The Portland daily press., 1878-08-31

BY ADAM NEWBEGN.
My Island friends think I have not done full
justice to the attractions of camping life. and
I am fully aware that comfort is relative,
and depends upon many varying conditions
of mind, of temperament and of magma
ton. 1t Is pleasant to think that, in this
world where SO very few OF the countless
inhabitants possess wealth, luxury is no more
within the reach of the opulent than of the
poor, since the former may be closely packed
in uncomfortable quarters at Mount Desert,
grumbling at illy-cooked food, while the lat
ter may be perfectly happy in camp on the
Islands OF Casco Bay, cooking their own
food as they prefer it, living as economically
as at home, and enjoying more of the free
blessings of heaven, pure air, sunshine and
sea-bathing, than the others at the crowded
and expensive summer resorts.
The liking for the seashore is growing rap
idly upon our people, and far back in the in
terror they are catching the fever and secur-
Ing summer cottages by the sea. It is not
surprising, for as compensation for our
bleak winters we have summers which can
be equalled nowhere else under the sun.
Professor Hilgard, who has worked on the
Coast Survey from the Gulf of Mexico to
Quoddy Head, remarked that when he struck
the coast of Maine with its rocky shores and
Its fir forests with their pointed outlines, he
felt that 1t was the most romantic and beau
tiful part of the American shores and yachts
men seem to agree with him, for their cruis-
ing is almost always in this direction. But
pleasant as is cottage life, by the seashore,
tenting is still more agreeable for those who
are born with an instructive love for it, as it
brings them nearer to nature. This taste is
not purely Of Anglo.Saxon growth. The
romances Of the middle ages, in describing
the pastoral scenes where gentlemen and
ladies played at tending sheep and writing
verses, drew from nature, and Ceryantes
describes such a party, as living mi tents in
Spain, two centuries ago, very much in our
modern fashion. Perhaps it comes down to
to US from our Aryan ancestors.
To sit under a shade tent in hot Sunday
summer morning, on breezy hillside, with
the grass waving all around, the yellow bum
ble-bee humming about the thistle, and the
balmy winds bringing sweet odors from fern,
bayberry and sweetbriar, while you watch
the sailboats 60 quietly sailing past, is
realization of entire rest and leisure. IAN
occasional row-boat steals along in the dis
lance, but the toll of the rowers is scarcely
perceptible; the vessels coming in from sea
move with such a stately, gentle grace, that
they seem like a part of picture, and only
the putting little pleasure steamers remind
one Of busy life. To the westward lies the
city, hot and sultry, but the rumbling
trains are still, the shrieking locomotive is
silent, and no sign of life appears but the
sound of Sabbath bells which comes floating
down upon the breeze. The two deserted
forts, Georges and Scanned, add to the inn
preston of peacefulness and quiet, seeming
to say that war shall be no more, and even
Fort Preble shows no evidence of occupation
except its starry flag floating in the breeze,
and an occasional bugle call. Over the re-
mote headlands Of the Cape, hangs warm,
gray haze, slightly tinged with pink, through
which the lighthouses show dimly against
the horizon. While we lament that the
islands. and the nearer Cape shore have been
SO denuded Of forest, it is gratifying to see
that SO much still Aremains, land Cushing's
Island, with its crest of heavy evergreen is
the finest point in the picture.
at high water, the bathers, men, women
and children, In all sorts of picturesque cos.
TUNES, go tripping down from the tents to
the beach, and presently come dripping back,
not SO picturesque, but advertising in every
outline that they have got what they
went for. Then presently we find them
swinging in hammocks and lying in the
shade taking siesta, while the little children
wander about, some at the beach gathering
fotsam and jetsam, others in the field pick
ing thistledown and golden rod. These
children find endless nothings to busy them
selves about, and work from morning till
night at their play, and when the sun is
down they ask to be put to bed and not to be
walked again for week; but the next morn
ing sun finds them up and at it again as hard
as ever. II the fashion of tenting goes out
with the coming years, will they have any
recollections of childhood so delightful as
these summers at the Islands? What do we
recall of our own childhood with the most
delighte Is it not the picnics to Diamond
Cove and Clapboard Island, or the chowders
at White Head? For them this is a sort of
gloriied picnic lasting the whole summer
vacation.
Weekday presents buster scene in the
harbor, more coming and going of steamers,
more vessels sailing in and out, and turmoil
OF trains up at the city, but camp life is much
the same. A serene quiet possesses the souls
OF the campers. Brief episodes of cooking,
eating, washing dishes, and of bathing, only
interrupt, but do not break up their dream
ing. The arrival of visitors seems to be the
only thing which will stir them into activity.
when the divine instincts of hospitality as
sert themselves. 1t is a nice thing to visit
your friends in camp and see their faces light
up with welcome, that is, unless the basket
failed to arrive by the night boat and the lar
der be empty. A safe way is to carry some
welcome addition to their stock, or a picnic
lunch, and club it with them. II does no
harm il they are well'stocked, and helps out
amazingly If the cupboard is bare. 1t is a
very pretty sight, too, to sail around to the
various landings on six o'clock boat and see
the reception of your fellow passengers.
Children and wives are at the wharf, to re-
ceive the father on his return from town.
the wife greets the goodman with smile and
takes his arm, his little girl seizes his hand,
while his boy takes his basket, and peeps un-
der the lid to see if he has brought anything
particularly nice. Perhaps he has brought a