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ward and delivered the contents of the second barrel promptly into the brute's right ear, thus finishing his business effectually, just as Mr. Greene and his companion reached the scene of the rencontre-the former demanding vociferously, but nervously, "What's the row, Barnett?" as they came up. Upon seeing a very respectable sized bear at Tom's feet, in its final death struggles, Mr. G. was unfeignedly astonished, and at once declared that the prospect for a quiet night en bivouac was, in his opinion, a decidedly dubious proposition.

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having quieted Mr. Greene with the assurance that the lightning didn't often strike twice in the same spot, and that it was quite as currence to find two bears in one place on the same night, we all returned to the edge of the little lake, which was destined to be the scene of our piscatorial efforts on the morrow, and replenished our fire just as the sun's final glimmer was paling away beyond the rose-tipt crowns of the distant western hills.

The carcass of this bear weighed full two hundred pounds. Barnett proceeded to cut the monster's throat immediately, and subsequently secured his skin and claws, which was all the weight he could carry home conveniently. Then,

The evening was not cold, but a chill was on the air, such as we were unused to in July-for it had now got to be near the "Fourth"-and we had originally determined to pass the anniversary of American independence upon the top of Mount Washington, if possible. The atmosphere was clear, however, and dry,


and in our location there was no wind

stirring. Notwithstanding this, the warmth and the light of our camp-fire were both acceptable to our bodily comfort, and cheerful to our spirits; and, whatever were Mr. Greene's other shortcomings, on this occasion he is entitled to the credit of having kept up a most excellent fire, an incessant burning, brilliant and glowing, from sunset to daybreak.

As soon as it was thoroughly dark, we found ourselves in front of the cheering blaze, each enjoying his own thoughts, and thankful for the opportunity to rest and recuperate a little, preparatory to the succeeding day's business.

Tom Barnett busied himself with roasting a slice of bear-steak, artistically cut from the haunch of the recently slaughtered Bruin. This delectable titbit was selected from the upper round of the haunch, and was cut about an inch and a half in thickness. Thrusta white-oak sapling through its edge, Tom squatted before the bright fire, and roasted his precious morsel "to a turn." The unctuous juices spirted in the blaze, and Pompey watched proceedings with interest and an anxious eye. The dog had eaten nothing since morning. His master and companions had fared much better than this.

The artist, seated upon a stone near by, enjoyed a whiff at Barnett's pipe during the process of cooking supper; while Mr. Greene, disconsolate and greatly fatigued, indulged in another Havana, as he sat moodily gazing alternately into the camp-fire, or out upon the darkness, calculating the chances of being devoured by bears before morning, perhaps, or dying with over exertion in prospective.

the loveliest little lakes imaginable, and proved to be well stocked with fine large trout-much larger, in the average, than any that are obtained in the frequented mountain streams. We returned to our camp-ground at three o'clock, with about eighty-five fish, seven out of every ten of which were taken by Tom Barnett, at any rate.

We gathered around the savory meal, at length, and did ample justice to the supper provided so acceptably by our admirable cuisine de montagne. Tom gorged himself. I say it, with no disposition to defame that worthy voyageur, but if he eat an ounce, he devoured fully two pounds of that bear-the gourmand! And, ten minutes afterward, he lay at full length, with his huge cow-hides to the fire, snoring like a Dutch trooper.

The spot chosen by our piscatorial conductor for the next day's sport was called "Round Pond"-a local name, only--distant about twenty-one miles from Gorham Centre. It was one of

I hastily made the following sketch of Round Pond and its pretty vicinity. Why it was called "round" I did not learn, as its only rotundity existed in the semi-circular pool that was formed at the foot of the little torrent which gushed from the hills beyond it, and emptied its sparkling waters into the basin from which our fish were taken. The lake itself covered a considerable expanse, and was fringed with masses of birch, alder, and scrub-oaks, peculiar to that region. Numerous "well-holes" of considerable depth were accessible from the margin of the pond, in whose clear and cool waters immense numbers of trout were secreted-some of them, Tom said, of extraordinary size. The pond is located in the very heart of the forest, and is but little visited except by those well acquainted with the country there. A sojourn of four-and-twenty hours upon its banks-although we secured a goodly quantity of superb trout meantime-did not so prepossess me in its favor, however, that I shall be ambitious of another similar "pleasure jaunt”— Tom called it-to the spot which will certainly live green in the memory of my companion and myself for a long


season to come.

We "struck our tent" at four, and pressed our way through the woods to the southwestward. Weary and worn out with his two days' exertion, Mr. Greene declared that the excursion was anything but "funny" and, if ever he were again deluded into the attempt to follow Tom Barnett upon a similar trip, he might "write him down an ass," and he would enter into contract not to resent or deny the imputation!

By the time we had got through the last stretch of woods-which embraced a mile of the vilest of briery underwood and tangled scrubs-Mr. Greene was a mass of shreds and tatters. With a badly crushed hat, and broken spirits, he emerged from the forest. His coat and pants were nearly torn from his body, his creel was shattered, his boots

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were broken from the soles, and altogether he was especially woe-begone, and generally" wrecked."



