Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

42 happy,” I descried darting rapidly before me, a sprite-like figure, robed in spotless white. The speed of the errant maiden increased as I hastened my step, until stumbling over some unseen object, she sank upon the ground. I dashed onward to the rescue, and raising the exhausted girl, sought to restore life and ani mation. That she might not be alarmed, upon returning consciousness, by any unnecessary fears of the character of her unexpected com panion, I suffered some sketches to fall from my portfolio, where they might meet her gaze. The moon-beams which had hitherto been hidden by clouds, blazed full upon us, and as my fair inconnue opened her eyes, they rested upon the fallen drawings, which she instantly recognised as some of those she had seen at the village that afternoon, and I recalled the features of the fair face which I had observed from the carriage window, on my return from the Plauterkill. As I am now a grave tourist, and not an idle romancer, I must hasten with my narra tive, saying only that a very few phrases suf ficed for all necessary explanations, and that we quickly became good friends. I learned that the fair wanderer had, in obedience to an impulse to be “in tbe wilderness alone,” stolen forth from the circle of merry-makers in doors, to hold converse with great nature without. “ I have,” she answered, when I ventured a query as to how she could thus ramble alone in such desolate haunts, “ passed through so many startling scenes of danger, that adventure has now for my fancy, a spe cies of fascination like that which impels one to gaze at the serpent, dash headlong from the brow of a precipice, or risk his little all at the gaming-table. I feel now an uncon querable disposition to brave again those or kindred perils, and I involuntarily place my self, with a singular species of wild deiight, in the way of any and every danger.” “Indeed,” I replied, “you have certainly a very singular propensity, which 1 might, per haps, better understand, if you should nar rate to me some of the many hair breadth on oapco of wiitcn you speak.” “Willingly,” she answered; “but as our time now will not suffice for more than one, it shall be an incident which happened to me in this very region of the Catskill, during a visit some few years since. I made an ex cursion one morning, together with some friends, to the “ South Mountain,” the peak a mile or two yonder below us. Time passed swiftly and pleasantly as we delighted our selves with the pleasures of the walk, and in gazing upon the sublime panorama of valley and river and far-off mountain range, opened to our view. When satisfied with these nov • elties, our party rambled off in groups and couples, to gossip or to hunt the whortleberry, which is to be found here in such abundance. My own gallant cavalier took a fancy to a more serious chase, as he thought he had caught a glimpse of a passing deer. Set ting off in pursuit, he left me alone, and tired by the exercise and excitement of the day. I established myself lazily under the shade of a brave old oak, and soon fell asleep. When I opened my eyes after a refreshing nap, I caught those of a savage creature, which I afterwards learned was a panther, glaring upon me from a bough of the very tree under which I was lying. My first impulse was to shriek for aid, but I instantly recollected to have heard that the wild beast never attacks its prey while sleeping, and I re-closed my eyes, scarcely daring to respire, so intense was my fright. I remained thus, motionless, breathless and terror-stricken, for an hour— to me it seemed a year —without venturing to look up, excepting only once, and then I again encountered the frightful deadly glare of the panther. At length, to my inexpressi ble delight, I heard the voice of my truant companion, calling my name as he drew r near er and nearer. But I felt it impossible to an swer, and anew horror seized upon my soul, 3 .r) 1J -J* dJ 2; ii j'J & a ITU &AIE ¥ SASSIfIFS* when the danger to which he was himself exposed occurred to my mind. My agony was too much, and 1 was upon the point of warning him of his fate, by sacrificing, as I knew I must, my own life, when the report of a gun struck my ear, and a heavy object seemed to fall at my feet, while the forest echoed with an unearthly shriek of death. I sprang up and sank senseless into the arms of my brave deliverer. When my conscious ness had returned, it needed but a glance to explain the happy circumstances of my es cape from the terrible death which but an in stant before bad seemed inevitable. My com panion at my side and the slain panther at my feet told their own story, as well as he himself afterwards related it. How, failing in his chase for the deer, he bad hastened back, and descrying me motionless upon the ground, and the forest monster watching me from above, he had supposed me slain, and with the quick, unerring aim of desperate ven geance, had brought him to the earth. Never shall I forget that terrible day,” added my fair companion, as she ended this very agree able little narrative! By this time we were approaching the ho tel, and my heroine intimating her wish to