Here is the abode of romance, here the spirit of nature holds undisputed sway--and here, among these rugged rocks, and in this dense foliage--by the side of this poetic stream, with its associations of woody heights and shady dells, it is fitting that pure and holy vows of love should be uttered, where Heaven, in every leaf of the forest, in every blade of grass, may be called upon to bear witness to their sincerity and truth. But the Wissahiccon has fallen into other hands. The untutored savage no longer strolls over these silent mountains and vales, for his abode has been removed far away, beyond the western waters. The bones of his warrior fathers lie bleached and neglected in the depths of the valley, for the high-bounding spirit of the son is tamed, by the contaminating influence of his civilized brethren. The active deer no longer bounds over the hills and dales of the Wissahiccon, for he has been driven to more sequestered abodes. The stream is, however, much the same--its placid waters are still beautiful as mirrors--its shores are still romantic--its groves are still enchanting--and so may they ever remain, undisturbed, untouched by the dilapidating hand of man! The place should ever be reserved as a refreshing retreat, where the soul may be uplifted in devotion, and the heart gladdened in sweet contemplation--where no sound shall be heard but the notes of melody and joy, in delightful unison with the tones of the murmuring rill. "To sit on rocks, to muse o'er flood and fell, To slowly trace the forest's shady scene, Where things that own not man's dominion dwell, And mortal foot hath ne'er or rarely been; To climb the trackless mountain, all unseen, With the wild flock that never needs a fold; Alone o'er steeps and foaming falls to lean; This is not solitude--'tis but to hold Converse with nature's charms, and see her stores unroll'd."