IN THE CATSKILLS 



rarely an artist catches her touch! Looking down 

 upon or squarely into a mountain covered with a 

 heavy growth of birch and maple, and shone upon 

 by the sun, is a sight peculiarly agreeable to me. 

 How closely the swelling umbrageous heads of the 

 trees fit together, and how the eye revels in the 

 flowing and easy uniformity, while the mind feels 

 the ruggedness and terrible power beneath ! 



As we came back, the light yet lingered on the 

 top of Sh'de Mountain. 



" ' The last that parleys with the setting sun,' " 

 said I, quoting Wordsworth. 



" That line is almost Shakespearean," said my 

 companion. " It suggests that great hand at least, 

 though it has not the grit and virility of the more 

 primitive bard. What triumph and fresh morning 

 power in Shakespeare's lines that will occur to us 

 at sunrise to-morrow ! 



" 'And jocund day 



Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops.' 

 Or in this : 



" ' Full many a glorious morning have I seen 



Flatter the mountain tops with sovran eye.' 

 There is savage, perennial beauty there, the quality 

 that Wordsworth and nearly all the modern poets 

 lack." 



" But Wordsworth is the poet of the mountains," 

 said I, " and of lonely peaks. True, he does not 

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