Expend the same money at some one spot, that might otherwise be spread over the lengthened journey; take the proper times for driving out to examine and enjoy the best positions; and the mountains will certainly come to you--which, it is averred, they declined to do for Mahomet."

Favorably impressed with the suggestion, and with the intention of adopting the spirit of this apparently very appropriate counsel, our little family-party started upon a summer tour of the White Mountains, late in a lovely June.

Our traveling cortége and accompaniments consisted of two gentlemen, a comfortable light carriage, a pair of Morgan bays, a brace of Mantons, three of Conroy's choicest trout rods and gear, a sketch-book, two servants, nine huge trunks, as many band-boxes (confound them!), two hampers of St. Perey, and-three ladies.

After leaving the pretty city of Portland. Me., the size of the villages northward perceptibly grows smaller, and the

population more sparse, as you proceed towards Island Pond-the town of Gorham, N. H., being the point, on the way thither, at which pleasure-seekers "do mostly congregate" in the summer season, and whence the pilgrim on his journey to Mounts Washington, Jefferson, Adams, and Moriah, commences his toilsome but romantic and exhilarating march upward.

The present town of Gorham, which, until within a few years, formed a part of Shelburne, lies to the north of the base of the principal eminences known generally as the "White Mountains," and is but a rude village at this time, though it was incorporated some twenty years since. The establishment of the railroad (running through this town directly to Montreal) has had the effect of building it up, somewhat; though its chief features, now, are the Alpine House, a fine hotel belonging to the railway company, a dépôt near by, and the few cottage dwellings around, occupied principally by persons connected with the road, in that neighborhood. Within a

few years, great numbers of travelers select this route to the mountains; and, in the vicinity of Gorham-that is to say, within easy carriage-drives, over very excellent roads are located some of the loveliest spots in that lovely country surrounding the granite monarchs of northern New England.

Mount Moriah lies upon the edge of Shelburne-the town adjoining Gorham-and, from which, the latter-named place is but a "set-off." Near the centre of Shelburne, and within pleasant driving distance of the "Alpine," may be seen a curious precipice, or ledge of rock, rising from its base to a height of some seventy feet-in an angle of fifty degrees-called "Moses' Ledge." It is told that this cliff received its name from the fact that, during an early survey of the town, the authorities offered to bestow the best lot of land in the precinct to the man who could readily climb to the top of this rock. A person by the name of Moses Ingalls removed his boots, and scrambled up to the crown of the ledge, amid the cheers of the surveying party-and hence its cog

nomen.

A drive over a very fair road to the northwest, from the "Alpine," distant some seven miles, brings you to another locality of much interest-Berlin Falls.

This charming spot is now resorted to by hosts of travelers, who cannot fail to admire the wild and magnificent scenery which surrounds this madlydriven torrent, as it rushes, with tremendous force, through the gulch that forms its craggy, bouldered bed. It is called Berlin Falls-but the writer considers this a misnomer.

The sketch here presented is an accurate view, taken in the month of July, at a point below the bridge which has been thrown across the torrent. From a distance above the bridge, the river comes tumbling down, over a rugged bed of huge rocks, the descent, for several rods, being sharp and rapid; but not presenting what is generally understood by the abrupt term of a "fall" of water. Rapids, or torrent, would decidedly be more appropriate to this locality, although the fall of the watersfor a distance of some hundred rods in

the immediate vicinity of the bridge-is very considerable, yet comparatively gradual. And still, but few spots in the whole tour of the White Mountain region strikes the beholder with deeper awe than this wonderful leaping of flood over its cragged bed of boulders, clefts, and time-worn rocks.

Returning by the carriage road from Berlin Falls, or Berlin cataract (as the reader pleases), we passed, or halted to examine, many beautiful streams that gushed from the mountain ridges, along the right or left, and saw three or four miniature cascades that the ladies greatly admired. As we turned an angle in the road, we came in view of the river again. a mile or more below the bridge. The current set rapidly around this point, and one of the young ladies suddenly descried a paddle whirling in the eddy, near the shore. This little incident suggested inquiry among our fair companions, and our guide-an old mountaineer-related the following, in reply to the question, where this isolated oar could have come from:

"I carn't say, mum, whar that oar 'rig'nated; but I can tell you 'bout another that was found here, in the 'Scoggin; and how it came round that a beautiful young lady 'tempted to do a man's work, and-and missed of it, mum." "O, delightful!" responded the ladies, instanter. 'Pray, let's have the story. Do-Mr. Guide."

