———"Ye mountains,So varied and so terrible in beauty;Here in your rugged majesty of rocksAnd toppling trees that twine their roots with stoneIn perpendicular places, where the footOf man would tremble could he reach them—yes,Ye look eternal!"
———"Ye mountains,So varied and so terrible in beauty;Here in your rugged majesty of rocksAnd toppling trees that twine their roots with stoneIn perpendicular places, where the footOf man would tremble could he reach them—yes,Ye look eternal!"
———"Ye mountains,
So varied and so terrible in beauty;
Here in your rugged majesty of rocks
And toppling trees that twine their roots with stone
In perpendicular places, where the foot
Of man would tremble could he reach them—yes,
Ye look eternal!"
Cloud-capped, sky-crowned, mist-mantled, storm-defying Mount Washington! O, there have been days, and weeks, and months and years, when life's legion woes pressed heavily upon our souls and bowed our spirits in the dust; when we dared not glance toward the past, or contemplate the present, and turned with shuddering dread from the future of starless, impenetrable gloom; and in those doleful years, through long, long nights of sleepless pain and agony we have prayed, entreated, implored grim death to come and ease us of the thorny pangs that tore our bleeding hearts like venomed arrows. But now on reverent knee we thank the God of nature, that he has let us live to stand upon thy sky-piercing summit and look down on the world below! Wild Switzerland of America! thrice proud are we to call thy granite mountains ours, for beneath thy snow-capped summits our young existence dawned, and thy shrill winds and stormy blasts rolled forth the sleeping anthems that lulled our infant slumbers.
To this wild mountain region came Florence Howard, after luxuriating on the picturesque Hudson, and dreaming herself in elysian realms among the "thousand isles" of the queenly St. Lawrence. She was all life and animation. The excitement of travel and vivid enjoyment of the beautiful and sublime had banished every trace of the dejection and gloom which had for many months obscured her brilliancy. Major Howard was delighted with the improvement in his daughter's appearance, and seemed almost as young and buoyant as she. Young Williams and his sister were their constant companions in travel, and Florence found in Ellen a gentle nature and affectionate heart.
A storm set in on the night of our party's arrival at the Crawford House, and heavy clouds settled down over the brows of the great mountains that hemmed in the narrow valley. The hotel was thronged with visitors, and the new comers had to accept of such accommodations as two small rooms in the upper story could afford.
"I declare," exclaimed Ellen, when the porters had brought in the trunks, thrown back the fastenings, and retired, "after rackings, and tossings, and tumblings enough to disjoint and unhinge a leviathan, to what a comfortless haven are we arrived at last! O, for a tithe of the luxury I rolled in at Niagara and Saratoga, or even one of the state-rooms of the 'Hendrick Hudson' or 'Belle of the Waters!' They were rooms of state indeed compared with these dismal little pens. How are we going to turn round in them, Florence, much less unload our trunks of their wardrobes and array ourselves for appearance in the parlors and dining saloon?"
"Dear me!" answered Florence, as she stood before the window, blowing her benumbed fingers, "I don't think we shall have any occasion to open our trunks, for there is not a frock in mine I could venture to put on, unless I was willing to be frozen to death within the hour."
"But what are we to do?" said Ellen, approaching the other window and gazing forth on the dark, stormy evening, that was rapidly closing in around them. Nothing could be seen beyond the small circle of the valley in which the house stood, save dense clouds of fog and mist. The rain poured like a second deluge, and terrific winds roared, and shrieked, and bellowed like infuriate spirits of the rushing storm.
"What geese we have made of ourselves, Florence!" resumed Ellen, after she had gazed in silence a few moments on the gloomy prospect presented to her eyes; "jamming into crowded, uncomfortable coaches, and bruising and battering our flesh and bones to jelly, all to reach this wonderful abode of grandeur and sublimity. What 'Alps on Alps' we expected would tower before our astonished visions! But here we are, sunk in a dismal abyss on the extreme northern verge of civilization, and never a mountain to be seen, or anything else save great lowering clouds that threaten to fall and crush us yet deeper into the earth."
"If I could only get to see the mountains, I would not mind all the discomfitures," said Florence, peering into the growing blackness without.
"I tell you there are no mountains," said Ellen, growing impatient in her disappointment.
"O, yes," returned Florence; "I think there must be a few somewhere in the vicinity."
"Then why can't we see them?" demanded Ellen.
"They are hidden by the clouds, I suppose," said Florence. "I am told Mount Washington is veiled in their fleecy mantles for weeks sometimes."
"No doubt it will be thus obscured during our visit," said Ellen, quite petulantly.
A knock on the door here called their attention. Florence opened it, and beheld her father, "Well, girls," said he, rubbing his hands, "what do you think of the White Mountains?"
"When we have seen them we shall be better prepared to give an opinion," said Florence.
