Read Ebook: A Thousand Miles in the Rob Roy Canoe on Rivers and Lakes of Europe by MacGregor John

Font size: 10 px 15 px 20 px 25 px 30 px 35 px

Background color: BlackWhiteGrayLight GrayDark GrayDim Gray

Text color: BlackWhiteGrayLight GrayDark GrayDim Gray

Apply/Save settings

Ebook has 550 lines and 74851 words, and 11 pages

This is the generally accepted view of modern geologists. It is very difficult, however, to understand how a wide continental area can be vertically upheaved. It seems more probable that the upheaval of the land is only apparent. The land seems to rise because the sea retreats as the result of the subsidence of the crust within the great oceanic basins. See Article xiv.

The Cheviot Hills.

The ridge of high ground that separates England from Scotland is not, like many other hilly districts, the beloved of tourists. No guide-book expatiates upon the attractiveness of the Cheviots; no cunningly-worded hotel-puffs lure the unwary vagrant in search of health, or sport, or the picturesque, to the quiet dells and pastoral uplands of the Borders. Since the biographer of Dandie Dinmont, of joyous memory, joined the shades, no magic sentences, either in verse or prose, have turned any appreciable portion of the annual stream of tourists in the direction of the Cheviots. The scenery is not of a nature to satisfy the desires of those who look for something piquant--something "sensational," as it were. It is therefore highly improbable that the primeval repose of these Border uplands will ever be disturbed by inroads of the "travelling public," even should some second Burns arise to render the names of hills and streams as familiar as household words. And yet those who can spare the time to make themselves well acquainted with that region should do so; they will have no reason to regret their visit, but very much the reverse. For the scenery is of a kind which grows upon one. It shows no clamant beauties--you cannot have its charms photographed--the passing stranger may see nothing in it to detain him; but only tarry for a while amongst these green uplands, and you shall find a strange attraction in their soft outlines, in their utter quiet and restfulness. For those who are wearied with the crush and din of life, I cannot think of a better retreat. One may wander at will amongst the breezy hills, and inhale the most invigorating air; springs of the coolest and clearest water abound, and there are few of the brooks in their upper reaches which will not furnish natural shower-baths. Did the reader ever indulge in such a mountain-bath? If not, then let him on a summer day seek out some rocky pool, sheltered from the sun, if possible, by birch and mountain-ash, and, creeping in below the stream where it leaps from the ledges above, allow the cool water to break upon his head, and he will confess to having discovered a new aqueous luxury. Then from the slopes and tops of the hills you have some of the finest panoramic views to be seen in this island. Nor are there wanting picturesque nooks, and striking rock scenery amongst the hills themselves: the sides of the Cheviot are seamed with some wild, rugged chasms, which are just as weird in their way as many of the rocky ravines that eat into the heart of our Highland mountains. The beauty of the lower reaches of some of the streams that issue from the Cheviots is well known; and few tourists who enter the vale of the Teviot neglect to make the acquaintance of the sylvan Jed. But other streams, such as the Bowmont, the Kale, the Oxnam, and the Rule will also well repay a visit. In addition to all these natural charms, the Cheviot district abounds in other attractions. Those who are fond of Border lore, who love to seek out the sites of old forays, and battles, and romantic incidents, will find much to engage them; for every stream, and almost every hill, is noted in tale and ballad. Or if the visitor have antiquarian tastes, he may rival old Monkbarns, and do his best to explain the history of the endless camps, ramparts, ditches, and terraces which abound everywhere, especially towards the heads of the valleys. To the geologist the district is not less interesting, as I hope to be able, in the course of these papers, to show. The geological history of the Cheviots might be shortly summed up, and given in a narrative form, but it will perhaps be more interesting, and, at the same time more instructive, if we shall, instead, go a little into detail, and show first what the nature of the evidence is, and, second, how that evidence may be pieced together so as to tell its own story. I may just premise that my descriptions refer almost exclusively to the Scottish side of the Cheviots--which is not only the most picturesque, but also the most interesting, both from an antiquarian and geological point of view.

