"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.