HEART OF THE SOUTHERN CATSKILLS 55 



tence: "I hope thee is not suffering with cold 

 and hunger on some lone mountain- top." 



Mr. Bicknell's thrush struck up again at the 

 first signs of dawn, notwithstanding the cold. 

 I could hear his penetrating and melodious 

 whisper as I lay buried beneath the boughs. 

 Presently I arose and invited my friend to turn 

 in for a brief nap, while I gathered some wood 

 and set the coffee brewing. With a brisk, roar- 

 ing fire on, I left for the spring to fetch some 

 water and to make my toilet. The leaves of the 

 mountain goldenrod, which everywhere covered 

 the ground in the opening, were covered with 

 frozen particles of vapor, and the scene, shut 

 in by fog, was chill and dreary enough. 



We were now not long in squaring an account 

 with Slide, and making ready to leave. Round 

 pellets of snow began to fall, and we came off 

 the mountain on the 10th of June in a Novem- 

 ber storm and temperature. Our purpose was 

 to return by the same valley we had come. A 

 well-defined trail led off the summit to the 

 north; to this we committed ourselves. In a 

 few minutes we emerged at the head of the 

 slide that had given the mountain its name. 

 This was the path made by visitors to the 

 scene; when it ended the track of the avalanche 

 began, no bigger than your hand apparently 

 had it been at first, but it rapidly grew, until 

 it became several rods in width. It dropped 

 down from our feet straight as an arrow until 

 it was lost in the fog, and looked perilously 

 eteep. The dark forms of the spruce were 



