What a joy the Rivers of America series is. I say "is" with some trepdiation because the kind of pleasure these books gave when first published, is far different from the pleasure they give now, after decades of devastation to the land- and water-scapes of America. Ancient of days, when I was growing up, and being dragged along to the homes of friends of my elders, I would often as not see bunches of these books on the library shelves of my hosts. Lord bird: I'm dating myself by recalling a time when a decent home had a library. Anyway, when I saw those volumes I waspretty-well assured that even if I myself were likely to be bored out of my nut, at-least my Mother, or my Grandparents, or whoever, was among kindred spirits. If I have any complaint about this genial and unassuming account by Harry Hansen, it's that there isn't enough of it. ( )