The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 2, No. 14, December 1858: A Magazine of Literature, Art, and PoliticsVarious
Philosophy
The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 2, No. 14, December 1858: A Magazine of Literature, Art, and Politics
Various
American periodicals
Toward the close of a dreamy, tranquil July day, a day made impressive
beyond the possible comprehension of a dweller in civilization by its
sun having risen for us over the unbroken wilderness of the Adirondack,
a mountain-land in each of whose deep valleys lies a blue lake, we, a
party of hunters and recreation-seekers, six beside our guides, lay on
the fir-bough-cushioned floor of our dark camp, passing away the little
remnant of what had been a day of rest to our guides and of delicious
idleness to ourselves. The camp was built on the bold shore of a lake
which yet wants a name worthy its beauty, but which we always, for want
of such a one, call by that which its white discoverer left
it,--Tupper's Lake,--whose waters, the untremulous mirror of the forests
and mountains around and the sky above, gleamed to us only in blue
fragments through the interstices of the leafy veil that intervened. The
forest is unbroken to the water's edge, and even out over the water
itself it stretches its firs and cedars, gray and moss-draped, with here
and there a moisture-loving white-birch, so that from the very shore one
sees only suggestive bits of distance and sky; and from where we were
lying, sky, hills, and the water below were all blue alike, and
undistinguishable alike, glimpses of a world of sunlight, which the
grateful shadow we lay in made delicious to the thought. We were
sheltered right woodsman-like;--our little house of fresh-peeled bark of
spruces, twelve feet by nine, open only to the east, on which side lay
the lake, shielded us from wind and rain, and the huge trees shut around
us so closely that no eye could pierce a pistol-shot into their glades.
There were blue-jays all about us, making the woods ring with their
querulous cries, and a single fish-hawk screamed from the blue overhead,
as he sailed round and round, watching the chances of a supper in the
lake. Between us and the water's edge, and a little to one side of the
path we had bushed out to the shore, was the tent of the guides, and
there they lay asleep, except one who was rubbing up his "man's" rifle,
which had been forgotten the night before when we came in from the hunt,
and so had gathered rust.
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