archway, with its dark gleaming floor; and when, at last, we did sweep out into the broad glare of the river, we sighed and looked back wistfully, as men will. Ten minutes later we were wading over a shallow place and hauling our canoes by the painter.
The other peak of our enjoyment was reached about four miles below the town of Athens. Ah, me! how we did enjoy our evening in that little town! But let the tale bide a little. We had gone down some miles below the bridge at Athens, where the river widened out and grew consumedly slow and commonplace. There was an island, with a narrow opening to the left and a rough little rapid at the entrance,—almost a repetition of the Appalaken archway. After that other experience we did not hesitate, but turned from the big sheet of water, and shot into the narrow turmoil, to the left of the island. Again we dashed into a splendid sweep, but about three times as wide as the Appalaken archway. The water was about four feet deep all the way down, and the bottom was of small pebbles, every one as clearly seen as if laid on a mirror. Once more our paddles were crossed before us, and we sat in profound enjoyment of water, wood, and sky, as we were swept along by the current. Half-way down, we landed on the island, intending to float in the water and
