GLIMPSES OF CIVILIZATION BEGIN TO DAWN.
A dark red stone attracted my attention, and I waded into the water to secure it, and on regaining the canoe soon after, threw it into my camp-bag, little dreaming of the value of my prize. On reaching home it was examined by an old and experienced lapidary, and proved to be a jasper of exquisite grain and color.
A portion of the stone, as an article of jewelry, incrusted with the magic words “Ledge Falls,” is highly prized and now worn as a souvenir by the writer.
The stream now gradually widens, with strong but noiseless flow; the mountains retire, and the banks of the river are for the most part bordered by foot-hills and grassy knolls. Glimpses of civilization begin to dawn as we occasionally pass a log house whose lonesome appearance is only relieved by the happy faces of children at the door. Corn-fields wave their tall stems, while broad patches of potatoes (for which Maine is justly celebrated) flourish here surprisingly. It is a sudden change from the forest’s depths, after a month’s camp life, and seems to urge us towards home more and more rapidly.
We are soon at Medway, the junction of the East and West Branches, (a small town on the left bank of the Penobscot River, of about four hundred inhabitants,) and are speeding faster and faster through the broad river to Mattawamkeag on the European and North American railroad.
We have followed the river in its devious windings, from a width of fifteen to now an expansion of over five hundred feet.
We have felt the mysterious silence of the wilderness at early morn, or as the twilight lessened and the shadows deepened about the camp, only broken by the chirp of the cricket, or the weird and plaintive cry of the loons on the lake.