Chapter 3

"He sleeps forgetful of his once bright flame
He has no feeling of the glory gone;
He has no eye to catch the mounting flame
That once in transport drew him on;
He lies in dull oblivious dreams, nor cares
Who the wreathed laurel bears."

Percival.

The appearance of a place in which the remainder of one's life is to be
past is always noted with interest on a first visit. Thus it was that
Mrs. Willoughby had been observant and silent from the moment the
captain informed her that they had passed the line of his estate, and
were approaching the spot where they were to dwell. The stream was so
small, and the girding of the forest so close, that there was little
range for the sight; but the anxious wife and mother could perceive
that the hills drew together, at this point, the valley narrowing
essentially, that rocks began to appear in the bed of the river, and
that the growth of the timber indicated fertility and a generous soil.

When the boat stopped, the little stream came brawling down a ragged
declivity, and a mill, one so arranged as to grind and saw, both in a
very small way, however, gave the first signs of civilization she had
beheld since quitting the last hut near the Mohawk. After issuing a few
orders, the captain drew his wife's arm through his own, and hurried up
the ascent, with an eagerness that was almost boyish, to show her what
had been done towards the improvement of the "Knoll." There is a
pleasure in diving into a virgin forest and commencing the labours of
civilization, that has no exact parallel in any other human occupation.
That of building, or of laying out grounds, has certainly some
resemblance to it, but it is a resemblance so faint and distant as
scarcely to liken the enjoyment each produces. The former approaches
nearer to the feeling of creating, and is far more pregnant with
anticipations and hopes, though its first effects are seldom agreeable,
and are sometimes nearly hideous. Our captain, however, had escaped
most of these last consequences, by possessing the advantage of having
a clearing, without going through the usual processes of chopping and
burning; the first of which leaves the earth dotted, for many years,
with unsightly stumps, while the rains and snows do not wash out the
hues of the last for several seasons.

An exclamation betrayed the pleasure with which Mrs. Willoughby got her
first glimpse of the drained pond. It was when she had clambered to the
point of the rocks, where the stream began to tumble downward into the
valley below. A year had done a vast deal for the place. The few stumps
and stubs which had disfigured the basin when it was first laid bare,
had all been drawn by oxen, and burned. This left the entire