There is a weary sameness to the generally level or prairie scenery which lies between the Mississippi River and New York State, if we except the rather pleasing diversity of well-cultivated farms, prosperous towns, and evidences of thrift that are everywhere noticeable. But there is more than the greatness of commercial and industrial empire to recommend New York to the sight-seer, for some of the most charming scenery to be found anywhere in the world is within her borders, matching for sublimity even the most marvelous views which we have described. And additional fascination attaches to many of her noted places on account of the Indian names which have been jealously preserved in her geography. The Mohawk Valley is at once a lovely vale and a reminder of Cooper’s “Leather Stocking Stories;” and so are her hundred rivers and lakes that bear the designations bestowed upon them, either by some of the once-powerful tribes, or which perpetuate the fame of their great chiefs, the shades of whom seem to linger about Seneca, Cayuga, Oneida, Oswego, Canandaigua, Chautauqua, Keuka, Skaneateles, over which they once skimmed in light canoes. The romance with which these beautiful waters are invested would draw us irresistibly to their shores were there no other attractions; but to these delightful traditions of a vanished people are the added charms of sylvan glades, exposing vistas of exquisite landscape, blue waters dimpled by soft winds, swift-racing streams dashing under overarching shades, and wild chasms that imprison echo and exhibit some of the most astounding results of glacial action, abetted by upheaval, depression and erosion. After picturing the wonders of Niagara, therefore, two of our party made a trip over the New York Central Line and its connection, to Geneva, a beautiful town on the north shore of Seneca Lake, which in many respects is one of the most remarkable bodies of water in the world. The lake is about forty miles in length, but it is a mere strip, rarely exceeding two miles in width, yet has the extraordinary depth of six hundred feet, so that it is evidently a basin created by the same convulsion that wrought the surprising results which render the Glens at the south end famous beyond comparison, as will be presently described. It is particularly strange that such a tremendous cleft should be made without showing a wider extent of disturbance, though the shores are a succession of promontories, sweeping back in graceful undulations and well-wooded slopes, save where industry has converted the hills into fruitful fields. [Illustration: CAVERN CASCADE, WATKIN’S GLEN, IN WINTER.]