanga, on the lower Zambesi, thin strata of grey and 
 yellow sandstone, with an occasional band of limestone, 
 crop out on the bed of the river in the dry season, and 
 these persist beyond Tete, where they are associated with 
 extensive seams of coal. Gold is also known to occur in 
 several places. 
 
 The higher regions of the Zambesi have only been visited 
 by one or two explorers ; and the lower, though nominally 
 in possession of the Portuguese since the beginning of the 
 Sixteenth Century, are also comparatively little known. 
 The Barotse valley, or valley of the upper Zambesi, is a vast 
 pastoral plain, 3,300 feet above sea-level, about 189 miles 
 in length and thirty to thirty-five broad. Though inundated 
 in the rainy season, it is covered with villages and supports 
 countless herds of cattle. The Luiwas who inhabit it are 
 clothed with skins, work neatly in ivory, and live upon 
 milk, maize, and sweet potatoes. In the neighbourhood of 
 the falls the tsetse fly abounds ; and the Batoka people 
 who live there, and who are the only arboriculturists in the 
 country, live upon the products of their gardens. Zumbo, 
 on the north bank, and Chicova, opposite on the southern 
 side (500 miles above the delta), were the farthest inland of 
 the Portuguese East African settlements, and are well placed 
 for commerce with the natives. Founded by Pereira, a 
 native of Goa, these settlements were ultimately allowed to
 
 284 THE ZAMBESI 
 
 go to ruins; but Zumbo has been recently reoccupied. 
 The once celebrated gold mines of Parda Pemba are in the 
 vicinity. The only other Portuguese settlements on the 
 Zambesi are Tete and Senna. Tete, formerly a large and 
 important place, now nearly in ruins, still possesses a fort and 
 several good tiled stone and mud houses. Thither Portu- 
 guese goods, chiefly wines and provisions, are carried by 
 means of canoes. The exports, which include ivory, gold 
 dust, wheat, and ground-nuts, are limited owing to the diffi- 
 culty of transport ; but this difficulty is not insurmountable, 
 for Tete has been twice visited by some small steam vessels. 
 Senna, further down the river, a neglected and unhealthy 
 village, has suffered much from political mismanagement, 
 and has ceaseless troubles with the Landeens or Zulus, who 
 own the southern bank of the river, and collect in force 
 every year to exact a heavy tribute-money. The industrial 
 possibilities of the lower Zambesi, and indeed of the whole 
 river system, are enormous. India-rubber, indigo, archil, 
 beeswax, and columbo root are plentiful, and oil-seeds and 
 sugar-cane could be produced in sufficient quantity to sup- 
 ply the whole of Europe. 
 
 The Zambesi region was known to the mediaeval geog- 
 raphers as the empire of Monomotapa, and the course of 
 the river, as well as the position of Lakes N'gami and 
 Nyassa, was filled in with a rude approximation to accuracy 
 in the earlier maps. These were probably constructed 
 from Arab information. The first European to visit the 
 upper Zambesi was Livingstone in his exploration from 
 Bechuanaland between 1851 and 1853. Two or three years 
 later he descended the Zambesi to its mouth and in the 
 course of this journey discovered the Victoria Falls. In 
 1859, accompanied by Dr. Kirk (now Sir John Kirk), Liv-
 
 THE ZAMBESI 285 
 
 ingstone ascended the river as far as the falls, after tracing 
 the course of its main tributary, the Shire, and discovering 
 Lake Nyassa. The mouths of the Zambesi were long 
 claimed exclusively by the Portuguese, but in 1888 the 
 British Government opened negotiations with Portugal to 
 have the river declared free to all nations.
 
 THE URUGUAY 
 
 ERNEST WILLIAM WHITE 
 
 THE River Uruguay, a health-giving stream impreg- 
 nated with sarsaparilla, and the lesser of the two 
 affluents which swell into the mighty La Plata, possesses 
 charms for the traveller, denied to the greater, the Parana, 
 at least in the lower part of its course; the water is clearer, 
 the range not so vast, the scenery more varied and pictur- 
 esque, whilst the traces of industry are more patent and the 
 difficulties and dangers of its navigation add a piquancy 
 unknown to the sister waters. 
 
 As its shores were to me as yet an unknown region, I 
 determined to spend a fortnight in becoming familiar with 
 their beauties, so on the morning of the 2fth of December, 
 in the midst of a glorious summer season, a friend joined 
 me in taking return tickets from Buenos Ayres to Concor- 
 dia, Entre Rios, which at the then state of the tide, was 
 the furthest point upwards that a steamer could reach. 
 
 During breakfast we pretty well lose sight of the Argen- 
 tine coast and have nothing before us but a broad fresh- 
 water ocean covered with innumerable blue-flowered came- 
 lotes, consisting chiefly of Pontederia, which spread their 
 broad leaves as sails to speed them on their course ; these 
 nesine fragments descend the Parana but are unknown on 
 the bosom of the Uruguay. On our right side soon rises a 
 long low ridge of sand indicating the Banda Oriental coast, 
 terminating opposite the island of Martin Garcia, in cliffs
 
 THE URUGUAY 287 
 
 resembling those of loved Albion. Calm as the Thames at 
 London bridge is all this mighty estuary ; it is not always so 
 however, but on this holy day of peace 
 
 " The winds with wonder whist 
 Smoothly the waters kissed ! " 
 
 And it is only by sailing over it in the glare of daylight that 
 any adequate impression of its vastness can be obtained. 
 Whence comes all this overflowing tide ? is a question 
 readily answered by the rigid scientist, but with whose con- 
 clusions, the imagination rests not satisfied. 
 
 After leaving the outer roads of Buenos Ayres, but little 
 shipping is met with, and the reflection immediately occurs, 
 how different the case would be, were this magnificent 
 water-highway in the hands of the Anglo-Saxon race. On 
 finding ourselves nearly abreast of Martin Garcia, the Ar- 
 gentine coast magically arose under a strong mirage, the 
 trees appearing suspended in the air and completely separ- 
 ated from the shore line ; whilst a shoal several miles in ex- 
 tent threatening our port bow, indicated the necessity of 
 hugging the island, if we would avoid the fate of a fine 
 bark which lay rotting only a few yards off. 
 
 The navigation is extremely perilous especially at low 
 water and yet but a few buoys are visible, an unaccount- 
 able omission, at least in times of peace. A boat contain- 
 ing the comandante sallies from the fort and we, in common 
 with all other passing vessels, are obliged to lie to, in order 
 to await its visit. 
 
 Martin Garcia, at once the Norfolk island and Gibraltar 
 of the River Plate, is the key of the common entrance to 
 both the Parana and Uruguay, as their bifurcation occurs 
 farther north j and the channel, whose character may be
 
 288 THE URUGUAY 
 
 surmised from its name " Hell channel" passes within easy 
 reach of the guns of this sentinel of the rivers, which has 
 been strongly fortified by the Argentine government. A 
 barren looking granitic tract, whence are quarried the ado- 
 quines (paving stones) for the streets of the metropolis, with 
 low sandy shores, rising in the interior to the height of two 
 hundred feet and bristling with permanent fortifications and 
 earthworks, it presents a standing menace to dispute with 
 intruders entrance by water into the heart of the republic. 
 On entering the River Uruguay, which has an embouchure 
 of about thirteen miles, both banks are visible and very 
 striking differences they present } the right or Entre-Riano 
 shore is well-wooded and clothed with vegetation, whilst 
 the left or Montevidean lies in all its naked barrenness. 
 Further on, the Banda Oriental coast alters its character, 
 being fringed with islands and less sandy; then jut out into 
 the river a succession of bold bluffs, almost all with a bloody 
 history, covered with a scanty verdure emerging from sand, 
 presenting a close general resemblance to the southern shore 
 of the Isle of Wight ; and these promontories are usually 
 dotted with estancias. Casting our eyes across the broad 
 waters, we notice a change there likewise ; long reefs of 
 sand exchange verdure for sterility, and it is a remarkable 
 circumstance throughout our whole progress up the Uru- 
 guay, that the two shores bear continually opposite or, so to 
 speak, complimentary characters, not only physically and 
 politically but botanically ; when one is bold or fertile, the 
 other is low or sterile. We now pass several wrecks, at- 
 testing the difficulties which beset our watery path. 
 
 Rounding a point, we suddenly come upon what looks 
 uncommonly like an English fishing-village, with its craft 
 quietly reposing in a snug bay j the church and cemetery
 
 THE URUGUAY 289 
 
 topping our eminence, whilst the residence of the lord of 
 the manor caps another, and learn that this is Nueva Pal- 
 mira. The Oriental flag here boards us for the first time 
 and the Easterns got rid of, the Saturno is again let loose 
 on her orbit to hug the Montevidean coast, which now de- 
 scends again to long reaches of low flat sands, with a 
 broader stream, forming extensive sabulous, and in some 
 cases well- wooded islands, which stretch leagues upon 
 leagues along this left bank. A glorious moon, within two 
 days of the full, succeeded one of the angriest yet finest of 
 sunsets, and her rays, falling full upon the capacious bosom 
 of the placid river transformed it into a lake of burnished 
 silver. At about 9 p. M. we arrive off the mouth of the 
 Rio Negro (Black River), called thus because the decaying 
 sarsaparilla roots, with which its banks are lined, impreg- 
 nate and discolour the waters and at the same time render 
 them so highly medicinal as to attract great numbers of 
 bathers to its shores. 
 
 As the rising sun's disk was cut in twain by the horizon, 
 I started upon deck to view the landscape. We were 
 coursing through numberless islands, with a scenery on 
 both banks exactly like that of the Suffolk river Orwell, 
 but with an atmosphere O ! how different ! ours was as 
 the balm of Eden, theirs, the nipping dry Eoic. The 
 breadth of the stream is here about half a mile, and the 
 moderately elevated banks are clothed with vivid green to 
 the water's edge ; then as the river narrows again, we 
 traverse a beautiful ^Egean, whose innumerable islets are 
 thickly wooded, principally with Espinillo (Acacia cavenia), 
 Tala (Celtis Sellowiana), the willow of Humboldt, Ceibo 
 (Erytkrina cristagalli) and Laurel ; but which, to my utter 
 astonishment, presented scarcely any trace of animal life j
 
 2QO THE URUGUAY 
 
 hardly a dozen butterflies, a chimango or two, and a few 
 weary-looking butcher-birds were its sole visible representa- 
 tives. About 6 A. M., whilst passing through low jungle we 
 sight our first city on the Argentine side,Concepcion del Uru- 
 guay, the capital of the province of Entre Rios ; and enter- 
 ing a deep channel scarce a hundred yards broad, flanked 
 by a double row of poplars, emerge in front of the splendid 
 Saladero 1 of Santa Candida. 
 
 Ten miles above Paysandu, the river expands into a broad 
 belt clear as a mirror, in which the sky, distant foliage and 
 hills are brilliantly reflected, the air changes and bathed in 
 tropical fragrance and balminess, the intensely vivid verdure 
 springs up magically around us. 
 
 At the junction of the Queguay, an oriental affluent with 
 the main stream, which at this point has a breadth of about 
 half a mile are planted several Saladeros^ apparently hard at 
 work; but whether the palms are scared by the scent of 
 blood or refuse to witness the daily holocaust, certain it is 
 that they here suddenly vanish from the scene. Twenty 
 miles above this rises a veritable Tarpeia in the shape of a 
 very lofty, bold, perpendicular-faced mass jutting into the 
 river from the Uruguay coast, and which, with a refinement 
 of cruelty and a just appreciation of history, was actually 
 used by a general in one of the periodic revolutions to which 
 this unhappy country is so subject, wherefrom to hurl his 
 prisoners. Two picturesque islands, circular, rising ab- 
 ruptly out of the water, apparently exactly equal in size 
 and shape, and hence styled " Las dos hermanas " (the two 
 sisters), stand as advanced guards to this precipitous promon- 
 tory, and by their intensely green verdure to the river's 
 edge and smooth mathematical uniformity, offer a pleasing 
 1 Slaughter-house.
 
 THE URUGUAY 29 1 
 
 contrast to the rugged, battered and blackened face of the 
 cliff. 
 
 We hold our breath as with a quick turn and dart through 
 the seething flood, our clever steersman pilots us through 
 dangers greater than ever Sylla and Charybdis offered, and 
 leaves us at leisure to survey the prosperous cattle farms, 
 which, on both banks, now line our approach to Concordia. 
 
 At length about 5 P. M., after a passage of thirty-one 
 hours and at a distance of 300 miles from Buenos Ayres, 
 we sight the town of Concordia on the right bank, and at 
 almost the same moment Salto, on the left, which, rising 
 tier upon tier, very much resembles Bath ; these two occupy 
 almost the same relative positions as Buda and Pesth on the 
 Danube. 
 
 From its junction with the Parana, the Uruguay is 
 navigable at all states of the tide as far as Concordia, but 
 some miles above that city occur the Falls of Salto-grande 
 and numerous rapids which render it unnavigable to steam- 
 ers from below, except in times of extraordinary freshets 
 between which an interval of years sometimes elapses ; 
 whilst above these, although still sown with rapids, the river 
 is navigable but to vessels of smaller draught. 
 
 From the marvellous accounts I had listened to, I ex- 
 pected to behold in these Falls another Niagara, but great 
 was my disappointment on viewing them for the first time, 
 for although very picturesque, they struck me as completely 
 wanting in the grandeur with which my imagination had 
 clothed them. Extending for about a mile longitudinally, 
 they consist on the northern limit of a transverse bar of 
 boulders which cause a perpendicular descent of about 
 twenty-five feet ; then a succession of rugged rocks, some- 
 times of very fantastic shape, pile Pelion on Ossa, amongst
 
 292 THE URUGUAY 
 
 which the river surges and eddies. The reef spreads com- 
 pletely across the river, a distance of about a quarter of a 
 mile, so that in some states of the tide, it is possible to pass 
 on foot from Entre Rios to the Banda Oriental, at all times 
 a difficult, nay dangerous, undertaking. An island formed 
 of massive boulders occupies the centre, on which a few 
 dwarfed trees struggle for an aquatic existence. Here are 
 found splendid agates, blocks of rock crystal, amethysts 
 and other precious stones ; and there lie naked on the blis- 
 tering rocks, those rusty and silent mementos of Garibaldi's 
 unsuccessful expedition in 1840 when, to cross the rapids, 
 he was obliged to throw overboard ten eighteen-pounder 
 iron guns. 
 
 By contemplating the scene, however, it grows in magni- 
 tude and sublimity.
 
