118 LOCUSTS AND WILD HONEY 



shelter over us but the trees, and it was in many 

 respects the pleasantest night we spent in the woods. 

 The weather was perfect and the place was perfect, 

 and for the first time we were exempt from the 

 midges and smoke; and then we appreciated the 

 clean new page we had to work on. Nothing is so 

 acceptable to the camper-out as a pure article in the 

 way of woods and waters. Any admixture of human 

 relics mars the spirit of the scene. Yet I am will- 

 ing to confess that, before we were through those 

 woods, the marks of an axe in a tree was a welcome 

 sight. On resuming our march next day we followed 

 the right bank of the Beaverkill, in order to strike 

 a stream which flowed in from the north, and which 

 was the outlet of Balsam Lake, the objective point 

 of that day's march. The distance to the lake from 

 our camp could not have been over six or seven 

 miles; yet, traveling as we did, without path or 

 guide, climbing up banks, plunging into ravines, 

 making detours around swampy places, and forcing 

 our way through woods choked up with much fallen 

 and decayed timber, it seemed at least twice that 

 distance, and the mid-afternoon sun was shining 

 when we emerged into what is called the "Quaker 

 Clearing," ground that I had been over nine years 

 before, and that lies about two miles south of the 

 lake. From this point we had a well-worn path 

 that led us up a sharp rise of ground, then through 

 level woods till we saw the bright gleam of the water 

 through the trees. 



I am always struck, on approaching these little 



