nt. Soon left
behind are the high cliffs and the steep slide, where a gathering
avalanche of rocks and earth swept through a forest, carrying off a
great belt of timber, wherewith to strew the little valley, and block
the road and stream below. The rugged mountains on either hand have been
burnt over, and send up into the blue ether bare, white, foot-enticing
peaks. At the base of the western declivity lies the valley of the East
Branch of the Au Sable, and beyond, the great Adirondac range,
overtopped by Whiteface and Mount Tahawus. We greeted these giants with
due reverence, hoping for a nearer acquaintance, for only their extreme
summits are visible from that point, Whiteface bold and peaked, Tahawus
round and indistinct. The great ridge, hiding all but their heads, is
here jagged or flowing, steep, and dark with spruce and pine. It rises
like an impassable wall; of a clear morning, a frowning barrier of
granite and forest; of a hazy afternoon, the shining, glowing rampart of
some celestial city.

The village of Keene is a straggling collection of dwellings, with an
inn, a post office, and a store or two. It lies in the intervale
bordering the East Branch of the Au Sable, and is twelve miles from
Elizabethtown.

Thus far, our only fellow traveller had been a school girl, going home
for the summer vacation. At Keene our number was increased by the
addition of another damsel, with accompaniment of two hounds, Spart and
Prince, bound for Saranac. When first fastened behind the open wagon
(our stage), they began a vigorous quarrel, which struck us very much as
a matrimonial squabble, both tied, and neither having a fair chance for
a free fight. Our driver, an excellent specimen of the upright and
intelligent man of Northern New York, cracked his whip, increased the
existing merriment by calling out, 'Wal, dogs, hev ye done fightin'?'
and started up the long declivity leading over the Adirondac range,
through Pitch-off Mountain (another pass), to the plains of North Elba.
The hill is a long one, the cliffs of the mountain pass exceedingly
picturesque, and the black tarn under the beetling crags suggestive of
Poe's 'House of Usher.' Long, however, ere we reached this point, Spart
had gnawed through his rope, and was trotting beside the wagon. Our
driver vainly endeavored to refasten him. Although mild of visage, and
apparently good-natured, he showed so formidable a set of teeth, that it
was thought prudent to desist, an