concert;
while ever and anon was heard the melancholy plaint of the whip-poor-will,
who, perched on some lone tree, wearied the ear of night with his
incessant moanings. The mind, soothed into a hallowed melancholy, listened
with pensive stillness to catch and distinguish each sound that vaguely
echoed from the shore--now and then startled, perchance, by the whoop of
some straggling savage, or by the dreary howl of a wolf, stealing forth
upon his nightly prowlings.

Thus happily did they pursue their course, until they entered upon those
awful defiles denominated the Highlands, where it would seem that the
gigantic Titans had erst waged their impious war with heaven, piling up
cliffs on cliffs, and hurling vast masses of rock in wild confusion. But
in sooth very different is the history of these cloud-capped mountains.
These in ancient days, before the Hudson poured its waters from the lakes,
formed one vast prison, within whose rocky bosom the omnipotent Manetho
confined the rebellious spirits who repined at his control. Here, bound in
adamantine chains, or jammed in rifted pines, or crushed by ponderous
rocks, they groaned for many an age. At length the conquering Hudson, in
its career toward the ocean, burst open their prison-house, rolling its
tide triumphantly through the stupendous ruins.

Still, however, do many of them lurk about their old abodes; and these it
is, according to venerable legends, that cause the echoes which resound
throughout these awful solitudes, which are nothing but their angry
clamors when any noise disturbs the profoundness of their repose. For when
the elements are agitated by tempest, when the winds are up and the
thunder rolls, then horrible is the yelling and howling of these troubled
spirits, making the mountains to re-bellow with their hideous uproar; for
at such times it is said that they think the great Manetho is returning
once more to plunge them in gloomy caverns, and renew their intolerable
captivity.

But all these fair and glorious scenes were lost upon the gallant
Stuyvesant; nought occupied his mind but thoughts of iron war, and proud
anticipations of hardy deeds of arms. Neither did his honest crew trouble
their heads with any romantic speculations of the kind. The pilot at the
helm quietly smoked his pipe, thinking of nothing either past, present, or
to come; those of his comrades who were not industriously smoking under
the hatches were listening with open mouths to Ant