With sentiments of great respect,
I remain your friend and servant,
THE AUTHOR.
INTRODUCTORY.
There is a broad sweep of country lying between the St. Lawrence and
Lake Champlain, which civilization with its improvements and its rush
of progress has not yet invaded. It is mountainous, rocky, and for all
agricultural purposes sterile and unproductive. It is covered with
dense forests, and inhabited by the same wild things, save the red man
alone, that were there thousands of years ago. It abounds in the most
beautiful lakes that the sun or the stars ever shone upon. I have
stood upon the immense boulder that forms the head or summit of
Baldface Mountain, a lofty, isolated peak, looming thousands of feet
towards the sky, and counted upwards of twenty of these beautiful
lakes--sleeping in quiet beauty in their forest beds, surrounded
by primeval woods, overlooked by rugged hills, and their placid waters
glowing in the sunlight.
It is a high region, from which numerous rivers take their rise to
wander away through gorges and narrow valleys, sometimes rushing down
rapids, plunging over precipices, or moving in deep sluggish currents,
some to Ontario, some to the St. Lawrence, some to Champlain, and some
to seek the ocean, through the valley of the Hudson. The air of this
mountain region in the summer is of the purest, loaded always with the
freshness and the pleasant odors of the forest.
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