PAUL SMITH S. I23 



the sharp crack of a dry stick under the wheels of our 

 wagon appeared a rude invasion of the domain of quiet. 



The horses were pretty well used up. It was then 

 fifty-five miles from Port Kent to Paul Smith's, according 

 to the most approved authorities, and this is a hard day's 

 work for horses not used to the road. They lounged idly 

 down the wood-road through which we were now passing, 

 but soon pricked up their ears as they saw through the 

 trees the gleam of a barn, and then put on the old speed, 

 for a little, to bring us up to the door of Paul Smith's 

 house on Follansbee Pond. 



Our welcome was warm and hearty. Paul Smith's 

 name is not Paul, but Apollos A. Smith, and the other 

 name is a way of pronouncing it short. I have used it 

 because he is best known by it. It was then about two 

 years since he first broke the ground on the bank of this 

 lake to build the house he occupies. It was up to that 

 time a wild spot, as it still is. Selecting, with good taste 

 and judgment, a wooded bank where tall pines stretch a 

 hundred feet above the shore, he had hewn away only so 

 many as were in the way of his building, and left the rest 

 standing in primeval grandeur around the house. The 

 scene was therefore one of rare beauty — one to be 

 dreamed of, but seldom to be seen. The pond, which is 

 one of the St. Regis chain or series, is about three miles 

 long, and three quarters of a mile broad. They call it 

 now the Lower St. Regis. The upper end of the pond 

 connects by a narrow river (on nearly the same level) 

 with the Spitfire Pond, and this by a short stream with 

 St. Regis Lake, over which the St. Regis hill stands up, 

 the highest hill among the lakes (for the Adirondack 

 hills are off to the south of us). From the front piazza 

 of Smith's we can see the sides and summit of the St. 



