Its clear, cold, foam-flecked water, seen
through fringes of elm, maple and willow trees, compensated in
great measure for the discomforts we endured. It was not fringed
with reeds and lush grass, but its full flow rolled forth
undiminished, going to its source as surely as we were bound to
arrive at our destination. We discovered many points of beauty
all along the way which were not blotted out by rain or cloud,
and which shone freshly and winningly under the touch of the sun
that peeped from behind the flying clouds.
The banks of the stream were draped with clumps of foliage
overrun with wild grape and bittersweet, making fantastic
pergolas from which the clear ringing challenge of the cardinal
or the bold bugle of the Carolina wren came to us above the rush
of the waters. Just a tantalizing struggle between mist and
sunshine for perhaps an hour revealed bits of fair blue sky
overhead and clouds of vapor resting on the long wooded hills.
Far ahead the land rose in gentle undulations like a many
colored sea. When the sun shone forth for a little while we saw
a picture against the dark clouds as a background that was
almost unreal in its ethereal beauty. One rarely sees a picture
so bright and at the same time clothed in alluring distance as
these perspectives where hill rose above hill and mingled their
various hues of vegetation in clustering abysses of verdure
through which the flashing stream pursued its winding course
under mounds of foliage. The beech, maple, elm and oak sprinkled
now and then with evergreens, revealed a richness in coloring
unsurpassed. It was indeed a fairy landscape, leaving little for
the imagination; luring us on toward it with a glamour we could
not resist. Over the stone walls the groups of shrubbery lifted
their wealth of foliage; and the sumac sprinkled against this
background were like coals of fire.
The distance from Utica to Trenton cannot be more than twenty
miles, yet traveling as we did, making detours around roads with
missing bridges, it seemed six times as far.
The varied features of the landscape began to change but still
appeared quiet and lonely. Soon we saw a spacious hotel standing
on the edge of a wood that overhung a precipice. The broken
window-panes, through which twittering swallows darted, the gray
weather-beaten sides end unpatched moss-covered roof proclaimed
that Trenton falls had had its day. Nature was making the old
place a part of the landscape, and the birds were now the sole
proprietors - gay summer tourists who never grow tired of lovely
natural haunts like their human cogeners, because they are far
removed from the dust and din of travel. Here every year they
return from a tour of thousands of miles and gladden the quiet
place with their cheery songs.
