LOG DRivma. 11 



untrodden wild can furnish. I have seen the waves 

 running like mad creatures in mid ocean, and watched 

 with strange feelings the moonlit deep as it gently 

 rose and fell like a human bosom in the still night ; 

 but there is something more mysterious and fearful 

 than these in the calm yet lightning-like speed of a 

 deep, dark river, rushing all alone in its might and 

 majesty through the heart of an unbroken forest. 

 You cannot see it till you stand on the brink, and 

 then it seems so utterly regardless of you or the 

 whole world without, hasting sternly on to the ac- 

 complishment of some dread purpose! 



But such romance as this never enters the head of 

 your backwoodsman. The first question he puts him- 

 self, as he thrusts his head through the branches and 

 looks up and down the current, is — " Is the stream 

 high enough to run logs?" If it is, then fall to work; 

 away go the logs, one after another, down the bank, 

 and down the mountain, with a bound and a groan, 

 splash into the water. 



The heavy rains about the first of July had so 

 swollen the stream near which I am located^ that all 

 thoughts of fishing for several days were abandoned, 

 and the log drivers had it all to themselves. So, 

 strolling through the forest, I soon heard the continu- 

 ous roar that rose up through the leafy solitudes, and 

 in a few moments stood on a shelving rock, and saw 

 the lark-swift stream before me as it issued from the 

 cavernous green foliage above, and disappeareol with- 

 out a struggle in the same green abyss below. I 

 stood for a long time lost in thought. How much 



