“Nought was seen, in the vault on high,
But the moon, and the stars, and a cloudless sky,
And a river of white in the welkin blue.”
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 forest, 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 creatures were created. I thought, with the Ancient Mariner,
“A thousand slimy things lived on,
And so did I.”
Again we retired to rest, and slept till day-break. We visited our hooks once more, and took them up, and found that we had one hundred and two trout, averaging more than a pound a-piece. We then partook of a substantial breakfast of this delicious fish, which were cooked by me as well as anybody could do it, and, having gathered up our plunder, started for home.
The accidents we met with during the night were harmless, though they might have proved serious. A paper of Locofoco matches, which Peter carried in his breeches pocket, took fire, and gave him such a scorching that he bellowed lustily. White Yankee, in his restless slumber, rolled so near our watch-fire, that he barely escaped with one corner of his blanket, the remainder having been consumed. As for me, I only got pitched into the water up to my middle, while endeavoring to reach the end of a log which extended into the lake. In descending the mountain, I shot three partridges, and confoundedly frightened a fox, and by noon was in my snug studio, commencing a picture from one of my last sketches.
But lo! my candle is flickering in the socket, and I must say, Good night!