Well, mum; it was all for love—” "So much the better," rejoined the ladies.

"So much the wuss, mum, I think, for her," said the guide, gravely. "But, hows'ever, you shall hear."

"It was on one o' them awful nights that we have here in the mountains, sometimes; dark, and stormy, and fearful to witness-to say nothing of bein' caught out in it-that this young woman undertook to run away from her father's house, and 'lope with a Canadian that her parents didn't fancy.

"He was on the other side of this river-jest below the falls-waiting for her. They had 'ranged to meet there, privately, on this particular night, you see-and they hadn't calc'lated on any postponement on account o' the weather, you und'stand. She was to cross over, in her father's boat, and he had horses ready on t'other side-just yonder, for instance-for both of them; by w'ich means they expected to escape, and arterwards were to be married.

"Well; he came, and she came. He lit a signal on t'other side of the river. As I told you before, it was a man's work—yes, mum, and more—to paddle a boat 'cross the roarin' stream that night, amidst the white caps.' But, you see, mum, the young woman wus in love; and so she wus bound to resk it. She saw the fire-light, and, as her heart jumped into her beautiful throat, she jumped into the canoe-boat, and pushed out for the opposite shore, where her Canadian lover 'waited her."

"A brave girl she was, too!" exclaimed the ladies.

"Yes, mum; but disobed'ent, you see. Her father was a keen old mountaineer, and lov'd her. Well, he kep' a sharp watch over her movements, and suddenly missed her that night. He 'spected that somethin' was a goin' on, and he happened to run out to the river -'cause he'd got an idee runnin' in his head that his daughter might commit suicide, you see; 'cause she'd been wild-like, and unmanageable, for some

time-and the first thing he see was the gal in the boat out on the river!" "And what did he do?" anxiously inquired the company of listeners.

Do? W'y he yelled to her to come back, o' course. But she looked over to t'other side, and the other fellow told her to come across-to have courage— and all that sort o' thing. But, she was

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a poor cretur, any how," continued the guide, sympathetically, she couldn't do n'ither one thing or t'other! Her boat whirled round an' round-veered off into the mad current-shot down stream with the rush of waters-struck a boulder-and went over and over before the wind and storm!"

"And what became of the young lady?"

"Drowned, of course drowned, mum;" said the guide softly. "Next day, in one of the eddies, just like this, the paddle was found, and the boat was got five miles below here, badly stove up. The young woman was never heerd of a'gin. It was a awful storm, mum— certain!"

A sigh escaped the lady listeners to this pathetic "tale of the Androscoggin," as the party entered the carriage once more, and turned toward the Alpine House.

A week after our arrival at Gorham, Mr. Greene proposed that our fishinggear should be brought into requisition; and after divers and sundry unsuccessful efforts, on the part of this gentleman, to "show us how to kill trout," we chanced one morning to meet with Tom Barnett, a fisherman of the old school, who had been bred at the mountains, and who knew where the speckled dainties dwelt-ay, every spring and brook and hummock they inhabited-throughout the entire trouting country.

Tom is a crude specimen of the genus homo, but a good-hearted, common-sense fellow, whom everybody learns to like. We chanced upon him as he returned from a fishing trip, with a noble string of sparklers in his hands, and we at once inquired where he obtained them. And he replied, good-naturedly, there."

"over

"Over there" might seem to Tom Barnett very clear and intelligible; but, to Mr. Greene, the locality named was altogether unsatisfactory, and the term appeared very inexpressive!

"How long have you been out?" insisted Mr. Greene.

"Three days," said Tom. "Three days!" exclaimed Mr. G. "How far away?" I inquired. "Two-and-twenty miles," rejoined Tom. "Capital sport, too. Sixty-five trout-weigh five-and-forty poun's. One day's fishing-one day out, and one back."

The results of Tom's excursion were quickly disposed of, at the hotel, and Mr. Greene directly entered into negotiations with the roughly-attired stranger, in reference to another trip.

