out to them not to approach too near the edge.  The young couple laughingly sent some answer back, and a moment later vanished as by magic.  Their friends rushed to the edge of the cliff but saw no trace of them.  They noticed at once that the tide was out, and at the base three or four boatmen were sauntering about as though nothing had happened (forgetting even, as Bryant did, that a vertical line from the top of the cliff on account of the crumbling debris of ages makes it impossible for even the strongest arm to hurl a stone from the summit to the margin of the river).  A diligent search was instituted.  Friends and boatmen joined in the search, but from that day to this they have never been heard from, no trace of them has been found, and the mystery of their disappearance is as complete now as it was five minutes after they vanished—­a more tragical termination than the story of the old pilot on a Lake George steamer, who, surrounded one morning by a group of tourist-questioners, pointed to Roger Slide Mountain, and said:  “A couple went up there and never came back again.”  “What do you suppose, captain,” said a fair-haired, anxious listener, “ever became of them?” “Can’t tell,” said the captain, “some folks said they went down on the other side."”

The old Palisade Mountain House, a few miles above Fort Lee, had a commanding location, but was burned in 1884 and never rebuilt.  Pleasant villas are here and there springing up along this rocky balcony of the lower Hudson, and probably the entire summit will some day abound in castles and luxuriant homes.  It is in fact within the limit of possibility that this may in the future present the finest residential street in the world, with a natural macadamized boulevard midway between the Hudson and the sky.

* * *

  What love yon cliffs and steeps could tell
  If vocal made by Fancy’s spell!

  Robert C. Sands.

* * *

It grieves one to see the gray rocks torn away for building material, but, as fast as man destroys, nature kindly heals the wound; or to keep the Palisade figure more complete, she recaptures the scarred and broken battlements, unfolding along the steep escarpment her waving standards of green.  It sometimes seems as if one can almost see her selecting the easiest point of attack, marshalling her forces, running her parallels with Boadicea-like skill, and carrying her streaming banners, more real than Macbeth’s “Birnam-Wood” to crowning rampart and lofty parapet.

The New York side from the Battery to Inwood, the northern end of Manhattan Island, is already “well peopled.”  Until recently the land about Fort Washington has been held in considerable tracts and the very names of these suburban points suggest altitude and outlook—­Highbridgeville, Fordham Heights, Morris Heights, University Heights, Kingsbridge Heights, Mount Hope, &c.  The growth of the city all the way to Jerome and Van Cortlandt’s Park during the last few years has been marvelous.  It has literally stepped over the Harlem to find room in the picturesque county of Westchester.