102 RIVER LIFE. 



resting-place of a river-driver on the banks of a lonely stream, 

 far away from the hearth of his childhood and the permanent 

 abodes of civilization. The silent ripple of the now quiet stream 

 (for the spring floods were past), the sighing of the winds among 

 the branches of trees which waved in silence over the uncon- 

 scious sleeper, rendered the position too painful for one predis- 

 posed to melancholy. When in those wild regions we have the 

 misfortune to lose one of our number, after the body is recovered, 

 we place it in a coffin composed of two empty flour barrels. One 

 is passed over the head and shoulders, the other receives the 

 lower extremities, when the two are brought together and fast- 

 ened, his grave-clothes generally being some of his common wear- 

 ing apparel. Seldom, if ever, does the voice of prayer rise over 

 their bier under these circumstances ; in silence the corpse is 

 committed to its rude burial, while now and then a half-sup- 

 pressed sigh is heard, and the unbidden tears steal down the sun- 

 burned cheeks of his manly associates. Events of this kind gen- 

 erally come suddenly, though, when in dangerous circumstances, 

 are often anticipated. After such an occurrence, an air of sobri- 

 ety pervades the company ; jokes are dispensed with, the voice of 

 song is hushed, and for several days the deportment of the men 

 is characterized with a degree of cautiousness unusual, except 

 when reminded by some such impressive example of the frailty 

 and uncertainty of human life. But with most the impression 

 soon wears off, and their accustomed cheerfulness is regained ; 

 their exertions marked with the same daring as before the acci- 

 dent, or as though a life had never been lost in the business. 

 Lower down the river, in the vicinity of new settlements, the 

 usual ceremonies on funeral occasions are practiced when an 

 itinerant clergyman chances to pass that way. The following 

 notice of such an occurrence was cut from the Bangor Courier : 



" Passing into the town of Passadumkeag late one evening 

 during the past summer, a crowd had gathered in the street. It 



