60 LETTERS FROM THE BACKWOODS. 



conclusions are more just and sound than his former 

 ones, though I think them somewhat erroneous. I 

 believe this wilderness will be encroached upon in less 

 time than that. Perhaps sixty or seventy years will 

 be sufiBcient to give us so crowded a population as to 

 force settlements into this desolate interior of the 

 State. Still I agree with him that the prospects are 

 gloomy. The church, too, has gone down ; not a soli- 

 tary conversion from all the labor expended here. 

 Still, this was to be expected. A church formed of 

 such materials ought to go to pieces. Even the last 

 remaining member, certainly not the most enlightened 

 or circumspect Christian I have ever met, told me 

 that it was no more than he expected — that no one 

 there supposed the men would "hold out." 



But our. light canoe soon left the last clearing; and 

 curving round the shore, we shot into the Rackett or 

 Racquette River, and entered the bosom of the forest. 

 As we left the lake, I saw a loon some distance up 

 the inlet, evidently anxious to get out once more into 

 open water. These birds (about the size of a goose), 

 you know, cannot rise from the water except by a 

 long effort and against a strong damp wind, and de- 

 pend for safety on diving and swimming under water. 

 At the approach of danger, they go under like a duck, 

 and when you next see them, they are perhaps sixty 

 rods distant, and beyond the reach of your bullet. If 

 cornered in a small body of water, they will sit and 

 watch your motions with a keenness and certainty 

 that are wonderful, and dodge the flash of a percussion 

 lock gun all day long. The moment they see the 