"For my part, I don't believe in them at all," said Ellen quickly.
Major Howard laughed heartily at this pertly announced conviction of the non-existence of the wonderful summits they had come to behold, and said he trusted, "when the storm was over, the elephants would show their terrible heads."
"But are not you half frozen?" asked he, his teeth chattering as he spoke; "pray come down in the parlors; you will find them warm and filled with guests."
"We cannot go in our travelling garbs," said Ellen, "and there's no opportunity here, as you see, to open our trunks."
"Never mind your dark dresses," returned he; "you will not find the gossamer fabrics that deck the belles of Saratoga in fashion here. The fair creatures, however much in defiance of their wishes, are obliged to conceal their white arms and shoulders in thick warm coverings."
"We would be very glad to do so," said Florence; "but unfortunately our wardrobes were prepared for a temperate, instead of a frigid zone."
"Well, you will do very well as you are to-night; there are a score of ladies just arrived, all round the parlor fires, in their travel-stained garbs; so come on," said he, "and don't be bashful. You will hear the conversation of those who have passed half the summer in this region, and perhaps Ellen may come to believe in old Mount Washington."
"I shall never believe in it till I have seen it with my own eyes," returned the fair girl, as she and Florence, under the escort of Major Howard, descended the flights of stairs to the parlor.
As they entered, a hum of voices struck their ears from every side. There was a group of ladies and gentlemen round the fire, and several of them vacated their seats for the convenience of the new comers. A large woman with a very red face remained in one corner and a young girl sat by her side.
"Have you just arrived?" asked the former of Florence; who was nearest her.
"Yes, madam," returned Florence, respectfully.
"Well, it is a dismal time for strangers to make their advent, though the largest arrivals most always occur on such nights as this," said the fleshy woman, who had rather a pleasant manner, and would have been very good-looking, Florence thought, but for the rough redness of her complexion.
"Are such storms frequent here?" inquired Ellen, in a dubious tone.
"Not very," answered the portly lady. "I have been here six weeks, and have not witnessed so severe a one hitherto. I think myself rather unfortunate to have been exposed to its severity all day."
Ellen and Florence looked surprised, and the lady continued: "Myself and daughter joined a large party that ascended the mountains yesterday. We had a tedious time. I lost my veil, and my face was frozen by exposure to the biting blasts. The storm came on so furiously we were obliged to send our horses back by the guides and remain all night."
"What!" exclaimed Ellen, "remain all night on the top of a mountain exposed to a storm like this! Why did you not all perish?"
"O, we had shelter, and a good one!" returned the lady.
"Where was it? In caves of rocks, or on cold, wet turfs beneath reeking branches of lofty pines?" asked Ellen.
"Not in caves," answered the lady, "and certainly not on grassy turfs, or beneath trees of any variety; for old Mount Washington's bleak summit cannot boast the one or the other."
"What can it boast, then?" inquired Ellen; "wolves and catamounts, that, together with its shrieking winds, make night hideous?"
"Not wolves, or animals of any species," returned the lady, shaking her head; "but of huge masses of granite boulders, gray and moss-grown, heaped in gigantic piles, that eternally defy the blasts and storms of the fiercest boreal winters."
"O, what a grand thing it must be to stand on its summit!" exclaimed Florence, with glistening eyes.
"It is, indeed," said the lady, "though I have been pelted by the merciless storm all day, which added fresh difficulties to the descent, and still suffer much from my poor, frozen cheeks, I do not for a moment regret my journey. I suppose you young ladies intend to ascend?"
"I do," said Ellen. "If there is anything here worth seeing, I wish to see it, after all the fatigue and trouble of getting here."
"O, well," returned the lady, "I assure you there is enough to see. I have been here, as I have already informed you, six weeks, and some new wonder bursts upon me every day. You are a little disappointed from having been so unfortunate as to arrive on this gloomy evening, when even the nearest views are obscured by clouds. But the guides predict a splendid day to-morrow. I am sure you will be delighted in the morning when you rise and behold the great clouds rolling away their heavy masses and revealing the broad, dark summits of the mountains that hem in this grassy valley. I shall watch to see you dance into the breakfast hall in buoyant spirits."
With a pleasant good-evening the lady retired. Florence and Ellen soon followed. In the upper space they met Major Howard and young Williams, who were hastening to join them in the parlor.
"Well, sis," said Edward, "Major Howard tells me you vote the White Mountains all humbug."
"I think Ellen is growing less sceptical," said Florence, "since she has conversed with a lady who has just descended from their summits."
"O, yes, Nell, there's a Mount Washington, sure as fate," returned Edward, "and we must ascend its craggy steeps to-morrow; so retire, and get a refreshing rest to be ready for the fatiguing excursion in the morning."
CHAPTER XXXIII.
