untain is a fine and
flourishing growth of muskmelon, sugar, and currant-wine. At least we
found them there in profusion.

Agamenticus has its legend. Many years ago, the Indians, to avert the
plague, drove twenty thousand cattle to the top of the mountain, and
there sacrificed them to the Great Spirit. We could still discern
traces of the sacrifice,--burnt stones, bits of green-black glass, and
charred pine branches. Then we came home.

Perthes says, "That part of a journey which remains after the
travelling is the journey." What remains of my journey, for me, for
you? Will any live over again a pleasant past and look more cheerily
into a lowering future for these wayward words of mine? Are there
clouded lives that will find a little sunshine; pent-up souls that will
catch a breath of blooms in my rambling record? Are there lips that
will relax their tightness; eyes that will lose for a moment the shadow
of remembered pain? Then, indeed, the best part of my journey is yet
to come.

A CALL TO MY COUNTRYWOMEN.

In the newspapers and magazines you shall see many poems and
papers--written by women who meekly term themselves weak, and modestly
profess to represent only the weak among their sex--discussing the
duties which the weak owe to their country in days like these. The
invariable conclusion is, that, though they cannot fight, because they
are not men,--or go down to nurse the sick and wounded, because they
have children to take care of,--or write effectively, because they do
not know how,--or do any great and heroic thing, because they have not
the ability,--they can pray; and they generally do close with a
melodious and beautiful prayer. Now praying is a good thing. It is, in
fact, the very best thing in the world to do, and there is no danger of
our having too much of it; but if women, weak or strong, consider that
praying is all they can or ought to do for their country, and so settle
down contented with that, they make as great a mistake as if they did
not pray at all. True, women cannot fight, and there is no call for
any great number of female nurses; notwithstanding this, the issue of
this war depends quite as much upon American women as upon American
men,--and depends, too, not upon the few who write, but upon the many
who do not. The women of the Revolution were not only Mrs. Adams, Mrs.
Reed, and Mrs. Schuyler, but the wives of the farmers and shoemakers
and blacksmiths everywhere. I