had taken the natural vegetation, and then left the soil to its
barrenness. Indeed, there is little inducement to a cultivator to labor
among the huge stones which there peep forth from the earth, seeming to
form a continued ledge for several miles. A singular contrast to this
unfavored tract of country is seen in the narrow but luxuriant, though
sometimes swampy, strip of interval, on both sides of the stream, that, as
has been noticed, flows down the valley. The light and buoyant spirits of
Edward Walcott and Ellen rose higher as they rode on; and their way was
enlivened, wherever its roughness did not forbid, by their conversation
and pleasant laughter. But at length Ellen drew her bridle, as they
emerged from a thick portion of the forest, just at the foot of a steep
hill.

"We must have ridden far," she observed,--"farther than I thought. It will
be near sunset before we can reach home."

"There are still several hours of daylight," replied Edward Walcott; "and
we will not turn back without ascending this hill. The prospect from the
summit is beautiful, and will be particularly so now, in this rich
sunlight. Come, Ellen,--one light touch of the whip,--your pony is as
fresh as when we started."

On reaching the summit of the hill, and looking back in the direction in
which they had come, they could see the little stream, peeping forth many
times to the daylight, and then shrinking back into the shade. Farther on,
it became broad and deep, though rendered incapable of navigation, in this
part of its course, by the occasional interruption of rapids.

"There are hidden wonders of rock and precipice and cave, in that dark
forest," said Edward, pointing to the space between them and the river.