"Come over the mountains to me, love,Over to me—over to me;My spirit is pining for thee, love,Pining for thee—pining for thee!"
"Come over the mountains to me, love,Over to me—over to me;My spirit is pining for thee, love,Pining for thee—pining for thee!"
"Come over the mountains to me, love,
Over to me—over to me;
My spirit is pining for thee, love,
Pining for thee—pining for thee!"
Song.
The sun rose bright above the mountains of the Crawford Notch on the following morning, and illuminated with his brilliant rays all the green valley below. Each member of the large party that proposed to ascend Mount Washington was at an early hour mounted on a strong-built pony, and led by a guide into the bridle-path which commenced in the woods at the base of Mount Clinton. Our little band of travellers were foremost in the file, Florence and Ellen in the greatest glee of laughter and spirits.
The whole ascent of Clinton was through a dense forest, over a rough, uneven path, constructed of small, round timbers, called "corduroys." They were in a rotted, dilapidated condition, and unpleasant as well as dangerous to ride over.
Emerging from the woods that covered Clinton, the surrounding mountains began to appear; and from the grassy plain on the summit of Mount Pleasant, a view was obtained which called forth rapturous shouts from the whole company.
The descent of Pleasant was tedious. All the ladies were obliged to dismount, as the path was very rough, and often almost perpendicular over precipitous rocks, while the frightful chasm that yawned far below caused many of the adventurers to grow giddy and pale with fear.
Ellen, who was rather timid, began to wish she had remained in the valley, and continued to disbelieve in mountains; but Florence was all exhilaration and eagerness to push onward.
Mount Franklin towered next before them. As Florence, who was among the foremost, reached its summit, she turned on her pony, and gazed down on the little cavalcade, winding along up the narrow, precipitous path in single file, with the guides hurrying from one bridle to another, as a more difficult and dangerous place occurred in the rough way. And she thought of Napoleon leading an army over the mighty Alps, and how dauntless and sublime must be the soul of a man who could successfully accomplish an enterprise so fraught with perilous hazard and disheartening fatigue.
As the little company wound their way over the unsheltered brow of Mount Franklin, tremendous blasts swept down from the summits above, and threatened to unseat them in their saddles, or hurl the whole party over the fearful gulfs that yawned on every side. The guides collected the band together and informed them half their journey was completed. Many a face grew blank with dismay at this announcement. The weather wore a less promising aspect than when they set out, and the winds pierced them through and through. Several proposed to turn back. The guides said there was about an even chance for the clouds to blow over or gather into a storm, and the party could settle the point among themselves whether they would turn back or go on.
A gentleman, with features so muffled she could not discover them, rode to the side of Florence, and said, in a voice she could barely distinguish among the clamorous winds that howled over the mountain, "Do you favor the project of returning tamely to the valley and leaving Mount Washington a wonder unrevealed?"
"No!" answered she, from beneath her thick veil; the muscles of her face so stiffened with cold she could hardly move her lips.
"Then ride your pony to the centre of these dissenting groups and propose to move on," said he. "There are none in the party so craven-souled as to shrink from what a lady dares encounter."
Florence paused a moment, and then guided her pony into the midst of the company.
"Do you wish to join those who are going back, Miss?" said a guide, taking hold of her bridle-rein.
"No!" said she in a tone of decision. "I'll lead the way for those who choose to follow to the summit of Mount Washington."
"Bravo!"—"hurrah!"—"let us on!"—burst from all sides. Three solitary ones, among them Ellen Williams, turned back, and the others formed into file and moved onward. Down Mount Franklin and over the narrow path cut in the cragged side of Monroe, where a single misstep would hurl the horse and rider down a fathomless abyss, into whose depths the eye dares hardly for a moment gaze. Then appeared a crystal lakelet, and a little plain covered with a seedy-looking grass, where the horses rested and refreshed themselves ere the last desperate trial of their strength and endurance; for the weary band of adventurers had reached at last the base of the mighty Washington, whose summit was veiled in heavy clouds. As they loitered in the plain, the muffled gentleman again approached Florence, and inquired if she was unattended.
"No, sir," said she. "My father is among the party, also a friend; but they are not yet come up."
He lingered a moment, and then asked if she would like to dismount.
As the voice met her ear more distinctly, it struck her it had a familiar sound, and a sudden thought flashed across her mind. She thanked him for his politeness, but said she was too cold to move.
Her father and young Williams now appeared. "How do you brave it, Florence?" said Major Howard, drawing in his breath with a shudder.
"Very well, father," answered she.