 THE TWEED 
 
 SIR THOMAS DICK LAUDER 
 
 THE great valley which affords a course for the Tweed, 
 when taken in conjunction with those minor branch 
 valleys which give passage to its various tributaries, may be 
 called the great Scoto-Arcadian district of pastoral poetry 
 and song. Who could enumerate the many offerings which 
 have been made to the rural muses in this happy country ? 
 for where there are poetry and song, happiness must be pre- 
 supposed, otherwise neither the one nor the other could have 
 birth. 
 
 During those barbarous times, when border raids were in 
 continual activity, and when no one on either side of the 
 marches, or debatable land, could lay down his head to sleep 
 at night, without the chance of having to stand at his de- 
 fense, or perhaps to mount and ride ere morning, the valleys 
 of the Tweed and its tributaries must have witnessed many 
 strange and stirring events and cruel slaughters. To defend 
 themselves from these predatory incursions the Scottish 
 monarchs erected strong castles along the lower part of the 
 course of the Tweed, and the chain of these places of 
 strength was carried upwards, quite to the source of the 
 streams by the various land owners. These last were 
 either Towers or Peels these different names being given, 
 rather to distinguish the structures as to their magnitude and 
 importance, than from any great difference of plan the 
 Tower possessing greater accommodations and being much 
 the larger and more impregnable in strength of the two.
 
 5>94 THE TWEED 
 
 These strongholds, being intended for the general advan- 
 tage and preservation of all the inhabitants of the valley, were 
 built alternately on both sides of the river, and in a con- 
 tinued series, so as to have a view one of another ; so that 
 a fire kindled on the top of any one of them, was immedi- 
 ately responded to, in the same way, by all the others in 
 succession ; the smoke giving the signal by day and the 
 flame by night thus spreading the alarm through a whole 
 country of seventy miles in extent, in the provincial phrase, 
 from "Berwick to the Bield," and to a breadth of not less 
 than fifty miles carrying alarm into the uppermost parts of 
 every tributary glen. 
 
 Availing ourselves of the quaint language of Dr. Penne- 
 cuick, we now beg to inform our readers that " The famous 
 Tweed hath its first spring or fountain nearly a mile to the 
 east of the place where the shire of Peebles marches and 
 borders with the stewartry of Annandale that is Tweed's 
 Cross, so called from a cross which stood and was erected 
 there in the time of Popery, as was ordinary, in all the 
 eminent places of public roads in the kingdom before our 
 Reformation. Both Annan and Clyde have their first rise 
 from the same height, about half a mile from one another, 
 where Clyde runneth west, Annan to the south, and Tweed 
 to the east." There is some little exaggeration, however, 
 in the old Doctor here for there is, in reality, no branch of 
 Clyde within two miles of Tweed's Cross, or Errickstane 
 Brae. Tweed's Well is not very far from the great road ; 
 and the site of Tweed's Cross is 1,632 feet above the level 
 of the sea. " Tweed runneth for the most part with a soft, 
 yet trotting stream, towards the north-east, the whole length 
 of the country, in several meanders, passing first through 
 the Paroch of Tweeds-moor, the place of its birth, then
 
 THE TWEED 295 
 
 running eastwards, it watereth the parishes of Glenholm, 
 Drumelzear, Broughton, Dawick, Stobo, Lyne, Manner, 
 Peebles, Traquair, Innerleithen, and from thence in its 
 course to the March at Galehope-burn, where, leaving 
 Tweeddale, it beginneth to water the forest on both sides, 
 a little above Elibank." 
 
 The Banks of the Tweed abound in simple rural charms 
 as you proceed downwards from Elibank Tower, and they 
 partake of that peaceful pastoral character which its green 
 sided hills bestow upon it. 
 
 We now come to that part of the course of the Tweed, 
 extending from its junction with the united rivers Ettrick 
 and Yarrow to the mouth of Gala Water. The estate of Ab- 
 botsford makes up a large part of the whole. The part of 
 it that borders the Tweed consists of a large and very 
 beautiful flat haugh, around the margin of which the river 
 flows gently and clearly over its beds of sparkling pebbles. 
 
 The angling from Gala Water foot to Leader foot is all 
 excellent, both for salmon and trout, when the river is in 
 proper condition ; and then the beauty and interest of all 
 the surrounding features of nature and the silent grandeur 
 of the holy pile of ruin are such that even the unsuccessful 
 angler must find pleasure in wandering by the river-side, 
 quite enough to counterbalance the disappointment of empty 
 baskets. 
 
 Sir Walter Scott says : 
 
 " If thou would'st view fair Melrose aright, 
 Go visit it by the pale moonlight ; 
 For the gay beams of lightsome day 
 Gild but to flout the ruins grey. 
 When the broken arches are black in night, 
 And each shafted oriel glimmers white;
 
 296 THE TWEED 
 
 When the cold lights' uncertain shower 
 
 Streams on the ruined central tower ; 
 
 When buttress and buttress alternately, 
 
 Seemed framed of ebon and ivory j 
 
 When silver edges the imagery, 
 
 And the scrolls that teach thee to live and die ; 
 
 When the distant Tweed is heard to rave 
 
 And the howlet to hoot o'er the dead man's grave ; 
 
 Then go but go alone the while 
 
 Then view St. David's ruined pile ; 
 
 And, home returning, soothly swear 
 
 Was never scene so sad and fair." 
 
 Before leaving this section of the Tweed, we must not 
 forget to mention that the Knights Templars had a house 
 and establishment on the east side of the village of New- 
 stead. It was called the Red Abbey. Before concluding 
 this part of our subject, it appears to us to be very impor- 
 tant, if not essential, to call our readers' especial attention to 
 the singular promontory of Old Melrose on the right bank 
 of the river. It is a high bare head, around which the river 
 runs in such a way as to convert it into a peninsula. Here 
 it was that the first religious settlement was made. This 
 monastery was supposed to have been founded by Columbus 
 or by Aidan, probably about the end of the Sixth Century. 
 It would appear that it was built of oak wood, thatched with 
 reeds, the neck of land being enclosed with a stone wall. 
 It is supposed to have been burned by the Danes. The 
 name given to it was decidedly Celtic and quite descriptive 
 of its situation Maol-Ros, signifying Bare Promontory 
 and from this the more recent Abbey and the whole of the 
 more modern parish of Melrose have derived their name. 
 
 We now come to a very beautiful, nay, perhaps, we
 
 THE TWEED 297 
 
 ought to say the most beautiful part of the Tweed, where it 
 meanders considerably, as it takes its general course in a 
 bold sweep round the parish of Merton. On its north side 
 the ground rises to a very considerable height in cultivated 
 and wooded hills. From several parts of the road that 
 winds over it, most magnificent views are enjoyed up the 
 vale of the Tweed including Melrose and the Eildon Hills ; 
 and then at the same time, these rising grounds and the 
 southern banks, which are likewise covered with timber, 
 give the richest effect of river scenery to the immediate 
 environs of the stream. 
 
 We scarcely know a place anywhere which is so thor- 
 oughly embowered in grand timber as Dryburgh Abbey. 
 The most beautiful fragment of the ruin is that which is 
 called Saint Mary's Aisle, which formed the south aisle of 
 the transept ; and let it not be approached save with that 
 holy awe which is inspired by the recollection of the illus- 
 trious dead ! for here repose the ashes of the immortal Sir 
 Walter Scott ! 
 
 Below Dryburgh Lord Polwarth's property of Merton be- 
 gins and runs for about two miles down the Tweed. As 
 you approach the place of Mackerston, the immediate bed 
 of the stream becomes more diversified by rocks, both on 
 its side and in its channel. The Duke of Roxburgh's fish- 
 ings stretch for nearly four miles to a point about half a 
 mile below Kelso. 
 
 Nothing can surpass the beauty of the scene when looked 
 at from Kelso bridge. And then when it is taken from 
 other points, the bridge itself, the ruined abbey, the build- 
 ings of the town, with the wooded banks and the broad 
 river form a combination of objects, harmonizing together, 
 which are rarely to be met with. Each particular descrip-
 
 298 THE TWEED 
 
 tion of scenery requires to be judged of and estimated ac- 
 cording to its own merits. You cannot, with any good 
 effect or propriety, compare a wild, mountainous and rocky 
 highland scene with a rich, lowland district. But this we 
 will say, that, of all such lowland scenes, we know of none 
 that can surpass the environs of Kelso ; for whilst the mind 
 is there filled with all those pleasing associations with peace 
 and plenty, which such scenes are generally more or less 
 calculated to inspire, there are many parts of it which would 
 furnish glowing subjects for the artist. Here the Tweed is 
 joined by the Teviot ; and we shall finish this part of our 
 subject by those beautiful lines from Teviot's own poet, 
 Leyden, in his Scenes of Infancy : 
 
 " Bosomed in woods where mighty rivers run, 
 Kelso's fair vale expands before the sun ; 
 Its rising downs in vernal beauty swell, 
 And, fringed with hazel, winds each flowery dell ; 
 Green spangled plains to dimpling lawns succeed 
 And Tempe rises on the banks of Tweed. 
 Blue o'er the river Kelso's shadow lies, 
 And copse-clad isles amid the waters rise." 
 
 Like a gentleman of large fortune, who has just received 
 a great accession to it, the Tweed, having been joined by 
 the Teviot, leaves Kelso with a magnitude and an air of 
 dignity and importance that it has nowhere hitherto as- 
 sumed during its course, and which it will be found to 
 maintain, until it is ultimately swallowed up by that grave 
 of all rivers the sea. A few miles brings it to the con- 
 fines of Berwickshire, and in its way thither it passes 
 through a rich country. 
 
 Just before quitting the confines of Roxburghshire the
 
 THE TWEED 299 
 
 Tweed receives the classic stream of the Eden, which en- 
 ters it from the left bank. The Eden is remarkable for the 
 excellence of the trout, which are natives of the stream, but 
 they require very considerable skill and great nicety of art 
 to extract them by means of the angle from their native 
 element. 
 
 And now we must congratulate our kind and courteous 
 reader, as well as ourselves, that the romantic days of border 
 warfare have been long at an end ; for if it had been other- 
 wise, our noble companion the Tweed, which has now 
 brought us to a point where he washes England with his 
 right hand waves whilst he laves Scotland with his left, 
 might have brought us into some trouble. As he forms the 
 boundary between England and Scotland from hence to the 
 sea, we must in order to preserve him as a strictly Scottish 
 river, say little about his right bank, except what may be 
 necessary for mere illustration. But as we see before us 
 the truly dilapidated ruins of what was once the strong and 
 important fortress of Wark Castle, we must bestow a few 
 words upon it. 
 
 Wark was the barony and ancient possession of the fam- 
 ily of Ross, one of whom, William de Ross, was a compet- 
 itor for the crown of Scotland in the reign of Edward I. of 
 England. It continued in that family to the end of the 
 Fourteenth Century, when it appears to have become the 
 possession of the Greys, who took their title from the place, 
 being styled the Lords Grey of Wark, in the descendants 
 of which family it has continued to the present time. 
 
 The Scottish banks of the river from the Eden water to 
 Coldstream are richly cultivated and partially wooded by 
 hedgerows and the plantations of several properties. The 
 view down the course of the stream, which runs down
 
 300 THE TWEED 
 
 wooded banks of no great height, and is crossed by the 
 noble bridge of Coldstream, is extremely beautiful. The 
 village of Coldstream itself is very pretty with its nice 
 modern cottages and gardens ; but it is likewise interesting 
 from some of its old buildings. Coldstream was remark- 
 able for its convent of Cistercian nuns, of which Mr. 
 Chambers gives us the following interesting account : 
 Previous to the Reformation Coldstream could boast of a 
 rich priory of Cistercian nuns ; but of the buildings not 
 one fragment now remains. The nunnery stood upon a 
 spot a little eastwards from the market-place, where there 
 are still some peculiarly luxuriant gardens, besides a small 
 burying-ground, now little used. In a slip of waste 
 ground, between the garden and the river, many bones and 
 a stone coffin were dug up some years ago ; the former 
 supposed to be the most distinguished of the warriors that 
 fought at Flodden ; for there is a tradition that the abbess 
 sent vehicles to that fatal field and brought away many of 
 the better orders of the slain, whom she interred here. 
 The field, or rather hill, of Flodden, is not more than six 
 miles from Coldstream, and the tall stone that marks the 
 place where the king fell, only about half that distance, the 
 battle having terminated about three miles from the spot 
 where it commenced. 
 
 General Monk made this his quarters till he found a 
 favourable opportunity for entering England to effect the 
 Restoration ; and it was here that he raised that regiment 
 that has ever afterwards had the name of the Coldstream 
 Guards. 
 
 The River Till is an important tributary to the Tweed 
 from its right bank. The Till runs so extremely slow that 
 it forms a curious contrast with the Tweed, whose course
 
 THE TWEED 30! 
 
 here is very rapid, giving rise to the following quaint 
 verses : 
 
 " Tweed said to Till, 
 What gars ye rin sae still? 
 Till said to Tweed, 
 Though ye rin wi' speed, 
 And I rin slow, 
 Yet where ye drown ae man 
 I drown twa." 
 
 We must now proceed to make our last inroad into Eng- 
 land an inroad, however, very different indeed from those 
 which used to be made by our ancestors, when they rode 
 at the head of their men-at-arms, for the purpose of harry- 
 ing the country and driving a spoil. We go now upon a 
 peaceful visitation of Norham Castle, certainly the most 
 interesting of all objects of a similar description on the 
 whole course of the Tweed. 
 
 The ancient name of the castle appears to have been 
 Ubbanford. It stands on a steep bank, partially wooded 
 and overhanging the river. It seems to have occupied a 
 very large piece of ground as the ruins are very extensive, 
 consisting of a strong square keep, considerably shattered, 
 with a number of banks and fragments of buildings en- 
 closed within an outer wall of a great circuit j the whole 
 forming the most picturesque subject for the artist. It was 
 here that Edward I. resided when engaged in acting as 
 umpire in the dispute concerning the Scottish crown. 
 From its position exactly upon the very line of the border, 
 no war ever took place between the two countries without 
 subjecting it to frequent sieges, during which it was 
 repeatedly taken and retaken. The Greys of Chillingham
 
 302 THE TWEED 
 
 Castle were often successively captains of the garrison ; 
 yet as the castle was situated in the patrimony of St. Cuth- 
 bert, the property was in the see of Durham till the 
 Reformation. After that period it passed through various 
 hands. 
 
 The parish of Ladykirk, which now comes under our 
 notice, upon the left bank of the Tweed, was created at 
 the Reformation by the junction of Upsetlington and 
 Horndean. James IV. had built a church which he 
 dedicated to the Virgin Mary, whence it received its name. 
 
