outside seat was secured on the Lexington
stage. The sharers of my lofty station were a gentleman on his way to
join wife and children at Hunter, and a tattered, greasy-looking
Copperhead.

The 'sunny hill' (Clum's) was soon left behind; the opening of the
Plattekill Clove, with its beautiful mountains and deep hollows (Mink
and Wildcat), passed, and the distant peaks beyond Lexington loomed up
fair as the enchanted borders of the land of Beulah. The hay was nearly
gathered in, and the oats were golden on the hillsides. Men for
farmwork were evidently scarce, and the driver said they had nearly all
gone to the war. The Copperhead remarked: 'I was always too smart for
that, I was.'

The driver told him his turn would come yet, for he would certainly be
drafted. Copperhead said he had the use of only one arm. Driver opined
that would make no difference; they took all, just as they came.
Copperhead grumbled out: 'Yes; I know we ha'n't got no laws nohow!'

At Hunter, the wife and two ruddy little boys came out to meet the
expected head of the family. A bright and happy meeting! The Copperhead
also got down, and took seat inside the stage, where he was soon joined
by a country lassie, whose merry voice speedily gave token of
acquaintance and satisfaction with her fellow traveller.

Opposite Hunter is the most beautiful view of the Stony Clove. The high
and narrow cleft opens to the south, and I thought of loved ones miles
and miles away.

Beyond Hunter, a long, straggling village, with some neat houses, the
road becomes smoother, and gradually descends along the east bank of the
Schoharie, which it rarely leaves. The meadow lands widen a little, and
the way is fringed by maples, beeches, alders, hemlocks, birches, and
occasional chestnuts. The stream is rapid, clear, and, though without
any noteworthy falls, a cheerful, agreeable companion. The mountains on
the left bank are steep and rugged; near Hunter, burnt over; afterward,
green to the top, and, while occasionally curving back from the stream,
and thus forming hollows or ravines, still presenting not a single cleft
between Stony Clove and the clove containing the West Kill, and opening
out from Lexington toward Shandaken. The West Kill enters the Schoharie
a little below Lexington, and the East Kill flows in above, near Jewett.

Every farm glittered with golden sunflowers. I saw one misguided blossom
obstinately turning its face away from the great source of light