harp quick beat of the
paddles on the water, and the roll of their shafts against the gunwale,
with the continuous hiss and ripple of the stream cleft by the curving
prow, combine to make a most soothing soporific.

Dreamily you lie side by side--you and your friend--lazily gazing at the
pine-covered shores and wooded islands of some unknown lake, the open
book unheeded on your knee; the half-smoked pipe drops into your lap;
your head sinks gently back; and you wander into dreamland, to awake
presently and find yourself sweeping round the curve of some majestic
river, whose shores are blazing with the rich crimson, brown, and gold
of the maple and other hardwood trees in their autumn dress.

Presently the current quickens. The best man shifts his place from the
stern to the bow, and stands ready with his long-handled paddle to twist
the frail boat out of reach of hidden rocks. The men's faces glow with
excitement. Quicker and quicker flows the stream, breaking into little
rapids, foaming round rocks, and rising in tumbling waves over the
shallows. At a word from the bowman the crew redouble their efforts, the
paddle shafts crash against the gunwale, the spray flies beneath the
bending blades. The canoe shakes and quivers through all its fibres,
leaping bodily at every stroke.

Before you is a seething mass of foam, its whiteness broken by horrid
black rocks, one touch against whose jagged sides would rip the canoe
into tatters and hurl you into eternity. Your ears are full of the roar
of waters; waves leap up in all directions, as the river, maddened at
obstruction, hurls itself through some narrow gorge. The bowman stands
erect to take one look in silence, noting in that critical instant the
line of deepest water; then bending to his work, with sharp, short words
of command to the steersman, he directs the boat. The canoe seems to
pitch headlong into space. Whack! comes a great wave over the bow;
crash! comes another over the side. The bowman, his figure stooped, and
his knees planted firmly against the sides, stands, with paddle poised
in both hands, screaming to the crew to paddle hard; and the crew cheer
and shout with excitement in return. You, too, get wild, and feel
inclined to yell defiance to the roaring, hissing flood that madly
dashes you from side to side. After the first plunge you are in a
bewildering whirl of waters. The shore seems to fly past you. Crash! You
are right on that rock, and (I don't care w