atural order and
continuity, and introducing them abruptly, an abruptness illustrated by
the remark of "Old Man Hoskins" (which Phelps liked to quote), when one
day he suddenly slipped down a bank into a thicket, and seated himself
in a wasps' nest: "I hain't no business here; but here I be!"

The first time we went into camp on the Upper Au Sable Pond, which has
been justly celebrated as the most prettily set sheet of water in the
region, we were disposed to build our shanty on the south side, so that
we could have in full view the Gothics and that loveliest of mountain
contours. To our surprise, Old Phelps, whose sentimental weakness for
these mountains we knew, opposed this. His favorite camping ground was
on the north side,--a pretty site in itself, but with no special view.
In order to enjoy the lovely mountains, we should be obliged to row out
into the lake: we wanted them always before our eyes,--at sunrise and
sunset, and in the blaze of noon. With deliberate speech, as if weighing
our arguments and disposing of them, he replied, "Waal, now, them
Gothics ain't the kinder scenery you want ter hog down!"

It was on quiet Sundays in the woods, or in talks by the camp-fire, that
Phelps came out as the philosopher, and commonly contributed the light
of his observations. Unfortunate marriages, and marriages in general,
were, on one occasion, the subject of discussion; and a good deal of
darkness had been cast on it by various speakers; when Phelps suddenly
piped up, from a log where he had sat silent, almost invisible, in the
shadow and smoke, "Waal, now, when you've said all there is to be said,
marriage is mostly for discipline."

Discipline, certainly, the old man had, in one way or another; and years
of solitary communing in the forest had given him, perhaps, a childlike
insight into spiritual concerns. Whether he had formulated any creed or
what faith he had, I never knew. Keene Valley had a reputation of not
ripening Christians any more successfully than maize, the season there
being short; and on our first visit it was said to contain but one
Bible Christian, though I think an accurate census disclosed three. Old
Phelps, who sometimes made abrupt remarks in trying situations, was not
included in this census; but he was the disciple of supernaturalism in a
most charming form. I have heard of his opening his inmost thoughts to
a lady, one Sunday, after a noble sermon of Robertson's had been read
in the cathedra