Excerpt from The Portage Path The Primitive Cuyahoga Valley There are very many vallies, vallies of renown. But the Cuyahoga valley was fairer than these. And greener its grasses and taller its trees 'Ere the sound of the ax in the forest had rung, Or the mower his scythe in the meadows had swung. I n their sheltered repose looking out from the wood, The bark-builded wigwams of the Ottawas stood: There glided the corn dance, the council-fire shone. And against the red war-post the hatchet was thrown. There the old smoked in silence their pipe, and the young To the pike and the white perch their baited lines flung! There the boy shaped his arrows, and there the shy maid Wove her many-hued baskets and bright wampum braid. 0 stream of Hopocan! if answer of thine Could raise from thy waters to question of mine, Methinks through the din of thy thronged banks a moan Of sorrow would swell for the days that are gone. Not for thee, dull jar of the loom and the wheel. The gliding of shuttles, the ringing of steel: But that old voice of water, of bird and of breeze. The dip of the wild fowl, the rustling of trees. About the Publisher Forgotten Books publishes hundreds of thousands of rare and classic books. Find more at www.forgottenbooks.com This book is a reproduction of an important historical work. Forgotten Books uses state-of-the-art technology to digitally reconstruct the work, preserving the original format whilst repairing imperfections present in the aged copy. In rare cases, an imperfection in the original, such as a blemish or missing page, may be replicated in our edition. We do, however, repair the vast majority of imperfections successfully; any imperfections that remain are intentionally left to preserve the state of such historical works.

This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can usually download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1911 edition. Excerpt: ... Portage Path The Center Of Indian Communication Long before Lake Erie was located on the map of the world, or the La Belle Riviere known to the geographers of Europe, many decades before the Argonauts of civilization had penetrated westward beyond the St Lawrence, great aboriginal highways existed connecting the distant waters of the large lakes with the great salt sea, and with the mighty Mississippi, the father of all living rivers on the wild American continent. Journey with us to that distant, forest-clad land, and pass over with us some of these ancient trails that push their winding, tortuous way by the banks of sedgy lakes, across wide and swift rivers, or else following the early conformation of the shore line of the immense fresh water lakes, or striking out into the heart of the wilderness for hundreds of miles, turning, twisting but: ever moving forward to a known objective point without loss of time. These were the highways of that restless, adventurous, migratory race or races which held tha country by virtue of original possession. Along these routes they came with swift and tireless feet, bent, either upon the delights of the chase, or upon the much-to-be-desired war of the race. W ar brought distinction, made mighty chiefs, furnished an exercise for their naturally cruel instincts, brought plunder and pelf and profit; abounded in change of scene, exciting episodes and startling features. Its climaxes were not always pleasant or desirable, but they were accepted with the stoic philosophy of the red man as the fortune of war. Along these lengthening trails came and went these feather-bedecked, sinister-painted, wild men of the forest. Swiftly, surely, without noise or bluster, these hyenas of the wilderness sped on their...

Excerpt from The Long Portage There were streaks of snow on some of them, for win ter threatened to close in unusually early. With a lowering sky overhead and the daylight beginning to fade, it was a desolate picture; one into which the lonely figure of the man in tattered deerskin jacket and shapeless hat somehow fitted. His attire matched the gray-white coloring of rock and boulder; his spare form and agile movements, together with the intentness of his bronzed face and the steadiness of his eyes, hinted at the quickness of observation, the stub born endurance, and the tireless activity, by which alone life can be maintained in the savage North. He had the alertness of the wild creatures of the waste; and it was needed. About the Publisher Forgotten Books publishes hundreds of thousands of rare and classic books. Find more at www.forgottenbooks.com This book is a reproduction of an important historical work. Forgotten Books uses state-of-the-art technology to digitally reconstruct the work, preserving the original format whilst repairing imperfections present in the aged copy. In rare cases, an imperfection in the original, such as a blemish or missing page, may be replicated in our edition. We do, however, repair the vast majority of imperfections successfully; any imperfections that remain are intentionally left to preserve the state of such historical works.

Excerpt from The Bridle Path Well? Why didn't you answer before? I did, every time. Reuben stood looking down at his sister as she sat on the log at his feet. Her fingers and lips were stained a deep purple. About the Publisher Forgotten Books publishes hundreds of thousands of rare and classic books. Find more at www.forgottenbooks.com This book is a reproduction of an important historical work. Forgotten Books uses state-of-the-art technology to digitally reconstruct the work, preserving the original format whilst repairing imperfections present in the aged copy. In rare cases, an imperfection in the original, such as a blemish or missing page, may be replicated in our edition. We do, however, repair the vast majority of imperfections successfully; any imperfections that remain are intentionally left to preserve the state of such historical works.

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