ABSTRACT
Among the journeys of one’s dreams there is a certain experience familiar doubtless to many dream-travelers. I mean the great journey down the river. It is a green summer afternoon. The yellow water stretches away a half a mile on each side of your raft. The arrows of far silver ripples point to snags. Around you is the sight of low bluffs, cornbottoms, highland rolling prairie, up beyond the banks. You are a perfect pilot, in your dream-power; and as in other dream-countries you have always known this wonderful place, and yet it is all new and fresh to you.
