472 



Garden and Forest. 



[Number 241. 



Lake Mohonk lies to tlie north-east, seven miles away, and 

 is smaller and more regular in outline. Lake Awasting, five 

 miles to the south-west, holds about the same level with its 

 fellows, of 1,650 feet above the tide, and is much larger and 

 deeper. Its length is two miles, its greatest width half a 

 mile, its greatest depth eighty feet, with the same bold, rocky 

 shores and general formation of cliff and forest. But from 

 this lake, and from an extensive marsh not far below its out- 

 let, flows the large stream which, in its descent, makes the 

 poetry of these woodland walks, and for many miles gives 

 the voice of its music, in numberless cascades, or in its two 

 roaring falls, to swell the grand diapason of the winds in the 

 Pines that crown the cliffs above. Tlie stream is a constant 

 joy and excitement, and reconciles the dwellers here even to 

 that horror of invalids and idle people, a rainy day. 



After a rainy day I went to Awasting Fall, through a wood- 

 land path that descends sharply from Lake Minniwaska three- 

 quarters of a mile to meet the stream. The growth just here 

 is chiefly of Chestnut and Maple, both Red and Sugar Maple, 

 mingled with Birch. There are no large trees, but the grace- 

 ful creatures stand like young matrons with their children of 

 different ages around them and their babies at their feet. The 

 Sassafras is everywhere. I have great sympathy with this 

 tree because of its love of variety. I am persuaded it would 

 like to be a Dolly Varden, and flaunt in gay clothing, but, 

 being devoid of all expression of such taste, it can only blush 

 a dull red at the tips of the wet fingers it puts forth to greet 

 us, and show a little dash of color in its petioles ; and so it 

 constantly employs itself in changing its form of garniture. 

 No matter how small or how large it may be, did anybody 

 ever see a branch of Sassafras v/here the leaves were all 

 alike ? 



Interspersed among these were a few Chestnut Oaks, grow- 

 ing low and bushy, and higher than all rose the scattered 

 Pine-trees. The path descending over ledges of white rock, 

 where grow scant mosses and lichens, and along the edge of 

 a cliff, which walls in the head of a deep valley, brought us to 

 a point where the stream, already vexed to foam in its swift 

 course, makes a leap of seventy-five feet to the pool below. 

 On the further side the rocks rise to a perpendicular height of 

 one hundred and fifty feet, and tnen recede, still rising, broken 

 and covered with Pines, to a greater height. Beneath flows 

 the stream, while on the nearer side the cliffs are curved 

 around a deep basin that may once have been a lake. The 

 d(5bris of fallen rock and tree, rising gradually from the stream 

 half-way up this cliff, makes a deep soil always moist and 

 warm and sheltered. Here once grew great Hemlocks and 

 Pines, but they became food for the mill below, and since 

 then fires have often swept over these heights. Now as I 

 stood beside the stream at this lower level I found a twilight 

 made by tall Maples and Chestnuts, with a White Oak 

 here and there, and abundance of Black Cherry, which might 

 in time become valuable, and many Birches, among them 

 Betula papyrifera, which I did not find on the hill above. 

 There were thickets of Laurel now ripening its spiked berries, 

 the Rhododendron was vigorous and tall in the black soil, 

 and occasionally a Rhodora grew beside the path. 



Reluctantly I turned from the beauty of the waterfall. 

 When I had seen it before it was a filmy veil, falling over a 

 projecting edge curved like a scimitar, and breaking into spray 

 through which the morning sunshine wove prismatic colors, 

 and a thousand broken rainbows danced over the worn gray 

 rocks behind the waters. Now the air trembled with the roar 

 of the mad stream, and the gorge near it was full of mist like 

 rain, while the tormented pool dashed itself far over its usual 

 bounds. Near it, against the cliff, huge rocks are piled, and 

 these, green with thick mosses, nourish the Polypodium and 

 other Ferns, while tall brakes grow between. Half-way down 

 the cliff and wholly under its shelving edge, a Black Birch 

 had rooted itself in the debris, and, growing luxuriantly, held 

 in its upper branches a bird's nest, empty now and with the 

 spray drifting over it. The ground was soft with mosses and 

 covered with the Partridge-berry vine, the Swamp Blueberry 

 and the Wintergreen. 



In open places where the path touched the stream we saw 

 it bathing the roots of Alder and Elder bushes, while Black- 

 berry and Raspberry bushes caught us in passing, with an 

 oft'ering of fruit. In the clefts of the precipice opposite, small 

 Pines and Hemlocks had taken root, and tiny Laurels, their 

 leaves already ripe and red, and tufts of Columbine and Gol- 

 den-rod ; while the Hardback, Spirea tomentosa, with its rela- 

 tive S. aruncus, grevi' plentifully by the margin, and nodded 

 their white and crimson heads to each other across the amber 

 flood speeding by with flecks of white foam. 