When the muffled gentleman heard the name Florence pronounced, he started suddenly and darted a swift glance on the speaker. Then turning away, he remounted his steed and rode into the front ranks of the line that was forming. Soon the band commenced their toilsome ascent. The path wound over perpendicularly-piled masses of gigantic granite boulders. Often it seemed the poor tired animals, with their utmost efforts, would never be able to surmount the prodigious rocks that obstructed their way. Cold, blustering clouds of mists drove in the faces of the forlorn little party as they labored up and up the precipitous steeps, till it seemed to many a despairing heart that the summit of that tremendous mountain would never, never be gained. So densely hung the threatening clouds around them, they could not tell their distance from the wished-for goal. At length the guides halloed to the foremost rider to halt; and directly Florence felt herself in the arms of a strong man, who sprang over the craggy rocks with surprising agility, and soon placed her on the door-stone of a small habitation, which was not only "founded on a rock," but surrounded on all sides by huge piles of gray granite boulders.
In a few moments the whole dripping, half-frozen party were landed safely at the "Summit House," on the brow of Mount Washington. Great was their joy to find a comfortable shelter where they might rest and warm their chilled limbs; but great also was their dismay to find a storm upon them, and nothing visible from the miraculous height they had toiled to gain, but the wet rocks lying close beneath the small windows.
CHAPTER XXXIV.
"But these recede. Above me are the Alps,The palaces of Nature, whose vast wallsHave pinnacled in clouds their snowy scalps,And throned Eternity in icy hallsOf cold sublimity, where forms and fallsThe avalanche, the thunderbolt of snow!All that expands the spirit, yet appals,Gather around these summits, as to showHow earth may pierce to heaven, yet leave vain man below."
"But these recede. Above me are the Alps,The palaces of Nature, whose vast wallsHave pinnacled in clouds their snowy scalps,And throned Eternity in icy hallsOf cold sublimity, where forms and fallsThe avalanche, the thunderbolt of snow!All that expands the spirit, yet appals,Gather around these summits, as to showHow earth may pierce to heaven, yet leave vain man below."
"But these recede. Above me are the Alps,
The palaces of Nature, whose vast walls
Have pinnacled in clouds their snowy scalps,
And throned Eternity in icy halls
Of cold sublimity, where forms and falls
The avalanche, the thunderbolt of snow!
All that expands the spirit, yet appals,
Gather around these summits, as to show
How earth may pierce to heaven, yet leave vain man below."
Childe Harold.
A calm, beautiful morning succeeded a night of terrors. O, is there in all the world a grander sight than sunrise on Mount Washington?
The first faint rays breaking gradually through clouds of mist, and dimly revealing the outlines of surrounding peaks; then long, bright streams, piercing the gloomy depths of the valleys, chasing gigantic shadows, like spirits of light contending with the legions of darkness; and, at length, the whole immense sea of mountains brought into majestic view, with their unnumbered abysmal valleys covered with forests of every intermingled variety and shade of green.
Florence Howard separated herself from the remaining portion of the party, and stood alone on the topmost summit, leaning on the moss-grown side of a granite boulder, gazing in rapt awe and wonder on the awful sublimity that opened rapidly to her view. Thin, fringy clouds of mist, white and silvery in the growing light, were flying over the dark sides of the mountains, resting a moment in the valleys, and then disappearing, as a dusky form approached the spot where Florence stood.
"We meet again, Miss Howard;" said a voice at her side, low, and deep with emotion.
"And above the clouds, Edgar;" answered she, turning toward him, her face radiant as an angel's in the intensity of the emotions which overawed her soul. "Could we have met so well in any other place as here, with earth and its turmoils all below, and only the free blue dome of heaven above our head?"
"Are you glad to have met me here?" asked he, gazing sadly on her expressive features.
"Can you ask?" said she. "And this is the only spot where I could have rejoiced to meet you now, for here you will be Edgar to me, and may I not be Florence to you?" she added, lifting her clear, liquid eyes with beseeching earnestness to his face.
He could not withstand this gentle appeal, this touching expression. Softly his arm stole round her slender waist. She placed her little hand lightly on his shoulder, and laid her head with confiding tenderness on his bosom.
O, what was Mount Washington in his glory then? What the whole boundless prospect that spread its sublime immensity before them? Their eyes looked only in each other's hearts, and they were warm—O, how warm with love, and hope, and happiness! Mount Washington was cold. They felt a pity for its great, insensate piles of granite, that loomed up there to heaven, cold, bare and stony, void of power to feel and sympathize with human emotions. Wandering to a sheltered nook among the rocks they sat down together.
An hour passed by, during which each member of the little party was intently occupied with his own delighted observations, and then Major Howard recollected the absence of his daughter, who had left his side, saying she wished to contemplate the sublime spectacle apart from the rest of the company. Gazing over the cragged summit, he beheld her approaching with a gentleman at her side.
"Ay, my little truant," said he, advancing to meet her. "So you tired of your solitary contemplation, after all."
"I found this fair lady roaming among the rocks, and ventured to escort her to the party," said the gentleman, bowing politely, as he delivered Florence to the care of her father.
