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night, the unfortunate young girl reclining upon her protector's knee. When daylight broke, the party discovered themselves within forty rods of the Summit House-but Miss Bourne had perished during the darkness! They had ascended without a guide; and the sufferings of that little company can scarcely be imagined, as they clung together during the weary hours of that long and fearful night. One of them died on that spot, and the health of the others was seriously periled. This monument has been thrown up to mark this shocking incident in the history of the mountains.

You turn away, with a sigh for " poor Lizzie Bourne," and the voice of your guide cheers you with the shout of "'ere we are, gentlemen!" The summit is reached, at last.

A world of magic-like beauty lies around you; you behold a myriad hues that you have never dreamed of before; you see a widely-stretching field of gorgeous landscape which pen or pencil never has and never can de

Messrs. Hall and Rosebrook (well known mountaineers), of rough stones, blown out of the crown of Mount Washington itself, and is secured to the rocks by four cables which are drawn over the roof and are fastened into the mountain near the foundation. It is rather plain in exterior, but is substantial, and answers its purpose until the new buildings (contemplated by the road com

pict, a wonderful blending of curious light and shadow that artist never conceived, and cannot portray. You realize more in a single instant of sunshine, upon the crest of old Washington, than you can feel or imagine in a lifetime of study of all the "masters" in Christendom. Drink in the glorious inspiration that floats around and beneath you, and make haste to enjoy the rich voluptuousness of this once-seen-andnever-to-be-forgotten pantoscope-for a veil is passing over its outskirts; and even while you gaze, the cloud approaches again, the magnificent picture is shut from the view, and you find yourself enveloped, haply, in mist, or sleet, or rain!

This is but temporary, however. The order is given to mount, for the descent, and you are soon threading your way down the bridle-path, en route to the Glen House once more. Before leaving, you take a look at the little "squatty" Summit House, where you have so comfortably dined, and which will not be forgotten by you. It was built by

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to and fro, being but indifferent riders, or totally unpracticed in the saddle. Yet these animals manage their uncertain loads with great show of care, and but very few accidents occur, notwithstanding the difficulties of the journey both up and down this tortuous acclivity.

My friend, Mr. Greene, was particularly struck with the beauty of the

Crystal Falls, and leaped about, upon the rocks below them, with a precision and celerity that would have electrified a chamois, to the infinite gratification of the ladies, who freely admitted that Mr. Greene was a vast deal more agile and juvenile than they had hitherto given him credit for. Indeed, we found it impossible to control his activeness at all, though suggestions were repeatedly thrown out to him, both by his companions and the guide, in reference to the deceitfulness of his foothold upon the rocks, which, in many places, were covered with a mossy slime, upon which it was unsafe to step, without great caution.

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the great alarm of his friends, and the subdued but evident amusement of the anxious and really attentive guide!

We sprang to the rescue of Greene amid the frantic shrieks of the ladies, who were desperately alarmed for his safety. But Greene was born not to be drowned, plainly; for he rolled over like a huge porpoise, and was drawn from the pool by the skirts of his coat, without any detriment whatever, except the inconvenience of the involuntary cold-bath. As the guide jerked him rather unceremoniously ashore, he repeatedly remarked, "I told you so, sir-I told you so." To which assurances the ungrateful Mr. G., as he blew the water from his mouth and nostrils, only responded, only responded, "A pretty guide, you! What the devil did you push me in there, for?"

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"I? Push you in ?" exclaimed the guide, astounded.

"Yes, sir-yes! Push me in, and get a fee for helping me out. I see, sir. It won't do-won't do with me, sir. I've traveled too much for that. Don't try it again, sir-I won't give you a penny-not a red, sir!"

Heartily as we sympathized with Mr. Greene in his little misfortune, we were compelled to laugh outright at this ludicrous misconstruction on his part, and the turn he thus gave to the accident. And in the midst of our rejoicings that it was no worse, and the jokes which his misstep unavoidably occasioned, we started briskly on through

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the woods again towards the road, where
our carriage awaited us.

