the junction seems fairly to climb to
the upper level.

Southerly from Bethlehem Junction a narrow-gauge railway extends into
the heart of the Franconia Notch, having its terminus at the celebrated
Profile House, which is a considerable village in itself. At the end of
the route the road skirts the shores of Echo Lake, a gem of water
surrounded by lofty mountains, a fit home for nymphs and naiads.

"I should like to read 'Manfred' here," said Molly one morning (Byron
was one of her favorites) "It is just the place, mountains, forests and
all, and who knows--the wizzard."

"There is the Old Man of the Mountain; perhaps he would volunteer,"
suggested Fritz.

"I thought it was a witch," observed the indefinite person.

[Illustration: SILVER CASCADE IN THE NOTCH.]

"Well, it matters not which it was," said Molly, seeing that we were
attempting to badger her. "Here is the hour and the scene."

"But the _man_, O, where is he?" cried Fritz.

"The truth is, we cannot appreciate Byron till we come here," pursued
Molly. "If we could only have a tempest now. Ah, I can imagine those
mountain Alps. How beautiful and grand it is. Within this wide domain
romance, science, and nature, murmur an eternal anthem, which wooes for
every soul that finds itself herein a new aspiration, and a realization
that, after all our study and care, we have appreciated creation so
lightly!"

That afternoon Molly had her wished-for tempest. The heat had been
sultry, but by five o'clock a heavy wind began to blow and huge billows
of clouds began to appear above the tops of the mountains. The sky grew
blacker every moment. By and by a mighty river of clouds began to pour
itself down over the peaks into the valley below; one by one each
haughty crest disappeared beneath the flood. In a few moments every
ravine was filled with rolling masses of clouds and the rain was falling
in sheets. We could trace its rapid flight over the space between the
hotel and the distant mountains. A gentleman who has been at the Profile
House for several summers said that he had never seen so grand a
storm-cloud as the one just described. When the storm was past and the
clouds began to melt away, it was natural enough that we should call to
mind the following passage from "Lucile:"

[Illustration: GIANT'S STAIRS, BARTLETT.]

Meanwhile,
The sun in his setting, sent up the last smile
Of his power, to baffle the storm. And, behold
O'er the moun