184 BIRCH BROWSINGS. 



Though familiar all my life with the outskirts of 

 this region, I have only twice dipped into its wilder 

 portions. Once in 1860 a friend and myself traced 

 the Beaver Kill to its source, and encamped by Bal- 

 sam Lake. A cold and protracted rain-storm coming 

 on, we were obliged to leave the woods before we 

 were ready. Neither of us will soon forget that 

 tramp by an unknown route over the mountains, en- 

 cumbered as we were with a hundred and one super- 

 fluities which we had foolishly brought along to solace 

 ourselves with in the woods ; nor that halt on the 

 summit, where we cooked and ate our fish in a driz- 

 zling rain ; nor, again, that rude log-house, with its 

 sweet hospitality, which we reached just at nighfall 

 on Mill Brook. 



In 1868 a party of three of us set out for a brief 

 trouting excursion, to a body of water called Thomas's 

 Lake, situated in the same chain of mountains. On 

 this excursion, more particularly than on any other 

 I have ever undertaken, I was taught how poor an 

 Indian I should make, and what a ridiculous figure a 

 party of men may cut in the woods when the way is 

 uncertain and the mountains high. 



We left our team at a farm-house near the head of 

 the Mill Brook, one June afternoon, and with knap- 

 sacks on our shoulders struck into the woods at the 

 base of the mountain, hoping to cross the range that 

 intervened between us and the lake by sunset. We 

 engaged a good-natured, but rather indolent young 

 man, who happened to be stopping at the house, and 