The Cheviots extend from the head of the Tyne in Northumberland, and of the Liddel in Roxburghshire, to Yeavering Bell and the heights in its neighbourhood , a distance of upwards of thirty miles. Some will have it that the range goes westward so as to include the heights about the source of the Teviot, but this is certainly a mistake, for after leaving Peel Fell and crossing to the heights on the other side of the Liddel Water, we enter a region which, both in its physical aspect and its geological structure, differs considerably from the hilly district that lies between Peel Fell and the high-grounds that roll down to the wide plains watered by the Glen and the Till. The highest point in the range is that which gives its name to the hills--namely, the Cheviot--a massive broad-topped hill, which reaches an elevation of 2767 feet above the sea, and from which a wonderful panorama can be scanned on a clear day. The top of the hill is coated with peat, fifteen to twenty feet thick, in some places. A number of deep ravines trench its slopes, the most noted of which are Hen Hole and the Bizzle. Peel Fell, at the other extremity of the range, is only 1964 feet high, while the dominant points between Peel Fell and the Cheviot are still lower--ranging from 1500 feet to 1800 feet. The general character of the hills is that of smooth rounded masses, with long flowing outlines. There are no peaks, nor serrated ridges, such as are occasionally met with in the northern Highlands; and the valleys as a rule show no precipitous crags and rocky precipices, the most conspicuous exceptions being the deep clefts mentioned as occurring in the Cheviot. The hills fall away with a long gentle slope into England, while on the Scottish side the descent is somewhat abrupt; so that upon the whole the northern or Scottish portion of the Cheviots has more of the picturesque to commend it than the corresponding districts in England. Indeed, the opposite slopes of the range show some rather striking contrasts. The long, flat-topped elevations on the English side, that sweep south and south-west from Carter Fell and Harden Edge, and which are drained by the Tyne, the Rede Water, and the Coquet, are covered for the most part with peat. Sometimes, however, when the slope is too great to admit of its growth, the peat gives place to rough scanty grass and scrubby heath, which barely suffice to hide the underlying barren sandstone rocks. One coming from the Scottish side is hardly prepared, indeed, for the dreary aspect of this region as viewed from the dominant ridge of the Cheviots. If in their physical aspect the English slopes of these hills are for the most part less attractive than the Scottish, it is true also that they offer less variety of interest to the geologist. Those who have journeyed in stagecoaching times from England into Scotland by Carter Fell, will remember the relief they felt when, having surmounted the hill above Whitelee, and escaped from the dreary barrens of the English border, they suddenly caught a sight of the green slopes of the Scottish hills, and the well-wooded vales of Edgerston Burn and Jed Water. On a clear day the view from this point is very charming. Away to the west stretch in seemingly endless undulations the swelling hills that circle round the upper reaches of Teviotdale. To east and north-east the eye glances along the bright-green Cheviots of the Scottish border, and marks how they plunge, for the most part somewhat suddenly, into the low grounds, save here and there, where they sink in gentler slopes, or throw out a few scattered outposts--abrupt verdant hills that somehow look as if they had broken away from the main mass of the range. From the same standpoint one traces the valleys of the Rule and the Jed--sweetest of border streams--stretching north into the well-clothed vale of the Teviot. Indeed, nearly the whole of that highly-cultivated and often richly-wooded country that extends from the base of the Cheviots to the foot of the Lammermuirs, lies stretched before one. Here and there abrupt isolated hills rise up amid the undulating low grounds, to hide the country behind them. Of these the most picturesque are dark Rubers Law, overlooking the Rule Water; Minto Crags, and Penielheugh with its ugly excrescence of a monument, both on the north side of the Teviot; and the Eildon Hills, which, as all the world knows, are near Melrose.

