A BED OF BOUGHS. 179 



rise to. Then there is sonrething much more wild 

 and merciless, much more remote from human inter- 

 ests and ends, in our long, high, wooded ranges than 

 is expressed by the peaks and scarred groups of the 

 lake country of Britain. These mountains we be- 

 hold and cross are not picturesque, they are wild 

 and inhuman as the sea. In them you are in a maze, 

 in a weltering world of woods ; you can see neither 

 the earth nor the sky, but a confusion of the growth 

 and decay of centuries, and must traverse them by 

 your compass or your science of wood-craft, a rift 

 through the trees giving one a glimpse of the oppo- 

 site range or of the valley beneath, and he is more at 

 sea than ever ; one does not know his own farm or 

 settlement when framed in these mountain tree-tops ; 

 all look alike unfamiliar." 



Not the least of the charm of camping out is your 

 camp-fire at night. What an artist ! What pictures 

 are boldly thrown or faintly outlined upon the can- 

 vas of the night! Every object, every . attitude of 

 your companion is striking and memorable. You 

 see effects and groups every moment that you would 

 give money to be able to carry away with you in en- 

 during form. How the shadows leap, and skulk, and 

 hover about ! Light and darkness are in perpetual 

 tilt and warfare, with first the one unhorsed, then 

 the other. The friendly and cheering fire, what ac- 

 quaintance we make with it ! We had almost for- 

 gotten there was such an element, we had so long 

 known only its dark offspring, heat. Now we see 



