ife　or　the　various　problems　of　existence；　than　cut　wood；　or　busy　himself　in　the　drudgery　of　the　camp。　　His　critics　went　so　far　as　to　say；〃Old　Phelps　is　a　fraud。〃　　They　would　have　said　the　same　of　Socrates。　　Xantippe；　who　never　appreciated　the　world　in　which　Socrates　lived；　thought　he　was　lazy。　　Probably　Socrates　could　cook　no　better　than　Old　Phelps；　and　no　doubt　went　〃gumming〃　about　Athens　with　very　little　care　of　what　was　in　the　pot　for　dinner。
  If　the　summer　visitors　measured　Old　Phelps；　he　also　measured　them　by　his　own　standards。　　He　used　to　write　out　what　he　called　〃short…faced　descriptions〃　of　his　comrades　in　the　woods；　which　were　never　so　flattering　as　true。　　It　was　curious　to　see　how　the　various　qualities　which　are　esteemed　in　society　appeared　in　his　eyes；　looked　at　merely　in　their　relation　to　the　limited　world　he　knew；　and　judged　by　their　adaptation　to　the　primitive　life。　　It　was　a　much　subtler　comparison　than　that　of　the　ordinary　guide；　who　rates　his　traveler　by　his　ability　to　endure　on　a　march；　to　carry　a　pack；　use　an　oar；　hit　a　mark；　or　sing　a　song。　　Phelps　brought　his　people　to　a　test　of　their　naturalness　and　sincerity；　tried　by　contact　with　the　verities　of　the　woods。　　If　a　person　failed　to　appreciate　the　woods；　Phelps　had　no　opinion　of　him　or　his　culture；　and　yet；　although　he　was　perfectly　satisfied　with　his　own　philosophy　of　life；　worked　out　by　close　observation　of　nature　and　study　of　the　Tri…bune；　he　was　always　eager　for　converse　with　superior　minds；　with　those　who　had　the　advantage　of　travel　and　much　reading；　and；　above　all；　with　those　who　had　any　original　〃speckerlation。〃　　Of　all　the　society　he　was　ever　permitted　to　enjoy；　I　think　he　prized　most　that　of　Dr。　Bushnell。　　The　doctor　enjoyed　the　quaint　and　first…hand　observations　of　the　old　woodsman；　and　Phelps　found　new　worlds　open　to　him　in　the　wide　ranges　of　the　doctor's　mind。　　They　talked　by　the　hour　upon　all　sorts　of　themes；　the　growth　of　the　tree；　the　habits　of　wild　animals；　the　migration　of　seeds；　the　succession　of　oak　and　pine；　not　to　mention　theology；　and　the　mysteries　of　the　supernatural。
  I　recall　the　bearing　of　Old　Phelps；　when；　several　years　ago；　he　conducted　a　party　to　the　summit　of　Mount　Marcy　by　the　way　he　had　〃bushed　out。〃　　This　was　his　mountain；　and　he　had　a　peculiar　sense　of　ownership　in　it。　　In　a　way；　it　was　holy　ground；　and　he　would　rather　no　one　should　go　on　it　who　did　not　feel　its　sanctity。　　Perhaps　it　was　a　sense　of　some　divine　relation　in　it　that　made　him　always　speak　of　it　as　〃Mercy。〃　　To　him　this　ridiculously　dubbed　Mount　Marcy　was　always　〃Mount　Mercy。〃　　By　a　like　effort　to　soften　the　personal　offensiveness　of　the　nomenclature　of　this　region；　he　invariably　spoke　of　Dix's　Peak；　one　of　the　southern　peaks　of　the　range；　as　〃Dixie。〃　It　was　some　time　since　Phelps　himself　had　visited　his　mountain；　and；　as　he　pushed　on　through　the　miles　of　forest；　we　noticed　a　kind　of　eagerness　in　the　old　man；　as　of　a　lover　going　to　a　rendezvous。　　Along　the　foot　of　the　mountain　flows　a　clear　trout　stream；　secluded　and　undisturbed　in　those　awful　solitudes；　which　is　the　〃Mercy　Brook〃　of　the　old　woodsman。　　