After he has sated himself with the rare beauty of this landscape , the observer will hardly fail to be struck by the great variety of outlines exhibited. Some of the hills, especially those to the west and north-west, are grouped in heavy masses, and present for the most part a soft, rounded contour, the hills being broad atop and flowing into each other with long, smooth slopes. Other elevations, such as those to the east and north-east of Carter Fell, while showing similar long gentle slopes, yet are somewhat more irregular in form and broken in outline, the hills having frequently a lumpy contour. Very noteworthy objects in the landscape also are the little isolated hills of the low grounds, such as Rubers Law, and the Dunian, above Jedburgh. They rise, as I have said, quite suddenly out of that low gently undulating country that sinks softly into the vales of the Teviot and the Tweed. This variety arises from the geological structure of the district. The hills vary in outline partly because they are made up of different kinds of rock, and partly owing to the mode in which these rocks have been arranged. But notwithstanding all this variety of outline, one may notice a certain sameness too. Flowing outlines are more or less conspicuous all over the landscape. Many of the hills, especially as we descend into Teviotdale, seem to have been smoothed or rounded off, as it were, so as to present their steepest faces as a rule towards the south-west. And if we take the compass-bearing of the hill-ridges of the same district, we shall find that these generally trend from south-west to north-east So much, then, at present for the surface configuration of the Cheviot region. When we come to treat of the various rock-masses, and to describe the superficial accumulations underneath which these are often concealed, we shall be in a better position to give an intelligible account of the peculiar form of the ground, and the causes to which that configuration must be ascribed.

We have now cleared the way so far, preparatory to an attempt to trace the geological history of the Cheviots. The three sets of rocks, whose mutual relations we have been studying, are those of which the district is chiefly composed; but, as we shall see in the sequel, there are others, not certainly of much extent, but nevertheless having an interesting story to tell us. Nor shall we omit to notice the superficial accumulations of clay, gravel, sand, silt, alluvium, and peat; monuments as they are of certain great changes, climatic and geographical, which have characterised not the Cheviots only, but a much wider area.

If we draw a somewhat straight line from Girvan, on the coast of Ayrshire, in a north-east direction to the shores of the North Sea, near Dunbar, we shall find that south of that line, up to the English border, nearly the whole country is composed of various kinds of greywack? and shale like the basement beds of the Cheviot district. Here and there, however, especially in certain of the valleys and some of the low-lying portions of this southern section of Scotland, one comes upon small isolated patches and occasional wider areas of younger strata, which rest upon and conceal the greywack?s and shales. Such is the case in Teviotdale, the Cheviot district, and the country watered by the lower reaches of the Tweed, in which regions the bottom beds are hidden for several hundreds of square miles underneath younger rocks. Indeed, the greywack? and shale form but a very small portion of the surface in the Cheviots, appearing upon a coloured geological map like so many islands or fragments, as it were, which have somehow been detached from the main masses of greywack? of which the Lammermuirs and the uplands of Dumfries and Selkirk shires are composed. Although the bottom rocks of the Cheviot Hills are thus apparently separated from the great greywack? area, there can be no doubt that they are really connected with it, the connection being obscured by the overlying younger strata. For if we could only strip off these latter, if we could only lift aside the great masses of igneous rock and sandstone that are piled up in the Cheviot Hills and the adjoining districts, we should find that the bottom upon which these rest is everywhere greywack? and shale. In part proof of this it may be mentioned that at various places in those districts which are entirely occupied by sandstone and igneous rock, the streams have cut right down through the younger rocks so as to expose the bottom beds, as in Jed Water at Allars Mill. Again, when we trace out the boundaries of any detached areas of greywack? we invariably find these bottom beds disappearing on all sides underneath the younger strata by which they are surrounded. One such isolated area occurs in the basin of the Oxnam Water, between Littletonleys and Bloodylaws, a section across which would exhibit the general appearance shown in the accompanying diagram . Another similarly isolated patch is intersected by Edgerston Burn and the Jed Water between Paton Haugh and Dovesford. But the largest of these detached portions appears, forming the crest of the Cheviots, at the head of the River Coquet. There the basement beds occupy the watershed, extending westward, some three or four miles, as far as the sandstones of Hungry Law, while to the north and east they plunge under the igneous rocks of Brownhart Law and the Hindhope Hills. Now it is evident that all those detached and isolated areas of greywack? and shale are really connected underground, and not only so, but they also piece on in the same way to the great belt of similar strata that stretches from sea to sea across the whole breadth of Scotland. Indeed, we may observe in the Cheviot district how long and massive promontories of greywack? jut out from that great belt, and extend often for miles into the areas that are covered with younger strata, as, for example, in the Brockilaw and Wolfelee Hills. A generalised section across the greywack? regions of the Cheviot Hills would therefore present the appearances shown in the annexed diagram , in which G represents the basement beds, I the igneous rocks, and C the red sandstones, etc.

