remain unchanged. But this will not be so long. Civilization is
pushing its way even towards this wild and, for all agricultural
purposes, sterile region, and before many years even the Rackett will
be within its ever-extending circle. When that time shall have
arrived, where shall we go to find the woods, the wild things, the old
forests, and hear the sounds which belong to nature in its primeval
state? Whither shall we flee from civilization, to take off the
harness and be free, for a season, from the restraints, the
conventionalities of society, and rest from the hard struggles, the
cares and toils, the strifes and competitions of life? Had I my way, I
would mark out a circle of a hundred miles in diameter, and throw
around it the protecting aegis of the constitution. I would make it a
forest forever. It should be a misdemeanor to chop down a tree, and a
felony to clear an acre within its boundaries. The old woods should
stand here always as God made them, growing on until the earthworm ate
away their roots, and the strong winds hurled them to the ground, and
new woods should be permitted to supply the place of the old so long
as the earth remained. There is room enough for civilization in
regions better fitted for it. It has no business among these
mountains, these rivers and lakes, these gigantic boulders, these
tangled valleys and dark mountain gorges. Let it go where labor will
garner a richer harvest, and industry reap a better reward for its
toil. It will be of stinted growth at best here.

"I like these old woods," said a gentleman, whom I met on the Rackett
last year; "I like them, because one can do here just what he pleases.
He can wear a shirt a week, have holes in his pantaloons, and be out
at elbows, go with his boots unblacked, drink whisky in the raw, chew
plug tobacco, and smoke a black pipe, and not lose his position in
society. Now," continued he, "tho' I don't choose to do any of these