196 THE ADIRONDACK. 



a dead-march, and is fearful as the echo of bursting 

 billows along the arches of a cavern. The shrill 

 scream of a panther in the midst of an impenetrable 

 swamp, rising in the intervals of thunder claps — the 

 loner, discordant howl of a herd of wolves at midnight, 



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slowly traveling along the slope of a high mountain, 

 you may call strange music ; yet there are certain 

 chords in the heart of man, that quiver to it, espe- 

 cially when he feels there is no cause of alarm. The 

 lowing of a moose, echoing miles away in the gorges 

 — the solitary cry of the loon in some deep bay — the 

 solemn hoot of the owl, the only lullaby that cradles 

 you to sleep, all have their charms, and stir you at 

 times like the blast of a bugle. So the scream of 

 the eagle, and cry of the fish-hawk, as they sweep in 

 measured circles over the still bosom of a lake after 

 their prey, or the low, half suppressed croak of the 

 raven — his black form like some messenger of death, 

 slowly swinging from one mountain to another — are 



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sights and sounds that arrest and chain you. Yet 

 tli "so are not all — the ear grows sensitive when you 

 feel that everything about you treads stealthily ; and 

 the slightest noise will sometimes startle von like the 

 unexpected crack of a rifle. 