That　day　when　he　crossed　it；　in　advance　of　his　company；　he　was　heard　to　say　in　a　low　voice；　as　if　greeting　some　object　of　which　he　was　shyly　fond；　〃So；　little　brook；　do　I　meet　you　once　more？〃　　and　when　we　were　well　up　the　mountain；　and　emerged　from　the　last　stunted　fringe　of　vegetation　upon　the　rock…bound　slope；　I　saw　Old　Phelps；　who　was　still　foremost；　cast　himself　upon　the　ground；　and　heard　him　cry；　with　an　enthusiasm　that　was　intended　for　no　mortal　ear；　〃I'm　with　you　once　again！〃　　His　great　passion　very　rarely　found　expression　in　any　such　theatrical　burst。　　The　bare　summit　that　day　was　swept　by　a　fierce；　cold　wind；　and　lost　in　an　occasional　chilling　cloud。　　Some　of　the　party；　exhausted　by　the　climb；　and　shivering　in　the　rude　wind；　wanted　a　fire　kindled　and　a　cup　of　tea　made；　and　thought　this　the　guide's　business。　　Fire　and　tea　were　far　enough　from　his　thought。　　He　had　withdrawn　himself　quite　apart；　and　wrapped　in　a　ragged　blanket；　still　and　silent　as　the　rock　he　stood　on；　was　gazing　out　upon　the　wilderness　of　peaks。　　The　view　from　Marcy　is　peculiar。　It　is　without　softness　or　relief。　　The　narrow　valleys　are　only　dark　shadows；　the　lakes　are　bits　of　broken　mirror。　　From　horizon　to　horizon　there　is　a　tumultuous　sea　of　billows　turned　to　stone。　　You　stand　upon　the　highest　billow；　you　command　the　situation；　you　have　surprised　Nature　in　a　high　creative　act；　the　mighty　primal　energy　has　only　just　become　repose。　　This　was　a　supreme　hour　to　Old　Phelps。　Tea！　　I　believe　the　boys　succeeded　in　kindling　a　fire；　but　the　enthusiastic　stoic　had　no　reason　to　complain　of　want　of　appreciation　in　the　rest　of　the　party。　　When　we　were　descending；　he　told　us；　with　mingled　humor　and　scorn；　of　a　party　of　ladies　he　once　led　to　the　top　of　the　mountain　on　a　still　day；　who　began　immediately　to　talk　about　the　fashions！　　As　he　related　the　scene；　stopping　and　facing　us　in　the　trail；　his　mild；　far…in　eyes　came　to　the　front；　and　his　voice　rose　with　his　language　to　a　kind　of　scream。
  〃Why；　there　they　were；　right　before　the　greatest　view　they　ever　saw；　talkin'　about　the　fashions！〃
  Impossible　to　convey　the　accent　of　contempt　in　which　he　pronounced　the　word　〃　fashions；〃　and　then　added；　with　a　sort　of　regretful　bitterness；　〃I　was　a　great　mind　to　come　down；　and　leave　'em　there。〃
  In　common　with　the　Greeks；　Old　Phelps　personified　the　woods；　mountains；　and　streams。　　They　had　not　only　personality；　but　distinctions　of　sex。　　It　was　something　beyond　the　characterization　of　the　hunter；　which　appeared；　for　instance；　when　he　related　a　fight　with　a　panther；　in　such　expressions　as；　〃Then　Mr。　Panther　thought　he　would　see　what　he　could　do；〃　etc。　　He　was　in　〃imaginative　sympathy〃　with　all　wild　things。　　The　afternoon　we　descended　Marcy；　we　went　away　to　the　west；　through　the　primeval　forests；　toward　Avalanche　and　Colden；　and　followed　the　course　of　the　charming　Opalescent。　　When　we　reached　the　leaping　stream；　Phelps　exclaimed；
  〃Here's　little　Miss　Opalescent！〃
  〃Why　don't　you　say　Mr。　Opalescent？〃　some　one　asked。
