On either side these mountain glens
    Lie open like a massive book,
  Whose words were graved with iron pens,
    And lead into the eternal rock: 

  Which evermore shall here retain
    The annals time cannot erase,
  And while these granite leaves remain
    This crystal ribbon marks the place.

* * *

    Under Spring’s delicate marshalling every hill of the Highlands
    took its own place, and the soft swells of ground stood back the
    one from the other in more and more tender coloring.

    Susan Warner.

* * *

[Illustration:  LOOKING NORTH FROM WEST POINT BATTERY]

=West Point to Newburgh.=

The steamer passes too near the west bank to give a view of the magnificent plateau with parade ground and Government buildings, but on rounding the point a picture of marvelous beauty breaks at once upon the vision.  On the left the massive indented ridge of Old Cro’ Nest and Storm King, and on the right Mount Taurus, or Bull Hill, and Break Neck, while still further beyond toward the east sweeps the Fishkill range, sentineled by South Beacon, 1,625 feet in height, from whose summit midnight gleams aroused the countryside for leagues and scores of miles during those seven long years when men toiled and prayed for freedom.  Close at hand on the right will be seen Constitution Island, formerly the home of Miss Susan Warner, who died in 1885, author of “Queechy” and the “Wide, Wide World.”  Here the ruins of the old fort are seen.  The place was once called Martalaer’s Rock Island.  A chain was stretched across the river at this point to intercept the passage of boats up the Hudson, but proved ineffectual, like the one at Anthony’s Nose, as the impetus of the boats snapped them both like cords.

Some years ago, when the first delegation of Apache Indians was brought to Washington to sign a treaty of peace, the Indians were taken for an “outing” up the Hudson, by General O. O. Howard and Dr. Herman Bendell, Superintendent of Indian Affairs for Arizona.  It is said that they noted with cold indifference the palaces along the river front:  “the artistic terraces, the well-kept, sloping lawns, the clipped hedges and the ivy-grown walls made no impression on them, but when the magnificent picture of the Hudson above West Point revealed itself, painted by the rays of the sinking sun, these wild men stood erect, raised their hands high above their heads and uttered a monosyllabic expression of delight, which was more expressive than volumes of words.”

* * *

  The queenly Hudson circling at thy feet
    Lingers to sing a song of joy and love,
  Pouring her heart in rippling wavelets sweet,
    Which sun-kissed glance up to thy throne above.

  Kenneth Bruce.

* * *

Sir Robert Temple also rises into rapture over the northern gate of the Highlands.  “One of the fairest spectacles to be seen on the earth’s surface; not on any other river or strait—­not on Ganges or Indus, on the Dardanelles or the Bosphorus, on the Danube or the Rhine, on the Neva or the Nile—­have I ever observed so fairy-like a scene as this on the Hudson.  The only water-view to rival it is that of the Sea of Marmora, opposite Constantinople.”