ll, and there,
poking her nose in among our willows, a dozen feet from the tent, was
the "Big Sandy," one of the St. Louis & Cincinnati packet line.
She had evidently lost her bearings in the mist; but with a deal
of ringing, and a noisy churning of the water by the reversed
paddle-wheel, pulled out and disappeared into the gloom.

The river, still rising, is sweeping down an ever-increasing body of
rubbish. Islands and beaches, away back to the Alleghanies on the main
stream, and on thousands of miles of affluents, are yielding up those
vast rafts of drift-wood and fallen timber, which have continually
impressed us on our way with a sense of the enormous wastage
everywhere in progress--necessary, of course, in view of the
prohibitive cost of transportation. Nevertheless, one thinks pitifully
of the tens of thousands who, in congested districts, each winter
suffer unto death for want of fuel; and here is this wealth of forest
debris, the useless plaything of the river. But not only wreckage of
this character is borne upon the flood. The thievish river has picked
up valuable saw-logs that have run astray, lumber of many sorts,
boxes, barrels--and now and then the body of a cow or horse that
has tumbled to its death from some treacherous clay-cliff or rocky
terrace. The beaches have been swept clean by the rushing flood, of
whatever lay upon them, be it good or bad, for the great scavenger
exercises no discretion.

The bulk of the matter now follows the current in an almost solid
raft, as it caroms from shore to shore. Having swift water everywhere
at this stage, for the most part we avoid entangling Pilgrim in the
procession, but row upon the outskirts, interested in the curious
medley, and observant of the many birds which perch upon the branches
of the floating trees and sing blithely on their way. The current
bears hard upon the Aurora beach, and townsfolk by scores are out in
skiffs or are standing by the water's edge, engaged with boat-hooks in
spearing choice morsels from the debris rushing by their door--heaping
it upon the shore to dry, or gathering it in little rafts which they
moor to the bank. It is a busy scene; the wreckers, men, women, and
children alike, are so engaged in their grab-bag game that they
have no eyes for us; unobserved, we watch them at close range, and
speculate upon their respective chances.

Rabbit Hash, Ky. (502 miles), is a crude hamlet of a hundred souls,
lying nestled in a green am