Winding among the numerous hills in
this vast amphitheatre, we looked back regretfully at each
marvelous picture we were leaving, and said "our journey to
Trenton falls has been worth while."
It was three o'clock when we reached the town of Little Falls
where we ate our dinner. By this time George had grown
despondent over our prospect for provender. Little Falls did not
appeal to him as a place of "good eats." One restaurant had the
appearance of having recently been sacked. We soon found a more
inviting place, but this being Sunday the proprietor gave us
that quizzical look as if he regarded our journey as three-
fourths epicurean and only one-fourth devotional. Even a nice,
white table cloth and a fresh roll of bread could not quiet
George's apprehensions. Not until the savory odor of the
steaming soup reached his nostrils was he wholly at ease. His
clouded countenance brightened at the aroma, grew radiant at its
flavor, and long before we reached the pudding he expressed his
delight with New York cookery. The melodious voice of the
waitress was "like oil on troubled waters" and when she said,
"you certainly must be from the South for your voice is so soft
and musical," his countenance had the appearance of one of the
elect. One member of the party here learned that large pork
chops are in most cases inferior to smaller fry, and that, like
Niagara, it may be very large, yet too strong to admit of an
intimate acquaintance.
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