or, boldly planted at the base of some rocky ledge. At the towns, they
are variously situated: in the water, up the beach a way, or high upon
the bottom, whither some great flood has carried them in years gone
by. Occasionally, when high and dry upon the land, they have a bit of
vegetable garden about them, rented for a time from the farmer; but,
even with the floaters, chickens are commonly kept, generally in a
coop on the roof, connected with the shore by a special gang-plank
for the fowls; and the other day, we saw a thrifty houseboater who had
several colonies of bees.

There was a rise of only two feet, last night; evidently the flood is
nearly at its greatest. We are now twenty feet above the level of ten
days ago, and are frequently swirling along over what were then sharp,
stony slopes, and brushing the topmost boughs of the lower lines
of willows and scrub sycamores. Thus we have a better view of the
country; and, approaching closely to the banks, can from our seats at
any time pluck blue lupine by the armful. It thrives mightily on these
gravelled shores, and so do the bignonia vine, the poison ivy, and the
Virginia creeper. The hills are steeper, now, especially in Indiana;
many of them, although stony, worked-out, and almost worthless, are
still, in patches, cultivated to the very top; but for the most part
they are clothed in restful green. Overhead, in the summer haze,
turkey-buzzards wheel gracefully, occasionally chased by audacious
hawks; and in the woods, we hear the warble of song-birds. Shadowy,
idle scenes, these rustic reaches of the lower Ohio, through which man
may dream in Nature's lap, all regardless of the workaday world.

It was early evening when we passed Madison, Ind. (553 miles), a
fairly-prosperous factory town of about twelve thousand souls. Scores
of the inhabitants were out in boats, collecting driftwood; and upon
the wharf was a great crowd of people, waiting for an excursion boat
which was to return them to Louisville, whence they had come for a
day's outing. It was a lifeless, melancholy party, as excursion folk
are apt to be at the close of a gala day, and they wearily stared at
us as we paddled past.

Just below, on the Kentucky shore, on my usual search for milk and
water, I landed at a cluster of rude cottages set in pleasant market
gardens. While the others drifted by with Pilgrim, I had a goodly
walk before finding milk, for a cow is considered a luxury among these
small