64 LETTERS FROM THE BACKWOODS. 



and for a moment I seemed to have been transported 

 into a new world. I never was more struck by a 

 scene in my life. Its utter wildness, spread out there 

 where the axe of civilization has never struck a blow 

 — the evening — the sunset — the deep purple of the 

 mountains — the silence and solitude of the shores, and 

 the cry of birds in the distance, combined to render it 

 one of enchantment to me. My feelings were more 

 excited, perhaps, by the consciousness that we were 

 without any definite object before us — no place of 

 rest, but sailing along looking out for some good 

 point af land on which to pitch our camp. 



Mitchell made no replies to our inquiries, but kept 

 paddling along among the lily pads until he made for 

 a point near the Rackett River, and mooring our boats 

 to the shore, began to prepare for the night. 