 As we proceed downwards, the scenery on the Tweed 
 may be said to be majestic, from the fine wooded banks 
 which sweep downwards to its northern shores. The sur- 
 face of the water is continually animated by the salmon 
 coble shooting athwart the stream. 
 
 A very handsome suspension bridge, executed by 
 Captain Samuel Brown of the Royal Navy here connects 
 England with Scotland, and at some distance below, the 
 Tweed receives the Whitadder as its tributary from the 
 left bank. 
 
 When we begin to find ourselves within the liberties of 
 Berwick, we discover that we are in a species of no man's 
 land. We are neither in England nor in Scotland, but in 
 " our good town of Berwick-upon-Tweed." We have 
 never passed through it without being filled with veneration 
 for the many marks that yet remain to show what a 
 desperate struggle it must have had for its existence for so 
 many centuries, proving a determined bravery in the in- 
 habitants almost unexampled in the history of man. It 
 always brings to our mind some very ancient silver flagon, 
 made in an era when workmen were inexpert and when the 
 taste of their forms was more intended for use than for
 
 THE TWEED 303 
 
 ornament, but of materials so solid and valuable as to have 
 made it survive all the blows and injuries, the marks of 
 which are still to be seen upon it; and which is thus in- 
 finitely more respected than some modern mazer of the 
 most exquisite workmanship. 
 
 Escaping from Berwick-bridge the Tweed, already 
 mingled with the tide, finds its way down to its estuary, the 
 sand and muddy shores of which have no beauty in them. 
 
 And now, oh silver Tweed ! we bid thee a kind and last 
 adieu, having seen thee rendered up to that all-absorbing 
 ocean, with which all rivers are doomed to be commingled, 
 and their existence terminated, as is that of frail man, with 
 the same hope of being thence restored by those well- 
 springs of life that are formed above the clouds.
 
 NIAGARA 
 
 JOHN TYNDALL 
 
 IT is one of the disadvantages of reading books about 
 natural scenery that they fill the mind with pictures, 
 often exaggerated, often distorted, often blurred, and, even 
 when well drawn, injurious to the freshness of first impres- 
 sions. Such has been the fate of most of us with regard 
 to the Falls of Niagara. There was little accuracy in the 
 estimates of the first observers of the cataract. Startled by 
 an exhibition of power so novel and so grand, emotion 
 leaped beyond the control of the judgment, and gave cur- 
 rency to notions which have often led to disappointment. 
 A record of a voyage, in 1535, by a French mariner 
 named Jacques Cartier, contains, it is said, the first printed 
 allusion to Niagara. In 1603 the first map of the district 
 was constructed by a Frenchman named Champlain. In 
 1648 the Jesuit Rageneau, in a letter to his superior at 
 Paris, mentions Niagara as " a cataract of frightful height." 
 In the winter of 1678 and 1679 the cataract was visited by 
 Father Hennepin, and described in a book dedicated " to 
 the King of Great Britain." He gives a drawing of the 
 waterfall, which shows that serious changes have taken 
 place since his time. He describes it as "a great and 
 prodigious cadence of water, to which the universe does 
 not offer a parallel." The height of the fall, according to 
 Hennepin, was m*re than 600 feet. "The waters," he 
 says, " which fall from this great precipice do foam and
 
 NIAGARA 305 
 
 boil in the most astonishing manner, making a noise more 
 terrible than that of thunder. When the wind blows to 
 the south its frightful roaring may be heard for more than 
 fifteen leagues." The Baron la Hontan, who visited 
 Niagara in 1687, makes the height 800 feet. In 1721 
 Charlevois, in a letter to Madame de Maintenon, after re- 
 ferring to the exaggerations of his predecessors, thus states 
 the result of his own observations : " For my part, after 
 examining it on all sides, I am inclined to think that we 
 cannot allow it less than 140 or 150 feet" a remarkably 
 close estimate. At that time, viz., a hundred and fifty 
 years ago, it had the shape of a horseshoe, and reasons will 
 subsequently be given for holding that this has been always 
 the form of the cataract, from its origin to its present site. 
 
 As regards the noise of the fall, Charlevois declares the 
 accounts of his predecessors, which, I may say, are repeated 
 to the present hour, to be altogether extravagant. He is 
 perfectly right. The thunders of Niagara are formidable 
 enough to those who really seek them at the base of the 
 Horseshoe Fall; but on the banks of the river, and par- 
 ticularly above the fall, its silence, rather than its noise, is 
 surprising. This arises, in part, from the lack of reso- 
 nance ; the surrounding country being flat, and therefore 
 furnishing no echoing surfaces to reinforce the shock of the 
 water. The resonance from the surrounding rocks causes 
 the Swiss Reuss at the Devil's Bridge, when full, to thunder 
 more loudly than the Niagara. 
 
 Seen from below, the American Fall is certainly ex- 
 quisitely beautiful, but it is a mere frill of adornment to its 
 nobler neighbour the Horseshoe. At times we took to the 
 river, from the centre of which the Horseshoe Fall appeared 
 especially magnificent. A streak of cloud across the neck
 
 306 NIAGARA 
 
 of Mont Blanc can double its apparent height, so here the 
 green summit of the cataract shining above the smoke of 
 spray appeared lifted to an extraordinary elevation. Had 
 Hennepin and La Hontan seen the fall from this position, 
 their estimates of the height would have been perfectly 
 excusable. 
 
 From a point a little way below the American Fall, a 
 ferry crosses the river, in summer, to the Canadian side. 
 Below the ferry is a suspension bridge for carriages and 
 foot-passengers, and a mile or two lower down is the rail- 
 way suspension bridge. Between ferry and bridge the river 
 Niagara flows unruffled ; but at the suspension bridge the 
 bed steepens and the river quickens its motion. Lower 
 down the gorge narrows, and the rapidity and turbulence 
 increase. At the place called the " Whirlpool Rapids," I 
 estimated the width of the river at 300 feet, an estimate 
 confirmed by the dwellers on the spot. When it is re- 
 membered that the drainage of nearly half a continent is 
 compressed into this space, the impetuosity of the river's 
 rush may be imagined. 
 
 Two kinds of motion are here obviously active, a motion 
 of translation and a motion of undulation the race of the 
 river through its gorge, and the great waves generated by 
 its collision with, and rebound from, the obstacles in its 
 way. In the middle of the river the rush and tossing are 
 most violent ; at all events, the impetuous force of the in- 
 dividual waves is here most strikingly displayed. Vast 
 pyramidal heaps leap incessantly from the river, some of 
 them with such energy as to jerk their summits into the air, 
 where they hang momentarily suspended in crowds of 
 liquid spherules. The sun shone for a few minutes. At 
 times the wind, coming up the river, searched and sifted
 
 NIAGARA 307 
 
 the spray, carrying away the lighter drops and leaving the 
 heavier ones behind. Wafted in the proper direction, rain- 
 bows appeared and disappeared fitfully in the lighter mist. 
 In other directions the common gleam of the sunshine 
 from the waves and their shattered crests was exquisitely 
 beautiful. The complexity of the action was still further 
 illustrated by the fact, that in some cases, as if by the exer- 
 cise of a local explosive force, the drops were shot radially 
 from a particular centre, forming around it a kind of halo. 
 
 At some distance below the Whirlpool Rapids we have 
 the celebrated whirlpool itself. Here the river makes a 
 sudden bend to the north-east, forming nearly a right angle 
 with its previous direction. The water strikes the concave 
 bank with great force, and scoops it incessantly away. A 
 vast basin has been thus formed, in which the sweep of the 
 river prolongs itself in gyratory currents. Bodies and trees 
 which have come over the falls are stated to circulate here 
 for days without finding the outlet. From various points of 
 the cliffs above this is curiously hidden. The rush of the 
 river into the whirlpool is obvious enough ; and though you 
 imagine the outlet must be visible, if one existed, you can- 
 not find it. Turning, however, round the bend of the prec- 
 ipice to the north-east, the outlet comes into view. 
 
 The Niagara season was over ; the chatter of sight-seers 
 had ceased, and the scene presented itself as one of holy se- 
 clusion and beauty. I went down to the river's edge, where 
 the weird loneliness seemed to increase. The basin is en- 
 closed by high and almost precipitous banks covered, at the 
 time, with russet woods. A kind of mystery attaches itself 
 to gyrating water, due perhaps to the fact that we are to 
 some extent ignorant of the direction of its force. It is 
 said that, at certain points of the whirlpool, pine-trees are
 
 308 NIAGARA 
 
 sucked down, to be ejected mysteriously elsewhere. The 
 water is of the brightest emerald-green. The gorge through 
 which it escapes is narrow, and the motion of the river swift 
 though silent. The surface is steeply inclined, but it is 
 perfectly unbroken. There are no lateral waves, no ripples 
 with their breaking bubbles to raise a murmur; while the 
 depth is here too great to allow the inequality of the bed to 
 ruffle the surface. Nothing can be more beautiful than this 
 sloping liquid mirror formed by the Niagara in sliding from 
 the whirlpool. 
 
 A connected image of the origin and progress of the cat- 
 aract is easily obtained. Walking northwards from the vil- 
 lage of Niagara Falls by the side of the river, we have to 
 our left the deep and comparatively narrow gorge, through 
 which the Niagara flows. The bounding clifFs of this gorge 
 are from 300 to 350 feet high. We reach the whirlpool, 
 trend to the north-east, and after a little time gradually re- 
 sume our northward course. Finally, at about seven miles 
 from the present falls, we come to the edge of a declivity, 
 which informs us that we have been hitherto walking on 
 table-land. At some hundreds of feet below us is a com- 
 paratively level plain, which stretches to Lake Ontario. 
 The declivity marks the end of the precipitous gorge of 
 the Niagara. Here the river escapes from its steep mural 
 boundaries, and in a widened bed pursues its way to the lake 
 which finally receives its waters. 
 
 The fact that in historic times, even within the memory 
 of man, the fall has sensibly receded, prompts the question, 
 How far has this recession gone ? At what point did the 
 ledge which thus continually creeps backwards begin its ret- 
 rograde course ? To minds disciplined in such researches 
 the answer has been, and will be At the precipitous de-
 
 NIAGARA 309 
 
 clivity which crossed the Niagara from Lewiston on the 
 American to Queenston on the Canadian side. Over this 
 transverse barrier the united affluents of all the upper lakes 
 once poured their waters, and here the work of erosion be- 
 gan. The dam, moreover, was demonstrably of sufficient 
 height to cause the river above it to submerge Goat Island ; 
 and this would perfectly account for the finding, by Sir 
 Charles Lyell, Mr. Hall, and others, in the sand and gravel 
 of the island, the same fluviatile shells as are now found in the 
 Niagara River higher up. It would also account for those 
 deposits along the sides of the river, the discovery of which 
 enabled Lyell, Hall, and Ramsay to reduce to demonstra- 
 tion the popular belief that the Niagara once flowed through 
 a shallow valley. 
 
 The vast comparative erosive energy of the Horseshoe 
 Fall comes strikingly into view when it and the American 
 Fall are compared together. The American branch of the 
 river is cut at a right angle by the gorge of the Niagara. 
 Here the Horseshoe Fall was the real excavator. It cut 
 the rock, and formed the precipice, over which the Amer- 
 ican Fall tumbles. But, since its formation, the erosive ac- 
 tion of the American Fall has been almost nil, while the 
 Horseshoe has cut its way for 500 yards across the end of 
 Goat Island, and is now doubling back to excavate its chan- 
 nel parallel to the length of the island. This point, which 
 impressed me forcibly, has not, I have just learned, escaped 
 the acute observation of Professor Ramsay. The river 
 bends ; the Horseshoe immediately accommodates itself to 
 the bending, and will follow implicitly the direction of the 
 deepest water in the upper stream. The flexures of the 
 gorge are determined by those of the river channel above it. 
 Were the Niagara centre above the fall sinuous, the gorge
 
 310 NIAGARA 
 
 would obediently follow its sinuosities. Once suggested, 
 no doubt geographers will be able to point out many ex- 
 amples of this action. The Zambesi is thought to present 
 a great difficulty to the erosion theory, because of the sinu- 
 osity of the chasm below the Victoria Falls. But, assum- 
 ing the basalt to be of tolerably uniform texture, had the 
 river been examined before the formation of this sinuous 
 channel, the present zigzag course of the gorge below the 
 fall could, I am persuaded, have been predicted, while the 
 sounding of the present river would enable us to predict the 
 course to be pursued by the erosion in the future. 
 
 But not only has the Niagara River cut the gorge ; it has 
 carried away the chips of its own workshop. The shale, 
 being probably crumbled, is easily carried away. But at 
 the base of the fall we find the huge boulders already de- 
 scribed, and by some means or other these are removed 
 down the river. The ice which fills the gorge in winter, 
 and which grapples with the boulders, has been regarded as 
 the transporting agent. Probably it is so to some extent. 
 But erosion acts without ceasing on the abutting points of 
 the boulders, thus withdrawing their support and urging 
 them gradually down the river. Solution also does its por- 
 tion of the work. That solid matter is carried down is 
 proved by the difference of depth between the Niagara 
 River and Lake Ontario, where the river enters it. The 
 depth falls from seventy-two feet to twenty feet, in con- 
 sequence of the deposition of solid matter caused by the di- 
 minished motion of the river. 
 
 In conclusion, we may say a word regarding the proxi- 
 mate future of Niagara. At the rate of excavation assigned 
 to it by Sir Charles Lyell, namely, a foot a year, five thou- 
 sand years or so will carry the Horseshoe Fall far higher
 
 NIAGARA 311 
 
 than Goat Island. As the gorge recedes it will drain, as it 
 has hitherto done, the banks right and left of it, thus leav- 
 ing a nearly level terrace between Goat Island and the edge 
 of the gorge. Higher up it will totally drain the American 
 branch of the river; the channel of which in due time will 
 become cultivable land. The American Fall will then be 
 transformed into a dry precipice, forming a simple continu- 
 ation of the cliffy boundary of the Niagara gorge. At the 
 place occupied by the fall at this moment we shall have the 
 gorge enclosing a right angle, a second whirlpool being the 
 consequence. To those who visit Niagara a few millen- 
 niums hence I leave the verification of this prediction. All 
 that can be said is, that if the causes now in action continue 
 to act, it will prove itself literally true.
 
 THE NIAGARA RIVER 
 
 G. K. GILBERT 
 
 THE Niagara River flows from Lake Erie to Lake 
 Ontario. The shore of Erie is more than 300 feet 
 higher than the shore of Ontario ; but if you pass from the 
 higher shore to the lower, you do not descend at a uniform 
 rate. Starting from Lake Erie and going northwards, you 
 travel upon a plain not level, but with only gentle un- 
 dulations until you approach the shore of Lake Ontario, 
 and then suddenly you find yourself on the brink of a high 
 bluff, or cliff, overlooking the lower lake and separated from 
 it only by a narrow strip of sloping plain. 
 
