Peter and Yankee went out to haul in the trout, but I remained on shore to attempt a drawing, by moonlight, of the lake before me. The opposite side of the mountain, with its dark tangled forests, was perfectly mirrored in the waters below, the whole seeming as solid and variegated as a tablet of Egyptian marble. The canoe with its inmates noiselessly pursued its way, making the stillness more profound. In the water at my feet I distinctly saw lizards sporting about, and I could not but wonder why such reptiles were ever created. I thought with the Ancient Mariner,
“A thousand slimy things lived on,
And so did I.”
Again did we retire to rest, slumbering until the break of day. We then partook of a substantial trout breakfast, gathered up our plunder, and with about one hundred handsome trout, started for home.
The accidents we met with during the night were harmless, though somewhat ridiculous. A paper of matches which Peter carried in his breeches-pocket took fire, and gave him such a scorching that he bellowed lustily;—while Yankee, in his restless slumbers, rolled so near our watch-fire, that he barely escaped with a corner of his blanket, the remainder having been consumed. As for me I only fell into the water among the lizards, while endeavoring to reach the end of a log which extended into the lake. In descending the mountain we shot three partridges, and confoundedly frightened a fox, and by the middle of the afternoon were quietly pursuing our several avocations among our fellow men of the lower world.
CHAPTER II.
A spring day—The sky—The mountains—The streams—The woods—The open fields—Domestic animals—Poetry—The poultry yard.
Plauterkill Clove, May.
May is near its close, and I am still in the valley of the Hudson. Spring is indeed come again, and this, for the present year, has been its day of triumph. The moment I awoke, at dawn, this morning, I knew by intuition that it would be so, and I bounded from my couch like a startled deer, impatient for the cool delicious air. Spring is upon the earth once more, and a new life is given me of enjoyment and hope. The year is in its childhood, and my heart clings to it with a sympathy that I feel must be immortal and divine. What I have done to-day I cannot tell. I only know that my body has been tremulous with feeling, and my eyes almost blinded with seeing. Every hour has been fraught with a new emotion of delight, and presented to my vision numberless pictures of surpassing beauty. I have held communion with the sky, the mountains, the streams, the woods, and the fields; and these, if you please, shall be the themes of my present chapter.