We floated quietly down the Rackett, carrying our boats around the falls, shooting like an arrow down the rapids, or gliding3 along under the shadows of the gigantic forest trees that line the long, calm reaches of that beautiful river. We shook hands and parted with our boatmen at the pleasant village of Pottsdam, where we arrived the second evening after leaving Tupper's Lake. We found our baggage, and it was a pleasant thing to change our long beards for shaved faces, and our forest costume for the garniture of the outer man after the fashion of civilization. We took the cars for Ogdensburgh, and the next morning found us steaming up the majestic4 St. Lawrence, towards that paradise of fishermen, the Thousand Islands. We stopped a couple of days at Alexandria Bay, and passed on to Cape Vincent, a beautiful village situated5 a mile or two below where the river takes its departure from the broad lake beyond. This pleasant little town is built upon a wide sweep of tableland, overlooking the river in front, and the open lake on the west. It is accessible both by the lake and river, having two or three arrivals' and departures of steamboats each way daily, and being the terminus of the Rome and Watertown Railroad, the great thoroughfare between Kingston and the central portion of the Tipper Provinces and the States. It is a delightful6 place in the hot summer months, with a climate unequalled for healthfulness, a cool breeze always fanning it from the water, and in the vicinity the best bass fishing to be found on this continent.
Opposite, and just below the town, is Carlton Island, on which stand the ruins of an old French fortification, the walls and trenches7 and the solitary8 chimneys, from which the wooden barracks have rotted or been burned away, remain as melancholy9 testimonials of the bloody10 strifes between the red men of the forest, and the pioneers of civilization who were driving them from the hunting grounds of their fathers.
The black bass of the St. Lawrence and Ontario, are the "gamest" fish that swim, and they are nowhere found in such abundance as in the neighborhood of Cape Vincent. On the outer edge of the bar, near the head of Carlton Island, we caught between seventy and eighty in one afternoon, weighing from three to five pounds each, every one of which fought like a hero, diving with a plunge11 for the bottom, skiving with a rush down, across, or up the river; leaping clear from the water and shaking his head furiously, to throw the hook loose from his jaw12, before surrendering to his fate. In Wilson's Bay, a sweet place, three miles from the village by water, or one and a half by land, we caught as many more on another afternoon. We took a sail-boat and glided13 round Lighthouse Point (a pleasant drive of two miles from the village), out into the lake, and steered14 for Grenadier Island, five miles distant, on which we tented for the night, and the bass we brought home the next day were something worth looking at. Near the upper end of Long Island are other prolific15 bass shoals, where the fisherman may enjoy himself. Indeed, he can scarcely go amiss in the surrounding waters.
The black bass of the St. Lawrence are not only game fish, but are, in excellence16 of flavor, scarcely excelled by any fish of this country. Baked or boiled, they have few superiors, and as a pan fish, are excelled only by the brook-trout of the streams. The season for taking them commences in July; and continues through September. August is the best month in the year for the bass fishermen. If, during that month, he will supply himself with a strong bass-pole, a strong treble-action reel, stout17 silk lines, and proper hooks, and visit Gape18 Vincent, he will find boatmen with a supply of minnows, ready to serve him; and if he fails to enjoy himself for a fortnight among the black bass of the St Lawrence and Ontario, he may count himself as a man who is very hard to please.
We spent a pleasant week at Cape Vincent, and then turned our faces homeward, invigorated in strength and buoyant in spirits, to begin again a round of toil19, from which we, at least, could claim no further exemption20.
"H——," said a friend of mine, as he stalked into my sanctum, a few days after my return, and seated himself at my elbow, as if for a private and confidential21 talk, "did Smith really shoot the bear, the skin of which he brought home, and which he exhibits with such triumph. Tell me, honestly, as between you and me, did he in fact shoot him?"
"Smith certainly did shoot that bear," I replied.
"But is the marvellous story he tells about the manner of killing22 him really true?"
"That, of course, I cannot tell," I replied, "as I have never heard the story."
