The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 10, No. 61, November, 1862. Various
Чтение книги онлайн.

Читать онлайн книгу The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 10, No. 61, November, 1862 - Various страница 10

Название: The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 10, No. 61, November, 1862

Автор: Various

Издательство: Public Domain

Жанр: Журналы

Серия:

isbn:

isbn:

СКАЧАТЬ his scalp undistinguishable from the green of his beard of forest. Every mile, however, as we slid drowsily over the hot lake, proved more and more that we were not befooled,—Iglesias by memory, and I by anticipation. Katahdin lost nothing by approach, as some of the grandees do: as it grew bigger, it grew better.

      Twenty miles, or so, of Chesuncook, of sun-cooked Chesuncook, we traversed by the aid of our blanket-sail, pleasantly wafted by the unboisterous breeze. Undrowned, unducked, as safe from the perils of the broad lake as we had come out of the defiles of the rapids, we landed at the carry below the dam at the lake's outlet.

      The skin of many a slaughtered varmint was nailed on its shingle, and the landing-place was carpeted with the fur. Doughnuts, ex-barkeepers, and civilization at one end of the lake, and here were muskrat-skins, trappers, and the primeval. Two hunters of moose, in default of their fern-horned, blubber-lipped game, had condescended to muskrat, and were making the lower end of Chesuncook fragrant with muskiness.

      It is surprising how hospitable and comrade a creature is man. The trappers of muskrats were charmingly brotherly. They guided us across the carry; they would not hear of our being porters. "Pluck the superabundant huckleberry," said they, "while we, suspending your firkin and your traps upon the setting-pole, tote them, as the spies of Joshua toted the grape-clusters of the Promised Land."

      Cancut, for his share, carried the canoe. He wore it upon his head and shoulders. Tough work he found it, toiling through the underwood, and poking his way like an elongated and mobile mushroom through the thick shrubbery. Ever and anon, as Iglesias and I paused, we would be aware of the canoe thrusting itself above our heads in the covert, and a voice would come from an unseen head under its shell,—"It's soul-breaking, carrying is!"

      The portage was short. We emerged from the birchen grove upon the river, below a brilliant cascading rapid. The water came flashing gloriously forward, a far other element than the tame, flat stuff we had drifted slowly over all the dullish hours. Water on the go is nobler than water on the stand; recklessness may be as fatal as stagnation, but it is more heroic.

      Presently, over the edge, where the foam and spray were springing up into sunshine, our canoe suddenly appeared, and had hardly appeared, when, as if by one leap, it had passed the rapid, and was gliding in the stiller current at our feet. One of the muskrateers had relieved Cancut of his head-piece, and shot the lower rush of water. We again embarked, and, guided by the trappers in their own canoe, paddled out upon Lake Pepogenus.

      LOUIS LEBEAU'S CONVERSION

      Yesterday, while I moved with the languid crowd on the Riva,

      Musing with idle eyes on the wide lagoons and the islands,

      And on the dim-seen seaward glimmering sails in the distance,

      Where the azure haze, like a vision of Indian-Summer,

      Haunted the dreamy sky of the soft Venetian December,—

      While I moved unwilled in the mellow warmth of the weather,

      Breathing air that was full of Old-World sadness and beauty,

      Into my thought came this story of free, wild life in Ohio,

      When the land was new, and yet by the Beautiful River

      Dwelt the pioneers and Indian hunters and boatmen.

      Pealed from the campanile, responding from island to island,

      Bells of that ancient faith whose incense and solemn devotions

      Rise from a hundred shrines in the broken heart of the city;

      But in my reverie heard I only the passionate voices

      Of the people that sang in the virgin heart of the forest.

      Autumn was in the land, and the trees were golden and crimson,

      And from the luminous boughs of the over-elms and the maples

      Tender and beautiful fell the light in the worshippers' faces,

      Softer than lights that stream through the saints on the windows of

      churches,

      While the balsamy breath of the hemlocks and pines by the river

      Stole on the winds through the woodland aisles like the breath of a

      censer.

      Loud the people sang old camp-meeting anthems that quaver

      Quaintly yet from lips forgetful of lips that have kissed them:

      Loud they sang the songs of the Sacrifice and Atonement,

      And of the end of the world, and the infinite terrors of Judgment;

      Songs of ineffable sorrow, and wailing compassionate warning

      For the generations that hardened their hearts to their Saviour;

      Songs of exultant rapture for them that confessed Him and followed,

      Bearing His burden and yoke, enduring and entering with Him

      Into the rest of His saints, and the endless reward of the blessed.

      Loud the people sang: but through the sound of their singing

      Brake inarticulate cries and moans and sobs from the mourners,

      As the glory of God, that smote the apostle of Tarsus,

      Smote them and strewed them to earth like leaves in the breath of the

      whirlwind.

      Hushed at last was the sound of the lamentation and singing;

      But from the distant hill the throbbing drum of the pheasant

      Shook with its heavy pulses the depths of the listening silence,

      When from his place arose a white-haired exhorter and faltered:

      "Brethren and sisters in Jesus! the Lord hath heard our petitions,

      And the hearts of His servants are awed and melted within them,—

      Even the hearts of the wicked are touched by His infinite mercy.

      All my days in this vale of tears the Lord hath been with me,

      He hath been good to me, He hath granted me trials and patience;

      But this hour hath crowned my knowledge of Him and His goodness.

      Truly, but that it is well this day for me to be with you,

      Now might I say to the Lord,—'I know Thee, my God, in all fulness;

      Now let Thy servant depart in peace to the rest Thou hast promised!'"

      Faltered and ceased. And now the wild and jubilant music

      Of the singing burst from the solemn profound of the silence,

      Surged in triumph and fell, and ebbed again into silence.

      Then from the group of the preachers arose the greatest among them,—

      He whose days were given in youth to the praise of the Saviour,—

      He whose lips seemed touched like the prophet's of old from the altar,

      So that his words were flame, and burned to the hearts of his hearers,

      Quickening the dead among them, reviving the cold and the doubting.

      There he charged them pray, and rest not from prayer while a sinner

      In the sound of their voices denied the Friend of the sinner:

      "Pray till the night shall fall,—till the stars are faint in the

      morning,—

      Yea, till the sun himself be faint in that glory and brightness,

      In that light which shall dawn in mercy for penitent sinners."

      Kneeling, he led them in prayer, and the quick and sobbing responses

      Spake how their souls were moved with СКАЧАТЬ