Throughout the whole of the district under review the bottom beds are observed to dip at a high angle--the strata in many places being actually vertical--and the edges or crops of the strata run somewhat persistently in one direction, namely, from south by west to north by east; or, as a geologist would express it, the beds have an approximately south-west and north-east "strike." Now as the dip is sometimes to north-west and sometimes to south-east, it is evident that the rocks have been folded up in a series of rapid convolutions, and that some of the beds must be often repeated.

Between the deposition of the Silurian and the formation of the rocks that come next in order a long interval elapsed, during which the mud, sand, and grit that gathered on the floor of the ancient sea were hardened into solid masses, and eventually squeezed together into great folds and undulations. It has already been pointed out that these changes could hardly have been effected save under extreme pressure, and this consideration leads us to infer that a great thickness of strata has been removed entirely from the Cheviot district, so as to leave no trace of its former existence. Long before the deposition of the younger strata that now rest upon and conceal the Silurian rocks, the action of the denuding forces--the sea, frosts, rain, and rivers--had succeeded in not only sweeping gradually away the strata underneath which the bottom beds were folded, but in deeply scarping and carving these bottom beds themselves. Can we form any reasonable conjecture as to the geological age of the strata underneath which the bottom beds of the Cheviots were folded, and which, as we have seen, had entirely disappeared before the younger rocks of the district were accumulated? Well, it is obvious that the missing strata must have been of later formation than the bottom beds, and it is equally evident that they must have been of much more ancient date than the igneous rocks of the Cheviot Hills. Now, as we shall afterwards see, these igneous rocks belong to the Old Red Sandstone age, that is to say, to the age that succeeded the Silurian. How is it then, if the bottom beds be really of Silurian and the igneous rocks of Old Red Sandstone age, that a gap is said to exist between them? The explanation of this apparent contradiction is not far to seek. When we compare the fossils that occur in the Silurian strata of the Cheviot Hills and the districts to the west, with the organic remains disinterred from similar strata elsewhere, as in Wales for example, we find that the bottom beds of the Cheviots were in all probability accumulated at approximately the same time as certain strata that occur in the middle division of the Upper Silurian. In Wales and in Cumberland the strata that approximate in age to the Silurian of the Cheviots are covered by younger strata belonging to the same formation which reach a thickness of several thousand feet. It may quite well be, therefore, that the succession of Silurian strata in the Cheviots was at one time more complete than it is now. The upper portions of the formation which are so well developed in Wales and Cumberland, and which are likewise represented to a small extent in Scotland, had in all probability their equivalents in what are our border districts. In other words, there are good grounds for believing that the existing Silurian rocks of the Cheviots were in times preceding the Old Red Sandstone age covered with younger strata belonging to the same great system. The missing Silurian strata of the Cheviots may have attained a thickness of several thousand feet, and underneath such a mass of solid rock the lower-lying strata might well have been consolidated and subsequently squeezed into folds.

Leaving the shooters to their bulls' eyes, I paddled in front of the town to scan the hotels, and to judge of the best by appearances. Out came the boats of Zug to examine the floating stranger. They went round and round, in a criticising mood, just as local dogs strut slowly in circles about a new-come cur who is not known to their street, and besides is of ambiguous breed. These boats were all larger than mine, and most of them were brighter with plenty of paint, and universally they were encumbered with most awkward oars.

An early start next morning found the mists on the mountains, but they were quickly furled up out of the way in festoons like muslin curtains.

We skirted the pretty villas on the verge of the lake, and hauled in by some apple-trees to rig up the sails. This could be done more easily when the boat was drawn ashore than when it was afloat; though, after practice, I could not only set the mast and hoist the sails "at sea," but could even stand up and change my coat, or tie the flag on the masthead, or survey a difficult channel, while the boat was rocking on the waves of a rapid.

This is so very useful in extending the horizon of view, and in enabling you to examine a whole ledge of sunken rocks at once, that it is well worth the trouble of a week or two's practice.

