Lake Horicon—Sketches of its scenery—Information for anglers—Sabbath-day Point—War memories—The Turret City—Death of a deer—Roger’s Slide—Diamond Island—The snake-charmer—Snake stories—Night on the Horicon.
If circumstances alone could make one poetical, then might you expect from me on this occasion a paper of rare excellence and beauty. My sketch-book is my desk, my canopy from the sunshine an elm-tree, the carpet under my feet a rich green sprinkled with flowers, the music in my ear of singing birds, and the prospect before me, north, east, and south, the tranquil bosom of Lake George, with its islands and surrounding mountains, whose waters, directly at my side, are alive with many kinds of fish, sporting together on a bed of sand. Yes, the far-famed Lake George is my subject, but in what I write I shall not use that title; for I do not like the idea of christening what belongs to us with the name of an English monarch, however much his memory deserves to be respected. Shall it be Lake St. Sacrament, then? No! for that was given to it by the Pope and the French nation. Horicon—a musical and appropriate word, meaning pure water, and given it by the poor Indian—is the name which rightfully belongs to the lake which is now my theme.
Lake Horicon is one of the few objects in nature which did not disappoint me after reading the descriptions of travellers. I verily believe, that in point of mere beauty, it has not its superior in the world. Its length is thirty-four miles, and its width from two to four. Its islands number about three hundred, and vary from ten feet to a mile in length; a great many of them are situated in the centre of the lake, at a place called the Narrows. It is completely surrounded with mountains, the most prominent of which are, Black Mountain, on the east of the Narrows, Tongue Mountain, directly opposite, and French Mountain, at the southern extremity. The first is the most lofty, and remarkable for its wildness, and the superb prospect therefrom; the second is also wild and uninhabited, but distinguished for its dens of rattlesnakes; and the latter is somewhat cultivated, but memorable for having been the camping-ground of the French during the Revolutionary war. The whole eastern border is yet a comparative wilderness; but along the western shore are some respectable farms, and a good coach-road from Caldwell to Ticonderoga, which affords many admirable views of the sky-blue lake. There are three public-houses here which I can recommend: the Lake House, for those who are fond of company; Lyman’s Tavern, for the hunter of scenery and lover of quiet; and Garfield’s House, for the fisherman. A nice little steam-boat, commanded by a gentleman, passes through the Lake every morning and evening (excepting Sundays), and though a convenient affair to the traveller, it is an eye-sore to the admirer of the wilderness.