=Ticonderoga=, 23 miles from Whitehall. Here terminates the first range of the Adirondacks, to which we have already referred, viz.: Mount Defiance. Steamers connect with the train at this point on Lake Champlain, also with a railroad for Lake George. Near the station we get a view of old Port Ticonderoga, where Ethan Allen breakfasted early one morning, and said grace in a brief and emphatic manner. The lake now widens into a noble sheet of water; we cross the Lake George outlet, enter a deep rock-cut, which extends a distance of about 500 feet, and reach Crown Point thirty-four miles north of Whitehall. Passing along the shore of Bulwagga Bay we come to--
=Port Henry=, 40 miles from Whitehall. A few miles further the railroad leaves the lake at Mullen Brook, the first departure since we left Whitehall, and we are greeted with cultivated fields and a charming landscape.
=Westport=, 51 miles from Whitehall, is the railroad station for--
=Elizabethtown=, the county seat of Essex. It is about eight miles from the station, nestled among the mountains. A county consisting mostly of mountain scenery could have no happier location for a head-centre. Elizabethtown forms a most delightful gateway to the Adirondacks either by stage route or pedestrian tour.
A health to Ethan Allen and our commander Gates; To Lincoln and to Washington whom every Tory hates; Likewise unto our Congress, God grant it long to reign, Our country's right and justice forever to maintain.
A short distance north of Westport we enter the well-cultivated Bouquet Valley, and after a pleasant run come to Wellsboro Falls, where we enter seven miles of rock cutting. The road is about 90 feet above the lake, and the cuts in many places from 90 to 100 feet high. After leaving Red-Rock cut, we pass through a tunnel 600 feet long. Crossing Higby's Gorge and rounding Tremblau Mountain, we reach--
=Port Kent=, the connecting point for the progressive village of Keeseville.
=Ausable Chasm=, is only three miles from the station of Port Kent. It is many years since we visited the Chasm, but its pictures are still stamped upon our mind clearly and definitely--the ledge at Birmingham Falls, the Flume, the Devil's Pulpit, and the boat ride on the swift current. Indeed, the entire rock-rift, almost two miles in length, left an impression never to be effaced. The one thing especially peculiar, on account of the trend of the rock-layers was the illusion that we were floating up stream, and that the river compressed in these narrow limits, had "got tired" of finding its way out, until it thought that the easiest way was to run up hill and get out at the top.