But Johnstown retains one of its ancient splendors--a glory still fresh as at the foundation of the world.

Standing on its hills, one looks off upon a country of enameled meadow lands, that melt away southward toward the Mohawk, and northward to the base of those grand mountains which are 'God's monument over the grave of John Brown.'" Harold Frederic's novel, "In the Valley," contains many descriptions of this region that are true to nature, as I remember the Mohawk Valley, for I first knew it not so many years after the scenes which he lays there.

Before I was old enough to take in the glory of this scenery and its classic associations, Johnstown was to me a gloomy-looking town.

The middle of the streets was paved with large cobblestones, over which the farmer's wagons rattled from morning till night, while the sidewalks were paved with very small cobblestones, over which we carefully picked our way, so that free and graceful walking was out of the question.

The streets were lined with solemn poplar trees, from which small yellow worms were continually dangling down.