ngst the rocks, and the
vulture hovered over this abode of desolation. The farm houses, in which
only poverty resided, were formed of logs scarcely keeping off the cold
and drifting snow: out of them the inhabitants seldom peeped, and the
sports or prattling of children was neither seen or heard. The current
of life seemed congealed at the source: all were not frozen, for it was
summer, you remember; but everything appeared so dull that I waited to
see ice, in order to reconcile me to the absence of gaiety.

The day before, my attention had frequently been attracted by the wild
beauties of the country we passed through.

The rocks which tossed their fantastic heads so high were often covered
with pines and firs, varied in the most picturesque manner. Little woods
filled up the recesses when forests did not darken the scene, and valleys
and glens, cleared of the trees, displayed a dazzling verdure which
contrasted with the gloom of the shading pines. The eye stole into many
a covert where tranquillity seemed to have taken up her abode, and the
number of little lakes that continually presented themselves added to the
peaceful composure of the scenery. The little cultivation which appeared
did not break the enchantment, nor did castles rear their turrets aloft
to crush the cottages, and prove that man is more savage than the natives
of the woods. I heard of the bears but never saw them stalk forth, which
I was sorry for; I wished to have seen one in its wild state. In the
winter, I am told, they sometimes catch a stray cow, which is a heavy
loss to the owner.

The farms are small. Indeed most of the houses we saw on the road
indicated poverty, or rather that the people could just live. Towards
the frontiers they grew worse and worse in their appearance, as if not
willing to put sterility itself out of countenance. No gardens smiled
round the habitations, not a potato or cabbage to eat with the fish
drying on a stick near the door. A little grain here and there appeared,
the long stalks of which you might almost reckon. The day was gloomy
when we passed over this rejected spot, the wind bleak, and winter seemed
to be contending with nature, faintly struggling to change the season.
Surely, thought I, if the sun ever shines here it cannot warm these
stones; moss only cleaves to them, partaking of their hardness, and
nothing like vegetable life appears to cheer with hope the heart.

So far from thinking that the