THE GORGE. 333 





 length, stretching out and running along the floor 



like gigantic fiery serpents, while the stalwart opera- 

 tives handled them with iron tongs, as if they were 

 harmless things. I visited one of these works at mid- 

 night, and spent an hour among the furnaces and 

 blazing iron, looking upon these strong-armed men as 

 they converted seeming rocks into one of the most 

 useful articles of commerce. 



The Grorge, some two miles below Keeseville, is 

 one of the greatest curiosities of this country. The 

 river goes roaring, and plunging, and cascading, more 

 than a mile, through a chasm some thirty feet wide, 

 on either side of which the rocks rise in perpendicular 

 precipices, from one to two hundred feet in height. 

 On the top of these ledges you may stand, on the very 

 verge of these great high walls, and look away down 

 upon the boiling waters, as they go surging and roar- 

 ing on their way. This chasm does not seem to have 

 been worn out by the river, in its everlasting flow, but 

 to have been made by the parting of the hills. The 

 rocks on one side are counterparts of the rocks on the 

 other, as if pulled apart. Rock matches rock, and 

 shape is fitted to shape. An indentation on the one 

 side, is matched by a prominence on the other, and 



