A little way from the
town, the driver pointed out, in the midst of the stream, a long island of
loose stones and pebbles, without a leaf or stem of herbage.
"It was there," said he, "that Gaetter, six years ago, was hanged for the
murder of his wife."
The high and steep bank of the river, the rocks and the trees, he
proceeded to tell us, were covered on that day with eager spectators from
all the surrounding country, every one of whom, looking immediately down
on the island, could enjoy a perfect view of the process by which the poor
wretch in the hands of the hangman was turned off.
About five miles from Easton we stopped to water our horses at an inn, a
large handsome stone house, with a chatty landlord, who spoke with a
strong German accent, complaining pathetically of the potato disease,
which had got into the fields of the neighborhood, but glorying in the
abundant crops of maize and wheat which had been gathered. Two miles
further on, we turned away from the river and ascended to the table-land
above, which we found green with extensive fields of wheat, just springing
under the autumnal sun. In one of the little villages nestling in the
hollows of that region, we stopped for a few moments, and fell into
conversation with a tolerably intelligent man, though speaking English
with some peculiarities that indicated the race to which he belonged. A
sample of his dialect may amuse you. We asked him what the people in that
part of the country thought of the new tariff.
"Oh," said he, "there are different obinions, some likes it and some not."
"How do the democrats take it?"
"The democratic in brinciple likes it."
"Did it have any effect on the election?"
"It brevented a goot many democrats from voting for their candidate for
Congress, Mr. Brodhead, because he is for the old tariff. This is a very
strong democratic district, and Mr. Brodhead's majority is only about a
sousand."
A little beyond this village we came in sight of the Water Gap, where the
Blue Ridge has been cloven down to its base to form a passage for the
Delaware. Two lofty summits, black with precipices of rock, form the gates
through which the river issues into the open country. Here it runs noisily
over the shallows, as if boasting aloud of the victory it had achieved in
breaking its way through such mighty barriers; but within the Gap it
sleeps in quiet pools, or flows in deep glassy currents. By the side of
these you see large rafts composed of enormous trunks of trees that have
floated down with the spring floods from the New York forests, and here
wait for their turn in the saw-mills along the shore.