Sailing on a lake in Switzerland is a full reward for carrying your mast and sails unused for many a long mile. Sometimes, indeed, the sails seemed to be after all an encumbrance, but this was when they were not available. Every time they came into use again the satisfaction of having brought them was reassured.

In sailing while the wind is light you need not always sit, as must be done for paddling. Wafted by the breeze you can now recline, lie down, or lie up, put your legs anyhow and anywhere, in the water if you like, and the peak of the sail is a shade between the sun and your eyes, while the ripples seem to tinkle cheerfully against the bow, and the wavelets seethe by smoothly near the stern. When you are under sail the hill tops look higher than before, for now you see how far they are above your "lofty" masthead, and the black rocks on the shore look blacker when seen in contrast with a sail like cream.

After a cruise that left nothing more to see of Zug, we put into port at Imyn, and though it is a little place, only a few houses, the boys there were as troublesome as gnats buzzing about; so the canoe had to be locked in the stable out of sight.

The true fisherman fishes for the fishing, not for the fishes. He himself is pleased even if he catches nothing, though he is more pleased to bring back a full basket, for that will justify him to his friends.

Now when you stop your travelling that you may angle, if you catch nothing you grudge the day spent, and keep thinking how much you might have seen in it on the road. On the other hand, if you do happen to catch one or two fish, you don't like to leave the place where more might be taken, and your first ten miles after departure from it is a stage of reflection about pools, stones, bites, and rises, instead of what is going on all around. Worst of all, if you have hooked a fish and lost him, it is a sad confession of defeat then to give up the sport and moodily resume the tour.

To be in this tide of wandering Britons, and yet to look at them and listen to them as if you were distinct--this is a post full of interest and amusement; and if you can, even for one day, try to be a Swiss resident or a Parisian, and so to regard the English around you from the point they are seen from by the foreigners whom they visit, the examination becomes far more curious. But this has been done by many clever tourists, who have written their notes with more or less humour, and with more rather than less severity; so I shall not attempt to analyse the strange atoms of the flood from our islands which overflows the Continent every year.

It is the fashion to decry three-fourths of this motley company as "snobs," "spendthrifts," or "greenhorns." With humble but firm voice I protest against this unfairness; nor can I help thinking that much of the hard criticism published by travellers against their fellows is a crooked way of saying, what it does not do to assert directly, that the writer has at any rate met some travellers inferior to himself.

Of course, among the Englishmen whom I met now and then in the course of this voyage there were some strange specimens, and their remarks were odd enough, when alluding to the canoe. One said, for example, "Don't you think it would have been more commodious to have had an attendant with you to look after your luggage and things?" The most obvious answer to this was probably that which I gave, "Not for me, if he was to be in the boat; and not for him, if he had to run on the bank."

In returning once more to English conversation, one is reminded how very useless and unpractical are all the "Talk-books" published to facilitate the traveller's conversation in foreign languages. Whether they are meant to help you in French, German, Italian, or Spanish, these little books, with their well-known double columns of words and phrases, and their "Polite Letter-writer" at the end, all seem to be equally determined to force words upon you which you never will need to use; while the things you are always wanting to say in the new tongue are either carefully buried among colloquies on botany or precious stones, or among philosophical discussions about metaphysics, or else the desirable phrases are not in the book at all.

This need of a brief and good "Talk-book" struck me particularly when I had carefully marked in my German one all the pages which would never be required in the tour, so that I could cut them out as an unnecessary addition to the weight of my ship's library. Why, the little book, when thus expurgated, got so lamentably thin that the few pages left of it, as just possible to be useful, formed only a wretched skeleton of the original volume.

But when, in actual life, the real foreigner speaks to you, he somehow says quite a different set of words from any particular phrases you see in the book, and you cannot make out his meaning, because it does not correspond with anything you have learned.

It is evident that a dictionary is required to get at the English meaning of what is said to you by another; while a talk-book will suffice for what you wish to say to him; because you can select in it and compose from it before you utter any particular phrase.

