218 CRANBERRY LAKE. — THE OSWEGATCHEE. 



Horses and men were tired, the dinner of trout and Venison 

 was bountiful and good, — and there was something so deli- 

 cious in the air and scenerj^ of this forest-flanked, mountain- 

 girt and nearly deserted little hamlet, once bus}^ and noisy 

 with the industry of converting the rich ore of this region 

 into iron, — the way to the lake through the dark woods 

 was long and rough, — indeed, there was no help for it, 

 much as we regretted the delay, and we concluded to remain 

 over night, and finish the coming fourteen miles of our 

 journey in the cool, earh' morning. 



Something of the day, and its most comfortable por- 

 tion, was left to us; and we enjoyed and emploj^ed a 

 part of it in strolling about the deserted iron works, and 

 inspecting the large buildings filled with slowly decay- 

 ing charcoal, the heaps of valuable ore, the disjecta membra 

 of heavy and costly machinery, and the falls, on the very 

 brink of which the dam for tlie iron works had been erected. 

 Here was another of those wrecks of great business enter- 

 prises where "somebody blundered,'' — the blunder in this 

 case being in forgetting the cost o'' transporting a ton of 

 iron over a crazy, wooden rail-waj^ out to civilization. 

 The iron is there in al)uudance and of excellent quality, 

 w^ood is plenty enough for charcoal to reduce the ore, — but 

 the ruin of the " Clinton Iron Works" tells the rest. 



Having all dulj^ philosophized, and lamented the folly of 

 this enterprise, our thoughts turned to more cheerful 

 themes. The Captain lighted his seveuteenthl}^ cigar, 

 jointed his rod, and, — followed by us, admiring disciples 

 of the piscatory art as practised well nigh to perfection by 