"Thank you, thank you, sir," returned Major Howard, casting a scrutinizing glance toward the young man as he turned away.
"My daughter, what do you think of this scene?" he asked, turning to her.
The glowing happiness, which lighted her features with almost supernatural beauty, astonished him.
"That I have never seen aught so awfully grand and majestic before," returned she, in a tone of wild enthusiasm.
"Does it surpass Niagara?"
"Infinitely," answered she. "Niagara is grand, but it is a single, solitary grandeur. Here, our vision encompasses a boundless expanse of dread, terrific sublimities; a sea of towering Alpine summits on every hand, with fearfully-yawning gulfs and chasms; tremendous precipices, over whose dizzy edges, as we look down, and down, and down into the abysmal depths of bright green valleys, starred over with tiny white cottages, and graced with winding rivers and waving fields of grain, we mark the dark straight lines of unnumbered railways, with their flying trains of cars; countless sheets of water flashing like molten silver; the spires and domes of numerous hamlets, villages, and cities; and, far in the distance, the broad Atlantic's dark blue surface, jotted over with white gleaming sails. O, father, father!" she exclaimed, almost wild with her emotions of awe and admiration, "is there in all the world a spectacle to equal that which feasts our vision now?"
"It is a grand scene," said the father, participating in his daughter's vivid enjoyment. "Look far on those blue summits that bound the prospect to the west and north. Those singularly-formed peaks you notice are called Camel's Rump and Mansfield mountains."
"Would I might forever dwell here!" exclaimed Florence, her eyes roaming in every direction, as though her soul could never drink its fill of the sublimity around.
Perhaps other delights than the scenery would afford rose in bright anticipation, and caused her to utter this strange, wild wish.
"You forget the awful winters, Florence, when you would perish beneath the sky-piled snows," said her father.
"O, I would not mind them!" she answered. "I'd have a little habitation, hidden down among the rocks, where I could sit by a cosey fire and listen to the billowy blasts that swept over my home in the clouds."
"Alone, Florence?" asked her father. "Would you dwell alone in a place so wild with terrors?"
"O, no!" said she quickly. "I would have one companion."
"And who should that be?"
"The one I loved best on earth," replied she, turning her clear eyes on her father's face.
"And that is"——he paused, and added, interrogatively, "Rufus Malcome?"
Florence started. Her features suddenly lost their glowing light, and darkened into a contemptuous frown.
"Don't breathe that name here!" she exclaimed, almost fiercely. "It is not worthy to be spoken in the air of God's own taintless purity."
Her father gazed with astonishment and pity. He had fancied the repugnance and dislike she formerly evinced toward her affianced husband was dissipated or forgotten in the multiplied excitements and varieties of travel; and great was his regret and sorrow to find it still rankling in her bosom. Both stood silent several moments, engaged in their own thoughts and emotions. At length several voices exclaimed gleefully, "The ponies, the ponies are coming!"
Major Howard glanced downwards, and beheld the long line of riderless horses, attended by the guides, slowly wending their way around the shelving, precipitous side of Mount Monroe. The company collected together and agreed to set out and meet them; so, returning to the hotel among the rocks, they partook of a finely-prepared lunch, and, wrapping warmly in shawls and blankets went forth on their hard, laborious way, down the steep path of cragged rocks. Sometimes their feet lighted on a sharp projection, or by a misstep they fell among the stony piles, bruising and wrenching their flesh and bones. But, notwithstanding all the fatigues and hardships of the way, the party were in jubilant spirits. As the prospect narrowed with the descent, they were all taking a last look at the disappearing wonders, and shouting their earnest farewells.
At the "Lake of the Clouds" they halted and drank of its cold, crystal waters. The ponies were feeding on the plain, and the party gladly mounted and commenced their long, toilsome descent.
As the shades of evening were falling, their safe arrival in the valley was hailed by assembled groups on the piazzas of the Crawford House.
CHAPTER XXXV.
"Love thee! words have no meaning to my deep love;It hath purged me from the weakness of my sex,And made me new create in thee. Love thee!I had not lived until I knew thee."
"Love thee! words have no meaning to my deep love;It hath purged me from the weakness of my sex,And made me new create in thee. Love thee!I had not lived until I knew thee."
"Love thee! words have no meaning to my deep love;
It hath purged me from the weakness of my sex,
And made me new create in thee. Love thee!
I had not lived until I knew thee."
On arriving at the hotel, Florence retired to her room, which she found vacant, and learned Ellen had joined a party on an excursion to Mount Willard, one of the loftiest peaks of the Crawford Notch, to whose summit there is a carriage road.
She drew forth her journal, and, sitting down beside the window, commenced to write.
Nimbly the golden pen sped over the spotless page, leaving a train of sprightly thoughts behind it, while the bright face glowed and sparkled with the buoyant happiness of the soul within.
