The evening sun was pouring a flood of light upon the scene. On the left, in shadow, stood the Storm King, on the right was rugged Breakneck, with its neighbour, round Little Beacon Hill, and between was Pollopell's Island, a solitary rocky eminence, rising from the river, a mile north of them. Beyond these were seen the expanse of Newburgh Bay, the village, the cultivated country beyond, and the dim pale blue peaks of the Katzbergs, almost sixty miles distant. This view is always admired by travellers as one of the most agreeable in the whole village- from New York to Albany.

On a cool, bright morning in August, I climbed to the bald summit of the Storm King, accompanied by a few friends. We procured a competent guide at Cornwall landing, and ascended the nearest and steepest part, where a path was to be found. It was a rough and difficult one, made originally by those who gathered hoop-poles upon the mountains. It was gullied in some places, and filled with stones in others, because it serves for the bed of a mountain torrent during showers and storms. Nearly half-way up to the first summit we found a spring of delicious water, where we rested. Occasionally we obtained glimpses of the country westward, where the horizon was bounded by the level summits of the Shawangunk Mountains.

"We reached the first summit, after a fatiguing ascent of a mile and a half. It was not the highest, yet we had a very extensive prospect of the country around, except on the east, which was hidden by the higher points of the mountain. At last the greatest altitude was reached, after making our way another mile over rocky ledges, and through gorges filled with shrub-oaks, and other bushes. There a glorious picture filled us with exquisite pleasure.