Where Town and Country Meet 



The cool shadow of the woods, the pure, 

 resinous, bracing air, and anon the music 

 of some cascading brook, all speed the 

 tramper on his way and make even the steep 

 mountain-side an exhilaration and refresh- 

 ment. 



Such is the path to Joe's Pond ; and were 

 it not for the sudden, crystal beauty of the 

 water, bursting upon the vision like a dia- 

 mond set about with emeralds, one would 

 sorely regret the ending of the trail on the 

 lonely shore of the pond. But what can one 

 desire to do, save to sink down on the mossy 

 bank where the path ends, and gaze and 

 gaze and drink one's soul full of the beauty 

 of that sleeping lakelet in the hills, with 

 Baldtop and the rest of the giants standing 

 over its cradle in perpetual guardianship? 

 Beyond is all a tangled and knotted wilder- 

 ness, where one must fairly hew his way 

 through fallen timber and interlacing thick- 

 ets. But what does one care, since he has 

 come safely and easily to Joe's Pond? He 

 wishes to go no farther. Enough to linger 

 there all the beautiful, silent September 

 day, looking down upon mirrored woods 

 and mountains, and looking up to shining 



