and left him soon after, carrying our canoes down to the river. Welles's Falls, at Lambertville, had not water enough to float us through. The run before us was about ten miles to Trenton, and the stream was swift. It was a perfect afternoon, clear, warm, and calm. The scenery above Trenton is surprisingly beautiful, though there is no elevation higher than the tree-tops. It was a superb open picture of river and reflection, wood and cloud, with the city spires in the distance seen under the square openings of two extraordinarily-handsome bridges. It would be difficult to name, in the world, a more beautiful opening to a city than the four miles of the Delaware above Trenton.
"The Trenton Canoe Club" was the legend printed on a boat-house under the shadow of the city bridge; and there we stopped.
The house was closed; but we went up to the genial toll-keeper of the bridge,—a venerable man, with a face like George Washington, and a manner to equal it,—who stored our traps and directed us to the hotel. The old man pointed out the difficulties of Trenton Falls, below the bridge, and said that he had hardly ever seen the water so low.
"I'll go with you myself, to-morrow!" said the courteous veteran; "I'll take a boat and show you the way down the falls."
