A FOREST RIVER. 37 



The foam bubbles sparkle on the dark bosom that floats 

 them on, and past the boughs that bend with the 

 stream, and by the precipices that frown sternly down 

 upon the tumult ; while the rapid waters shoot onward 

 like an arrow, or rather a visible spirit on some mys- 

 terious errand, seeking the loneliest and most fearful 

 passages the 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 mysteri- 

 ous 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 a vast 

 forest. You cannot see it till you stand on the brink, 

 and then it seems utterly regardless of you or the 

 whole world without, hasting sternly forward to the 

 accomplishment of some dread purpose. 



But such romance as this never enters the heart of 

 your backwoodsman. The first question he puts him- 

 self, as he thrusts his head through the branches and 

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

 high enough to run logs ?" If so, then fall to work : 

 awav go the lo^s, one after another, down the moun- 



