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At first he thought it must be some mist-wreath hovering over its brow; but soon the dense, rolling clouds rapidly spread on each side, and he felt certain that it was from fire, and nothing but fire, that those dark volumes arose. "Louis, look yonder! the hills to the east are on fire!" "On fire, Hector? you are dreaming!" "Nay, but look there!"
Every cloud, and mist-wreath, and vapor-vail is a shadowy reflection of Beauty. Every spring and rivulet, lakelet, river, and ocean, is a glassy mirror of Beauty. Every diamond, and rock, and pebbly beach is a mine of Beauty. Every sun, and planet, and star is a blazing face of Beauty.
Finally the moment came when the last mist-wreath floated up like a curtain, and there lay open the shining water, and the rocky islet it seethed about, and the vision of two boats setting forth from the two shores amid the noise of shouting thousands. It was the hour of the royal duel, when the fate-thread of a nation, beaded with human destinies, lay between the fingers of two men.
Here, many a century back, the giant mastodon trod the earth into deep hollows, as he moved upon his sounding path. Then came another time. In the hollow of the three hills, the Indian raised his bark wigwam, and the smoke of his council fire curled up like a mist-wreath in the forest. Here the red man filled the wild gourd cup when he returned weary from the chase or the skirmish.
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