I16 FLORIDA DAYS.

seems but a bank of mist, faintly golden in the
sunshine.
 The sweep of the current is slow and grave,
so that, apparently, there is a curious fixity and
permanence about it;' it is without the hurry
and noise of the little running rivers of the north,
and it has none of their light-hearted intimacy,
which comes from the crowding nearness of their
trees and meadows. Not that the great river is
cruel, it is merely great; it has even an indif-
ferent kindliness, like the ocean or the sky, or
a force in Nature. It bears a canoe as lightly
and gently on its broad, smooth bosom as the
most tranquil little pool might do, lying like a
jewel at the feet of guarding hills; but if by
some bit of carelessness, or confidence, a man
trusts his life to it, it drowns him with smiling
ease, and without the slightest effort to save
him. There is no ripple made by an out-
stretched branch of tree or bush dipping into
its waves like a friendly hand put out to rescue
him; nor is there any knee of rock here and
there above the water to which he might cling.
It is very mighty and very beautiful; but it is