me his history.  The war had reduced him from affluence to poverty, and in order to support his family, he had built a scow and penetrated the weird waters of Reelfoot Lake, from which he was able, for several years, to supply the citizens of Hickman with excellent fish.  The enterprise was a novelty at that time, and there being no competition, he made four thousand dollars the first year.  After that others went into the business, and it became profitless.  His mind was now bent upon a new field.  Hearing that the people of northern Texas were destitute of a regular fish-market, he had provisioned his flat for a winter’s campaign, and intended floating with his men down to the mouth of Red River, where he would be towed by a steamer through the state of Louisiana to the northeastern end of Texas.  There entering Caddo Lake, which is from fifty to sixty miles long, and where game, ducks, and fish abound, he would camp upon the shores and set his nets.  The railroads which penetrated that section would afford means for the rapid distribution of his fish.

The party, anxious to arrive at their scene of action, floated night and day.  The society of an educated man was so delightful at the time that I remained beside the flat all night.  A lantern was hung above the bow of the boat to show the pilots of steamers our position.  Whenever one of these disturbers of our peace passed the flat, I was obliged to cast off and pull into the stream, as the swash would almost ingulf me if I remained tied to the side of the large boat.  I could only sleep by snatches, for just as I would be dropping off into the land of Nod, the watch upon the flat would call out, “Here comes another steamer,” which was the signal for me to take to my oars.

The next day was Sunday, but the flat kept on her way.  I cooked my meals upon the rusty stove, and we floated side by side, conversing hour after hour.  The low banks of the river showed the presence of levees, or artificial dikes, built to keep out the freshets.  Upon these dikes the grass was putting forth its tender blades, and the willows were bursting into leaf.  We passed White River and the Arkansas, both of which pour their waters out of the great wilderness of the state of Arkansas.  Below the mouth of the last-named river was the town of Napoleon, with its deserted houses, the most forlorn aspect that had yet met my eye.  The banks were caving into the river day by day.  Houses had fallen into the current, which was undermining the town.  Here and there chimneys were standing in solitude, the buildings having been torn down and removed to other localities to save them from the insatiable maw of the river.  These pointed upward like so many warning cenotaphs of the river’s treachery, and contrasted strongly in the mind’s eye with the many happy family circles which had once gathered at their bases around the cheerful hearths.