The Danish phrase-book for Norway and Sweden is a tolerably good one, and it holds in a short compass all the traveller wants; but I think a book of this kind for each of the other principal languages might well be constructed on the following basis.

Having now delivered a homily on international talking, it is time to be on the move again.

Sailing on Lucerne--Seeburg--River scenes--Night and snow--The Reuss--A dear dinner--Seeing a rope--Passing a fall--Bremgarten rapids.

When the steamer at Imyn had embarked the three sportsmen, and the little pier was quiet, we got a cart out for the Rob Roy, and bargained to have it rumbled over the hill to the Lake of Lucerne for the sum of five francs--it is only half-an-hour's walk. The landlord himself came as driver, for he was fully interested about the canoe, and he did not omit to let people know his sentiments on the subject all along the way, even calling out to the men plucking fruit in the apple-trees, who had perhaps failed to notice the phenomenon which was passing on the road beneath them. There was a permanent joke on such occasions, and, oddly enough, it was used by the drivers in Germany as well as in Switzerland, and was of course original and spontaneous with each of them as they called out, "Going to America!" and then chuckled at the brilliant remark.

Like other people, and at other times, I had traversed this beautiful water of the Four Cantons, but those only who have seen it well by steamer and by walking, so as to know how it juts in and winds round in intricate geography, can imagine how much better you may follow and grasp its beauties by searching them out alone and in a canoe.

For thus I could penetrate all the wooded nooks, and dwell on each view-point, and visit the rocky islets, and wait long, longer--as long as I pleased before some lofty berg, while the ground-swell gently undulated, and the passing cloud shaded the hill with grey, and the red flag of a steamer fluttered in a distant sunbeam, and the plash of a barge's oar broke on the boatman's song; everything around changing just a little, and the stream of inward thought and admiration changing too as it flowed, but, all the time, and when the eye came back to it again, there was the grand mountain still the same,

"Like Teneriffe or Atlas unremoved."

How cool the snow looked up there aloft even in the heat of summer! and, to come down again to one's level on the water, how lively the steamer was with the music of its band and the quick beat of its wheels curling up white foam. Let us speed to meet it and to get a tossing in the swell, while Jones and Smith, under the awning, cry out, "Why, to be sure, that's the Rob Roy canoe," and Mrs. Jones and the three Miss Smiths all lift up their heads from their "Murrays," where they have been diligently reading the history of Switzerland from A.D. 1682, and then the description in words of all the scenery around, although they have suffered its speaking realities in mountain, wood, and lake to pass unnoticed.

As I was quite fresh and now in good "training," so as to get on very comfortably with ten or twelve hours' rowing in the day, I spent it all in seeing this inexhaustible Lake of Lucerne, and yet felt that at least a dozen new pictures had been left unseen in this rich volume of the book of nature.

But as this book had no page in it about quarters for the night it was time to consider these homely affairs, and to look out for an hotel; not one of the big barracks for Englishmen spoken of before, but some quiet place where one could stop for Sunday. Coming suddenly then round a shady point, behold the very place! But can it be an hotel? Yes, there is the name, "Seeburg." Is it quiet? Observe the shady walks. Bathing? Why, there is a bath in the lake at the end of the garden. Fishing? At least four rods are stretched over the reeds by hopeful hands, and with earnest looks behind, watching for the faintest nibble.

Then on Sunday we went to Lucerne, to church, where a large congregation listened to a very good sermon from the well-known Secretary of the Society for Colonial and Continental Churches. At least every traveller, if not every home-stayed Englishman, ought to support this Association, because it many times supplies just that food and rest which the soul needs so much on a Sunday abroad, when the pleasures of foreign travel are apt to make only the mind and body constitute the man.

I determined to paddle from Lucerne by the river Reuss, which flows out of the lake and through the town. This river is one of four--the Rhine, Rhone, Reuss, and Ticino, which all rise near together in the neighbourhood of the St. Gothard; and yet, while one flows into the German ocean, another falls into the Mediterranean, both between them having first made nearly the compass of Switzerland.