"I feel like one just dropped from the clouds," she wrote, "and I should be inconsolable at my sudden descent from the august abode of eternal sublimities to the grovelling haunts of care and discontent, but that a sun-soaring spirit companioned and illumined my fall.
"I have stood above the clouds that swept the brows of lofty surrounding mountains, and seenthat star of minerise sweet and clear upon my earnest vision, and felt my long-chilled heart grow warm and glad beneath its beaming rays of light and love. I toiled up the miraculous steeps of hoary-headed, granite-crowned Mount Washington, to realize a double joy. The stern, gloomy grandeur was alone sufficient to awaken my profoundest awe, my strongest admiration; but a warm heart-happiness stole over me, which spread a mantling glory over all the thousand dark-browed mountains that loomed in their awful majesty on every side.
"And ever, till my heart has ceased to beat, though I should roam in foreign lands, along the castled Rhine, or beneath the sunny skies of classic Italy, Mount Washington will be to me the glory of the earth! For, standing on its granite piles, while sunrise pierced the gloomy valleys far below, a love nestled warmly to my bosom, with which I would not part for India's wealth of gems. How rich am I in the knowledge of Edgar's love! My soul is strong and firm as the mountains where my joy was born. Shall I ever tremble or waver again? Am I not mailed in armor to meet unshocked the battling swords and lances of life's armied legions of cares and sorrows? With Edgar's love to nerve my soul, what is there that I cannot endure? Surely, I could survive all things save separation from him; and is not this the one which will be demanded of my strength?
"But I will not mar my happiness by dark forebodings of the future. Let me enjoy the sunshine while it lasts. What shall I say to my father?—what will he say to me when he learns who was the companion of my lonely mountain stroll, and the rider at my bridle-rein during all the long, dangerous descent? I fear he will be angry and hurry me away immediately; and yet, with his discrimination, I think he must discern the vast superiority of Edgar Lindenwood to that low-bred, mean-souled Malcome.
"But it is time this record should end, for twilight approaches, and the shadows of the great mountains darken over the valley."
She closed her journal just as Ellen Williams, returned from her excursion, burst into the room. She flung her arms around Florence, and covered her with frantic kisses.
"O, I am so glad to have you safely back!" she exclaimed; "I feared I should never behold you again. How did you live through a night like last on that dreadful mountain-top?"
"We had a comfortable shelter," said Florence, returning her friend's warm embraces.
"Did you wish you were down here in the valley, when the awful storm overtook you?"
"No, indeed," answered Florence; "my courage rose above all difficulties. O, Ellen! you know not what you lost, when, chilled by the blasts that swept Mount Franklin, you grew discouraged and turned back."
"So Ned tells me," said Ellen; "but I saw sublimity enough from Mount Willard to fill my little soul with rapture, though I had no artist-companion at my side to point out the grandest views to my untaught vision."
Here she fixed an arch glance on Florence, who blushed slightly as she said:
"I do not understand your quizzical looks."
"Probably not," returned Ellen, in a pleasant, bantering tone; "and if I should tell you Mr. Lindenwood, the young artist of whom I spoke to you at Niagara, had made his appearance in these regions, no doubt you would express appropriate surprise at the information. However, your father has been impressed with his appearance, and sought an introduction. I saw them in the parlor but a moment since, engaged in conversation."
"Is it possible?" said Florence, her eyes lighting with pleasure.
"Why, very possible," returned Ellen, "and they seemed mutually pleased with each other. Come, let us make ready and go down. I promised Ned to return in five minutes."
The young ladies descended to the parlor, where Florence beheld her father standing before a table, with Edgar at his side, examining a volume of engravings.
She approached softly, when Major Howard turned, and introduced his companion as "Mr. Lindenwood, a former acquaintance of hers, who was visiting the mountains for the purpose of sketching views, and obtaining geological specimens."
Florence saw at once, by her father's words and manner, that he did not suspect Edgar's identity with the muffled figure which had been her companion on the mountains; and, bowing politely, expressed her "pleasure at again meeting Mr. Lindenwood."
Ellen and her brother joined them, and the evening passed in pleasant rehearsals of the wonders and adventures of their late expedition to the "realms of upper air."
As Major Howard led his daughter to the door of her apartment, he remarked: "That young Lindenwood is a fine fellow. I declare, I never thought that wild hermit's boy would grow into a refined, polished gentleman. You hardly recognized him, did you, Florence?"
"He is very much changed in his appearance," said she, briefly.
"Certainly he is," returned her father; "one seldom meets a handsomer fellow. He tells me there is a great deal of fine scenery through a place called the Franconia Notch. He is going there in a few days to complete some sketches. I think we will join him: now we are here, we may as well see all there is to be seen;—unless you wish to go home," he added, finding his daughter silent in regard to the proposed excursion.
