nly in such remote woods can you now see a
brook in all its original freshness and beauty. Only the sea and the
mountain forest brook are pure; all between is contaminated more or
less by the work of man. An ideal trout brook was this, now
hurrying, now loitering, now deepening around a great boulder, now
gliding evenly over a pavement of green-gray stone and pebbles; no
sediment or stain of any kind, but white and sparkling as
snow-water, and nearly as cool. Indeed, the water of all this
Catskill region is the best in the world. For the first few days,
one feels as if he could almost live on the water alone; he cannot
drink enough of it. In this particular it is indeed the good Bible
land, "a land of brooks of water, of fountains and depths that
spring out of valleys and hills."

Near the forks we caught, or thought we caught, through an opening,
a glimpse of Slide. Was it Slide? was it the head, or the rump, or
the shoulder of the shaggy monster we were in quest of? At the forks
there was a bewildering maze of underbrush and great trees, and the
way did not seem at all certain; nor was David, who was then at the
end of his reckoning, able to reassure us. But in assaulting a
mountain, as in assaulting a fort, boldness is the watchword. We
pressed forward, following a line of blazed trees for nearly a mile,
then, turning to the left, began the ascent of the mountain. It was
steep, hard climbing. We saw numerous marks of both bears and deer;
but no birds, save at long intervals the winter wren flitting here
and there, and darting under logs and rubbish like a mouse.
Occasionally its gushing, lyrical song would break the silence.
After we had climbed an hour or two, the clouds began to gather, and
presently the rain began to come down. This was discouraging; but we
put our backs up against trees and rocks, and waited for the shower
to pass.

"They were wet with the showers of the mountain, and embraced the
rocks for want of shelter," as they did in Job's time. But the
shower was light and brief, and we were soon under way again. Three
hours from the forks brought us out on the broad level back of the
mountain upon which Slide, considered as an isolated peak, is
reared. After a time we entered a dense growth of spruce which
covered a slight depression in the table of the mountain. The moss
was deep, the ground spongy, the light dim, the air hushed. The
transition from the open, leafy woods to this dim, silent, weird
gr