The walking tourist comes often upon the rapid Reuss as it staggers and tumbles among the Swiss mountains. To me it had a special interest, for I once ascended the Galenhorn over the glaciers it starts from, and with only a useless guide, who lost his head and then lost his way, and then lost his temper and began to cry. We groped about in a fog until snow began to fall, and the snowstorm lasted for six hours--a weary time spent by us wandering in the dark and without food. At length we were discovered by some people sent out with lights to search for the benighted pleasure-seeker.

The Reuss has many cascades and torrent gorges as it runs among the rough crags, and it falls nearly 6,000 feet before it reaches the Lake of Lucerne, this lake itself being still 1,400 feet above the sea.

A gradual current towards the end of the lake entices you under the bridge where the river starts again on its course, at first gently enough, and as if it never could get fierce and hoarse-voiced when it has taken you miles away into the woods and can deal with you all alone.

The map showed the Reuss flowing into the Aar, but I could learn nothing more about either of these rivers, except that an intelligent man said, "The Reuss is a mere torrent," while another recounted how a man some years ago went on the Aar in a boat, and was taken up by the police and punished for thus perilling his life.

Deducting from these statements the usual 50 per cent. for exaggeration, everything appeared satisfactory, so I yielded my boat to the current, and, at parting, waved my yellow paddle to certain fair friends who had honoured me with their countenance, and who were now assembled on the bridge. After this a few judicious strokes took the Rob Roy through the town and past the pleasant environs, and we were now again upon running water.

The current, after a quiet beginning, soon put on a sort of "business air," as if it did not mean to dally, and rapidly got into quick time, threading a devious course among the woods, hayfields, and vineyards, and it seemed not to murmur , but to sing with buoyant exhilaration in the fresh brightness of the morn.

It certainly was a change, from the sluggish feeling of dead water in the lakes to the lively tremulous thrilling of a rapid river like the Reuss, which, in many places, is as wide as the Rhine at Schaffhausen. It is a wild stream, too fast for navigation, and therefore the villages are not built on the banks, and there are no boats, and the lonely, pathless, forest-covered banks are sometimes bleak enough when seen from the water.

For some miles it was easy travelling, the water being seldom less than two feet deep, and with rocks readily visible by the eddy bubbling about them, because they were sharp and jagged. It is the long smooth and round-topped rock which is most treacherous in a fast river, for the spray which the current throws round such a rock is often not different from an ordinary wave.

Now and then the stream was so swift that I was afraid of losing my straw hat, simply from the breeze created by great speed--for it was a day without wind.

It cannot be concealed that continuous physical enjoyment such as this tour presented is a dangerous luxury if it be not properly used. When I thought of the hospitals of London, of the herds of squalid poor in foetid alleys, of the pale-faced ragged boys, and the vice, sadness, pain, and poverty we are sent to do battle with if we be Christian soldiers, I could not help asking, "Am I right in thus enjoying such comfort, such scenery, such health?" Certainly not right, unless to get vigour of thought and hand, and freshened energy of mind, and larger thankfulness and wider love, and so, with all the powers recruited, to enter the field again more eager and able to be useful.

In the more lonely parts of the Reuss the trees were in dense thickets to the water's edge, and the wild ducks fluttered out from them with a splash, and some larger birds like bustards often hovered over the canoe. I think among the flying companions I noticed also the bunting, or "ammer" , wood-pigeons, and very beautiful hawks. The herons and kingfishers were here as well, but not so many of them as on the Danube.

The navigation after this began to be more interesting, with gravel banks and big stones to avoid, and a channel to be chosen from among several, and the wire ropes of the ferries stretched tightly across the river requiring to be noticed with proper respect.

You may have observed how difficult it is, sometimes, to see a rope when it is stretched and quite horizontal, or at any rate how hard it is to judge correctly of its distance from your eye. This can be well noticed in walking by the seashore among fishing-boats moored on the beach, when you will sometimes even knock your nose against a taut hawser before you are aware that it is so close.

This is caused by the fact that the mind estimates the distance of an object partly by comparing the two views of its surface obtained by the two eyes respectively, and which views are not quite the same, but differ, just as the two pictures prepared for the stereoscope. Each eye sees a little round one side of the object, and the solid look of the object and its distance are thus before the mind.

Share on: WhatsApp @Hash Facebook Tweet