 Where the Niagara River leaves Lake Erie at Buffalo 
 and enters the plain, a low ridge of rock crosses its path, 
 and in traversing this its water is troubled; but it soon be- 
 comes smooth, spreads out broadly and indolently loiters on 
 the plain. For three-fourths of the distance it cannot be 
 said to have a valley, it rests upon the surface of the plateau; 
 but then its habit suddenly changes. By the short rapid at 
 Goat Island and by the cataract itself the water of the river 
 is dropped two hundred feet down into the plain, and thence 
 to the cliff at Lewiston it races headlong through a deep and 
 narrow gorge. From Lewiston to Lake Ontario there are 
 no rapids. The river is again broad, and its channel is 
 scored so deeply in the littoral plain that the current is 
 relatively slow, and the level of its water surface varies but 
 slightly from that of the lake.
 
 THE NIAGARA RIVER 313 
 
 The narrow gorge that contains the river from the Falls 
 to Lewiston is a most peculiar and noteworthy feature. Its 
 width rarely equals the fourth of a mile, and its depth to the 
 bottom of the river ranges from two hundred to five hun- 
 dred feet. Its walls are so steep that opportunities for 
 climbing up and down them are rare, and in these walls one 
 may see the geologic structure of the plateau. 
 
 The contour of the cataract is subject to change. From 
 time to time blocks of rock break away, falling into the pool 
 below, and new shapes are then given to the brink over 
 which the water leaps. Many such falls of rock have taken 
 place since the white man occupied the banks of the river, 
 and the breaking away of a very large section is still a recent 
 event. By such observation we are assured that the extent 
 of the gorge is increasing at its end, that it is growing longer, 
 and that the cataract is the cause of its extension. 
 
 This determination is the first element in the history of 
 the river. A change is in progress before our eyes. The 
 river's history, like human history, is being enacted, and 
 from that which occurs we can draw inferences concerning 
 what has occurred, and what will occur. We can look 
 forward to the time when the gorge now traversing the 
 fourth part of the width of the plateau will completely di- 
 vide it, so that the Niagara will drain Lake Erie to the 
 bottom. We can look back to the time when there was 
 no gorge, but when the water flowed on the top of the plain 
 to its edge, and the Falls of Niagara were at Lewiston. 
 
 We may think of the river as labouring at a task the 
 task of sawing in two the plateau. The task is partly ac- 
 complished. When it is done the river will assume some 
 other task. Before it was begun what did the river do ? 
 
 How can we answer this question ? The surplus water
 
 314 THE NIAGARA RIVER 
 
 discharge from Lake Erie could not have flowed by this 
 course to Lake Ontario without sawing at the plateau. 
 Before it began the cutting of the gorge it' did not flow 
 along this line. It may have flowed somewhere else, but 
 if so it did not constitute the Niagara River. The com- 
 mencement of the cutting of the Niagara gorge is the be- 
 ginning of the history of the Niagara River. 
 
 The river began its existence during the final retreat of 
 the great ice sheet, or, in other words, during the series of 
 events that closed the age of ice in America. During the 
 course of its history the length of the river has suffered 
 some variation by reason of the successive fall and rise of the 
 level of Lake Ontario. It was at first a few miles shorter 
 than now ; then it became suddenly a few miles longer, and 
 its present length was gradually acquired. 
 
 With the change in the position of its mouth there went 
 a change in the height of its mouth ; and the rate at which 
 it eroded its channel was affected thereby. The influence 
 on the rate of erosion was felt chiefly along the lower course 
 of the river between Lewiston and Fort Niagara. 
 
 The volume of the river has likewise been inconstant. 
 In early days, when the lakes levied a large tribute on the 
 melting glacier, the Niagara may have been a larger river 
 than now ; but there was a time when the discharge from 
 the upper lakes avoided the route by Lake Erie, and then 
 the Niagara was a relatively small stream. 
 
 The great life work of the river has been the digging of 
 the gorge through which it runs from the cataract to Lewis- 
 ton. The beginning of its life was the beginning of that 
 task. The length of the gorge is in some sense a measure 
 of the river's age. 
 
 The river sprang from a great geologic revolution, the
 
 THE NIAGARA RIVER 315 
 
 banishment of the dynasty of cold, and so its lifetime is a 
 geologic epoch ; but from first to last man has been a wit- 
 ness to its toil, and so its history is interwoven with the 
 history of man. The human comrade of the river's youth 
 was not, alas ! a reporter with a notebook, else our present 
 labour would be light. He has even told us little of him- 
 self. We only know that on a gravelly beach of Lake 
 Iroquois, now the Ridge Road, he rudely gathered stones 
 to make a hearth and built a fire ; and the next storm 
 breakers, forcing back the beach, buried and thus preserved, 
 to gratify yet whet our curiosity, hearth, ashes and charred 
 sticks. 
 
 In these Darwinian days we cannot deem primeval the 
 man possessed of the Promethean art of fire, and so his 
 presence on the scene adds zest to the pursuit of the 
 Niagara problem. Whatever the antiquity of the great 
 cataract may be found to be, the antiquity of man is greater.
 
 THE MEUSE 
 
 ESTHER SINGLETON 
 
 THE Meuse, or Maas, has the distinction of belonging 
 to three countries, France, Belgium and Holland. 
 In its long journey of 580 miles to the sea, it passes through 
 varied and beautiful scenery, including the Forest of Ar- 
 dennes, so famous in the Charlemagne romances and in the 
 turbulent period of the Middle Ages ; then through the 
 vine-lands and hop-gardens so often laid waste by battles in 
 Belgium ; and finally through the flat lands of Holland 
 where it has afforded inspiration to many painters. 
 
 Rising in France in the south of the Department Haute 
 Marne near the Monts Faucilles, it crosses the Department 
 Vosges, where, between Bazeilles and Noncourt, it disap- 
 pears and has a subterranean course for three miles and a 
 half. After crossing the Meuse and Ardennes Depart- 
 ments, passing by the towns of Neufchateau, Vaucouleurs, 
 Commercy St. Mihiel and Verdun, it reaches Sedan and 
 enters Belgium. During the rest of its course, its name 
 is variously Meuse, Maes, Maas and Merwede. Above 
 Dinant it receives the Lesse and at Namur, its largest trib- 
 utary, the Sambre, which almost doubles its volume. 
 Going north-east, it flows through a narrow valley, enclosed 
 between wooded hills and cliffs, dotted with picturesque 
 villas and country houses, and at Liege it is joined by the 
 Ourthe. The river now enters Dutch territory, and is 
 henceforth called the Maas. Passing Maestricht, or Maas-
 
 THE MEUSE 317 
 
 tricht, it flows by Roermond, where it receives the Roer, 
 and at Venlo a canal begins which connects it with the 
 Scheldt. At Gorinchem, it receives the Waal, an arm of 
 the Rhine. Now the Maas soon divides : the Merwede 
 flowing west, while the southern arm falls into the Bies- 
 bosch, an estuary of the sea. On reaching Dortrecht, river 
 and sea navigation begin. Here the Maas again divides. 
 The Old Maas flows directly west while the northern arm 
 joins the Lek, a second branch of the Rhine, and continues 
 its course to Rotterdam, where the Rotte joins it. The 
 two arms unite here and flow into the North Sea by the 
 Hook of Holland. Schiedam and Vlardingen are the last 
 places of importance upon its banks. Including all wind- 
 ings, the Meuse is 580 miles long and is navigable for 
 about 460 miles. In the early part of its course the Meuse 
 traverses a wide valley covered by green meadows and then 
 flows through narrow gorges, hemmed in by high hills and 
 cliffs. At Dinant, picturesquely situated on the right 
 bank, at the base of limestone cliffs crowned by a fortress, 
 it is said that Philip the Good, Duke of Burgundy, and his 
 son, Charles the Bold, having captured the town, caused 
 800 people to be drowned in the Meuse. The river, how- 
 ever, quite unconscious of this tragedy, flows on beneath a 
 pinnacle of rock called the Roche a Bayard, because the 
 famous steed, Bayard, belonging to the Quatre Fils d' 
 Aymon, left a hoof-print here as it sprang over the valley 
 when pursued by Charlemagne. Rocks of fantastic shapes 
 now rise above the river, which is spanned by bridges. In- 
 numerable villas and ancestral castles peep through the 
 thick foliage and command the cliffs. The French border 
 is reached at Givet ; and at Sedan, memorable for the battle 
 between the French and Germans (September I, 1870),
 
 318 THE MEUSE 
 
 Belgian territory is entered. The hills and valleys in the 
 vicinity of Sedan were occupied by the Army of the Meuse. 
 
 At Namur, also grouped on the cliffs, the Meuse is 
 crossed by several stone bridges. The citadel on a hill 
 between the Sambre and Meuse is believed to occupy 
 the site of the camp of the Aduatuci described by Caesar. 
 The Meuse, flowing through the town of Liege, forms an 
 island which is connected with each bank by six bridges. 
 The principal town lies on the left bank : Outremeuse is a 
 factory town on the right bank. A fine view is afforded 
 from the citadel (520 feet above the sea level), erected by 
 Prince Bishop Maximilian Henry of Bavaria in 1650, on 
 the site of earlier fortifications. The valleys of the Meuse, 
 Ourthe and Vesdre are here bounded on the south by the 
 Ardennes, while the Petersburg with Maestricht and the 
 broad plains of Limburg are seen on the north. On the 
 opposite bank of the Meuse is the Chartreuse. The river 
 here is 460 feet wide and is crossed by several bridges, of 
 which the Pont des Arches, rebuilt in 1860-3, dates from 
 the Eighth Century, and is famous in local history. 
 
 After the train passes under the Chartreuse, the town of 
 Jupille is reached, a favourite residence of Pepin of 
 Heristal, who died here in 714. The town was often 
 visited by Charlemagne. 
 
 The Dutch custom-house is at Eysden, where a beauti- 
 ful old chateau is seen among its trees ; and on the opposite 
 bank of the Meuse, the Petersburg rises 330 feet above the 
 river, with the chateau of Castert on its summit. We are 
 now in the Dutch province of Limburg, with its capital, 
 Maestricht, on the left bank of the Maas, the Trajectum 
 Superius of the Romans (Trajectum ad Mosam\ the seat of a 
 bishopric i the residence of Prankish Kings j and, later, the
 
 THE MEUSE 319 
 
 joint possession of Prince Bishops of Liege and the Dukes 
 of Brabant. 
 
 At Gorinchem the river is joined by the Waal and as 
 both streams are broad, an impressive sheet of water is the 
 result. For a time, the river is known as the Merwede. 
 About four miles below Gorinchem, the Biesbosch (reed 
 forest) begins, a district of forty square miles and consisting 
 of 100 islands formed by a destructive inundation in 1421, 
 when seventy-two towns and villages and more than 
 100,000 persons perished. 
 
 This inundation also separated the next town of impor- 
 tance, Dordrecht, or Dort, as the Dutch call it, from the 
 mainland. This town, one of the wealthiest towns of the 
 Netherlands in the Middle Ages, presents a most pictur- 
 esque appearance with its quaint gables, red-tiled roofs, and 
 the lofty square tower of the Groote Kerk, which has kept 
 watch over the Maas for six hundred years. How familiar 
 it looks in the silvery light of early morning or when flooded 
 with the warm golden glow of the afternoon to those who 
 are well acquainted with the pictures of Cuyp and Jan van 
 Goyen ! Could we wander through the town, we should 
 find much to study. There are numerous old mediaeval 
 houses in the Wynstraat; the ancient gate, Groothoofd- 
 Poort, that had to be rebuilt in 1618; and the finest speci- 
 mens of carving in Holland, the choir-stalls of 1538-40 
 in the Groote Kerk. The harbour is full of boats and tim- 
 ber rafts that have drifted down the Rhine from the Black 
 Forest and the tjalks, praams and other Dutch boats, large 
 and small, with their lee-boards (called zwaards) used to 
 steady the keelless boats, and bright sails become more nu- 
 merous. 
 
 The Maas now flows through typical Dutch landscapes
 
 320 THE MEUSE 
 
 and feeds many canals that lead to Delft and other 
 cities. 
 
 At length we reach Rotterdam which lies on both sides 
 of the river; the older city lies on the right bank of the 
 Maas near its confluence with the Rotte. The many docks 
 and canals Koningshaven, Nieuwehaven, Haringvliet, 
 Oudehaven, Wijnhaven, Scheepmakershaven, Leuvehaven, 
 Zalmhaven, Westerhaven, etc., are filled with ocean-going 
 vessels and river craft of all sizes and kinds, as well as 
 nationalities, presenting forests of masts and innumerable fun- 
 nels. The streets are animated with sailors and merchants, 
 while the tree-bordered embankment, called the Bompjes, 
 affords a gay promenade. 
 
 On the way to the sea, Schiedam on the Schie, is passed, 
 and also the more interesting town of Vlaardingen, one of 
 the oldest towns in Holland, as is evidenced by the market- 
 place. It is the depot for the " great fishery," and from it 
 a fleet of 125 boats and 1,500 men are sent forth annually. 
 Maasluis, the next town, which takes a share in the "great 
 fishery," is passed, and then the open sea greets the Maas 
 at the Hook of Holland.
 
 THE RHONE 
 
 ANGUS B. REACH 
 
 FEW travellers have much fancy for the most rapid of 
 the great European streams. If they at all make its 
 personal acquaintance, it is with knapsack on back, and 
 iron-shod baton in hand when they stand upon the mother- 
 glacier, and watch the river-child glide brightly into air or 
 perhaps it is near fair Geneva, that, loitering on a wooden 
 bridge, they mark the second start in life of the strong river, 
 and, if they be philosophers, lament the clamorous and not 
 cleanly Arve. Later in the river's career the pellucid 
 waters of the snow are again and still more fatally fouled 
 by the slow-running Saone which comes down by Lyons, 
 heavy and fat with the rich mud of Burgundy. At the 
 point of junction there, also, the tourist sometimes goes to 
 observe the coalition of the streams, and to find out, that 
 instead of the bigger river cleansing the smaller, the smaller 
 utterly besmirches and begrimes the greater. So pondering 
 over the moral, he too often takes little further heed of the 
 Rhone ; or if he does, it is as a mere beast of burden. He 
 is bound south, and he knows that the " swift and arrowy 
 Rhone " will add wings to the speed of steam ; that step- 
 ping on board the long, long steamboat from the noble 
 quays of Lyons at summer's dawn, he will step ashore amid 
 the clamour of the uproarious Avignon porters by the sum- 
 mer's eve. But the day's flight through rocks, and vines, 
 and corn-lands, and by ancient towns and villages, and
 
 322 THE RHONE 
 
 through old bridges of stone, and modern bridges of boats, 
 is to the conventional traveller usually nearly a blank. 
 How different from the Rhine; no legends in the hand- 
 book, no castles, no picturesque students, no jolly Burschen 
 choruses over pipes and beer. The steamer flies south- 
 wards. If she be one of the quickest of the Rhone fleet, 
 and the river be in good order, she could carry you between 
 sunrise and sunset, from the land where the chestnut and 
 the walnut most abound, through the zone where the mul- 
 berry is almost exclusively the tree ; next past the region 
 where men are clipping, and twisting, and trimming the 
 olive, at once sacred and classic, and, finally, fairly into the 
 flats, where tropical rice grows out of fever-haunted swamps 
 in the African-like jungles of the Camargue. During this 
 flight, it is to be noted, that you have descended upwards of 
 600 feet, in fact, that you have been steaming down a modi- 
 fied water-fall, and have measured in a day, a run from a 
 climate which may be described as temperate, to one which 
 is, to all intents and purposes, torrid. 
 