reenter without observation, flitted from my sight and left me to make my debut, in the usual mundane manner. After the necessary repairs in the matter of toilet and table, I ventured to peep into the drawing-room, where, in a large and gay as semblage, I greeted more than one old friend or city acquaintance. But as I was not ex actly in the vein for a “ sly flirtation by the light of a chandolier,” and more especially, perhaps, as my unknown friend did not make her reappearance, I stole away to gaze from the edge of the rocky parapet, upon which the beautiful edifice of the “ Mountain House” is built—upon the grand and, in the moon light, illimitable valley a thousand feet below. The “ Mountain House,” perched on the summit of one of the eastern ridges of the Catskills, and having in its immediate vici nage, many of the sweetest attractions of those noble hills, is a large and picturesque structure of wood, built originally by an as sociation of speculators, at the cost of more than twenty thousand dollars. It has from time to time been since refitted and enlarged, until it now affords all the conveniences and elegancies of our most recherche metropolitan hotels. The portico of massive Corinthian columns, which runs the entire lengta of the fa9ade, presents a most imposing appearance, whether it be seen from the mountain top. the road below, or from the bosom of the far-off Hudson. The elevated ledge upon which it is built commands one of the most extended and varied panoramic views in the world, stretching from Long Island Sound in the South, to the White Mountains in the North. All these attractions, added to the cool and grateful atmosphere which one never fails to find here, and the health and life-giving breezes which ever fill the air, have made it a place of great and favorite resort for those who, in the summer months, can steal away from the city and its cares. Stage-coaches will convey the traveller there, at almost any hour of the day, from the river landing at Catskill. He will find this short journey of twelve miles extremely pleasant, with an ex cellent road traversing a country of continu ally varying aspect. As he ascends the mountain, he may pause upon the very knoll where the world-renowned Rip Van Winkle so quietly snoozed away so long a period of his life, or he may muse on other scenes bap tized in the legendary associations of the Red man. But I must hasten over other spots which I purpose to visit in this chapter. On the morning following the incidents which I have just narrated, I rose betimes to witness the grand effect of the rising of the sun, upon the distant landscape. It is seldom that the sublime spectacle can be seen under such fitting circumstances as here. On this occasion, the monarch of the morn rose in the bright orient, with but a few fleeting clouds to obscure his beams, or, rather, to welcome his approach; for they seemed to be his cher ished friends, as they laughed and danced with fresh beauty and grace, when his burn ing caress called the rich crimson to their face. The dense sea of vapor which overhung and completely obscured the wide-spread valley, far below us, was broken as by the wand of an enchanter, soaring into the upper air like the smoke of a thousand watch-fires. It was a glorious sight thus to watch hill upon hill, stream upon stream, fields and trees, and plain and glen shoot forth into life and beauty, and laugh and sing in their mad joy, at the com ing of the king of day. While some of our party thus truly en joyed the pleasures of tbe scene, it was amu sing to observe the terrible martyrdom which others seemed to suffer as they stood half dressed and shivering in the chilliness of the early morning air, vainly essaying to sum mons up a love and admiration of nature, which they never felt. Others had made a compromise between the respect they felt to be due to the spirituelle and their real preju dice in favor’of tbe physical, by peeping at the scene from their chamber windows, where might be descried many a sleepy noddle, with a most incomprehensible head dress. Others again, boldly throwing off all affectation of a virtue they did not possess, slept soundly in their beds. Our first excursion after breakfast, was to the North Mountain, one of the lions of the region. This favorite spot, easily accessible in an hour’s walk, commands a most beauti ful and picturesque view of the House and all its surroundings. The “Two Lakes” sleep peacefully in their mountain hammocks, while a glimpse of the great valley may be caught upon the East, and range upon range of mighty hills upon the West. One of the finest pictures of the late Mr. Cole, whose ge nius has added anew charm to his much loved Catskills, was a view of this exquisite panorama. The next pilgrimage which the tourist is expected to make, is to the gentle lakes, which we have just seen from the North Mountain; and thence to the falls which we have already studied by moon-light. An easy wagon passes from the House to these points at intervals throughout the day, but a verita ble “Syntax,” will turn up his picturesque nose at the unpoetical conveyance, and bless the man who first invented boots. A few minutes walk from