A BED OF BOUGHS. 179 



rise to. Then there is something 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 



