We had a fire in the bar-room
almost all day,--a great, blazing fire,--and it was pleasant to have this
day of bleak November weather, and cheerful fireside talk, and wet
garments smoking in the fireside heat, still in the summer-time. Thus
the day wore on with a sort of heavy, lazy pleasantness; and night set
in, still stormy.
In the morning it was cloudy, but did not rain, and I went with the
little clergyman to Hudson's Cave. The stream which they call the North
Branch, and into which Hudson's Brook empties, was much swollen, and
tumbled and dashed and whitened over the rocks, and formed real cascades
over the dams, and rushed fast along the side of the cliffs, which had
their feet in it. Its color was deep brown, owing to the washing of the
banks which the rain had poured into it. Looking back, we could see a
cloud on Graylock; but on other parts of Saddle Mountain there were spots
of sunshine, some of most glorious brightness, contrasting with the
general gloom of the sky, and the deep shadow which lay on the earth.
We looked at the spot where the stream makes its entrance into the marble
cliff, and it was (this morning, at least) the most striking view of the
cave.
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