Anthony's roar and down the dancing
rapids to a pleasant island-camp between the green-and-gray bluffs that
bind Minneapolis to Minnehaha--the first really fine scenery this side
of Itasca's solitude. A delightful paddle under a bright morning sun
and over swift, clear water carried us to the little brook whose
laughter, three-quarters of a mile up a deep ravine, has been sent by
Longfellow rippling outward to all the world. We rounded the great
white-faced sand-rock that marks the outlet, paddled as far as we might
up the quiet stream, beached the canoes under the shade of the willows,
walked a little way up the brook, past a deserted mill, under cool
shadows of rock and wood, and enjoyed for half an hour the simple,
seductive charms of the "Laughing Water." Then we tramped back to our
boats, floated down under the old walls of Fort Snelling and between
the chalk-white cliffs which line the broadening river, until we came
in sight of St. Paul's roofs and spires, and soon were enjoying the
thoughtful care and generous hospitality of the Minnesota Boat Club.
Another day's close brought us to Red Wing, backgrounded by the green
bluffs and reddened cliffs of its bold hills.
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