Tom Barnett sported a hat that, at some remotely anterior period, might have been of beaver, but most probably it was a Kossuth, originally. It had long since seen its best days-though

Tom declared that it was a most excellent arrangement still-inasmuch as all the water that came in through its dilapidated top ran off through the long-time parted seams that gaped at the rim. His coat (originally a paletot) was a "pelter." (so he called it) of English pilot cloth, and evidently had weathered many a harsh and driving storm, with good-natured Tom inside of it. His boots were of heavy cow's hide, his

pants of leather, his shirt of buck-skin. His beard and hair were worn au naturel, and covered his face almost entirely. He carried an old hog-skin portmanteau, upon all his excursions; and a large double-barreled pistol in his girdle-to defend himself against bears and other "varmint," as he wandered about-completed the costume of this " original."

Tom's fishing-rod was always cut from the nearest sapling upon the ground. For bait, he usually shot a partridge en route to his favorite pond or stream. His manner was rude, and his tout ensemble forbidding to strangers, yet his disposition was kindly in the extreme; and, though he knew little of the courtesies of civilized life, he was,

certainly, in his own way, "a trump"-as brave as a lion, and as hardy and reliable as he was brave. Tom had been reared in the mountain forests. Stalwart in form, and possessed of an iron will, as well as sinews, he felt himself, single handed, a match for the biggest b'ar in Hampshire, and feared neither hardship, weather, beast, nor "human."

My youthful friend, Mr. Greene, as has been hinted, was resolved upon a fishing excursion. He listened to Tom Barnett's stories of the fabulous numbers of trout he had killed at different times, and arranged with the veteran angler to accompany him, next day, upon a little jaunt" into the forest-a "pleasant walk," as Tom termed the prospective trip - where the sport would be "extr'onnery fine."

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When Mr. G. made his appearance upon the hotel piazza, the next morning, he certainly was a model of a trouter. His delicate silver-tipt Conroy rod was of the latest pattern; his snugly fitting fishing-frock was a triumph; his pants, and boots, and gauntlets were unimpeachable; his chapeau sat light and jauntily upon his handsome forehead; his creel was ample in length and breadth; his impériale was faultless; and, altogether, he looked remarkably

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foine," and well put up. Indeed, Tom Barnett himself, when he saw him in readiness to start, with a curl on his lip pronounced him a "nat'ral cur'osity."

The fishing-party, of three, took the up-train of cars, at nine A.M., and, after a ride of some fourteen miles, were set down by the roadside. Tom, with his portmanteau and double-barreled pistol; Mr. Greene, with his fashionable traps and "regimentals ;" and his friend, with a well-filled cigar-case, matches, and sketch-book. Crossing a narrow strip of meadow, Tom plunged at once into the forest beyond-flanked by his favorite dog-and bade us follow.

The thick underbrush and briars we encountered at every step, rendered our passage exceedingly difficult, though Tom thrust his way along with such strides as compelled him, at every turn, to halt for us to come up. Greene's twenty-dollar rod had been ruined, at the outset, by contact with the scraggy bushes through which we had been forced, and he panted and blowed like an over-driven horse, at the end of the first half mile.

The dense mass of brush and bushes that were here matted together, and which completely covered the ground the whole distance we traveled, rendered the walking exceedingly laborious, not to speak of the incessant entanglement to which our limbs were subjected, at every other moment, and out of which we were obliged to draw our feet by main strength, at times. The atmosphere was heated, too, the weather being quite too warm for comfort, without exertion; and the small trees and numberless saplings were so closely and intimately interwoven one with another that, but for the fact that Barnett led and beat down the way for us, to a considerable extent, we should have found it impossible to proceed at all.

Occasionally, the trunk of some huge tree, that had fallen in the forest, would obstruct the passage obstinately; and, in one instance, Mr. Greene well nigh "yielded up the ghost' as he met with, and became entangled beside, a monstrous log, which he finally crossed, after the severest struggle, amid the painful scarifying of his face and limbs, and the destruction of his coat and hat and nether garments.

I hallooed for Tom, who was considerably in advance of us, who put about and returned.

"Anything happened?" he asked, as he reached the spot where I was resting.

Mr. Greene having come up, now animadverted rather fervently against scrub-forests in general, and in reference