BIRCH BROWSINGS. 229 



So I went on, more than ever disposed to 

 believe that we were under a spell, and that 

 the lake had slipped from my grasp after all. 

 Seeing no favorable sign as I went forward, 

 I laid down my accoutrements, and climbed 

 a decayed beech that leaned out over the 

 swamp and promised a good view from the 

 top. As I stretched myself up to look around 

 from the highest attainable branch, there 

 was suddenly a loud crack at the root. With 

 a celerity that would at least have done 

 credit to a bear, I regained the ground, hav- 

 ing caught but a momentary glimpse of the 

 country, but enough to convince me no lake 

 was near. Leaving all incumbrances here 

 but my gun, I still pressed on, loath to be 

 thus baffled. After floundering through 

 another alder-swamp for nearly half a mile, 

 I flattered myself that I was close on to the 

 lake. I caught sight of a low spur of the 

 mountain sweeping around like a half ex- 

 tended arm, and I fondly imagined that 

 within its clasp was the object of my search. 

 But I found only more alder-swamp. After 

 this region was cleared, the creek began to 

 descend the mountain very rapidly. Its 

 banks became high and narrow, and it went 

 whirling away with a sound that seemed to 



