ded；　lonesome　lakes　paddled　over；　long　and　muddy　〃carries〃　traversed。　Fancy　this　party　the　victim　of　political　exile；　banished　by　the　law；　and　a　more　sorrowful　march　could　not　be　imagined；　but　the　voluntary　hardship　becomes　pleasure；　and　it　is　undeniable　that　the　spirits　of　the　party　rise　as　the　difficulties　increase。
  For　this　straggling　and　stumbling　band　the　world　is　young　again：　it　has　come　to　the　beginning　of　things；　it　has　cut　loose　from　tradition；　and　is　free　to　make　a　home　anywhere：　the　movement　has　all　the　promise　of　a　revolution。　　All　this　virginal　freshness　invites　the　primitive　instincts　of　play　and　disorder。　　The　free　range　of　the　forests　suggests　endless　possibilities　of　exploration　and　possession。　Perhaps　we　are　treading　where　man　since　the　creation　never　trod　before；　perhaps　the　waters　of　this　bubbling　spring；　which　we　deepen　by　scraping　out　the　decayed　leaves　and　the　black　earth；　have　never　been　tasted　before；　except　by　the　wild　denizens　of　these　woods。　　We　cross　the　trails　of　lurking　animals；paths　that　heighten　our　sense　of　seclusion　from　the　world。　　The　hammering　of　the　infrequent　woodpecker；　the　call　of　the　lonely　bird；　the　drumming　of　the　solitary　partridge；all　these　sounds　do　but　emphasize　the　lonesomeness　of　nature。　　The　roar　of　the　mountain　brook；　dashing　over　its　bed　of　pebbles；　rising　out　of　the　ravine；　and　spreading；　as　it　were；　a　mist　of　sound　through　all　the　forest　（continuous　beating　waves　that　have　the　rhythm　of　eternity　in　them）；　and　the　fitful　movement　of　the　air…　tides　through　the　balsams　and　firs　and　the　giant　pines；how　these　grand　symphonies　shut　out　the　little　exasperations　of　our　vexed　life！　It　seems　easy　to　begin　life　over　again　on　the　simplest　terms。　Probably　it　is　not　so　much　the　desire　of　the　congregation　to　escape　from　the　preacher；　or　of　the　preacher　to　escape　from　himself；　that　drives　sophisticated　people　into　the　wilderness；　as　it　is　the　unconquered　craving　for　primitive　simplicity；　the　revolt　against　the　everlasting　dress…parade　of　our　civilization。　　From　this　monstrous　pomposity　even　the　artificial　rusticity　of　a　Petit　Trianon　is　a　relief。　　It　was　only　human　nature　that　the　jaded　Frenchman　of　the　regency　should　run　away　to　the　New　World；　and　live　in　a　forest…hut　with　an　Indian　squaw；　although　he　found　little　satisfaction　in　his　act　of　heroism；　unless　it　was　talked　about　at　Versailles。
  When　our　trampers　come；　late　in　the　afternoon；　to　the　bank　of　a　lovely　lake　where　they　purpose　to　enter　the　primitive　life；　everything　is　waiting　for　them　in　virgin　expectation。　　There　is　a　little　promontory　jutting　into　the　lake；　and　sloping　down　to　a　sandy　beach；　on　which　the　waters　idly　lapse；　and　shoals　of　red…fins　and　shiners　come　to　greet　the　stranger；　the　forest　is　untouched　by　the　axe；　the　tender　green　sweeps　the　water's　edge；　ranks　of　slender　firs　are　marshaled　by　the　shore；　clumps　of　white…birch　stems　shine　in　satin　purity　among　the　evergreens；　the　boles　of　giant　spruces；　maples；　and　oaks；　lifting　high　their　crowns　of　foliage；　stretch　away　in　endless　galleries　and　arcades；　through　the　shifting　leaves　the　sunshine　falls　upon　the　brown　earth；　overhead　are　fragments　of　blue　sky；　under　the　boughs　and　in　chance　openings　appear　the　bluer　lake　and　the　outline　of　the　gracious　mountains。　　