LETTERS 



THE BACKWOODS 



LETTER I. 



MOUNT TAHAWUS. 



June 18. 



I CAN scarcely believe, as I stand this evening and 

 look around on the forest that girdles me in, and 

 hear naught but the dash of the waterfall at the base 

 of yonder gloomy mountain, or the rapid song of the 

 whippowil as it rings like the notes of a fife through 

 the clear air, that I stood a few days ago in Broad- 

 way, and heard only the surge of human life as it 

 swept fiercely by. The change could not be greater 

 if I had been transferred to another planet. The 

 paved street changed for the mountain slope — the 

 rattle of omnibuses and carriages for the rush of 

 streams and music of wind amid the tree tops — the 

 voices of the passing multitude for the song of birds 

 and chirp of the squirrel. It seems but a day since I 

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