your hotel, will bring you to the margin of the upper or Syl van Lake, a view of which accompanies this chapter. You may pass an hour or two de lightfully, in strolling upon the pleasant shores, or you may enter one of the skiffs which skim the waters, and mingle your voice in happy song, with the murmur of the breeze which never fails to play with the bright image cast by tree and rock and sail, in the pellucid bosom of the lake. When these more boisterous expressions of pleasure, which the scene will always draw from the coldest hearts, are spent, you may give your thoughts to the poetic page or to the dreams of the romancer, occasionally glancing at the fly which you have cast upon the water to lure the wary trout. In short, unless you can find here, some or other source of pleas ure, God pity you, unhappy man ! The lakes supply the water for the beauti ful falls of the Katterskill, at which you next arrive. Coming from the Mountain House, you of course, first see them from above. Be fore you commence the descent of the long flights of wooden stairs, which conduct the visitor to the base of the cataracts, you will enter a very convenient and pleasant sort of case, where you may strengthen your physi cal man, with any species of refreshment, from brandy-punch, (in the quality of which you may place the extremest confidence of true love,) to a cooling ice-cream or lemonade. At the same time you may relieve yourself still further, by lightening your purse to the extent of a “quarter,” which the placards posted around, will inform you it is expected that gentlemen will pay, to keep the steps, faffs and guides in order. This assessment fils?> rewards the Neptune of the place, my friend Peter Scutt, whose acquaintance you must not fail to make, for letting off the wa ter ! For be it known unto you, that a dam is built above these falls, by which ingenious means, the stream —restrained from wasting n its sweetness on the desert air—is peddled out, wholesale and retail, at the rate of two and a half dimes a splash! Cooper, descri bing these falls in his “Pioneer,” says, “the stream is, may be, such a one as would turn a mill, if so useless a thing was wanted in the wilderness; but the hand that made that ‘Leap,’ never made a mill!” Alas! since Cooper wrote the wilderness has commenced “to blossom as the rose,” and the free torrent is now chained by the cold shackles of the spirit of gain. But happily, after being thus bound in its course, it laughs with greater glee when re leased ; and one will forget, while he gazes spell-bound upon the world of spray, that like the sunshine in his own heart, it will not al ways last. To continue our loan from the graphic pic ture in the “Pioneer,” “The water comes croaking and winding among the rocks, first so slow that a trout might swim in it, and then starting and running, like any creature that wanted to make a fair spring, till it gets to where the mountain divides like the cleft foot of a deer, leaving a deep hollow for the brook to tumble into. The first pitch is nigh two hun dred feet, and the water looks like flakes of snow afore it touches the bottom, and then gathers itself together again for anew start; and, may be, flutters over fifty feet of flat rock, before it falls for another hundred feet, when it jumps from shelf to shelf, first run ning this way and that way, striving to get out of the hollow, till it finally comes to the plain.” When you reach the base of the first fall, your guide will, perhaps, conduct you over a narrow ledge, behind the water, as at “ Ter mination Rock” at Niagara. ThGn reaching the green sward on the opposite side, you may make a signal to Peter Scutt, who will be look ing over the piazza of his case above, and if you have settled between you the telegraphic alphabet, in such case made and provided, he will attach a basket to the projecting pole, and incontinently there will descend, sundry bottles of the very coolest and most sparkling champaigne, of which the vineyards of France ever dreamed. You may then repose your self half an hour or more, upon the mossy couch aforesaid, imbibe Neptune’s nectar, and when your quarter’s worth of cascade is spent, you may remount the steps to the sum mit of the fall, with the ease and lightness of a bird. DIAMONDS. And the sparkling stars began to shine Like scatter’d geins in the diamond mine. The diamond is chiefly found in the prov inces of Golconda and Visiapour, and also in that of Bengal. Raolconda, in Visiapour, and Gandicotta, are famed for their mines, as is Coulour in Golconda. The diamond is generally found in the narrow crevices of rocks, loose, and never adherent to the fixed stratum. The miners, with long iron rods, which have hooks at the ends, pick out the contents of the fissures, and wash them in tubs, in order to extricate the diamonds. In Coulour they dig on a large plain, the depth of ten or fourteen feet; forty thousand persons are employed ; the men to dig and the women and children to carry the earth to the places where it is to be deposited till the search is made.— From a note to “ Ocean Cav erns.” MONEY. Those who have money are troubled about it, And those who havo none aro troubled without it.