Over the stream which crosses the road, and which comes down from the

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cascade described, is placed a log-
bridge. At this point you enter the
wood, on the right. This is anoth-
er pretty spot, overarched by high
trees, whose foliage shadows the
cool water that passes noiselessly
away at this point, and flows
through the forest and the valley to
the southeastward. In the early spring-
time, this stream is alive with trout, and
excellent sport may be had by "drop-ing.
ping a line" in the numerous pools
along its banks.

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Numerous and fanciful are the old

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legends connected with these hills; and one of the superstitious Indian traditions relating to the origin of the White Mountains is not uninterest

It is related that "the cold stormking was abroad in the great northern wilderness, and a lonely hunter-chief

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found himself far away from his wigwam without food, chilled and cheerless amidst the wintry blasts. He could find no game, and the dark clouds over his prospects rendered him life-weary and disconsolate. He sank beneath the chilling snows, and slept. In his dreams, he was borne away to a green and beautiful valley, where the streamlets sang joyfully, and birds and game were abundant. His spirit cried with joy! The Great Master of Life then awoke him, and placed in his eager grasp a flintpointed spear. Then giving him a dry coal, told him that he might dwell upon the shore of the placid lake near him, and kill fish with his spear, and kindle fire with his coal. One dark night, when he had lain down his coal, and built his customary fire, there suddenly arose a blinding smoke, and a terrible voice was heard from out the rising flame. Then succeeded the fearful thunder, the earth was rent, and there

rose up a huge mass of broken rocks, which piled themselves to the heavens. A cloud rested upon the summit of this suddenly-formed cliff, from which poured down a thousand sparkling streams, which quenched the fire again; and the astounded hunter heard the voice again, in peaceful and loving tone, exclaim: Rest here! The Great Spirit will dwell with you, and watch over his favorite children!'"

We left the cascades, and the rustic bridge, and the cool streams of Ellis and Peabody behind us, and hastened homeward; for our friend was in no condition to enjoy even the lovely scenery we met, after his recent unsolicited immersion! He had listened to the legends told by our guide, as we hurried back, in moody silence, and as we stepped into the hotel again, he bowed to the ladies, and passed on to exchange his saturated dress, with the simple and classical sentiment, "Ala-bama!-Here we rest!"

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T is so beautiful outside the window that I can hardly keep my

eyes upon
my work.

How bright the colors are under this warm sky! The leaves shine, they are SO very green! Then, how brilliant the scarlet flowers

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look that climb up round the lattice!
And the birds are gay and bright! But
when I look inside, all is very gloomy.
The walls are thick, and heavy, and dark.
Oh! Sister Theresa, why will you wear
that black, dreary dress? And, your
face, oh! it would be so beautiful, but,
dear Sister Theresa, that cap is hide-

ous!"

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"My child, my child, are you speaking to me? I cannot listen to you. If the sunlight and the gay colors are such a temptation to you, it were better to shut them out. Long ago I shut them out from my soul, when I closed the door of the world behind me. It is because the colors are so gay that I do not look out of the window. Marie, I do not wish to turn back."

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"But, Sister Theresa," said Marie, "shall I ever be so? You are good, I would wish to be like you, but must I give up all happy things? See, at just thinking of it, it sets me crying!-the tears are all over my embroidery. There's one in the very midst of the pattern!"

"It is better to work tears in your embroidery," said Sister Theresa, "than flowers. Flowers spring from the earth, and rain falls from heaven. Holy souls have been made pure by the many tears that have washed away the sins that might have stained them."

"I will work over these tears," said Marie; "see, I have filled up one little circle; that is where I have buried one of my tears. In all my little life I have not shed a great many. Some day some stranger will come into the convent to buy a piece of the nuns' embroidery, and, perhaps, he will be willing to buy my handkerchief. For, Sister Theresa, I am really beginning to embroider quite

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