  〃Oh；　she's　too　pretty！〃　　And　too　pretty　she　was；　with　her　foam…white　and　rainbow　dress；　and　her　downfalls；　and　fountainlike　uprising。　　A　bewitching　young　person　we　found　her　all　that　summer　afternoon。
  This　sylph…like　person　had　little　in　common　with　a　monstrous　lady　whose　adventures　in　the　wildernes　Phelps　was　fond　of　relating。　　She　was　built　some　thing　on　the　plan　of　the　mountains；　and　her　ambition　to　explore　was　equal　to　her　size。　　Phelps　and　the　other　guides　once　succeeded　in　raising　her　to　the　top　of　Marcy；　but　the　feat　of　getting　a　hogshead　of　molasses　up　there　would　have　been　easier。　　In　attempting　to　give　us　an　idea　of　her　magnitude　tha　night；　as　we　sat　in　the　forest　camp；　Phelps　hesitated　a　moment；　while　he　cast　his　eye　around　the　woods：　〃Waal；　there　ain't　no　tree！〃
  It　is　only　by　recalling　fragmentary　remarks　and　incidents　that　I　can　put　the　reader　in　possession　of　the　peculiarities　of　my　subject；　and　this　involves　the　wrenching　of　things　out　of　their　natural　order　and　continuity；　and　introducing　them　abruptly；　an　abruptness　illustrated　by　the　remark　of　〃Old　Man　Hoskins〃　（which　Phelps　liked　to　quote）；　when　one　day　he　suddenly　slipped　down　a　bank　into　a　thicket；　and　seated　himself　in　a　wasps'　nest：　〃I　hain't　no　business　here；　but　here　I　be！〃
  The　first　time　we　went　into　camp　on　the　Upper　Au　Sable　Pond；　which　has　been　justly　celebrated　as　the　most　prettily　set　sheet　of　water　in　the　region；　we　were　disposed　to　build　our　shanty　on　the　south　side；　so　that　we　could　have　in　full　view　the　Gothics　and　that　loveliest　of　mountain　contours。　　To　our　surprise；　Old　Phelps；　whose　sentimental　weakness　for　these　mountains　we　knew；　opposed　this。　　His　favorite　camping　ground　was　on　the　north　side；a　pretty　site　in　itself；　but　with　no　special　view。　　In　order　to　enjoy　the　lovely　mountains；　we　should　be　obliged　to　row　out　into　the　lake：　we　wanted　them　always　before　our　eyes；at　sunrise　and　sunset；　and　in　the　blaze　of　noon。　With　deliberate　speech；　as　if　weighing　our　arguments　and　disposing　of　them；　he　replied；　〃Waal；　now；　them　Gothics　ain't　the　kinder　scenery　you　want　ter　hog　down！〃
  It　was　on　quiet　Sundays　in　the　woods；　or　in　talks　by　the　camp…fire；　that　Phelps　came　out　as　the　philosopher；　and　commonly　contributed　the　light　of　his　observations。　　Unfortunate　marriages；　and　marriages　in　general；　were；　on　one　occasion；　the　subject　of　discussion；　and　a　good　deal　of　darkness　had　been　cast　on　it　by　various　speakers；　when　Phelps　suddenly　piped　up；　from　a　log　where　he　had　sat　silent；　almost　invisible；　in　the　shadow　and　smoke；　〃Waal；　now；　when　you've　said　all　there　is　to　be　said；　marriage　is　mostly　for　discipline。〃
  Discipline；　certainly；　the　old　man　had；　in　one　way　or　another；　and　years　of　solitary　communing　in　the　forest　had　given　him；　perhaps；　a　childlike　insight　into　spiritual　concerns。　　Whether　he　had　formulated　any　creed　or　what　faith　he　had；　I　never　knew。　　Keene　Valley　had　a　reputation　of　not　ripening　Christians　any　more　successfully　than　maize；　the　season　there　being　short；　and　on　our　first　visit　it　was　said　to　contain　but　one　Bible　Christian；　though　I　think　an　accurate　census　disclosed　three。　　Old　Phelps；　who　s