Thus far for more than half a mile we followed our rapid 



guide, until the path merged into a wood road. Azalea viscosa 

 bordered our way. All along, as we had looked up through 

 the confused stems of the thickly growing trees, we had seen 

 evidence of former greatness in prostrate massive trunks that 

 now only serve as food for their successors. But beautiful in 

 decay they were, covered with moss and Lycopodium, and 

 the dwarf Club Mosses and wonderful Lichens, often in 

 brilliant tints of orange and curious coraline forms of fungus, 

 red, yellow and creamy white, as if they had mistaken the 

 depth of this basin for the bottom of the sea. 



And then our steps led to the country road, and crossing it 

 we came in a few minutes to the "high Peterskill." This out- 

 let of our stream is at a point where one wall of the mountain 

 runs past the other, and the current makes a sharp turn, after 

 taking its first leap into the gorge, over the foundations of that 

 which had hitherto restrained its course; then, gathering it- 

 self, springs across the ledges two hundred and fifty feet down 

 the ravine; and though beyond this point it is only a succes- 

 sion of cascades, after a rain it becomes a cataract, with no ap- 

 parent division in the raging, plunging mass that flings its 

 foam high in the air as it descends with a volume of sound 

 multiplied by echoes from its rocky borders. 



For these still rise high above it — on the west perhaps a 

 thousand feet from the bottom of the ravine, which is only 

 about seventy-five feet wide. But everywhere the graceful 

 Birch and Poplar, the Chestnut and Oak, the Maple and Sassa- 

 fras, and the Pepperidge crowd among the Pines that have 

 wedged themselves in the crevices of the rock, and the Moun- 

 tain Holly, with its brilliant berries, and the Dogwood, with 

 crimsoning leaves, in its gray escarpment of rock and the mu- 

 sic of its rejoicing waters, a thing of beauty worth going far 

 to see. 



The remains of a substantial mill, half-way down the gorge, 

 and near the road, tell that this wild creature was once made 

 the servant of man's need for lumber. A still greater wrong 

 was done by robbing it of the historic Indian name, Aioska- 

 wasting, and calling it the Peterskill. But under this latter 

 cognomen it is known on tlie lower slopes of the mountain, 

 where it pursues its course to the north-west until it joins the 

 Roundout River. 



When this region was covered with the heavy forest that 

 sheltered the sources of springs now bare and dry, the stream 

 had many affluents, and must have filled its whole channel, as 

 the water-worn rocks everywhere testify. Even now, after 

 long, heavy rains, or when snow melts in the spring, its 

 volume is so much increased that bridges five feet above its 

 usual level are carried away. Then the Awasting and the Pe- 

 terskill falls are said to be magnificent and almost fearful in 

 their might. After the lumbermen had sacrificed the primeval 

 forest the land was left to recover itself, but the beneficent 

 processes of nature have been constantly interrupted by fires 

 that have raged everywhere, often burning deep into the soil 

 and destroying all hope for the future. Now, except in deep 

 basins such as I have described, the soil is poor and thin, and 

 the green robe that covers it is more for beauty than for use. 

 Yet even this the greed of man constantly imperils. The 

 small farmers on the lower slopes, and the squatters hidden 

 among the rocks, make a poor living by the harvest of Blue- 

 berries and other kindred fruit, and often have set fires to burn 

 over large tracts because a growth of this kind follows. Those 

 who would prevent this spoliation are obliged to use constant 

 watchfulness, and all kinds of moral and material suasion, for 

 the law gives them no adequate redress. The progress of 

 civilization is shown in nothing more than in making man care 

 for the welfare of all, above his individual good, and though 

 the idea obtains slowly, there still are evidences that it is 

 taking root in this neighborhood. 



Minnewaska. 



M. H. P. 



New or Little-known Plants. 

 Aster sericeus. 



THIS handsome little species should be in every good 

 garden of hardy plants. The stems, which are panicu- 

 lately branched above, are only a foot or two high, and are 

 well clothed with oblong leaves, which are silky white 

 from the soft pubescence with which they are entirely 

 clothed. The color of the leaves and of the bracts of the 

 floral involucres serve as an excellent background for the 

 ray-flowers, which are large and a deep violet color, and in 

 late autumn make this plant exceptionally beautiful and 

 interesting. 



