tral stream. At last the cloud curtain rolled away, the sun gushed
out with fiery rays, the arch of foliage sparkled with splendor--in
meadow and on hillside, the face of Nature was cleanly beautiful.

At the creek mouth, the distinguished mulatto still was fishing from
his chair, and standing by his side was his wife throwing a spoon.
They nodded to us pleasantly, as old friends returned. Gliding by
their boat, Pilgrim was soon once more in the full current of the
swift-flowing Ohio.

We are high up to-night, on a little grass terrace in Kentucky, two
miles above Warsaw. The usual country road lies back of us, a rod or
two, and then a slender field surmounted by a woodland hill. Fortune
favors us, almost nightly, with beautiful abiding-places. In no place
could we sleep more comfortably than in our cotton home.

[Footnote A: So called from the Big Buffalo Lick, upon its banks.]

CHAPTER XVI.

New Switzerland--An old-time river pilot--Houseboat life,
on the lower reaches--A philosopher in rags--Wooded
solitudes--Arrival at Louisville.

Near Madison, Ind., Sunday, May 27th.--At supper last night, a
houseboat fisherman, going by in his skiff, parted the willows
fringing our beach, and offered to sell us some of his wares. We
bought from him a two-pound catfish, which he tethered to a bush
overhanging the water, until we were ready to dress it; giving
us warning, that meanwhile it would be best to have an eye on our
purchase, or the turtles would devour it. Hungry thieves, these
turtles, the fisherman said; you could leave nothing edible in water
or on land, unprotected, without constant fear of the reptiles--which
reminds me that yesterday the Doctor and the Boy found on the beach a
beautiful box tortoise.

Our fish was swimming around finely, at the end of his cord, when the
executioner arrived, and when finally hung up in a tree was safe from
the marauders. This morning the fisherman was around again, hoping
to obtain another dime from the commissariat; but though we had
breakfasted creditably from the little "cat," we had no thought of
stocking our larder with his kind. So the grizzly man of nets took a
fresh chew of tobacco, and sat a while in his boat, "pass'n' th' time
o' day" with us, punctuating his remarks with frequent expectorations.

The new Kentucky houseboat law taxes each craft of this sort
seven-and-a-half dollars, he said: five dollars going to the State,
and the remainder to