The Bennington banner. [volume] (Bennington, Vt.) 1858-1894, 1889-10-17
THE MOHICAN's REvENGE,-A
LEGEND OF LAKE GEORGE.

High on a wooded point OF rock jut-
ting out into Bolton Bay is peTched q
modest summer cottage. Behind IL
stretches the forest primeval Of muir
muring pines and hemlocka. In front
is spread out varied picture Of island,
lake and mountain, which Charles Dud.
ley Warner declars to be unsurpassed on
lake George. In the immediate fore
ground is the gem like Leontine islet,
with its single hermit tent cleaning
white amid the overhanging pines.
Directly over it, but lwo miles distant,
is Green Island, and on il the spacious
Sycamore Hotel, thIonged with gayly
dressed visitors. Beyond IS the mighty
dividing wall OF the Tongue Mountain
range, separating the Lake from the
Great Northwest Bay, while across the
lake, still farther on, looms Black Noun
tain, in all its stern and lonely majesty.
Between these two mountain ranges are
the clustering islanda In the Narrows,
while around them all are poured the
silvery water of the "Holy Lake, which
lies among its guardian hills like a
sparkling eye in the smiling face Of
happy childhood"
The lawn before the cottage slopes
gradually toward the lake until it meets
the edge of miniature Palisades, fifteen
feet in height, over the vertical face Of
which plummet would sink in thirty
feet OF water. At one point q natural
ledge two feet in width inclInes grad
ually to the water along the face of the
cliff, and there alone is the steep wall of
rock accessible. Farther along, the cliff
runs out into a natural break. water, be-
III lob "a aak Wwyh hn
boats are moored.
Moonlight on Lake George Who can
resist it's alluring fasclnatiQn2 We push
into the view" A long line OF Japan
zee lanterns light the piazza, from which
comes the sound Of merry voices and
laughter. From the Lake View Hotel,
across Concord Bay, come to us bright
music and piano accompaniment.
Nov the stiffness is broken by the roll
licking cries Of a band Of college students
camping on Sweetbriar Island, now by
the blast Of horn from the cottage
which reverberates around the sides Of
Bolton Bay until five distinct echoes are
returned. Only a gentle ripple disturbs
the miTror-like surface OF the water, but
still enough TO breake into Q thousand
silver dimples the reflected moonbeams.
We rest on our oars; we watch the dia
mond's drop from the ladies, and listen
TO the gentle tapping Of the waves
against the boat.
AT length the various sounds from the
shore we have left grow gradually dis
tant and confused, until they seem to
be but the low and dreamy aocompani-
ment OF something more distant, more
weird, yet more real. Though but a
stones throw from the rocky point, 1t
seems to have receded into the past until
il is dim and indistinct. We feel as IL
to-day touched yesterday-that far off
yestesday before the white man came to
summer at Lake George and Knocked
the krandeur of natures domes and
arches with his flimsy architecture.
More beautiful then than now, the queen
of lakes rested calmly amid the virgin
forests and almost untrodden mountains.
Not yet had the deadly crack Of the rifle
or the boom Of cannon echoed from crsg
to forest the stern notes Of war. Not
till fifty years latter did the fret white
man look on this historic lake, when
Father Jogues was brought a captive TO
its shores, and called It st, Sacrament,
As we pause in reverie, and dream and
listen, we seem to hear sad music around
US, and we know that the quiet bay and
the shelving rock we have Just left have
a tale to tell Of that distant yesterday.
With every breeze the gloomy pines