 And in this run must we not have passed some rather 
 curious objects, some rather striking points of scenery? 
 May not there have been nooks, and ravines, and old towers 
 within that sterile, yet viney land, burnt by the hot kiss of 
 the sun, which are worthy of a traveller's afternoon ? There 
 are many such. The masonry of Rome still stands by the 
 stream, and ancient rock-perched ruins there are, telling 
 grim tales of the old religious wars of France ; tales going 
 back to the Albigenses and Count Raymond of Toulouse, 
 and in later days dealing with the feuds which Ivry put an 
 end to, but which were renewed when the peasants of the 
 wild hills of the Cevennes, in their white camisas, Langue 
 d' Oc for shirts, worn over their clothes as uniforms, held
 
 THE RHONE 323 
 
 out the long and obstinate contest of the dragonnades, and 
 frequently beat even Marichale Villars, with the best of the 
 cavaliers of the Grand Monarque. But there are still other 
 points of interest connected with the Rhone itself parts 
 and pendicles of the river. First, look at the current. Did 
 you ever see a blacker, fiercer, more unmercifully minded 
 looking stream ? Take care how you get into it. There 
 is drowning in its aspect. A sudden sweep down that foam- 
 ing current, and all would be over. No swimming in these 
 deadly whirling eddies. Once they embrace you in their 
 watery arms, down you go, never stopping, even to die, to 
 the sea, whither the Rhone is ever, ever rushing, ploughing 
 its way through shingles, roaring round opposing rocks, 
 sometimes carrying by assault a new channel through a 
 green pasture, at others, when its sudden floods are out, 
 rushing with a furious vengeance, at what at sunset was a 
 fertile island, rich with the ripe corn, which to-morrow will 
 be a torrent, and a few morrows afterwards sand. 
 
 In spite of its fury of current, in spite of its sud- 
 den shiftings of sand and shingle banks, its sudden floods, 
 its sudden fogs, the Rhone has been navigated from time 
 inmemorial. 
 
 Toiling hard and slowly up the stream an equipage goes 
 crawling along, composed of half a dozen huge barges 
 hauled by those struggling, splashing, panting horses on the 
 bank. Before the introduction of stream, there were 
 upwards of fifty of these barge squadrons. They floated 
 down from Lyons to Beaucaire, opposite Aries, in two 
 days, but difficult and dreary was the passage back. A 
 month in summer, six weeks in winter were consumed in 
 the tedious struggle with the ever-opposing stream. 
 
 But our boat is sweeping towards a rocky promontory.
 
 324 THE RHONE 
 
 The contracted stream shoots rapidly through the defile ; 
 and, at the narrowest point, a chain bridge appears, con- 
 necting two small villages clustered beneath vine-covered 
 steps. The crag above that on the right hand is castled 
 most picturesquely ; that on the left is crowned with a 
 more genial diadem. The first village is Tournon, the 
 second Tain. The latter is poor, shabby, dirty: the 
 houses are rickety and slovenly. All the slope of the cliff 
 is split up into squares, triangles, etc., and bounded by 
 stone walls : and these are full of vines the aristocracy of 
 the grape in short, Hermitage. 
 
 Descending the Rhone a little further, we find ourselves 
 opposite Valence. About a mile from the river the 
 intervening space is corn-country, the fields dotted with 
 mulberries rises a bold and high peak of rocks, and on 
 their summit, a nobly perched lyric of a castle. 
 
 Clamber up ! The hill is steep, and tough to ascend, 
 and the heath is slippery. Nevertheless, persevere, and 
 be rewarded at length by entering the ruins, where you will 
 perceive a half-crumbled cavernous looking recess in a 
 thick wall. It seems to have been a fireplace. Approach 
 cautiously ! That fireplace has no back, and fuel flung in 
 there will roll out at a hole behind, and find itself upwards 
 of eight hundred feet high in the yielding air. 
 
 The castle once belonged to a Protestant lord, the 
 Seigneur de Crussol, and when, after a successful foray 
 across the river, amongst the Catholic population, he 
 managed to secure a score or two of prisoners, high 
 festival was held, and the unhappy captives, amid the 
 brimming glasses and convivial jokes of the company, were 
 flung into the chimney of Crussol, and found by the 
 trembling peasantry indefinite masses of horror next morning.
 
 THE RHONE 325 
 
 These were wild old savage days ; but let us go back for 
 a few moments to days far more ancient though hardly 
 more barbarous. Hannibal, coming from Spain, also 
 crossed the Rhone ; and, looking at that wild rushing river, 
 so deep and broad, and perpetual in its current, we have 
 often thought that the great Carthaginian performed a more 
 brilliant exploit in getting his moorish cavalry, his war- 
 elephants, and his undisciplined Spanish brigades, across the 
 water, than across the mountains. No one knows the spot 
 he selected for his ferriage. Imagine the leader with his 
 troops encamped, and chafing at the broad river which lay 
 between them and those distant snow-capped hills, beyond 
 which was Italy. In three days, we are told, the feat was 
 achieved. Apocryphal accounts tell us how the horses, 
 mad with the terror of fire, swam wildly across the stream, 
 and how the elephants trumpeted upon the rafts. 
 
 A wide champagne country, fertile to magnificent 
 luxuriance the rushing Rhone dotted with wooded islands ; 
 a city clustering on a hill and a castle crowning it, and we 
 approach Avignon. Here the traveller usually leaves the 
 river (if he be antiquarian and historic) and examines the 
 noble churches, towers, bastions and dungeons with which 
 the Avignon Popes beautified the city ; or, if he be senti- 
 mental and romantic, he prepares his feelings, works them 
 hard work it usually is into a proper frame, and pro- 
 ceeds to Vaucluse. A pretty spot it is in itself, with its 
 grottoed rocks and limpid waters ; and certainly the name 
 of Petrarch may fairly enough add a certain degree of in- 
 terest to the scene. 
 
 The last point of interest is the delta of the river; the 
 several mouths through which, after its rapid course from 
 the lake of Geneva, the Rhone at length pours itself into
 
 326 THE RHONE 
 
 the sea. The Carmargue, as this strange swampy district 
 is called, is seldom or ever trodden by English foot. It 
 has no attractions for the ordinary sightseer, but it has 
 many for the lover of aspects of nature, of a strange and 
 unwonted character, and of which few are to be seen in 
 Europe. Proceeding from Arle, along a muddy, clayey 
 road, through a perfect flat intersected by numerous drain- 
 ing ditches, you gradually find yourself arriving in a region 
 where the earth appears to be losing its consistence and 
 melting into mud beneath your feet. Forests of swamp- 
 growing trees, willows, and marsh-mallows stretch 
 around ; and as you emerge from them you come upon a 
 boundless plain, an enormous stagnant flat mud and water 
 and water and mud for scores and scores of square miles, 
 but intersected as far as the eye can reach, by a network of 
 clay walls, upon which you can make your way, gazing in 
 wonder upon the perfect sublimity of the apparent desola- 
 tion. But there is no desolation in the case. These 
 swamps are rice-fields. If you paid your visit during the 
 summer, the grain will be growing out of the tepid water ; 
 if during the autumn, you will see withered beds of the 
 straw left for manure, slowly rotting in the soil. At long 
 distances crawling figures appear. These are the labourers 
 employed by the Company which grows the rice, and 
 whose stations for draining out the surplus water, which 
 would otherwise perhaps overwhelm the whole district, 
 may be fixed by their lofty siphon tubes breaking the dead 
 flatness of the several lines of view. And yet there is a 
 dreary death-like beauty about all this silent land. Shelley 
 has sung such ; Tennyson has done it more elaborately and 
 better, and we find traces of the sentiment in " Eothen." 
 The vast and the drear have a sublime of their own, and
 
 THE RHONE 327 
 
 in this dismal waste of laid-out world we feel it. Even 
 ugliness is made respectable by extent, and we leave the 
 swamps with an impression of lorn, melancholy grandeur 
 looming in our minds.
 
 THE YUKON 
 
 WILLIAM OGILVIE 
 
 TO within a few years ago a great unexplored solitude 
 extended to the eastward between the valleys of the 
 Upper Yukon, or Lewes, and the Mackenzie, and from the 
 sixtieth parallel of latitude northward to the shores of the 
 41 frozen ocean." This extensive region is known as the 
 Yukon country, a name rendered appropriate by the fact 
 that it is drained by the Yukon River and its tributaries, 
 which form one of the great river systems of the world. 
 
 Walled in by high mountains, and in consequence unap- 
 proachable from every side, it is not strange that the Yukon 
 district should so long have remained in almost undisturbed 
 seclusion. Had it not been for the fact that the rich 
 metalliferous belt of the Coast and Gold Ranges passes 
 through the district from one end to the other, the proba- 
 bility is that it would still have remained unexplored for 
 many years to come. 
 
 Only four gates of approach to the district exist, and, 
 strangely enough, these are situated at the four corners. 
 From the north-west, access is gained to the country by 
 following the Yukon from its mouth in Behring Sea ; from 
 the north-east, by crossing from the Mackenzie to the 
 Porcupine, and following down the latter stream to its con- 
 fluence with the Yukon; from the south-east, by ascending 
 the Liard from Fort Simpson and crossing the water-shed 
 to the head-waters of the Felly ; and finally, from the south-
 
 THE YUKON 329 
 
 west, by entering where the coast range is pierced by the 
 Chilkoot and Chilkat Passes. 
 
 As a matter of fact, all these routes are beset with diffi- 
 culties, and when it is remembered that there are only four 
 roads into a region three times greater in extent than the total 
 area of the New England States, it is not to be wondered 
 at that the total population of the region should consist of 
 a few scattered Indian families and a hundred or so of 
 hardy miners. 
 
 Occasional contributions to our knowledge of the dis- 
 trict have been made from time to time for at least half a 
 century, mainly by officers of the Hudson's Bay Company, 
 miners and employes of the abandoned Telegraph Expedi- 
 tion ; and skeleton maps of the interior have been con- 
 structed in accordance with the topographical data, so far 
 as known. 
 
 Among recent expeditions that of Lieutenant Schwatka, 
 of the United States Army, in the summer of 1883, may 
 be mentioned. Entering the country by the Chilkoot Pass, 
 Lieutenant Schwatka floated down the Yukon on a raft 
 from the source of the Lewes River to Nuklikahyet, con- 
 tinuing his journey from this point to the sea by boat. 
 The object of this expedition was to examine the country 
 from a military point of view, and to collect all available 
 information with regard to the Indian tribes. We are in- 
 debted to it also for a great deal of general information 
 with regard to the country. Schwatka, who seems to have 
 gone through the country with his eyes open, used the ex- 
 plorer's baptismal privilege freely, and scattered monuments 
 of Schwatkanian nomenclature broadcast throughout the 
 land, re-christening many places that had already been 
 named, and doing so too in apparent indifference to the
 
 330 THE YUKON 
 
 fact that many thus set aside had an established priority of 
 many years. 
 
 The part of the journey between Victoria and Chilkoot 
 Inlet has been so much written of, talked of and pictured 
 during the last few years that I will repeat only one of the 
 many statements made concerning it that though it is in 
 ocean waters and can be traversed by the largest ships, it is 
 so sheltered by countless islands from the gales and waves 
 of the vast Pacific, nearly the whole of the length, that its 
 waters are always as smooth as those of a large river. In 
 marked contrast to this is the west coast of the United States, 
 where harbours are like angel's visits. 
 
 Chatham Strait and Lynn Channel lie almost in a straight 
 line, and during the summer there is always a strong wind 
 blowing up from the sea. At the head of Lynn Channel 
 are Chilkat and Chilkoot Inlets. The distance down these 
 channels to the open sea is about three hundred and eighty 
 miles, and along the whole extent of this the mountains on 
 each side of the water confine the incoming currents of air 
 and deflect inclined currents in the direction of the axis of 
 the channel. Coming from the sea, these air currents are 
 heavily charged with moisture, which is precipitated when 
 they strike the mountains, and the fall of rain and snow is 
 consequently very heavy. 
 
 The rapids extending for a couple of miles below the 
 Canon, are not at all bad. What constitutes the real danger 
 is a piece of calm water forming a short, sharp bend in the 
 river, which hides the last or " White Horse " rapids from 
 sight until they are reached. These rapids are about three- 
 eighths of a mile long. They are the most dangerous on 
 the river, and are never run through in boats except by 
 accident. Parties always examine the Canon and rapids
 
 THE YUKON 331 
 
 below before going through, and coming to the calm water 
 suppose they have seen them all, as all noise from the 
 lower rapid is drowned in that of the ones above. On this 
 account several parties have run through the " White 
 Horse," being ignorant of its existence until they were in 
 it. These rapids are confined by low basaltic banks, which, 
 at the foot, suddenly close in and make the channel about 
 thirty yards wide. It is here the danger lies, as there is a 
 sudden drop, and the water rushes through at a tremendous 
 rate, leaping and seething like a cataract. The miners have 
 constructed a portage road on the west side, and put down 
 rollways in some places on which to shove their boats over. 
 They have also made some windlasses with which to haul 
 their boats uphill, notably one at the foot of the Canon. 
 This roadway and the windlasses must have cost them 
 many hours of hard labour. 
 
 Lake Labarge was reached on the evening of the 26th 
 of July, and our camp pitched on its southern shore. The 
 lake is thirty-one miles in length, broad at both ends and 
 narrow in the middle, lying north and south, like a long 
 slender foot-print made by some gigantic Titan in long- 
 bygone days. 
 
