The river ran in every mood, except that of fury ; and each succeeding vista gathered beauty, unil the gleam of water and the Glory of the slopes seemed supernatural. The sun was westering ; the ripple took on a golden sheen, and the rocks over which they glided were gold ; black and dense rose the forested mountains to the white clouds, and ever the river seemed flowing on into endless solitude.
On they traveled through a narrow gorge above white water, where at the brink natives had gathered to watch the voyagers pass their lonely homes, and down a long swift beautiful racecourse of shimmering water, and on still into wide peaceful reaches, to turn the curve which led into the river lane ending in magnificent Solitude.
"The Last of the Plainsmen"
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Non sous-titré. Non traduit.