"You call this sport-do you, Mr. Barnett?" said Greene, at last, sulkily. Capitle!" said Tom, holding up his bear-skin, and pointing to his trout-capitle, to be sure. Don't you?" No, sir," responded Mr. Greene, firmly. It's an infernal imposition, sir. And when you catch me venturing upon a similar undertaking. Mr. Barnett --just tell me of it-that's all!"



We reached the hotel, at length, in safety, however, and Mr. Greene's pas sion for trout-fishing was satiated for the present. We heard nothing further from him in reference to his qualifications (or his exploits) with the rod !

Having tarried at and enjoyed the hospitalities of the "Alpine" a sufficient

length of time to recover from the effects of our recent adventures, we started one fine clear morning, early in July, for the Glen House, seven miles distant-another spacious hotel located in Peabody valley, near the base of Mounts Adams and Jefferson, and whence parties ascend Mount Washington, who approach from the northerly side.

This house is built upon what was formerly known as Bellows' Clearing—a gentleman by that name, from Vermont, having been the pioneer there. The present hotel is of ample dimensions, modern in style, and is well conducted. From the balcony of the Glen House may be had a superior view of two of the three highest peaks of the White Mountain range-Mount Adams and Mount Jefferson standing in front of the house, in all their sombre grandeur; the one conical, in a measure, and the other of an oblong rotundity, at the apex. Far away beyond, to the left of these, and "towering to the skies," looms up Mount Washington--the hoary-headed patriarch of the group, whose bald and storm-beaten crown is elevated more

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Greene," I added. And, though you may have traveled,' you have yet a good deal to learn.”

"Yes, I see," continued my friend, coolly.

At this point in the conversation, we reached the Glen House stables, where we ascertained, a few minutes subsequently, that parties to the number of over forty-five had accomplished exactly what the enterprising Mr. Greene had done, but some time in advance of him, however. The agreeable feature, therefore, in this preparatory arrangement, (which had been so confidently and so dexterously effected by my friend) was that, in our case, the animals thus "bespoken" by our accomplished cicerone were the very last that were engaged. Our party, with Mr. Greene at its head, were in consequence supplied, without delay, with Hobson's choice. Mr. Greene had "been there," perhaps, -but not in this precise spot!

Immediately on leaving the carriage, Greene (who had traveled, in his time) made himself agreeable among the ostlers and guides congregated there, and who were awaiting the arrival of our party at the "Glen;" it being desirable, ordinarily, that as many visitors as is convenient may ascend the mountain together. Mr. Greene, having distributed, with unsparing hand, among the crowd, the fees which he contended was one of the first of considerations with "traveled" persons, learned immediately after this performance, that, at least in the present instance, it was an act of supererogation; for there were but five miserable hacks left in the stables for the accommodation of our party!


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On'y five left," said the guide, politely.

"How very precise!" remarked Mr. Greene.



Very," was the response. "Allers jess so, sir. Five pussons-five 'orses." "Yes, I see. Exactly five horses here," continued Greene, calculatingly. Five times four are twenty. That is to say, ten pairs of legs. Five animals-five persons."

"Yes, sir," said the guide, "an' we're all ready-'f'u please, sir."

"O, yes-I see, I see," continued Mr. Greene. "You couldn't, MikeI think you said your name is Michael," added Greene, persuasively, as he thrust another coin into the guide's hand,

"you couldn't contrive to manage to exchange-that is to say, provide us with five animals a shade better, that is, different from these-eh? could you Mike ?"


Couldn't, possibly," responded Mike, as he quietly thrust the coin into his watch-fob. "All gone-an' besides, sir, these is the best in the stables. Last allers best, sir."

Mr. Greene scanned the poor jaded ponies, and exclaimed, half-unconsciously, "if these are the best, heaven help the others!"


Ready, sir?" inquired Mike, a moment afterwards, ladies all mounted, and gone on, sir."

"Bless me! You don't say so," ejaculated Greene.

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The signal was at length given for the march, and the party moved slowly away in a line, single file;" and crossing the river, a few rods below the front of the Glen House, the leading guide (at the head of his motley battalion) turned up the roadway, and commenced the ascent to Mount Washington.

Mr. Greene stood beside his sorry nag, in readiness to mount, but evidently a little shy and suspicious either of his beast, or of his own horsemanship.


"Ave a care!" suggested Mike, kindly to him, as he placed his foot in the stirrup. 'She's a good 'un, but she's apt to run back'ards a leetle, at fust. You ken ride, carn't you?"

This home-thrust, at my pleasant friend's accomplishments as an equestrian, was rather ill-advised; for, if there were any one thing in Mr. Greene's "traveled experience" upon which he prided himself more especially than another, it was that he could ride "O, yes-I see, I see. Thank you. Capital seat, capital," said Mr. Greene, bravely. "Never better-never!" he continued throwing his right limb gallantly over the saddle, and jerking himself upon the unruly creature's back, briskly.



But at the instant he performed this graceful feat in mounting, his erratic pony, sulking, sprang violently backwards, and by the retrograde movement brought the nose and chin of Mr. Greene very suddenly and unceremoniously between the brute's ears, at the same time knocking his hat from his head, uncivilly.

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