voice of the thunder
came rolling over the forest, and we could see the storm rising over
the hills, in a long black line, all across the Western sky. The
lightning darted down towards the earth, or across from cloud to
cloud, and the thunder boomed and rolled along the heavens, its deep
rumble shaking the ground like an earthquake. Presently, the hills
were hidden from our view, we heard the rush of the storm in the
forest on the other side of the river, then the splash of the big
drops on the water, and then the wind and the rain were upon us. For a
few minutes, I thought our tents would have been lifted bodily from
the ground, but the skill of our pioneer had provided against the
blast, and they remained standing safely over us. In a short time the
wind passed on, leaving the heavy rain to pour down in torrents, and
the deep voiced thunder to come crashing down to the earth, or go
rolling solemnly and heavily along the sky. It rained for an hour as
it can do only among these mountain regions. The clouds and the rain
at length swept on, and the bow of promise spanned the rear of the
retiring storm; a new joy seemed to take possession of the wild
things, and gladness and merriment sounded from every direction in the
old woods; a thin and shadowy mist hung like a veil over the water,
and a refreshing coolness, as well as brightness and glory, were all
around us. These storms of a hot summer day in this high region, if
one is prepared for them, are full of pleasant interest; they rise so
majestically, sweep along with such power, and pass away so
triumphantly, leaving behind them such a calm sweetness in the air,
that a journey to this wilderness would be imperfect in interest
without witnessing them.

We entered Little Tripper's Lake towards evening, at the north end,
and looking down south, one of the most beautiful views imaginable
opened upon our vision. Surrounded by low and undulating hills, dotted
with islands, with long points running far out into the lake, and
pleasant little bays hiding around behind wooded promontories, it
presented a wild yet pleasing landscape, on which a painter's eye
could not rest but with delight, and which, transferred to canvas,
would make a picture of which any artist might be proud.

By the way, I wonder that our artists do not summer among these
mountains and lakes, sketching and painting the transcendently
beautiful views they everywhere present. There is nothing like them on
a