supposed, of the Lake. As it rose and came more into sight, he already
began to wonder what reception he should meet with from the inhabitants,
and whether he should find them as hard of heart as the people he had
just escaped from. Should he, indeed, venture among them at all? Or
should he remain in the woods till he had observed more of their ways
and manners? These questions were being debated in his mind, when he
perceived that the wind was falling.

As the sun went past the meridian the breeze fell, till, in the hottest
part of the afternoon, and when he judged that he was not more than
eight miles from shore, it sank to the merest zephyr, and the waves by
degrees diminished. So faint became the breeze in half-an-hour's time,
and so intermittent, that he found it patience wasted even to hold the
rudder-paddle. The sail hung and was no longer bellied out; as the idle
waves rolled under, it flapped against the mast. The heat was now so
intolerable, the light reflected from the water increasing the
sensation, that he was obliged to make himself some shelter by partly
lowering the sail, and hauling the yard athwart the vessel, so that the
canvas acted as an awning. Gradually the waves declined in volume, and
the gentle breathing of the wind ebbed away, till at last the surface
was almost still, and he could feel no perceptible air stirring.

Weary of sitting in the narrow boat, he stood up, but he could not
stretch himself sufficiently for the change to be of much use. The long
summer day, previously so pleasant, now appeared scarcely endurable.
Upon the silent water the time lingered, for there was nothing to mark
its advance, not so much as a shadow beyond that of his own boat. The
waves having now no crest, went under the canoe without chafing against
it, or rebounding, so that they were noiseless. No fishes rose to the
surface. There was nothing living near, except a blue butterfly, which
settled on the mast, having ventured thus far from land. The vastness of
the sky, over-arching the broad water, the sun, and the motionless
filaments of cloud, gave no repose for his gaze, for they were seemingly
still. To the weary gaze motion is repose; the waving boughs, the
foam-tipped waves, afford positive rest to look at. Such intense
stillness as this of the summer sky was oppressive; it was like living
in space itself, in the ether above. He welcomed at last the gradual
downward direction of the sun, for, as the heat de