Confessions Of Con Cregan, the Irish Gil BlasLever, Charles
General
Confessions Of Con Cregan, the Irish Gil Blas
Lever, Charles
Ireland -- Fiction
"Ah, Con, my boy, fortune has not taken leave of you yet!" said I, as I
discovered that my severe exercise, far from being injurious, as I had
feared, was already bringing back the glow of health to my frame, and
spirit to my heart.
There is something unspeakably calming in the solitude of a forest,
unlike the lone sensations inspired by the sea or the prairie; the
feeling is one of peaceful quietude. The tempered sunlight stealing
through the leaves and boughs entangled; the giant trunks that tell
of centuries ago; the short, smooth, mossy turf through which the tiny
rivulet runs without a channel; the little vistas opening like alleys,
or ending in some shady nook, bower-like and retired,--fill the mind
with a myriad of pleasant fancies. Instead of wandering forth over the
immensity of space, as when contemplating the great ocean or the desert,
the heart here falls back upon itself, and is satisfied with the little
world around it.
Such were my reveries as I lay down beneath a tree, at first to muse,
and then to sleep; and such a sleep as only a weary foot-traveller
knows, who, stretched under the shade of a spreading tree, lies
dreamless and lost. It must have been late ere I awoke; the sunlight
came slanting obliquely through the leaves, and bespoke the decline of
day. I rose. At first my limbs were stiff and rigid, and my sensations
those of debility; but after a little time my strength came back, and
I strode along freely. Continuing the path, I came, after about three
hours' fast walking, to a little open spot in the wood, where the
remains of a hut and the charred fragments of firewood indicated a
bivouac. Some morsels of black bread strewn about, and a stray piece of
dried venison, argued that the party who had left them had but recently
quitted the spot. Very grateful for the negligent abundance of their
waste, I sat down, and, by the aid of a little spring,--the reason,
probably, of the selection of the spot for a halt,--made a capital
supper, some chestnuts that had fallen from the trees furnishing a
delicious dessert. Night was fast closing in, and I resolved on passing
it where I was, the shelter of the little hut being too tempting a
refuge to relinquish easily. The next morning I started early, my mind
fully satisfied that I was preceded by some foot party, the path not
admitting of any other, with whom, by exertion, I should be perhaps able
to come up. I walked from day to dawn with scarcely an interval of rest,
but, although the tracks of many feet showed me my conjecture was right,
I did not succeed in overtaking them. Towards evening I again came upon
their bivouac-ground, which was even more abundantly provided than the
preceding one. They appeared to have killed a buck; and though having
roasted an entire side, had contented themselves with some steaks off
the quarter. Upon this I feasted luxuriously, securing a sufficient
provision to last me for the next two or three days.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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