I travelled that road on a hot afternoon in August. The shadows were short ; a soft breeze came up the river from the open northern door of the Highlands, whose rugged forms were bathed in golden light. On the land not a leaf was stirred by a zephyr. I crossed the Moodua, in whose shallow waters the cattle were seeking cool retreats, and I was glad to take shelter from the hot sun in the shadows of the old trees on

THE HUDSON.

the margin of the brook thcat rushes from the Glen at Idlewild. There all was cool, quiet, and delightful. The merry laugh of children came ringing like the tones of silver bells through the open grove. I sat down

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IN THE GLEN AT IDLEWILD.

upon the bank of the brook, to enjoy the sweet repose of the scene, when, looking up, the cottage of Idlewild, half concealed by evergreens, stood in full view on the brow of the glen, two hundred feet above me. The whole

206 THE HUDSON.

acclivity is coverecl with the primeval wood, which presents an apparently impenetrable barrier to approach from below.

After sketching the attractive scene, I went leisurely up the deep, cool, dai'k glen, to its narrowest point, where the brook occupies the whole bottom of the gorge, and flows in picturesque rapids and cascades over and^ among rugged rocks and overhanging trees and shrubbery, with a rustic foot-bridge, the solitary testimony that man had ever penetrated that wild retreat.