. Down east latch strings; or Seashore, lakes and mountains by the Boston & Maine railroad. Descriptive of the tourist region of New England . on and the lawn-tennis courts, that we enter upon this pathand follow it half a mile or less upward to Gibbs falls, which provesto be an exceptionally rough series of cascades, recalling most forciblyto my mind the way in which the great Eio Grande leaps down fromits sources in the Sierra San Juan toward Cunningham gulch. Iforget the name of this stream,— perhaps it has none. I care notwhere it rises nor whither it flows. Nothing about it is of the leas
. Down east latch strings; or Seashore, lakes and mountains by the Boston & Maine railroad. Descriptive of the tourist region of New England . on and the lawn-tennis courts, that we enter upon this pathand follow it half a mile or less upward to Gibbs falls, which provesto be an exceptionally rough series of cascades, recalling most forciblyto my mind the way in which the great Eio Grande leaps down fromits sources in the Sierra San Juan toward Cunningham gulch. Iforget the name of this stream,— perhaps it has none. I care notwhere it rises nor whither it flows. Nothing about it is of the leastconsequence except a few rods of snow-white foam and water thatcome pell-mell, dodging around and under the bulky rocks barricad-ing the deep and sombre chasm; sliding in curves of crystal overfloors of granite whose rough lines (where emerald moss clings) seemto writhe under the transparent and wavering currents; resting for a 203 moment in some shaded, sandy basin at the head of the path, only tobe dekided at last down a sluice-way into a cataract, where, in a cleanleap of fifty feet or more (if there be plenty of water) the stream. THROUGH THE NOTCH. loses all form of water and becomes merely twisted skeins and ravel-ings of fleece,— white, blue and green. 204 What do you flatter yourself a reader can make out of such adescription as that? asks Prue in somewhat scornful criticism,after she has glanced over my note-book. Little that is very definite, my dear. Yet the words are quite asorderly as that struggle of rocks against torrent in the steep forestshere at the base of Mount Clinton, which they call Gibbs falls ! Nowthe idjlic little stream on the other side of the valley is very difierent,— let us walk over there. Keturniug to the hotel, we light our cigars and join the line ofelegant strollers who drift down past the bowling-alley, across thebridge spanning the railway-cut and out upon a plank-walk that leadstowards the thicket of young oaks sloping slowly up tow
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