1825. _August 26th_. A PORTAGE of about one mile and a quarter was
before us.
At day-break two ox carts, which I had ordered in the evening, came, and
took our baggage across to the banks of Fox River. The canoes were
carried over by the different crews. On reaching the banks of the Fox
River, I concluded to stay for the purpose of breakfasting. I added to
my stock of eatables, a bag of potatoes, and some butter and milk,
purchased from a Frenchman, who resided here. It was about nine o'clock
A.M. when we embarked on the Fox, and we began its descent with feelings
not widely different from those of a boy who has carried his sled, in
winter, _up_ the steep side of a hill, that he may enjoy the pleasure of
riding _down_. The Fox River is serpentine, almost without a parallel;
it winds about like a string that doubles and redoubles, and its channel
is choked with fields of wild rice; from which rose, continually,
immense flocks of blackbirds. They reminded me very forcibly of the
poet's line--
"The birds of heaven shall vindicate their grain.
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