2IO Bog-Trotting for OrcKids 



the frozen North or from the fragrant Southlands. In 

 March, 1894, a terrific tornado swept over this region 

 from the northeast, mowing a path several rods wide 

 over the Dome, and laying the spruce and firs in a 

 twisted pile; — that portion of the summit is almost 

 impassable to-day. During these great northeasters in 

 the spring, the birds and beasts of the Dome seek the 

 lower plains and hollows. 



We wandered southward in the path of the tornado, 

 a quarter mile or so, to a sphagnous swamp and the 

 ledge of White Rock on the side of the Dome. The 

 view from these rocks is variable, yet not picturesque 

 nor pastoral as the one from Mount CEta. It is wild, 

 fearful, — beyond all signs or sounds of civilization. Far 

 to the southwest the blue Catskills blend with the sky; 

 southward the grim, awkward, ragged shoulders of 

 Grey lock's Brotherhood tower; from the eastern brow, 

 Haystack and Stamford Mountains roll away, one after 

 the other, like great land waves. The deep valley of 

 Broad Brook sleeps below. The slopes of Stamford 

 Mountains are dotted with evergreen trees for miles, as 

 far as one can see. 



Gathering a few fragrant balsam-fir boughs, we now 

 rapidly began to descend the mountain, for while the 

 luncheon we carried had satisfied our hunger, we were 

 sadly in need of drinking water. We soon found our- 

 selves at the Coal-Bed, gathering the Wild- wood Tiger 

 Lilies {Lilium Philadelphicwm), which we had observed 

 as we passed in the morning. We ate the late wild 

 strawberries along the roadside, and took a long rest in 