 As the prevailing wind blows almost constantly down 
 the lake, the miners complain much of the detention from 
 the roughness of the water, and for the three days I was on 
 the lake, I certainly cannot complain of any lack of atten- 
 tion from blustering Austral is. 
 
 The survey was carried along the western shore, which 
 is irregular in shape, being indented by large, shallow bays, 
 especially at the upper and lower ends. 
 
 Just above where the lake narrows in jhe middle, there 
 is a large island, which is shown on Schwatka's map as a
 
 33 2 THE YUKON 
 
 peninsula, and called by him Richtofen Rocks. How he 
 came to think it a peninsula I cannot understand, as it is 
 well out in the lake ; the nearest point of it to the western 
 shore is upwards of half a mile distant, and the extreme 
 width of the lake here, as determined from triangulation, is 
 not more than five miles, which includes the depth of the 
 deepest bays on the western side. It is therefore difficult 
 to understand that he did not see it as an island. The 
 upper half of this island is gravelly, and does not rise very 
 high above the lake; the lower end is rocky and high, the 
 rock of a bright red colour and probably granite. 
 
 At the lower end of the lake there is a deep wide valley 
 extending northwards, which has evidently at one time been 
 the outlet of the lake. In this the mixed timber, poplar, 
 and spruce, is of a size which betokens a fair soil; the 
 herbage, too, is more than usually rich for this region. 
 This valley, which Dr. Dawson has named " Ogilvie Val- 
 ley," is extensive, and if ever required as an aid to the 
 sustenance of our people, will figure largely in the district's 
 agricultural assets. 
 
 We left this, the last lake of the great chain, behind us 
 on Saturday, the 3<Dth of July, and proceeded with a mod- 
 erate current of about four miles an hour. The river just 
 here is crooked and runs past high, steep banks surmounted 
 by scrub pine and stunted poplar which shut in the narrow 
 valley. There are, however, many flats of moderate ex- 
 tent, along the river and at its confluence with other 
 streams, where the soil is fair. 
 
 The waters of the Big Salmon are sluggish and slow. 
 The valley, as seen from the mouth, is wide, and gives one 
 the impression of being occupied by a much more im- 
 portant stream. Looking up it, in the distance could be
 
 THE YUKON 333 
 
 seen many high peaks covered with snow, and, as this was 
 in the beginning of August, it is likely they are always 
 covered so which would make their probable altitude above 
 the river, five thousand feet or more. 
 
 Two days' run, or about thirty-six miles, the river con- 
 stantly winding low, sandy points, and dotted with small, 
 well-timbered islands, brought us to the Little Salmon 
 (Daly of Schwatka), a small and unimportant stream enter- 
 ing upon the east. One of the most remarkable objects 
 along the river, located just below the Little Salmon, is a 
 huge hemisphere of rock, called the " Eagle's Nest," rising 
 abruptly from a gravel slope on the east bank, to a height 
 of about five hundred feet. It is of a light grey colour, but 
 what the character of the rock is I could not determine, as 
 I saw it only from the river, which is about a quarter of a 
 mile distant. 
 
 We passed the mouth of the Nordenskiold on the gth of 
 August. The river here makes a loop of eight miles round 
 a hill on the east bank named by Schwatka, Tantalus Butte. 
 The distance across from point to point is only half a mile. 
 
 Early the next day we heard the booming of the Rink 
 Rapids in the distance, and it was not long before they were 
 in sight. These rapids are known to miners as Five 
 Finger Rapids, from the fact that five large, bold masses of 
 rock stand in mid-channel. This obstruction backs up the 
 water so as to raise it about a foot, causing a swell below 
 for a few yards. 
 
 Six miles below Rink Rapids are what are known as 
 " Little Rapids." This is simply a barrier of rocks which 
 extends from the westerly side of the river about half-way 
 across. Over this barrier there is a ripple which would 
 offer no great obstacle to the descent in a good canoe.
 
 334 THE YUKON 
 
 About five miles above Pelly River there is another lake- 
 like expanse filled with islands. The river here is nearly a 
 mile wide, and so numerous and close are the islands that it 
 is impossible to tell where the shores of the river are. The 
 current, too, is swift, leading one to suppose the water shal- 
 low ; but I think that even here a channel deep enough for 
 such boats as will navigate this part of the river, could 
 easily be found. Schwatka named this group " Ingersoll 
 Islands." 
 
 About a mile below the junction with the Lewes, and 
 on the south side, stands all that remains of the only perma- 
 nent trading-post ever built by white men in the district. 
 This post was established by Robert Campbell, for the 
 Hudson's Bay Company, in the summer of 1848. It was 
 built upon the point of land between the two rivers, but 
 this location proving untenable, on account of flooding by 
 ice-jams in the spring, it was, in the season of 1852, moved 
 across the river to where the ruins now stand. It appears 
 that the houses composing the post were not finished when 
 the Indians from the coast on Chilkat and Chilkoot Inlets, 
 came down the river to put a stop to the competitive trade 
 which Mr. Campbell had inaugurated and which they found 
 to seriously interfere with their profits. Their method of 
 trade appears to have been then pretty much as it is now 
 very one-sided. What they found convenient to take by 
 force, they took ; and what they found convenient to pay 
 for, they paid for at their own price. 
 
 Rumours had reached the post that the coast Indians 
 contemplated a raid, and, in consequence, the friendly 
 Indians in the vicinity remained about nearly all summer. 
 Unfortunately, they went away for a short time, and, dur- 
 ing their absence, the coast Indians arrived and pillaged the
 
 THE YUKON 335 
 
 place, and set fire to it, leaving nothing but the remains of 
 two chimneys, which are still standing. This raid and 
 capture took place on Sunday, the ist of August, 1852. 
 Mr. Campbell was ordered to leave the country within 
 twenty-four hours, and accordingly he dropped down the 
 river. On his way he met some of the local Indians, and 
 returned with them, but the robbers had made their escape. 
 Mr. Campbell went on down the river until he met the 
 outfit for his post on its way up from Fort Yukon. He 
 turned it back. He then ascended the Felly, crossed to the 
 Liard, and reached Fort Simpson, on the Mackenzie, late 
 in October. 
 
 Nothing more was ever done in the vicinity of Fort Sel- 
 kirk by the Hudson's Bay Company after these events, and 
 in 1869 the company was ordered by Capt. Chas. W. Ray- 
 mond, who represented the United States Government, 
 to evacuate the post at Fort Yukon, which he had ascer- 
 tained to be west of the 14151 meridian. The post was 
 occupied by the company, however, for some time after the 
 receipt of the order, until Rampart House, which was in- 
 tended to be on British territory, and to take the trade 
 previously done at Fort Yukon, was built. Under present 
 conditions the company cannot very well compete with the 
 Alaska Fur Company, whose agents do the only trade in 
 the district, and they appear to have abandoned for the 
 present at least all attempts to do any trade nearer to it 
 than Rampart House, to which point, notwithstanding 
 the distance and difficulties in the way, many of the Indians 
 on the Pelly-Yukon make a trip every two or three years 
 to procure goods in exchange for their furs. 
 
 On the igth I resumed my journey northwards. Oppo- 
 site Fort Selkirk, the Pelly-Yukon River is about one-third
 
 336 THE YUKON 
 
 of a mile broad; and it maintains this width down to White 
 River, a distance of ninety-six miles. Islands are numer- 
 ous, so much so that there are few parts of the river where 
 one or more are not in sight ; many of them are of consid- 
 erable size, and nearly all are well timbered. 
 
 Between Stewart and White Rivers the river spreads out 
 to a mile and upwards in width, and is a maze of islands and 
 bars. Stewart River, which was reached on the following 
 day, enters from the east in the middle of a wide valley, 
 with low hills on both sides, rising on the north side in 
 clearly marked steps or terraces to distant hills of consider- 
 able height. The river, a short distance up, is two hundred 
 yards in width, the current slack, the water shallow and 
 clear, but dark-coloured ; while at the mouth, I was for- 
 tunate enough to meet a miner, named McDonald, who 
 had spent the whole of the summer of 1887 on the river 
 and its branches, prospecting and exploring. He gave me 
 a good deal of information, which I have incorporated in 
 my map of the district. This man had ascended two of 
 the main branches of the river. At the head of one of 
 them he found a large lake, which he named Mayhew 
 Lake. On the other branch he found falls, which he es- 
 timated to be from one to two hundred feet in height. 
 McDonald went on past the falls to the head of this branch, 
 and found terraced gravel hills to the west and north ; he 
 crossed them to the north and found a river flowing north- 
 wards. On this he embarked on a raft, and floated down it 
 for a day or two, thinking it would turn to the west and 
 join the Stewart, but finding it still continuing north, and 
 acquiring too much volume to be any of the branches he 
 had seen while passing up the Stewart, he returned to his 
 point of departure, and after prospecting among the hills
 
 THE YUKON 337 
 
 around the head of the river he started westwards, crossing 
 a high range of mountains composed principally of shales 
 with many thin seams of what is called quartz, ranging 
 from one to six inches in thickness. On the west side of 
 this range he found the head-waters of Beaver River, which 
 he descended on a raft, taking five days to do so. 
 
 It is probable the river flowing northwards, on which he 
 made a journey and returned, is a branch of Peel River. 
 The timber on the gravel terraces of the water-shed, he 
 described as small and open. He was alone in this un- 
 known wilderness all summer, not seeing even any of the 
 natives. There are few men, I think, so constituted as to 
 be capable of isolating themselves in such a manner. 
 
 On the ist of September, we passed the site of the 
 temporary trading- post shown on the maps as Fort Re- 
 liance. Several days of continuous rain now interrupted 
 our work so that Forty Mile River (Cone Hill River of 
 Schwatka) was not reached till the yth of September.
 
 THE JORDAN 
 
 ANDREW ROBERT FAUSSET 
 
 THE Jordan is two hundred miles long from its source 
 at Antilebanon to the head of the Dead Sea. It is 
 not navigable, nor has it ever had a large town on its banks. 
 The cities Bethsham and Jericho on the west, and 
 Gerasa, Pella, and Gadara to the east of Jordan produced 
 intercourse between the two sides of the river. Yet it is 
 remarkable as the river of the great plain (ha Arabab, now 
 el Ghor) of the Holy Land, flowing through the whole 
 from north to south. Lot, from the hills on the north-west 
 of Sodom, seeing the plain well watered by it, as Egypt is 
 by the Nile, chose that district as his home, in spite of the 
 notorious wickedness of the people. 
 
 Its sources are three. The northernmost near Hasbeya 
 between Hermon and Lebanon ; the stream is called Has- 
 bany. The second is best known, near Banias, ;'. *., 
 Caesarea Philippi, a large pool beneath a high clifF, fed by 
 gushing streamlets, rising at the mouth of a deep cave ; 
 thence the Jordan flows, a considerable stream. The 
 third is at Dan, or Tel el Kady (Daphne) ; from the north- 
 west corner of a green eminence a spring bursts forth into a 
 clear wide pool, which sends a broad stream into the val- 
 ley. The three streams unite at Tel Dafneh, and flow 
 sluggishly through marshland into Lake Meron. Captain 
 Newbold adds a fourth, wady el Kid on the south-east of the 
 slope, flowing from the springs Esh Shar. Indeed
 
 THE JORDAN 339 
 
 Antilebanon abounds in gushing streams which all make 
 their way into the swamp between Banias and Huleh and 
 become part of the Jordan. The traditional site of Jacob's 
 crossing Jordan at his first leaving Beersheba for Padan 
 Aram is a mile and a half from Merom, and six from the 
 Sea of Galilee : in those six its descent with roaring 
 cataracts over the basaltic rocks is 1,050 feet. This, the 
 part known to Naaman in his invasions, is the least attract- 
 ive part of its course ; and was unfavourably contrasted 
 with Abana and Pharpar of his native land. From the Sea 
 of Galilee, it winds 200 miles in the sixty miles of actual 
 distance to the Dead Sea. Its tortuous course is the secret 
 of the great depression (the Dead Sea being 663 feet below 
 the lake of Galilee) in this distance. 
 
 Three banks may be noted in the Ghor or Jordan valley, 
 the upper or first slope (the abrupt edge of a wide table 
 land reaching to the Hauran Mountains on the east and the 
 high hills on the west side), the lower or middle terrace 
 embracing the strip of land with vegetation, and the true 
 banks of the river bed, with a jungle of agnus castus, 
 tamarisks, and willows and reed and cane at the edge, the 
 stream being ordinarily thirty yards wide. At the flood, 
 the river cannot be forded, being ten or twelve feet deep 
 east of Jericho ; but in summer it can, the water being 
 low. To cross it in the flood by swimming was an extra- 
 ordinary feat performed by the Gadites who joined David ; 
 this was impossible for Israel under Joshua with wives and 
 children. The Lord of the whole earth made the descend- 
 ing waters stand in a heap very far from their place of 
 crossing, viz : by the town of Adam, that is beside Zarthan 
 or Zaretan, the moment that the feet of the priests bearing 
 the ark dipped into the water. The priests then stood in
 
 340 THE JORDAN 
 
 the midst of the dry river bed till all Israel crossed over. 
 Joshua erected a monument of twelve large stones in the 
 riverbed where the priests had stood, near the east bank of 
 the river. This would remain at least for a time as a 
 memorial to the existing generation besides the monument 
 erected at Gilgal. 
 
 By this lower ford, David passed to fight Syria, and after- 
 wards in his flight from Absalom to Mahanaim, east of 
 Jordan. Thither Judah escorted him and we crossed in a 
 ferry boat. Here Elijah and Elisha divided the waters with 
 the prophets' mantle. At the upper fords Naaman washed 
 off his leprosy. Here too the Syrians fled, when panic- 
 struck by the Lord. 
 
 John the Baptist " first " baptized at the lower ford near 
 Jericho, whither all Jerusalem and Judea resorted, being 
 near; where too, our Lord took refuge from Jerusalem, 
 and where many converts joined Him, and from whence 
 He went to Bethany to raise Lazarus. John's next bap- 
 tisms were at Bethabara ; thither out of Galilee the Lord 
 Jesus and Andrew repaired after the baptisms in the 
 south, and were baptized. His third place of baptism was 
 near JEnon and Salim, still farther to the north, where the 
 water was still deep though it was summer, after the pass- 
 over, for there was no ford there ; he had to go thither, the 
 water being too shallow at the ordinary fords. John moved 
 gradually northwards towards Herod's province, where ulti- 
 mately he was beheaded; Jesus, coming from the north 
 southwards, met John half-way. 
 
 The overflow of Jordan dislodged the lion from its lair 
 on the wooded banks. Between Merom and Lake Tiberias 
 the banks are so thickly wooded as often to shut out the 
 view of the water.
 
