The place commands a fine view to the north of Indian Pass, Mount Marcy, and the adjacent mountains.  On the afternoon of our arrival, and also the next morning, the view was completely shut off by the fog.  But about the middle of the forenoon the wind changed, the fog lifted, and revealed to us the grandest mountain scenery we had beheld on our journey.  There they sat about fifteen miles distant, a group of them,—­Mount Marcy, Mount McIntyre, and Mount Golden, the real Adirondack monarchs.  It was an impressive sight, rendered double so be the sudden manner in which it was revealed to us by that scene-shifter the Wind.

I saw blackbirds at this place, and sparrows, and the solitary sandpiper and the Canada woodpecker, and a large number of hummingbirds.  Indeed, I saw more of the latter here than I ever before saw in any one locality.  Their squeaking and whirring were almost incessant.

The Adirondack Iron Works belong to the past.  Over thirty years ago a company in Jersey City purchased some sixty thousand acres of land lying along the Adirondack River, and abounding in magnetic iron ore.  The land was cleared, roads, dams, and forges constructed, and the work of manufacturing iron begun.

At this point a dam was built across the Hudson, the waters of which flowed back into Lake Sandford, about five miles above.  The lake itself being some six miles song, tolerable navigation was thus established for a distance of eleven miles, to the Upper Works, which seem to have been the only works in operation.  At the Lower Works, besides the remains of the dam, the only vestige I saw was a long low mound, overgrown with grass and weeds, that suggested a rude earthwork.  We were told that it was once a pile of wood containing hundreds of cords, cut in regular lengths and corded up here for use in the furnaces.

At the Upper Works, some twelve miles distant, quite a village had been built, which was now entirely abandoned, with the exception of a single family.

A march to this place was our next undertaking.  The road for two or three miles kept up from the river and led us by three or four rough stumpy farms.  It then approached the lake and kept along its shores.  It was here a dilapidated corduroy structure that compelled the traveler to keep an eye on his feet.  Blue jays, two or three small hawks, a solitary wild pigeon, and ruffled grouse were seen along the route.  Now and then the lake gleamed through the trees, or we crossed o a shaky bridge some of its arms or inlets.  After a while we began to pass dilapidated houses by the roadside.  One little frame house I remembered particularly; the door was off the hinges and leaned against the jams, the windows had but a few panes left, which glared vacantly.  The yard and little garden spot were overrun with a heavy growth of timothy, and the fences had all long since gone to decay.  At the head of the lake a large stone building projected from the steep bank and extended over the road.  A little beyond, the valley opened to the east, and looking ahead about one mile we saw smoke going up from a single chimney.  Pressing on, just as the sun was setting we entered the deserted village.  The barking dog brought the whole family into the street, and they stood till we came up.  Strangers in that country were a novelty, and we were greeted like familiar acquaintances.