THE HEART OF THE SOUTHERN CATSKILLS 41 



bears and deer; but no birds, save at long intervals 

 the winter wren flitting here and there, and darting 

 under logs and rubbish like a mouse. Occasionally 

 its gushing, lyrical song would break the silence. 

 After we had climbed an hour or two, the clouds 

 began to gather, and presently the rain began to 

 come down. This was discouraging ; but we put our 

 backs up against trees and rocks, and waited for the 

 shower to pass. 



"They were wet with the showers of the moun- 

 tain, and embraced the rocks for want of shelter," 

 as they did in Job's time. But the shower was 

 light and brief, and we were soon under way again. 

 Three hours from the forks brought us out on the 

 broad level back of the mountain upon which Slide, 

 considered as an isolated peak, is reared. After a 

 time we entered a dense growth of spruce which cov- 

 ered a slight depression in the table of the mountain. 

 The moss was deep, the ground spongy, the light 

 dim, the air hushed. The transition from the open, 

 leafy woods to this dim, silent, weird grove was 

 very marked. It was like the passage from the 

 street into the temple. Here we paused awhile and 

 ate our lunch, and refreshed ourselves with water 

 gathered from a little well sunk in the moss. 



The quiet and repose of this spruce grove proved 

 to be the calm that goes before the storm. As we 

 passed out of it, we came plump upon the almost 

 perpendicular battlements of Slide. The mountain 

 rose like a huge, rock- bound fortress from this plain- 

 like expanse. It was ledge upon ledge, precipice 



