Eventide

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"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!"

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 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."

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 seen _that star of mine_ rise 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?

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