Down No7'th and Up Along 
wall of gloomy green, the wheels oftentimes 
hub-deep in mud, while stones in the ruts 
constantly canted the waggon to one side or 
the other. This sort of enjoyment was diver- 
sified by more open places where mud and 
stones gave place to all stones, and where were 
sepulchral reaches of dead trees, their branches 
all fallen away, and the trunks and limbs shin- 
ing ghostly white. From time to time we 
caught glimpses of stony and barren high- 
lands, only to plunge hopelessly into alders 
and mud again. We named this charming 
road the Melancholy Way of the Alders, and 
whoever passes that way will agree that it 
deserves its name. 
We met no one, and so we shall never know 
what would have happened if we had, in that 
narrow alley where one could scarcely have 
pulled out of the deep ruts even if there had 
been any place to pull to. 
Many stories are told of this swamp ; one 
is that whoever steps into it cannot step out 
again until the next day. We also heard of 
the traveller who, passing the gloomy road one 
summer night, saw a light in the swamp, and 
upon stopping and shouting elicited the infor- 
2^6 
