At  all  events,  we  enjoyed  the  venison,  though  perhaps
the  sentimentalist  might  say  we  were  punished  in  the
end,  for  it  made  us  all  outrageously  sick.  We  either
cooked  it  too  soon,  (for  in  twenty  minutes  from  the
time  the  deer  fell,  a  part  of  her  was  roasting ;)  or  we
ate  it  too  rare,  (for  we  were  too  hungry  to  wait  till  it
was  perfectly  done  ;)  or  we  ate  too  much,  (for  we  were
hungry  as  famished  wolves  ;)  or  probably  did  all  three
things  together,  which  quite  upset  me.
But  after  the  things  (i.  e.  the  chips)  were  cleared
away,  I  stretched  myself  on  the  ground  under  a  tree
whose  dark  trunk  shone  in  the  light  of  the  cheerful
fire,  and  began  to  muse  on  the  day  that  had  past.
How  is  it  that  a  scene  of  quiet  beauty  makes  so  much
deeper  an  impression  than  a  startling  one  ?  The
glorious  sunset  I  had  witnessed  on  that  sweet  lake —
the  curving  and  forest-mantled  shores — the  gTeen
islands — the  mellow  mountains,  all  combined  to  make
a  scene  of  surpassing  loveliness  :  and  now  as  I  lay  and
watched  the  btars  coming  out  one  after  another,  and
twinkling  down  on  me  through  the  tree-tops,  all  that


182  THK    ADIRONDACK.
beauty  came  Sack  on  me  with  strange  power.  The
gloomy  gorge  and  savage  precipice,  or  the  sudden
storm,  seem  to  excite  the  surface  only  of  one's  feelings,
while  the  sweet  vale,  with  its  cottages  and  herds  and
evening  bells,  blends  itself  in  with  our  very  thoughts
and  emotions,  forming  a  part  of  our  after  existence.
