14 HILLS AND LAKES. 



in a little craft hewn from, the solid trunk of some 

 gigantic pine, explored its little bays, its secluded 

 inlets canopied by the wide-spreading arms of the 

 trees, and festooned by the wild vines hanging grace- 

 fully from the branches above you. ? Have you 

 listened to the voice of the tiny wave, as it broke in 

 ripples on the white sand at your feet, or the song of 

 the little brook, as it danced over the rocks, to mingle 

 with the pure waters before you ? Have you heard, 

 of a moonlight night, as you floated on its silvery 

 bosom, the song of the whip-poor-will, the solemn hoot- 

 ing of the owl, the deep bass of the frog, the shrill cry 

 of the loon, the call of the wood duck, and the thou- 

 sand other mysterious voices that come up from wood 

 and lake all mingling in the wild harmony of 

 nature's nightly forest hymn? If you have not, 

 throw down your book or your pen, close your pon- 

 derous ledger, cast away your briefs, give care to the 

 dogs, and turn your back upon the glare and heat of 

 the city, its eternal jostlings and monotonous noises, 

 and fly to the deep shadows of the mountains, the 

 forest dells, and the running brooks away from clus- 

 tered houses, beyond the green fields, and rough it for 

 a few weeks in the woods, among the tall trees and 



