"While .'sketching the cascades, memory recux-red to other visits we had made there in midsummer, when tlic wealth of foliage lay upon tree and shrub ; and also to a description given us by a lady, of her visit to the falls in winter, Avith Colo, the artist, when the frost had crystallised the spray into gorgeous fret-work all over the rocks, and made a spcndid cylinder of milk-white ice from the base to the crown of the upper cascade. Of these phases Bryant has sung : --

' Midst greens and shades the Katers-Kill leaps,

From cliffs where the wood-flower clings ;

All summer he moistens his verdant steeps.

With the sweet light spray of the mountain springs

And he shakes the woods on the mountain side.

When they drip with the rains of autumn tide.

'But when, in the forests bare and old, The blast of December calls, He builds, in the star-light clear and cold, A palace of ice, where his torrent falls, With turret, and arch, and fret-work fair. And pillars blue as the summer air."

The tourist, if he fails to traverse the rugged gorge, should not omit a ride from the Mountain House, down through the "Clove" to Palensvillc

THE HUDSON.

and tlie plain, a distance of about eight miles. Unpleasant as was the day ■when we last visited the mountains, we returned to Katz-Kill by that circuitous route. After leaving the falls, we rode about three miles before reachin"- the " Clove." Huge masses of vapour came rolling up from its lower depths, sometimes obscuring everything around us, and then,