44 LETTERS FROM THE BACKWOODS. 



equal to it this side of the Alps. These loftj mount- 

 ains, folding their summits so calmly and solemnly 

 away against the sky — these beautiful lakes in their 

 green inclosures sparkling in the sun — these count- 

 less islands and winding rivers make it a land of 

 beauty and sublimity, that once seen is ever after 

 remembered. Still, much of its interest is owing to its 

 very wildness. The shores of these lakes look beau- 

 tiful because a mantle of foliage sweeps down to the 

 very margin of the waters; but where they are cul- 

 tivated, rocks and stones present a sterile aspect to 

 the beholder. Cut down the trees, and two-thirds of 

 all the beauty of this region would depart. There 

 would be no sloping shores, carrying the rich mea- 

 dow or waving grain to the v/ater's edge, as on the 

 Cayuga and Skaneateles Lakes, but in their place ab- 

 rupt banks, covered with rocks that no cultivation 

 could cover. 



But it is with singular feelings one fresh from the 

 city stands here and looks around on the intermina- 

 ble forests, and remembers that it is a hard day's 

 work to get out to civilized life, and yet that his feet 

 are on the soil of New York, and a few roods of 

 ground divide him from the waters of the Hudson. 

 It is no small job to get here, and to one not accus- 

 tomed to the woods it is absolutely frightful. Several 

 companies from New York, after penetrating half- 

 way into the forest, have become alarmed and dis- 

 heartened, and turned back, and I am not surprised 

 at it. A young man with me, brought up in the 

 country, but along the Cayuga Lake, could not refrain 



