Wolfe Island broadly obstructs the Ontario outlet between Kingston and Cape Vincent on the New York shore, and from them, with an island-filled channel, in some places twelve miles broad, the swift river current threads the archipelago by pleasant and tortuous passages nearly to Ogdensburg, forty miles below. These islands are of all sizes, shapes and appearance, varying from small low rocks and gaunt crags to gorgeous foliage-covered gardens. On account of their large numbers, the early French explorers named them "Les Milles Isles," and in the ancient chronicles they are described as "obstructing navigation and mystifying the most experienced Iroquois pilots." Fenimore Cooper located some of the most interesting incidents of his _Pathfinder_ in "that labyrinth of land and water, the Thousand Isles." The larger islands in spring and summer are generally covered with luxuriant vegetation, and the river shores are a delicious landscape of low but bold bluffs and fruitful fields spreading down to the water, with distant forests bounding the horizon. The atmosphere is usually dry, light and mellow, and the Indians, who admired this attractive region, appropriately called it Manatoana, or the "Garden of the Great Spirit." Howe Island adjoins Wolfe Island, and below is the long Grindstone Island. Here on the New York shore is the village of Clayton, where the New York Central Railroad comes up from Utica and Rome, the leading route to this region. Below is the almost circular Round Island with its large hotel, and everywhere are charming little islets, while ahead, down the St. Lawrence, are myriads more islands, apparently massed together in a maze of dark green distant foliage, the enchanted isles of a fascinating summer sea: "The Thousand Isles, the Thousand Isles, Dimpled, the wave around them smiles, Kissed by a thousand red-lipped flowers, Gemmed by a thousand emerald bowers. A thousand birds their praises wake, By rocky glade and plumy brake. A thousand cedars' fragrant shade Falls where the Indians' children played, And Fancy's dream my heart beguiles While singing of thee, Thousand Isles. "There St. Lawrence gentlest flows, There the south wind softest blows. Titian alone hath power to paint The triumph of their patron saint Whose waves return on memory's tide; La Salle and Piquet, side by side, Proud Frontenac and bold Champlain There act their wanderings o'er again; And while the golden sunlight smiles, Pilgrims shall greet thee, Thousand Isles." [Illustration: _In the Thousand Islands, St. Lawrence_]