. East of the White Hills. may be seen the whitesteed (hitched to an old fashioned sleigh), which givesthe ledge its name. The lower ledge is almost perpendicular, and thejagged face of the rock, richly weather-stained, re-minds one of the Saguenay Cliffs, which it stronglyresembles also in the impression it makes by its soaringgloom. An easy climb of a hundred feet carries oneto a singular cavity in this ledge which visitors havenamed the Cathedral. And truly the waters, frosts,and storms that scooped and grooved its curves andnitches seemed to have combined in frolic mimicry ofGothic art. Th
. East of the White Hills. may be seen the whitesteed (hitched to an old fashioned sleigh), which givesthe ledge its name. The lower ledge is almost perpendicular, and thejagged face of the rock, richly weather-stained, re-minds one of the Saguenay Cliffs, which it stronglyresembles also in the impression it makes by its soaringgloom. An easy climb of a hundred feet carries oneto a singular cavity in this ledge which visitors havenamed the Cathedral. And truly the waters, frosts,and storms that scooped and grooved its curves andnitches seemed to have combined in frolic mimicry ofGothic art. The cave is forty feet in depth and aboutsixty in height, and the outermost rock of the roofingspans the entrance with an arch, which, half of theway, is as symmetrical as if an architect had plannedit. Was it skill or patience that the gnomes failed in,that excavated or reared it, or did they design to pro-duce in their wild sport merely tarsus of the majestyof a great minister ? The Cathedral is three miles from North Con-. o Qw w CO oa: w Q< < Z D o < o NORTH CONWAY. 17 way village. The whole front of the recess is shadedb} trees, which kindly stand apart just enoiij^h toframe off Kearsarge in lovely symmetry,—so that amore romantic resting place for an hour or two in awarm afternoon can hardly be imagined. The splendor falls on castle wallsAnd snowy summits old in story;The long light shakes across the lakes,And the wild cataract leaps in , bugle, blow, set the wild echoes Hying;Blow, bugle, answer echoes, dying, dying, dying. O hark, O hear! how thin and clear, And thinner, clearer, farther going;O sweet and far, from clitF and scar, The horns of Elfland faintly blowing!Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying;Blow, bugle, answer echoes, dying, dying, dying. O love, they die in yon rich sky. They faint on hill or field or river;Our echoes roll from soul to soul, And grow forever and , bugle, set the wild echoes flying;And answer, echoes, a
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