n 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, in