k car for Lewistown, the railroad running for its
whole length in full view of the river, whose lofty and rigidly-erect
walls, stretching in unbroken lines for miles below the cataract, give
striking evidence of the vast work performed by the stream in cutting
its way, century after century, through the ridge of solid limestone
that separates the lakes. Far down below the level of the railroad the
water is seen, placidly winding through the deep gorge, or speeding
onward in rapids, its hue intensely green, its banks as lofty and
precipitous as the Palisades of the Hudson.

Before Lewistown is reached the ridge sinks to the river level. At this
point the cataract began its long career, inch by inch eating its way
backward through the former rapids, until they were converted into one
mighty vertical downfall. At Lewistown boat is taken for Toronto,--of
which city only a lake view of warehouses and church steeples is seen
as we change boats for the lake journey.

For the rest of the day and evening we steamed along in full view of the
Canadian shore, an ever-changing panorama of farm lands, sandy bluffs,
occasional hamlets, and several towns of some pretensions to size and
beauty. Kingston, a city at the head of the lake, is reached at four
o'clock in the morning. Immediately after leaving this thriving town the
state-rooms begin to disgorge their occupants, for we now enter the
broad throat of the St. Lawrence River, and here the Thousand Islands
begin. Who that has a soul beyond cakes and ale would let the desire to
indulge in his own dreams cheat him from enjoying one of nature's
loveliest visions?

For some four hours thereafter the boat runs through an uninterrupted
succession of the most beautiful island scenery. These islands number,
in fact, more than eighteen hundred, and are of every conceivable size
and shape; some so minute that they seem but rock pediments to the
single tree that is rooted upon their surface, while the rocky shores of
others stretch for a mile or more along the channel. They are all
heavily wooded, with here and there a light-house, or a rude hovel, as
the only indication of man's contest with primitive nature.

[This description, it may be said, does not apply to the
present time, when mansions and hotels have taken possession
of many of these islands, and evidences of man's occupancy
are somewhat too numerous.]

Every few turns of the wheel reveal some new feature of