stately covered bridge spans the Merrimac. This river, one of the largest tributaries of the Merrimac, so pleasant a stream where it winds through the meadows of Lancaster and Groton, was here so obstructed, by falls and factories, that we did not delay to explore it. While one threaded the stream, his companion rowed steadily on to meet him above at a pine-wooded island at the mouth of the Nashua, where a few sheep, the only inhabitants, who were reposing in the shade upon its summit, reminded us of Colchos and the Argo.
We rowed slowly on before sunset, looking for a solitary place to spend the night. A few red clouds began to be reflected in the yellowish water, and soon the village was out of sight, the woods were gained again, and the calm surface of the water was only dimpled by the muskrats crossing the stream.
We camped this night on the confines of Nashville, near the Pennichook brook, on the west bank, in a deep ravine, under the skirts of a pine wood, where the dead pine-needles were our carpet, and the tawny boughs stretched protecting arms over us.
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