 THE JORDAN 341 
 
 Four-fifths of Israel, nine tribes and a half, dwelt west, 
 and one-fifth, two and a half, dwelt east of Jordan. The 
 great altar built by the latter was the witness of the oneness 
 of the two sections. Of the six cities of refuge three were 
 east, three west of Jordan at equal distances. 
 
 Jordan enters Gennesareth two miles below the ancient 
 city Julias, or Bethsaida, of Gaulonitis on the east bank. It 
 is seventy feet wide at its mouth, a sluggish, turbid stream. 
 The lake of Tiberias is 653 feet below the Mediterranean 
 level. The Dead Sea is 1,316 feet below the Mediterra- 
 nean, the springs of Hasbeya are 1,700 above the Mediter- 
 ranean, so that the valley falls more than 3,000 feet in 
 reaching the north end of the Dead Sea. The bottom de- 
 scends 1,308 feet lower, in all 2,600 below the Mediter- 
 ranean. The Jordan, well called "the Descender," de- 
 scends eleven feet every mile. Its sinuosity is less in its 
 upper course. Besides the Jabbok it receives the Hier- 
 omax (TarmuK) below Gennesareth. From Jerusalem to 
 Jordan is only a distance of twenty miles ; in that distance 
 the descent is 3,500 feet, one of the greatest chasms in 
 the earth; Jerusalem is 2,581 feet above the Mediter- 
 ranean. 
 
 Bitumen wells are not far from the Hasbeya in the north. 
 Hot springs abound about Tiberias; and other tokens of vol- 
 canic action, tufa, etc., occur near the Yarmuk's mouth and 
 elsewhere. Only on the east border of Lake Huleh, the 
 land is now well cultivated, and yields largely wheat, maize, 
 rice, etc. Horses, cattle, and sheep, and black buffaloes 
 (the " bulls of Bashan ") pasture around. West of Gennes- 
 areth are seen corn, palms, vines, figs, melons, and pome- 
 granates. Cultivation is rare along the lower Jordan, but 
 pink oleanders, arbutus, rose hollyhocks, the purple thistle,
 
 34* THE JORDAN 
 
 marigold, and anemone abound. Tracks of tigers and wild 
 boars, flocks of wild ducks, cranes, and pigeons have been 
 seen by various explorers. There are no bridges earlier than 
 the Roman. The Saracens added or restored some. The 
 Roman bridge of ten arches, was on the route from Tiberias 
 to Gadara. In coincidence with Scripture, the American 
 survey sets down three fords : that at Tarichaea, the second 
 at the Jabbok's confluence with the Jordan, and that at 
 Jericho. The Jordan seldom now overflows its banks; but 
 Lieutenant Lynch noticed sedge and driftwood high up in 
 the overhanging trees on the banks, showing it still at times 
 overflows the plains. The flood never reaches beyond the 
 lower line of the Ghor, which is covered with vegetation. 
 The plain of the Jordan between the Sea of Galilee and the 
 Dead Sea is generally eight miles broad, but at the north 
 end of the Dead Sea the hills recede so that the width is 
 twelve miles, of which the west part is named " the plains 
 of Jericho." The upper terrace immediately under the 
 hills is covered with vegetation ; under that is the Arabah 
 or desert plain, barren in its southern part except where 
 springs fertilize it, but fertile in its northern part and culti- 
 vated by irrigation. Grove remarks of the Jordan : " So 
 rapid that its course is one continued cataract, so crooked that 
 in its whole lower and main course it has hardly a half mile 
 straight, so broken with rapids that no boat can swim any 
 distance continuously, so deep below the adjacent country 
 that it is invisible and can only be with difficulty approached ; 
 refusing all communication with the ocean, and ending in a 
 lake where navigation is impossible, unless for irrigation, 
 it is in fact what its Arabic name signifies, nothing but a 
 4 great watering place,' Sheriat el Khebir."
 
 THE CONCORD 
 
 HENRY D. THOREAU 
 
 THE Musketaquid, or Grass-ground River, though 
 probably as old as the Nile or Euphrates, did not be- 
 gin to have a place in civilized history, until the fame of its 
 grassy meadows and its fish attracted settlers out of Eng- 
 land in 1635, when it received the other but kindred name 
 of Concord from the first plantation on its banks, which ap- 
 pears to have been commenced in a spirit of peace and har- 
 mony. It will be Grass-ground River as long as grass 
 grows and water runs here ; it will be Concord River only 
 while men lead peaceable lives on its banks. To an extinct 
 race it was grass-ground, where they hunted and fished, and 
 is still perennial grass-ground to Concord farmers, who own 
 the great meadows, and get the hay from year to year. 
 " One branch of it," according to the historian of Con- 
 cord, for I love to quote so good authority, " rises in the 
 south part of Hopkinton, and another from a pond and a 
 large cedar-swamp in Westborough," and flowing between 
 Hopkinton and Southborough, through Framingham, and 
 between Sudbury and Wayland, where it is sometimes 
 called Sudbury River, it enters Concord at the south part 
 of the town, and after receiving the North or Assabeth 
 River, which has its source a little farther to the north and 
 west, goes out at the north-east angle, and flowing between 
 Bedford and Carlisle, and through Billerica, empties into the 
 Merrimack at Lowell. Between Sudbury and Wayland the
 
 344 THE CONCORD 
 
 meadows acquire their greatest breadth, and when covered 
 with water, they form a handsome chain of shallow vernal 
 lakes, resorted to by numerous gulls and ducks. Just above 
 Sherman's Bridge, between these towns, is the largest ex- 
 panse, and when the wind blows freshly in a raw March 
 day, heaving up the surface into dark and sober billows or 
 regular swells, skirted as it is in the distance with alder- 
 swamps and smoke-like maples, it looks like a smaller Lake 
 Huron, and is very pleasant and exciting for a landsman to 
 row or sail over. The farmhouses along the Sudbury 
 shore, which rises gently to a considerable height, command 
 fine water prospects at this season. The shore is more flat 
 on the Wayland side and this town is the greatest loser by 
 the flood. Its farmers tell me that thousands of acres are 
 flooded now, since the dams have been erected, where they 
 remember to have seen the white honeysuckle or clover 
 growing once, and they could go dry with shoes only in 
 summer. Now there is nothing but blue-joint and sedge 
 and cut-grass there, standing in water all the year round. 
 For a long time, they made the most of the driest season to 
 get their hay, working sometimes till nine o'clock at night, 
 sedulously paring with their scythes in the twilight round 
 the hummocks left by the ice; but now it is not worth the 
 getting when they can come at it and they look sadly round 
 to their wood-lots and upland as a last resource. 
 
 It is worth the while to make a voyage up this stream, 
 if you go no farther than Sudbury, only to see how much 
 country there is in the rear of us ; great hills, and a hun- 
 dred brooks, and farmhouses, and barns, and haystacks, 
 you never saw before, and men everywhere. Sudbury, 
 that is Southborough men, and Wayland, and Nine-Acre- 
 Corner men, and Bound Rock, where four towns bound on
 
 THE CONCORD 345 
 
 a rock in the river, Lincoln, Wayland, Sudbury, Concord. 
 Many waves are there agitated by the wind, keeping nature 
 fresh, the spray blowing in your face, reeds and rushes 
 waving; ducks by the hundred, all uneasy in the surf, in 
 the raw wind, just ready to rise, and now going off with a 
 clatter and a whistling like riggers straight from Labrador, 
 flying against the stiff gale with reefed wings, or else circling 
 round first, with all their paddles briskly moving, just over 
 the surf, to reconnoitre you before they leave these parts ; 
 gulls wheeling overhead, muskrats swimming for dear life, 
 wet and cold, with no fire to warm them by that you know 
 of; their laboured homes rising here and there like hay- 
 stacks ; and countless mice and moles and winged titmice 
 along the sunny, windy shore ; cranberries tossed on the 
 waves and heaving up on the beach, their little red skiffs 
 beating about among the alders ; such natural tumult as 
 proves the last day is not yet at hand. And there stands all 
 around the alders, and birches, and oaks, and maples, full 
 of glee and sap, holding in their buds, until the waters sub- 
 side. You shall perhaps run aground on Cranberry Island, 
 only some spires of last year's pipe-grass above water, to 
 show where the danger is, and get as good a freezing there 
 as anywhere on the North-west Coast. I never voyaged so 
 far in all my life. You shall see men you never heard of 
 before, whose names you don't know, going away down 
 through the meadows with long ducking-guns, with water- 
 tight boots wading through the fowl-meadow grass, on 
 bleak, wintry, distant shores, with guns at half-cock, and 
 they shall see teal, blue-winged, green-winged, shelldrakes, 
 whistlers, black ducks, ospreys, and many other wild and 
 noble sights before night, such as they who sit in parlours 
 never dream of. You shall see rude and sturdy, experienced
 
 34^ THE CONCORD 
 
 men, keeping their castles, or teaming up their summer's 
 wood, or chopping alone in the woods, men fuller of talk 
 and rare adventure in the sun and wind and rain, than a 
 chestnut is of meat; who were out not only in '75 and 
 1812, but have been out every day of their lives; greater 
 men than Homer, or Chaucer, or Shakespeare, only they 
 never got time to say so ; they never took to the way of 
 writing. Look at their fields, and imagine what they might 
 write, if ever they should put pen to paper. Or what have 
 they not written on the face of the earth already, clearing, 
 and burning, and scratching, and harrowing, and ploughing, 
 and subsoiling, in and in, and out and out, and over and 
 over, again and again, erasing what they had already written 
 for want of parchment. 
 
 As yesterday and the historical ages are past, as the work 
 of to-day is present, so some flitting perspectives, and demi- 
 experiences of the life that is in nature are in time veritably 
 future, or rather outside to time, perennial, young, divine, 
 in the wind and rain which never die. 
 
 The respectable folks, 
 
 Where dwell they ? 
 
 They whisper in the oaks, 
 
 And they sigh in the hay ; 
 
 Summer and winter, night and day, 
 
 Out en the meadow, there dwell they. 
 
 They never die, 
 
 Nor snivel, nor cry, 
 
 Nor ask our pity 
 
 With a wet eye. 
 
 A sound estate they never mend, 
 
 To every asker readily lend ;
 
 THE CONCORD 347 
 
 To the ocean wealth, 
 
 To the meadow health, 
 
 To Time his length, 
 
 To the rocks strength, 
 
 To the stars light, 
 
 To the weary night, 
 
 To the busy day, 
 
 To the idle play ; 
 
 And so their good cheer never ends, 
 
 For all are their debtors, and all their friends. 
 
 Concord River is remarkable for the gentleness of its 
 current, which is scarcely perceptible, and some have re- 
 ferred to its influence the proverbial moderation of the in- 
 habitants of Concord, as exhibited in the Revolution, and 
 on later occasions. It has been proposed, that the town 
 should adopt for its coat of arms a field verdant, with the 
 Concord circling nine times around. I have read that a 
 descent of an eighth of an inch in a mile is sufficient to 
 produce a flow. Our river has, probably, very near the 
 smallest allowance. The story is current, at any rate, 
 though I believe that strict history will bear it out, that the 
 only bridge ever carried away on the main branch, within 
 the limits of the town, was driven up stream by the wind. 
 But wherever it makes a sudden bend it is shallower and 
 swifter, and asserts its title to be called a river. Compared 
 with the other tributaries of the Merrimack, it appears to 
 have been properly named Musketaquid, or Meadow River, 
 by the Indians. For the most part, it creeps through broad 
 meadows, adorned with scattered oaks, where the cranberry 
 is found in abundance, covering the ground like a moss-bed. 
 A row of sunken dwarf willows borders the stream on one 
 or both sides, while at a greater distance the meadow is
 
 348 THE CONCORD 
 
 skirted with maples, alders, and other fluviatile trees, overrun 
 with the grape-vine, which bears fruit in its season, purple, 
 red, white, and other grapes. Still farther from the stream, 
 on the edge of the firm land, are seen the gray and white 
 dwellings of the inhabitants. 
 
 The sluggish artery of the Concord meadows steals thus 
 unobserved through the town, without a murmur or a pulse 
 beat, its general course from south-west to north-east, and 
 its length about fifty miles j a huge volume of matter, 
 ceaselessly rolling through the plains and valleys of the 
 substantial earth with the moccasined tread of an Indian 
 Warrior, making haste from the high places of the earth to 
 its ancient reservoir. The murmurs of many a famous 
 river on the other side of the globe reach even to us here, 
 as to more distant dwellers on its banks ; many a poet's 
 stream floating the helms and shields of heroes on its bosom. 
 The Xanthus or Scamander is not a mere dry channel and 
 bed of a mountain torrent, but fed by the overflowing 
 springs of fame ; 
 
 And thou Simois, that as an arrowe, clere 
 Through Troy rennest, aie downward to the sea"; 
 
 and I trust that I may be allowed to associate our muddy 
 but much abused Concord River with the most famous in 
 history. 
 
 *' Sure there are poets which did never dream 
 Upon Parnassus, nor did taste the stream 
 Of Helicon ; we therefore may suppose 
 Those made not poets, but the poets those.*' 
 
 The Mississippi, the Gange? "Xid the Nile, those journey-
 
 THE CONCORD 349 
 
 ing atoms from the Rocky Mountains, the Himmaleh, 
 and Mountains of the Moon, have a kind of personal im- 
 portance in the annals of the world. The heavens are not 
 yet drained over their sources, but the Mountains of the 
 Moon still send their annual tribute to the Pasha without 
 fail, as they did to the Pharaohs, though he must collect the 
 rest of his revenue at the point of the sword. Rivers must 
 have been the guides which conducted the footsteps of the 
 first travellers. They are the constant lure, when they 
 flow by our doors, to distant enterprise and adventure, and, 
 by a natural impulse, the dwellers on their banks will at 
 length accompany their currents to the lowlands of the 
 globe, or explore at their invitation the interior of conti- 
 nents. They are the natural highways of all nations, not 
 only levelling the ground and removing obstacles from the 
 path of the traveller, quenching his thirst and bearing him 
 on their bosoms, but conducting him through the most in- 
 teresting scenery, the most populous portions of the globe, 
 and where the animal and vegetable kingdoms attain their 
 greatest perfection. 
 
