IN THE CATSKILLS 



Of all the retreats I have found amid the Cats- 

 kills, there is no other that possesses quite so many 

 charms for me as this valley, wherein stands Lar- 

 kins's humble dwelling; it is so wild, so quiet, and 

 has such superb mountain views. In coming up the 

 valley, you have apparently reached the head of civ- 

 ilization a mile or more lower down; here the rude 

 little houses end, and you turn to the left into the 

 woods. Presently you emerge into a clearing again, 

 and before you rises the rugged and indented crest 

 of Panther Mountain, and near at hand, on a low 

 plateau, rises the humble roof of Larkins, you get 

 a picture of the Panther and of the homestead at 

 one glance. Above the house hangs a high, bold cliff 

 covered with forest, with a broad fringe of blackened 

 and blasted tree-trunks, where the cackling of the 

 great pileated woodpecker may be heard; on the left 

 a dense forest sweeps up to the sharp spruce-covered 

 cone of the Wittenberg, nearly four thousand feet 

 high, while at the head of the valley rises Slide 

 over all. From a meadow just back of Larkins's 

 barn, a view may be had of all these mountains, 

 while the terraced side of Cross Mountain bounds 

 the view immediately to the east. Running from 

 the top of Panther toward Slide one sees a gigantic 

 wall of rock, crowned with a dark line of fir. The 

 forest abruptly ends, and in its stead rises the face 

 of this colossal rocky escarpment, like some bar- 

 rier built by the mountain gods. Eagles might nest 

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