The　discoverers　of　this　paradise；　which　they　have　entered　to　destroy；　note　the　babbling　of　the　brook　that　flows　close　at　hand；　they　hear　the　splash　of　the　leaping　fish；　they　listen　to　the　sweet；　metallic　song　of　the　evening　thrush；　and　the　chatter　of　the　red　squirrel；　who　angrily　challenges　their　right　to　be　there。　　But　the　moment　of　sentiment　passes。　　This　party　has　come　here　to　eat　and　to　sleep；　and　not　to　encourage　Nature　in　her　poetic　attitudinizing。
  The　spot　for　a　shanty　is　selected。　　This　side　shall　be　its　opening；　towards　the　lake；　and　in　front　of　it　the　fire；　so　that　the　smoke　shall　drift　into　the　hut；　and　discourage　the　mosquitoes；　yonder　shall　be　the　cook's　fire　and　the　path　to　the　spring。　　The　whole　colony　bestir　themselves　in　the　foundation　of　a　new　home；an　enterprise　that　has　all　the　fascination；　and　none　of　the　danger；　of　a　veritable　new　settlement　in　the　wilderness。　　The　axes　of　the　guides　resound　in　the　echoing　spaces；　great　trunks　fall　with　a　crash；　vistas　are　opened　towards　the　lake　and　the　mountains。　　The　spot　for　the　shanty　is　cleared　of　underbrush；　forked　stakes　are　driven　into　the　ground；　cross…pieces　are　laid　on　them；　and　poles　sloping　back　to　the　ground。　In　an　incredible　space　of　time　there　is　the　skeleton　of　a　house；　which　is　entirely　open　in　front。　　The　roof　and　sides　must　be　covered。　For　this　purpose　the　trunks　of　great　spruces　are　skinned。　　The　woodman　rims　the　bark　near　the　foot　of　the　tree；　and　again　six　feet　above；　and　slashes　it　perpendicularly；　then；　with　a　blunt　stick；　he　crowds　off　this　thick　hide　exactly　as　an　ox　is　skinned。　　It　needs　but　a　few　of　these　skins　to　cover　the　roof；　and　they　make　a　perfectly　water…tight　roof；　except　when　it　rains。　　Meantime　busy　hands　have　gathered　boughs　of　the　spruce　and　the　feathery　balsam；　and　shingled　the　ground　underneath　the　shanty　for　a　bed。　　It　is　an　aromatic　bed：　in　theory　it　is　elastic　and　consoling。　　Upon　it　are　spread　the　blankets。　　The　sleepers；　of　all　sexes　and　ages；　are　to　lie　there　in　a　row；　their　feet　to　the　fire；　and　their　heads　under　the　edge　of　the　sloping　roof。　　Nothing　could　be　better　contrived。　　The　fire　is　in　front：　it　is　not　a　fire；　but　a　conflagrationa　vast　heap　of　green　logs　set　on　fireof　pitch；　and　split　dead…wood；　and　crackling　balsams；　raging　and　roaring。　　By　the　time；　twilight　falls；　the　cook　has　prepared　supper。　　Everything　has　been　cooked　in　a　tin　pail　and　a　skillet；potatoes；　tea；　pork；　mutton；　slapjacks。　　You　wonder　how　everything　could　have　been　prepared　in　so　few　utensils。　　When　you　eat；　the　wonder　ceases：　everything　might　have　been　cooked　in　one　pail。　　It　is　a　noble　meal；　and　nobly　is　it　disposed　of　by　these　amateur　savages；　sitting　about　upon　logs　and　roots　of　trees。　　Never　were　there　such　potatoes；　never　beans　that　seemed　to　have　more　of　the　bean　in　them；　never　such　curly　pork；　never　trout　with　more　Indian…　meal　on　them；　never　mutton　more　distinctly　sheepy；　and　the　tea；　drunk　out　of　a　tin　cup；　with　a　lump　of　maple…sugar　dissolved　in　it；it　is　the　sort　of　tea　that　takes　hold；　lifts　the　hair；　and　disposes　the　drinker　to　anecdote　and　hilariousness。　　