 I had often stood on the banks of the Concord, watching 
 the lapse of the current, an emblem of all progress, follow- 
 ing the same law with the system, with time, and all that 
 is made ; the weeds at the bottom gently bending down the 
 stream, shaken by the watery wind, still planted where 
 their seeds had sunk, but erelong to die and go down like- 
 wise ; the shining pebbles, not yet anxious to better their 
 condition, the chips and weeds, and occasional logs and 
 stems of trees that floated past, fulfilling their fate, were 
 objects of singular interest to me, and at last I resolved to 
 launch myself on its bosom and float whither it would bear
 
 THE TAGUS 
 
 ARTHUR SHADWELL MARTIN 
 
 THE Tagus rises in that maze of mountains between 
 Cuenca and Tereul on the frontier of New Castile 
 and Aragon. It is the largest river of the Iberian peninsula, 
 having a length of 566 miles. It is of little commercial 
 advantage, however, as a means of traffic and communica- 
 tion, because in Spain its shallows, rapids and cataracts 
 render it unnavigable through much of its course; and only 
 from Villavelha, eighteen miles within the Portuguese fron- 
 tier does it become navigable for the remaining 115 miles 
 to its mouth. It flows from its source first north-west- 
 wards for about thirty miles to its junction with the Gallo, 
 where it turns to the south-west to Toledo, whence it flows 
 westwards to the frontier of Portugal at Abrantes. There 
 it again curves south-westwards and falls into the Atlantic 
 ten miles below Lisbon. 
 
 The waves of the Tagus, according to ancient historians, 
 rolled with gold ; it is even said that the sceptre of the 
 kings of Portugal is made of the gold dust found in the de- 
 posit of this river. However, the Tagus is not now en- 
 dowed with this auriferous virtue ; and its banks in no- 
 wise deserve the brilliant descriptions indulged in by ancient 
 and modern poets. They are generally escarpments and 
 rocky gorges. The traveller, who follows the course of 
 the stream through a country often bare, arid and unculti- 
 vated, or burnt up by the sultry rays of the sun, sees little
 
 THE TAGUS 351 
 
 but an impetuous water course, narrow and impeded with 
 dangerous rocks, forming dangerous cataracts and rapids. 
 The rocky cliffs that hem it in have little vegetation be- 
 yond a few evergreen oaks ; and with a few rare excep- 
 tions, notably the valleys of Aranjuez and Talavera, which 
 have been embellished with human art and culture there 
 are few parts of Spain so poor and savage in character. In 
 winter, the Tagus has a considerable rise, and covers the 
 few plains to be found along its banks ; but in summer, 
 like most of the other Spanish rivers it dwindles to almost 
 nothing ; so that even below Santarem, from Alcantara to 
 the confluence of the Zezere, navigation is interrupted by 
 numerous cataracts. 
 
 " Of the various phases of its most poetical and pictur- 
 esque course first green and arrowy amid the yellow corn- 
 fields of New Castile ; then freshening the sweet Tempe of 
 Aranjuez, clothing the garden with verdure, and filling the 
 nightingale-tenanted glens with groves; then boiling and 
 rushing around the granite ravines of rock-built Toledo, 
 hurrying to escape from the cold shadows of its deep prison, 
 and dashing joyously into light and liberty, to wander far 
 away into silent plains and on to Talavera, where its waters 
 were dyed with brave blood, and gladly reflected the flash 
 of the victorious bayonets of England, triumphantly it 
 rolls thence, under the shattered arches of Almaraz, down 
 to desolate Estremadura, in a stream as tranquil as the 
 azure sky by which it is curtained, yet powerful enough to 
 force the mountains of Alcantara. There the bridge of 
 Trajan is worth going a hundred miles to see ; it stems the 
 now fierce condensed stream, and ties the rocky gorges to- 
 gether; grand, simple, and solid, > tinted by the tender 
 colours of seventeen centuries, it looms like the grey
 
 352 THE TAGUS 
 
 skeleton of Roman power, with all the sentiment of loneli- 
 ness, magnitude, and the interest of the past and present. 
 
 " How stern, solemn, and striking is this Tagus of Spain ! 
 No commerce has ever made it its highway no English 
 steamer has ever civilized its waters like those of France 
 and Germany. Its rocks have witnessed battles, not peace ; 
 have reflected castles and dungeons, not quays or ware- 
 houses : few cities have risen on its banks, as on those of 
 the Thames and Rhine ; it is truly a river of Spain that 
 isolated and solitary land. Its waters are without boats, its 
 banks without life ; man has never laid his hand upon its 
 billows, nor enslaved their free and independent gambols." 
 
 Travellers and tourists never take in the river as a whole, 
 but content themselves with keeping to the railroad, and 
 visiting the more famous towns on the banks, such as 
 Toledo, Talavera, Aranjuez, Abrantes and Lisbon. 
 
 At Toledo, the Tagus ages ago forced its way through 
 a romantic, rocky pass, 2,400 feet above the level of the 
 sea. The walls of the gorge are 200 feet high. This 
 ancient city stands on the north bank of the river which 
 washes its walls on three sides and forms the great pro- 
 tection of the stronghold. Rushing around it, on the east, 
 south and west, between rocky cliffs, it leaves only one 
 approach on the land side, which is defended by an inner 
 and an outer wall. Its magnificent cathedral still repays 
 a visit notwithstanding the vandalism of its foes. The 
 river, after passing Toledo, runs through a deep and 
 long valley, walled up on either hand by lofty mountains. 
 Those on the right bank are always capped with snow, 
 and ranging nearly parallel with the course of the stream, 
 divide the valley of the Tagus from Old Castile and the 
 Salamanca country ; the highest parts are known by the
 
 THE TAGUS 353 
 
 names of the Sierra de Credos, Sierra de Bejar, and Sierra 
 de Gata. In these sierras the Alberche, the Tietar, and 
 the Alagon, take their rise, and, ploughing the valley in a 
 slanting direction, fall into the Tagus. 
 
 Talavera de la Reyna is a delapidated ancient town 
 surrounded with interesting old walls, and abounding in 
 antique picturesque fragments. It is situated on the Tagus, 
 seventy-five miles south-west of Madrid, in the centre of a 
 fruit-growing district. It is famous for the great battle 
 fought there in 1809 in which the French suffered a great 
 defeat by Wellington. 
 
 Aranjuez is on the left bank of the river, twenty-eight 
 miles south-west of Madrid, in a beautifully wooded valley. 
 Here, for once, the stream runs smoothly between smiling 
 banks. 
 
 Abrantes is finely situated on the river seventy miles 
 above Lisbon. Its surrounding hills are covered with 
 vineyards and olive groves ; it is strongly fortified, and was 
 an important position during the Peninsula war. Marshal 
 Junot took this city as the title of his Dukedom. 
 
 Lisbon is built partly on the right bank of the Tagus and 
 partly on hills behind. It extends for five miles along the 
 estuary, which here forms a safe and spacious harbour. 
 
 The principal affluents of this neglected river are the 
 Jarama, Guaddarama, Alberche, Alagon and Zezere from 
 the north, and the Guadiela and Rio del Monte from the 
 south.
 
 THE INDUS 
 
 EDWARD BALFOUR 
 
 THE source of the Indus is in latitude 31 20' north, 
 and longitude 80 30' east, at an estimated height 
 of 17,000 feet, to the north-west of Lakes Manasarowara 
 and Ravvan H'rad in the southern slopes of the Gangri or 
 Kailas Mountains, a short way to the eastwards of Gartop 
 (Garo). The Garo river is the Sing-ge-chu or Indus. 
 From the lofty mountains round Lake Manasarowara, 
 spring the Indus, the Sutlej, the Gogra, and the 
 Brahmaputra. A few miles from Leh, about a mile above 
 Nimo, the Indus is joined by the Zanskar river. The 
 valley where the two rivers unite is very rocky and pre- 
 cipitous, and bends a long way to the south. From this 
 point the course of the Indus, in front of Leh and to the 
 south-east for many miles, runs through a wide valley, but 
 the range of the mountains to the north sends down many 
 rugged spurs. A little lower, the Indus is a tranquil but 
 somewhat rapid stream, divided into several branches by 
 gravelly islands, generally swampy, and covered with low 
 Hippophae scrub. The size of the river there is very 
 much less than below the junction of the river of Zanskar. 
 The bed of the Indus at Pitak, below Leh, has an elevation 
 of about 10,500 feet above the level of the sea, but the 
 town is at least 1,300 feet higher. From the sudden melt- 
 ing of accumulations of ice, and from temporary obstacles, 
 occasioned by glaciers and avalanches in its upper course,
 
 THE INDUS 355 
 
 this river is subject to irregularities, and especially to 
 debacles or cataclysms, one of which, in June, 1841, pro- 
 duced terrific devastation along its course, down even to 
 Attock. 
 
 At the confluence of Sinh-ka-bab with the Shayok, the 
 principal river which joins it on the north from the Kara- 
 Korum Mountains, the river takes the name of Aba-Sin, 
 Father of Rivers, or Indus proper, and flows then between 
 lofty rocks, which confine its furious waters, receiving the 
 tribute of various streams ; and at Acho, expanding into a 
 broader surface, it reaches Derbend, the north-west angle 
 of the Panjab, where (about 815 miles from its source) it is 
 100 yards wide in August, its fullest season. From 
 Derbend it traverses a plain, in a broad channel of no great 
 depth in Attock, in latitude 33 54' north, longitude 72 18' 
 east, having about 200 yards above this place received the 
 river of Kabul, almost equal in breadth and volume, and 
 attains a width of 286 yards, with a rapid boiling current, 
 running (in August) at the rate of six miles an hour. The 
 breadth of the Indus at Attock depends not only upon the 
 season but the state of the river upwards, and varies from 
 100 to 260 yards. The whole length of its mountain 
 course, from its source to Attock, is about 1,035 miles, and 
 the whole fall is 16,000 feet, or 15.4 per mile. From 
 Attock to the sea the length is 942 miles, making its 
 whole length, from the Kailas Mountains to the Indian 
 Ocean, 1,977 m il es - Its maximum discharge, above the 
 confluence of the Panjab or Five Rivers, occurs in July and 
 August, when it is swollen by the seasonal rains, and it 
 then reaches 135,000 cubic feet, falling to its minimum of 
 15,000 in December. 
 
 In the Tibetan of Sadakh it is commonly designated
 
 356 THE INDUS 
 
 Tsang-po, or the river, and is the Lampo-ho of the Chinese 
 Pilgrim, Hiwen Thsang, who travelled in the middle of the 
 Seventh Century. 
 
 Below the junction of the Panjab rivers down to Schwan, 
 the Indus takes the name of Sar, Siro, or Sira ; from below 
 Hyderabad to the sea it is called Lar, and the intermediate 
 portion is called Wicholo (Bich, Hindi), or Central, repre- 
 senting the district lying immediately around Hyderabad, 
 just as, on the Nile, the Wustani, or Midlands of the 
 Arabs, represents the tract between Upper and Lower 
 Egypt. Sir A. Burnes mentions that Sar and Lar are two 
 Baluch words for north and south. The Indus or Sind has 
 been called by that name from time immemorial to the 
 present day, by the races on its banks. The ancients knew 
 that this was the native appellation. Pliny (lib. 6, vi), 
 says, " Indus incolis Sindus appellatus." The Chinese call 
 the river Sin-tow. 
 
 From Attock the course of the Indus to the sea, 940 
 miles, is south and south-west, sometimes along a rocky 
 channel, between high and perpendicular cliffs, or forcing 
 its way, tumbling and roaring, amidst huge boulders, the 
 immense body of water being pent within a narrow chan- 
 nel, causing occasional whirlpools, dangerous to navigation, 
 to Kalabagh, in latitude 32 57' north, longitude 71 36' 
 east, situated in a gorge of the great Salt Range, through 
 which the river rushes forth into the plain. In this part of 
 its course it has acquired the name of Nil-ab, or Blue 
 Water, from the colour imparted to it by the blue limestone 
 hills through which it flows. There are some remains of 
 a town on the bank of the river, named Nil-ab (where 
 Timur crossed the Indus) supposed to be the Naulibus or 
 Naulibe of Ptolemy. At Kalabagh the Indus enters a level
 
 THE INDUS 357 
 
 country, having for a short time the Khursuri Hills, which 
 rise abruptly on the right. It now becomes muddy, and as 
 far as Mittunkote, about 350 miles, the banks being low, 
 the river, when it rises, inundates the country sometimes as 
 far as the eye can reach. Hence the channels are contin- 
 ually changing, and the soil of the country being soft a 
 mud basin, as Lieutenant Wood terms it, the banks and 
 bed of the river are undergoing constant alterations. 
 These variations, added to the shoals, and the terrific blasts 
 occasionally encountered in this part of the river, are great 
 impediments to navigation. The population on its banks 
 are almost amphibious ; they launch upon its surface, 
 sustained by the inflated skins or mussaks, dried gourds, and 
 empty jars used for catching the celebrated pulla fish, the 
 Hilsa of Bengal. At Mittunkote the Indus is often 2,000 
 yards broad, and near this place, in latitude 28 55' north, 
 longitude 70 28' east, it is joined, without violence, by the 
 Panjnad, a large navigable stream, the collected waters of the 
 Sutlej, Beas, Ravi, Chenab, and Jhelum. Its true chan- 
 nel, then a mile and a quarter wide, flows thence through 
 Sind, sometimes severed into distinct streams, and discharges 
 its different branches by various mouths into the Indian 
 Ocean, after a course of 1,977 m ^ es - The Indus, when 
 joined by the Panjnad, never shallows, in the dry season, to 
 less than fifteen feet, and seldom preserves so great a breadth 
 as half a mile. Keeled boats are not suited to its naviga- 
 tion, as they are liable to be upset. The Zoruk, or native 
 boat, is flat-bottomed. Other boats are the Dundi, Dund, 
 Kotal, and Jumpti. Gold is found in some parts of the 
 sands of the Indus. 
 
 The shore of its delta, about 125 miles in extent, is low 
 and flat, and at high tide, to a considerable distance inland,
 
 35^ THE INDUS 
 
 overflowed} and generally a succession of dreary, bare 
 swamps. 
 
 In the mouths of the Indus, the tides rise about nine feet 
 at full moon, and flow and ebb with great violence, partic- 
 ularly near the sea, when they flood and abandon the banks 
 with incredible velocity. At seventy-five miles from the 
 ocean they cease to be perceptible. 
 
 Between the Seer and Kori mouths, at the south-east of 
 the delta, it is overspread with low mangrove jungle, run- 
 ning far into the sea, and from the Seer is a bare, unin- 
 habited marsh. The main stream of the Indus has dis- 
 charged its waters at many points between Cape Monze, 
 immediately west of Kurachee and gulf of Cutch, if not even 
 that of Cambay. Pitti, Hajamri, and Kediwari, now sea- 
 channels and tidal creeks, shut off from the river, except 
 during the monsoon, are all former mouths of the Indus. 
 The Buggaur or Gharra is still a considerable stream dur- 
 ing the inundation ; it takes off from the Indus close to 
 Tatta.
 
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