86 



The American Angler 



fully swinging- a half circle around the 

 little town and resting in a lovely pool 

 under a bridge. The village black- 

 smith, gossiping before his forge with 

 us, learned our destination, and, wish- 

 ing a rest from his labors, kindly of- 

 fered to show us a short cut up over the 

 opposing mountain, our path leading 

 through his farm on the mountain side, 

 which he pointed out to us high in the 

 air — a sort of idealized and castle in 

 Spain place until we got there and were 

 surprised to find such poor soil and so 

 neglected a dwelling. Night was coming 

 when we reached this place, and Sun- 

 down below us did not belie its name. 



The real grandeur of the view we here 

 enjoyed was wurth many miles of travel. 

 Old Pick-a-Moose headed the valley 

 like a sentinel, and the lesser peaks of 

 the Western Catskills loomed all around 



him, supporting his dignity and adding 

 to his beauty and in the distance the 

 glistening waters of the Rondout, black 

 under the trees or where the stream 

 emerged from a rocky ravine, while the 

 sun gilded up peak and mountain top; 

 and all around us w^as that great silence 

 which frequently comes when evening 

 falls in these hills. 



It was dark \vhen we struck the road 

 on the Delaware side of the mountains, 

 and night had settled in the Valley of 

 the East Branch ; but the rushing 

 stream led us aright, and at bedtime we 

 were with our friends, Mr. and Mrs. 

 Myers, whom we were delighted to see 

 once more. A week of pleasant fishing 

 followed, and we had excellent sport in 

 well-remembered pools ; nor do we now 

 regret the visit to the Dashkill, for the 

 "way out" will not soon be forgotten. 



