I could not help laughing heartily at this anecdote, and I confess that the reasoning of Bill seemed to be fraught with good sense. We spent the night together at the little tavern where he had left his box, and in the morning I concluded to adopt his scheme. Bill departed, the tears standing in his eyes—and taking the serpents, strapped across my shoulders, I set out on my adventures.
I am not going to give a detail of my travels, at present. I am afraid my readers are weary of my long story; and beside, I have promised to bring my narrative to a close in my next number. I must, therefore, pass lightly over my adventures as a showman; I must say little of my experiences as a travelling merchant, and come down to a period several years subsequent to my parting with Bill Keeler, as just related. The war with England, declared by the United States in 1812, was then raging, and circumstances led me to take a part in it. The events to which I allude, will be given in the next chapter.
Rivers.
Rivers have their rise in little rills, which gush from the sides of mountains. Several of these unite, and form a stream; and these again meeting, form a rivulet; and several rivulets form a river, which sometimes runs for many thousand miles, and makes all the country fertile through which it passes.
When a river descends from high land to that which is lower, it often falls over rocks and precipices,—it is then called a cascade; or, if very large, a cataract. Some of these are so large, that the water breaks into spray before it reaches the ground, and the sound of it may be heard for several miles.
Some rivers overflow their banks at certain seasons, owing to the melting of the snow on the mountain tops, or the fall of heavy rains. The river Nile overflows its banks; and, when the waters subside, very great crops of rice and corn immediately spring up, as food for man. There are very few parts of the earth in which rivers are not found; and great, indeed, is their use to mankind.
Shall I tell you what a river is like? It is like the life of man—small at first; the little stream is like a little child, and plays among the flowers of a meadow; it waters a garden, or turns a puny mill.
As it flows on it gathers strength; and, like a child in youth, it becomes turbulent and impatient as it swells along. Now, like a roaring cataract, it shoots headlong down many a rock; then it becomes a sullen and gloomy pool, buried in the bottom of a glen.
Recovering breath by repose, it again dashes on, till, tired of uproar and mischief, it quits all that it has swept along, and leaves the valley, through which it has passed, strewed with its rejected waste.
Now, again, it travels more slowly. It passes through the busy haunts of men, lending its service on every side, and, advancing in its course, becomes stately and grand. Now, instead of breaking over obstacles, it twines round them, and it thus passes along a more quiet course.[13]