"I wish to go home?" exclaimed she, suddenly; "if you remain here till that time comes, your head will be white as the snows of these northern winters."
Laughing at her enthusiasm for mountains, he kissed her cheek and retired.
CHAPTER XXXVI.
"Most wondrous vision! The broad earth hath not,Through all her bounds, an object like to thee,That travellers e'er recorded. Nor a spotMore fit to stir the poet's phantasy;Grey Old Man of the Mountain, awfullyThere, from thy wreath of clouds thou dost uprearThose features grand,—the same eternally!Lone dweller 'mid the hills! with gaze austereThou lookest down, methinks, on all below thee here."
"Most wondrous vision! The broad earth hath not,Through all her bounds, an object like to thee,That travellers e'er recorded. Nor a spotMore fit to stir the poet's phantasy;Grey Old Man of the Mountain, awfullyThere, from thy wreath of clouds thou dost uprearThose features grand,—the same eternally!Lone dweller 'mid the hills! with gaze austereThou lookest down, methinks, on all below thee here."
"Most wondrous vision! The broad earth hath not,
Through all her bounds, an object like to thee,
That travellers e'er recorded. Nor a spot
More fit to stir the poet's phantasy;
Grey Old Man of the Mountain, awfully
There, from thy wreath of clouds thou dost uprear
Those features grand,—the same eternally!
Lone dweller 'mid the hills! with gaze austere
Thou lookest down, methinks, on all below thee here."
At the Flume House, three weeks later, we find our little party of travellers, all in apparently fine spirits and delighted enjoyment of the wild, enchanting scenery of the Franconia Notch.
"Well, Lindenwood, what do you intend to show us next?" asked Major Howard, as the group disposed themselves on the sofas of their own private parlor for an evening of rest and quiet, after a day passed in visits to different objects in the vicinity. "I declare these mountains will exhaust me entirely, and I shall be obliged to go away without beholding one half of their alleged wonders."
Young Williams laughed and said, "You are not half as good a traveller as your daughter, major. Instead of looking worn and fatigued by her repeated rambles, she seems more fresh and blooming than on our first arrival."
"Yes," returned the father, looking affectionately on his daughter, "she thrives wonderfully on mountains. I recollect, when we stood on the freezing summit of Washington, she expressed a wish to burrow among its rocks and pass a life-time there, listening to the winds o' nights, and other like charming diversions."
"I did not think her disposition so solitary," remarked young Williams.
"O, she was not going to dwell alone! She wanted one companion to share her habitation. I don't know who it was,—perhaps you were the doomed one!"
"I dare not presume to think Miss Florence would select me for a doom so blissful," returned he, gallantly. "Her choice would fall on some of my more fortunate neighbors."
"Rather sayunfortunate," said Florence, coloring; "for in that light I think most people would regard the prospect of a life passed amid the clouds and storms of Mount Washington."
"Would you thus regard it, Lindenwood?" inquired young Williams, turning his gaze upon Edgar.
"I don't know," returned the latter. "It might prove an agreeable summer-home; but I think I would want to fly away on the approach of winter."
Major Howard drew forth his guide-book and occupied himself turning over the pages a few moments.
"We have achieved the Flume, the Pool, and the Basin to-day," said he at length. "Say, Lindenwood, where shall we go to-morrow? You are the pioneer of the band."
"I have thought, should the day prove fine," answered he, "it would be pleasant to make an excursion to the summit of Mount Lafayette, or the 'Great Haystack' mountain, as it is sometimes called, which lies several miles west from this point."
"More mountains towering before us! When shall we have done with them?" said the major, in a lugubrious tone. "How high is this Haystack you speak of?"
"But seven hundred feet less than Mount Washington," answered Edgar.
"O dear!" groaned the major. "Heaven save me from attempting the ascension! Can we do nothing better than tear our clothes and bruise our shins among brushwood and bridle-paths; clambering up to the sky just to stare about us a few moments, and then tumbling down headlong, as it were, to the valleys again?"
"Well," said Edgar, "if the Great Haystack intimidates you, suppose we ride up through the Notch, and visit the 'Old Man.'"
"What old man?" asked the major.
"The Old Man of the Mountain!"
"I should have no objection to calling on the old fellow," returned Major Howard, "if he did not live on a mountain; but I cannot think of climbing up any more of these prodigious steeps,—even to see a king in his regal palace."
A burst of laughter followed the major's misapprehension of the object which Lindenwood had proposed to visit.
"It is not a man of flesh and blood we are to see, father," said Florence, as soon as she could command her voice sufficiently to speak, "but a granite profile, standing out from a peak of solid rock, exactly resembling the features of a man's face; whence its name, 'Old Man of the Mountain.'"
