Is it asked _where_ we are? I answer, we are on the Lower Saranac
Lake, just on the south point, at the entrance of the romantic little
bay, at the head of which stands Martin's Lake House, the only human
dwelling in sight of this beautiful sheet of water. On the point where
we now are, long ago, was the log shanty of a hunter and fisherman,
surrounded by an acre or two of cleared land. But its occupant moved
deeper into the wilderness, over on the waters of the Rackett, many
years since; the log shanty has rotted away, and a vigorous growth of
brush and small timber, now covers what once may have been called
a field.

But the night shadows are beginning to gather over the forest,
throwing a sort of spectral gloom among the old woods, giving a
distorted look to the trunks of the trees, the low bushes, the turned
up roots, and the boulders scattered over the ground. See what ogre
shapes these things assume as the darkness deepens. Look at that cedar
bush, with its dense foliage! It is a crouching lion, and as its
branches wave in the gentle breeze, he seems preparing for his leap;
and yonder boulder is a huge elephant! The root that comes out from
the crevice is his trunk, and the moss and lichens which hang down on
either side are his pendant ears; and see, he has a great tower on his
back, wherein is seated a warrior in his ancient armor, grasping
battle-axe and spear. Beyond, through that opening upon the bay, is a
castle looming darkly against the sky, with massive towers and
arched gateway. Such are the forms which fancy gives to these forest
things, in the doubtful twilight of a summer evening. While we have
been looking upon these unsubstantial shadows, the sunlight has left
the mountain peaks, the stars have come out in the sky, and the moon
has started on her course across the heavens.