"Why," said my friend, "he tells about a beautiful lake, lying away back in the northern wilderness23, above which Mount Marcy, and Mount Seward, and other nameless peaks of the Adirondacks, rear their tall heads to the clouds, throwing back the sunlight in a blaze of glory; on which the moonbeams lie like a mantle24 of silver, while away down in its fathomless25 depths the stars glow and sparkle, like the sheen of a million of diamonds. Of the old forests and trees of fabulous26 growth, stretching away and away on every hand, throwing their sombre shadows far out over the water, in whose tangled27 recesses28 countless29 deer and moose, and panthers, and bears range, and among whose branches birds of unknown melody carol. That one side of this beautiful lake is palisadoed by a wall of rocks, stand straight up sixty feet high, near the top of which is a shelf or narrow pathway, along which two men can scarcely walk abreast30. That he was passing along this pathway one afternoon, examining the rocks, and looking for geological specimens31. Below him was a precipice32 of fifty feet, against the base of which the waves, when the winds swept over the lake, dashed. Around him the birds that build their nests in the crevices33 of the rock were whirling and screaming, while before him lay the beautiful lake, motionless and calm, as if it had fallen asleep and was slumbering34 sweetly in its forest bed. That he was passing leisurely35 along with his rifle at a trail, admiring the transcendent loveliness of the scenery around him, where the rugged36 and the sublime37, the placid38 and the beautiful, were so magnificently mingled39, when, in turning a sharp angle, a huge bear"
"Copy!" shouted the printer's devil, as he came plunging40 down three steps at a bound from the compositors' room above. "Copy!" he screamed, as he dove into the outer office where that article was usually kept, but found none.
"Mr. H.," said he, as he opened my door so gently, with a voice so quiet, and a look so innocent, that one might well be excused for believing that he had never spoken a loud word in his life, "Mr. H——, the foreman desired me to ask you for some copy."
"You see, my friend," said I to the anxious inquirer after truth, "that I am exceedingly busy just now. You will excuse me, therefore, for referring you to the Doctor and Spalding, who know all about the matter. Good day." And my friend departed without finishing the story Smith told him about his killing the bear. I have never heard the balance of that story yet.
And now, Reader, a word to you, and I have done. When the sun comes up over the city, day after day, pouring his burning rays along the glimmering41 streets, shining on and on in a changeless glare, till he hides himself in the darkness again; when your strength wilts42 under the enervating43 influences of the summer heats, and you pant for the forest breezes and the "cooling streams," remember that the same wild region I have been describing, the same pleasant rivers, beautiful lakes, tall mountains, and primeval forests are there still, all inviting44 you to test their recuperative agencies. The same singing birds, the fishes and the game are there waiting your pleasure. Visit them when the summer heat makes the cities a desolation. Give a month to the enjoyment45 of a wilderness-life, and you will return to your labors46 invigorated in strength, buoyant in spirit—a wiser, healthier, and a better man.
FINIS.
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收听单词发音
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1
cape
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| n.海角，岬；披肩，短披风 | |
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bass
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| n.男低音(歌手)；低音乐器；低音大提琴 | |
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gliding
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| v. 滑翔 adj. 滑动的 | |
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majestic
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| adj.雄伟的，壮丽的，庄严的，威严的，崇高的 | |
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situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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trenches
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| 深沟，地沟( trench的名词复数 )； 战壕 | |
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solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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glided
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| v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
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steered
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| v.驾驶( steer的过去式和过去分词 )；操纵；控制；引导 | |
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prolific
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| adj.丰富的，大量的；多产的，富有创造力的 | |
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excellence
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| n.优秀，杰出，(pl.)优点，美德 | |
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gape
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| v.张口，打呵欠，目瞪口呆地凝视 | |
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toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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exemption
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| n.豁免，免税额，免除 | |
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confidential
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| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
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killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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mantle
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| n.斗篷，覆罩之物，罩子；v.罩住，覆盖，脸红 | |
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fathomless
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| a.深不可测的 | |
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fabulous
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| adj.极好的；极为巨大的；寓言中的，传说中的 | |
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tangled
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| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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recesses
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| n.壁凹( recess的名词复数 )；（工作或业务活动的）中止或暂停期间；学校的课间休息；某物内部的凹形空间v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的第三人称单数 )；将（墙）做成凹形，在（墙）上做壁龛；休息，休会，休庭 | |
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countless
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| adj.无数的，多得不计其数的 | |
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abreast
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| adv.并排地；跟上(时代)的步伐，与…并进地 | |
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specimens
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| n.样品( specimen的名词复数 )；范例；（化验的）抽样；某种类型的人 | |
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precipice
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| n.悬崖，危急的处境 | |
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crevices
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| n.（尤指岩石的）裂缝，缺口( crevice的名词复数 ) | |
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slumbering
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| 微睡，睡眠（slumber的现在分词形式） | |
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leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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rugged
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| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
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sublime
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| adj.崇高的，伟大的；极度的，不顾后果的 | |
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placid
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| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
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mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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plunging
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| adj.跳进的，突进的v.颠簸( plunge的现在分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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glimmering
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| n.微光，隐约的一瞥adj.薄弱地发光的v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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wilts
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| （使）凋谢，枯萎( wilt的第三人称单数 ) | |
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enervating
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| v.使衰弱，使失去活力( enervate的现在分词 ) | |
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inviting
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| adj.诱人的，引人注目的 | |
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enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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labors
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| v.努力争取(for)( labor的第三人称单数 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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