There　is　no　deception　about　it：　it　tastes　of　tannin　and　spruce　and　creosote。　　Everything；　in　short；　has　the　flavor　of　the　wilderness　and　a　free　life。　　It　is　idyllic。　　And　yet；　with　all　our　sentimentality；　there　is　nothing　feeble　about　the　cooking。　　The　slapjacks　are　a　solid　job　of　work；　made　to　last；　and　not　go　to　pieces　in　a　person's　stomach　like　a　trivial　bun：　we　might　record　on　them；　in　cuneiform　characters；　our　incipient　civilization；　and　future　generations　would　doubtless　turn　them　up　as　Acadian　bricks。　　Good；　robust　victuals　are　what　the　primitive　man　wants。
  Darkness　falls　suddenly。　　Outside　the　ring　of　light　from　our　conflagration　the　woods　are　black。　　There　is　a　tremendous　impression　of　isolation　and　lonesomeness　in　our　situation。　　We　are　the　prisoners　of　the　night。　　The　woods　never　seemed　so　vast　and　mysterious。　　The　trees　are　gigantic。　　There　are　noises　that　we　do　not　understand；　mysterious　winds　passing　overhead；　and　rambling　in　the　great　galleries；　tree…trunks　grinding　against　each　other；　undefinable　stirs　and　uneasinesses。　　The　shapes　of　those　who　pass　into　the　dimness　are　outlined　in　monstrous　proportions。　　The　spectres；　seated　about　in　the　glare　of　the　fire；　talk　about　appearances　and　presentiments　and　religion。　　The　guides　cheer　the　night　with　bear…fights；　and　catamount　encounters；　and　frozen…to…death　experiences；　and　simple　tales　of　great　prolixity　and　no　point；　and　jokes　of　primitive　lucidity。　　We　hear　catamounts；　and　the　stealthy　tread　of　things　in　the　leaves；　and　the　hooting　of　owls；　and；　when　the　moon　rises；　the　laughter　of　the　loon。　　Everything　is　strange；　spectral；　fascinating。
  By　and　by　we　get　our　positions　in　the　shanty　for　the　night；　and　arrange　the　row　of　sleepers。　　The　shanty　has　become　a　smoke…house　by　this　time：　waves　of　smoke　roll　into　it　from　the　fire。　　It　is　only　by　lying　down；　and　getting　the　head　well　under　the　eaves；　that　one　can　breathe。　　No　one　can　find　her　〃things〃；　nobody　has　a　pillow。　　At　length　the　row　is　laid　out；　with　the　solemn　protestation　of　intention　to　sleep。　　The　wind；　shifting；　drives　away　the　smoke。
  Good…night　is　said　a　hundred　times；　positions　are　readjusted；　more　last　words；　new　shifting　about；　final　remarks；　it　is　all　so　comfortable　and　romantic；　and　then　silence。　　Silence　continues　for　a　minute。　　The　fire　flashes　up；　all　the　row　of　heads　is　lifted　up　simultaneously　to　watch　it；　showers　of　sparks　sail　aloft　into　the　blue　night；　the　vast　vault　of　greenery　is　a　fairy　spectacle。　　How　the　sparks　mount　and　twinkle　and　disappear　like　tropical　fireflies；　and　all　the　leaves　murmur；　and　clap　their　hands！　　Some　of　the　sparks　do　not　go　out：　we　see　them　flaming　in　the　sky　when　the　flame　of　the　fire　has　died　down。　　Well；　good…night；　goodnight。　　More　folding　of　the　arms　to　sleep；　more　grumbling　about　the　hardness　of　a　hand…bag；　or　the　insufficiency　of　a　pocket…handkerchief；　for　a　pillow。　　Good…　night。　　Was　that　a　remark？some