The Kankakee of old has gone, for the lands over which it spread became valuable. A mighty ditch has been excavated, extending almost its entire course, to deepen and straighten its channel, and to drain away its marshes. The altered line of the stream left many of the rude homes of the old trappers far inland. Their occupations have ceased and they sit in melancholy silence and brood upon the past. For them the book is closed. They falter at the threshold of a new era in which nature has not fitted them to live. Ugly steam dredges, with ponderous iron jaws, came upon the river. Hoary patriarchs of the forest were felled. Ancient roots and green banks, mantled with vines, were ruthlessly blasted away. The dredge scoops delved into mossy retreats. Secret dens and runways were opened to the glaring light and there were many rustlings of furtive feet and wings through the invaded grasses. The limpid waters reflected Mammon’s sinister form. The despoiler tore relentlessly through ferny aisles in the green embowered woods and across the swamps and flowery fens. The glittering lakes, the meandering loops and bends disappeared, and the fecund marshlands yielded their life currents. The thousand night voices on their moon flooded stretches were stilled. The wild life fled. Wondering flocks in the skies looked down on the strange scene, changed their courses and winged on. The passing of the river leaves its memories of musical ripplings over pebbly shoals, murmurous runes among the fallen timber, tremulous moon paths over darkened waters, the twinkling of wispy hosts of fireflies in dreamy dusks, blended perfumes of still forests, heron haunted bayous, enchanting islands, with their profusion of wild grapes and plums, and the glories of afterglows beyond the vast marshes. The currents that once widened in silvery magnificence to their natural barriers, and wandered peacefully among the mysteries of the woods, now flow madly on through a man-wrought channel. In sorrow the gloomy waters flee with writhing swirls from the land where once they crept out over the low areas and rested on their ways to the sea. In the moaning of the homeless tide we may hear the requiem of the river. Fields of corn and wheat stretch over the reclaimed acres, for the utilitarian has triumphed over beauty and nature’s providence for her wild creatures. The destruction of one of the most valuable bird refuges on the continent has almost been completed, for the sake of immediate wealth. The realization of this great economic wrong must be left to future generations. The ugly dredges are finishing the desecration on the lower reaches of the stream. The Vanishing River moves on through a twilight of ignorance and error, for the sacrifice of our bird life and our regions of natural beauty is the sacrifice of precious material and spiritual gifts.