"Ay, that's all, then!" said the major, referring to his guidebook. "I shall be very glad of the privilege of standing on the ground for once and looking up at an object; for I confess it afflicts my kindly-affectioned nature to be forever looking down upon this goodly earth, as if in disdainful contempt of its manifold beauties. So, to-morrow, ladies and gentlemen," added he, rising, "we are to pay our respects to this 'Old Man.' I hear music below. You young people would like to join the merry groups, I suppose. I'm going down to the office to enjoy a cigar, and then retire, for my old bones are sadly racked with the jaunts of to-day. Good-night to you all." Thus saying, he walked away.
"Would you like to join the dancers, Ellen?" asked Florence, turning to the fair girl who sat in a rocking-chair by the window, gazing out on the moon-lit earth.
"I don't care to join the dance," she returned; "but I would like to go and listen to the music a while."
"Then let us go," said her brother; "that is, if agreeable to Miss Florence and Mr. Lindenwood."
"I shall be happy to accompany you, Miss Howard," said he, offering Florence his arm, which she accepted, and the party descended to the parlors. They were well-lighted, and filled with guests. Edward and Ellen soon became exhilarated by the music, and joined the cotillons. Edgar looked in vain for a vacant sofa, and at length asked Florence if she would not like to walk on the piazzas. She assented, and they went forth. The evening was cool and delightful. A sweet young moon shed her pale light o'er the scene, veiling the roughness of the surrounding country, and heightening its romantic effect.
"I think you are growing less cheerful every day," said he, gazing tenderly on her downcast features.
"Can you not divine the cause of my depression?" she asked, raising her dark eyes to his face.
"No," said he, smiling on her. "Won't you tell me?"
"Father says we must return home soon," answered she, turning her face away.
"Is that an unpleasant prospect to you?" asked he, seeking to obtain a glance at her averted face.
"Yes," returned she; and he thought a shudder for a moment convulsed the slender form at his side.
They were both silent several moments, and then he remarked, "I intend to visit Wimbledon in a few months; may I not hope to see you should I do so?"
"I presume my father will be happy to receive a visit from you," answered she, in a formal tone.
"But his daughter would rather be excused from my company, I am to understand," said he.
"O, no! not that," returned Florence quickly, turning her face suddenly toward him, when he saw it was bathed in tears and marked with painful emotion.
"What distresses you, Florence?" asked he; gently taking her hand in his. "Will you not tell me?"
"I dare not, Edgar!" answered she, with fast-falling tears. "I have wronged you, and you will not forgive me."
"Then you do not love me!" said he, looking sadly on her countenance.
"O, yes! I love you," she returned, in a tone of pathetic tenderness, "Heaven knows, too wildly well! If that could atone for my fault, I should not fear to give it expression."
"It can!" said he, pressing her hand closely to his heart. "Believe me, Florence, it can atone for everything."
Encouraged by his tone and manner she spoke. "I am engaged"—he dropped the hand and started back—"to Rufus Malcome," she concluded, and then darting quickly into the hall, flew up stairs and locked herself into her own apartment. She paced the floor hurriedly several minutes, and then seized her journal,—always her confidant in moments of affliction.
"I knew it would come to this at last," she wrote. "I have acknowledged my error, and told him of my engagement with Rufus Malcome. It cost me a struggle, but I knew he must learn it from some source e'er long, and better from my lips than those of strangers. He will visit Wimbledon, and then, O horrible thought! I shall be the bride of another; for father tells me Col. Malcome is desirous the marriage should be consummated the approaching winter. I got a long, foolish letter from Rufus yesterday. O dear, how sick and sorry it made me! It is strange mother never writes. Col. Malcome says she is not as well as when we left, and this intelligence disposes father to hasten home. O, my poor bleeding heart! How soon this little day of happiness has past." She closed the book, and threw herself on the bed. After a while she fell asleep, and was roused by Ellen, knocking for admittance.
In the morning she met Edgar in the parlor with her father and young Williams, the three in earnest conversation about their proposed excursion to the Profile Mountain. He made her a distant bow. She returned to her room, and not the most urgent entreaties of her father could induce her to join the party. She pleaded a violent headache, and Ellen announced her resolve to remain with her. She cared nothing about the 'Old Man;' she would stay at home and nurse Florence. So the three gentlemen departed together, and in a few days the Howards had left the mountain region and set out for Wimbledon.
CHAPTER XXXVII.
"Once more the soundOf human voices echoes in our ears;And some commotion dire hath rousedThe female ranks. Let's pause and learnThe drift of all this wordy war of tongues."
"Once more the soundOf human voices echoes in our ears;And some commotion dire hath rousedThe female ranks. Let's pause and learnThe drift of all this wordy war of tongues."
"Once more the sound
Of human voices echoes in our ears;
And some commotion dire hath roused
The female ranks. Let's pause and learn
The drift of all this wordy war of tongues."