CHAPTER XIX. THE ADIRONDACKS. ILBERT: I dare not attempt to give you a description of the Adirondack wilderness, for I am not going to write a book; but I have half a dozen views which will occupy us probably during the rest of this evening. It is You all know where to find this great region on the map. in itself almost a kingdom for extent, and its sovereign is Nature. is too rugged, too wild, too far-off from the routes of business traffic, and perhaps of too little value in a mineral sense to become a "hive of industry." It is a vast, mountainous, lumbering, and fishing country, a hundred miles by one hundred and fifty in extent, and, a generation ago, was trodden only by the hunter, the trapper, and the lumberman. It has no sites in it for great cities; its rivers are mountain streams; its roads are bridle paths or tangled and rocky footways. Its carriages are the lightest of boats, one of which will carry two or three people on the lakes and streams, and can then be carried on the shoulders of a man until it is again needed, which will be before long, you may be sure. Its hackmen are guides at two or three dollars a day, all found. As travelers in the Adirondacks live mostly on the fish they catch and the deer they shoot down, the actual money cost of living per head is not very great. But then it is necessary that somebody in the party should know how to fire a gun and handle a fishing rod. Mere book-learning, college degrees, polished manners, and even money, will not suffice to obtain meal for one hungry man, not to say several people. If ladies accompany the party, as they sometimes do, they must put aside the attire of the city and don a costume half Mohammedan and half modern-short dresses, Turkish drawers that fasten tightly at the ankle, thick boots, felt hat, buckskin gloves, and armlets to fasten tightly at the wrist. They will then be comparatively mosquito proof, a very necessary point for even one mosquito or forest fly may prove a formidable enemy. To those who cannot sleep except upon a regulation bed under a ceiling, and to whom the daily newspaper is a necessity of existence, there are hotels here and there in which the tourist can find everything to his hand; but to understand life in the Adirondacks one has to step outside of these conventional habits, to learn how to launch and paddle one's own canoe, to hunt, to fish, to build one's own camp at evening by some rippling brook, or on the shores of a still lake, to light a camp fire, and to sleep serenely, wrapped in a blanket, upon a couch of twigs. And it is wonderful how soon one gets not only accustomed to but even enamored of this sort of life. The days and weeks glide by; "the world recedes and disappears; " the stars become strangely familiar to us through the forest trees; the face and hands grow tawny; dyspepsia and headache fly away; and when the time comes for returning to civilization and business it is with no little regret that one turns away from this unkempt but salubrious and attractive wilderness. I have here a beautiful picture of Preston Pond. Near by is a rugged Indian pass through which the hunters and trappers have long traveled from north to south. We may now consider ourselves in the very heart and center of the Adirondacks. Can you conceive of anything more solitary, stupendous, grand, and yet inviting to the tourist in search of these features in Nature? We have not here the ruggedness of outline of the Rocky Mountains, nor their immense elevation, and their eternal snows; and yet I do not know but that, in some respects, I prefer such scenery as this. These mountain peaks are high enough to climb for me. Some of them are over five thousand feet high, and there are five ranges of them-over five hundred mountains, and over a thousand lakes embosomed among them, with a vast, rugged, silent forest, seemingly immeasurable--that is to say, when you are living in it; and deer and other game innumerable, besides fish in plenty. I do not know whether Longfellow ever spent a fortnight in the Adirondacks, but I think there is much force and feeling in his words-though I cannot speak from experience of any wearing sorrows or hard work: "If thou art worn and hard beset With sorrows that thou wouldst forget If thou wouldst read a lesson that will keep Go to the woods and hills! No tears Dim the sweet look that Nature wears." What do you say to that, Aunt Harriet? AUNT HARRIET: From one point of view the poet is correct, but I do not altogether agree with him. Nature does sometimes wear anything but a sweet look, and to me she often brings thoughts of sadness, though I do not know that I love her the less on that account. THE PRESIDENT: We go to Nature in all our moods for sympathy, and we get it. In the morning of life, or when the heart is full of joy and ecstasy, the flowers of the field, the trees of the forest, and the stars of heaven seem to rejoice with us; and I think that in sorrow and sadness Nature is no less sympathetic. CLARA Is it not Mrs. Hemans who says: An undertone Was given to Nature's harp, for me alone GILBERT St. Regis Lake, which is shown in our second illustration, is situated in the northwestern corner of the Adirondacks. There are two lakes of this name, upper and lower, and also a mountain peak; and this is a favorite spot for hunters and fishermen. ALBERT: What kind of deer are to be found in the Adirondacks? GILBERT: There are a few moose, but they are getting scarce. The common deer of the forest is like that shown in the picture. Let me see—it is called Cariacus Virginianus. It is over five feet long from nose to tail. It is a very beautiful, and in death a very useful animal. The venison is excellent eating, and its skin and horns are valuable. Its sinews are made into bow-strings and snowshoes' netting. In the daytime it is hard to find, but at evening it comes to the streams and lake-side to drink, and so gets within range. MR. MERRIMAN: There are game-laws regulating the hunting of this animal. THE COLONEL: Oh yes. The hunting season lasts from September 1st to November 30-three months, and it is illegal to hunt them with dogs. They are said by hunters to be growing scarcer every year, though still fairly abundant. GILBERT Here is a charming view on the river Ausable, at a point near which it enters the upper Ausable Lake. This river with its branches flows in a general northeasterly direction through scenery of the wildest and most romantic character, and ultimately falls into Lake Champlain. There are some fine cataracts along this stream, for instance the Alice Falls near Keeseville, and the Birmingham Falls (not a very romantic name) where it plunges over rocks seventy feet high, in a semicircle of great beauty. Then we come to the Horse-Shoe Falls, and so on to Ausable Chasm, a very picturesque spot, where the gorge narrows to a few feet, |