a hungry giant, and a princess, at the end of our
beanstalk, but we found a humble roof and the hospitable heart of
Mrs. Larkins, which answered our purpose better. And we were in the
mood, too, to have undertaken an eating-bout with any giant Jack
ever discovered.

Of all the retreats I have found amid the Catskills, there is no
other that possesses quite so many charms for me as this valley,
wherein stands Larkins's humble dwelling; it is so wild, so quiet,
and has such superb mountain views. In coming up the valley, you
have apparently reached the head of civilization a mile or more
lower down; here the rude little houses end, and you turn to the
left into the woods. Presently you emerge into a clearing again, and
before you rises the rugged and indented crest of Panther Mountain,
and near at hand, on a low plateau, rises the humble roof of
Larkins,--you get a picture of the Panther and of the homestead at
one glance. Above the house hangs a high, bold cliff covered with
forest, with a broad fringe of blackened and blasted tree-trunks,
where the cackling of the great pileated woodpecker may be heard; on
the left a dense forest sweeps up to the sharp spruce-covered cone
of the Wittenberg, nearly four thousand feet high, while at the head
of the valley rises Slide over all. From a meadow just back of
Larkins's barn, a view may be had of all these mountains, while the
terraced side of Cross Mountain bounds the view immediately to the
east. Running from the top of Panther toward Slide one sees a
gigantic wall of rock, crowned with a dark line of fir. The forest
abruptly ends, and in its stead rises the face of this colossal
rocky escarpment, like some barrier built by the mountain gods.
Eagles might nest here. It breaks the monotony of the world of
woods very impressively.

I delight in sitting on a rock in one of these upper fields, and
seeing the sun go down behind Panther. The rapid-flowing brook below
me fills all the valley with a soft murmur. There is no breeze, but
the great atmospheric tide flows slowly in toward the cooling
forest; one can see it by the motes in the air illuminated by the
setting sun: presently, as the air cools a little, the tide turns
and flows slowly out. The long, winding valley up to the foot of
Slide, five miles of primitive woods, how wild and cool it looks,
its one voice the murmur of the creek! On the Wittenberg the
sunshine lingers long; now it stands up like an island in a sea of