THE SOUTHERN CATSKILLS 



here. It breaks the monotony of the world of woods 

 very impressively. 



I delight in sitting on a rock in one of these upper 

 fields, and seeing the sun go down behind Panther. 

 The rapid-flowing brook below me fills all the val- 

 ley with a soft murmur. There is no breeze, but 

 the great atmospheric tide flows slowly in toward 

 the cooling forest; one can see it by the motes in the 

 air illuminated by the setting sun : presently, as the 

 air cools a little, the tide turns and flows slowly out. 

 The long, winding valley up to the foot of Slide, 

 five miles of primitive woods, how wild and cool it 

 looks, its one voice the murmur of the creek! On 

 the Wittenberg the sunshine lingers long ; now it 

 stands up like an island in a sea of shadows, then 

 slowly sinks beneath the wave. The evening call 

 of a robin or a veery at his vespers makes a marked 

 impression on the silence and the solitude. 



The following day my friend and I pitched our 

 tent in the woods beside the stream where I had 

 pitched it twice before, and passed several delightful 

 days, with trout in abundance and wild strawberries 

 at intervals. Mrs. Larkins's cream-pot, butter-jar, 

 and bread-box were within easy reach. Near the 

 camp was an unusually large spring, of icy coldness, 

 which served as our refrigerator. Trout or milk im- 

 mersed in this spring in a tin pail would keep sweet 

 four or five days. One night some creature, prob- 

 ably a lynx or a raccoon, came and lifted the stone 

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