able to proceed for nearly
a mile through lovely little wide-spreads abounding in lilies and
sweet with the odor of grape-blossoms.

Across the river, at Emmerick's Landing,--a little cluster of
unpainted cabins,--lies the white barge of a photographer, just such
a home as the Derby artist covets. The Ohio is here about half-a-mile
wide, but high-pitched voices of people on the opposite bank are
plainly heard across the smooth sounding-board; and in the quiet
evening air comes to us the "chuck-chuck" of oars nearly a mile away.
Following a torrid afternoon, with exasperating headwinds, this cool,
fresh atmosphere, in the long twilight, is inspiring. Overhead is the
slender streak of the moon's first quarter, its reflection shimmering
in the broad and placid stream rushing noiselessly by us to the sea.
In blissful content we sit upon the bank, and drink in the glories of
the night. The days of our pilgrimage are nearing their end, but our
enthusiasm for this _al fresco_ life is in no measure abating. That we
might ever thus dream and drift upon the river of life, far from the
labored strivings of the world, is our secret wish, to-night.

We had long been sitting thus, having silent communion with our
thoughts, when the Boy, his little head resting on W----'s shoulder,
broke the spell by murmuring from the fullness of his heart, "Mother,
why cannot we keep on doing this, always?"

* * * * *

Yellowbank Island, Sunday, June 3d.--Pilgrim still attracts more
attention than her passengers. When we stop at the village wharfs,
or grate our keel upon some rustic landing, it is not long before
the Doctor, who now always remains with the boat, no matter who goes
ashore, is surrounded by an admiring group, who rap Pilgrim on the
ribs, try to lift her by the bow, and study her graceful lines with
the air of connoisseurs. Barefooted men fishing on the shores, in
broad straw hats, and blue jeans, invariably "pass the time o' day"
with us as we glide by, crying out as a parting salute, "Ye've a honey
skiff, thar!" or, "Right smart skiff, thet yere!"

We have many long, dreary reaches to-day. Clay banks twelve to twenty
feet in height, and growing taller as the water recedes, rise sheer on
either side. Fringing the top of each is often a row of locusts, whose
roots in a feeble way hold the soil; but the river cuts in at the
base, wherever the changing current impinges on the shore, and at
low water great slic