ospect! The plains of
Canada, the forests of Maine, the mountains of New York, and I really
believe the sea, if I mistake not that faint blue line in the far
distance over the billowy land! What a grand spectacle a sunrise or a
sunset would be, viewed from this height!"

[Illustration: MOUNT MORIAH, IN GORHAM.]

The next morning we saw the sun start from its bed in the Orient,
swathed in radiant clouds and vapors, and rise up behind the eastern
range of hills; we had never seen anything so beautiful and striking
before, and the scene is one which neither pen can describe nor pencil
portray. Our memory will not fail to cherish it as the choicest
revelation to be seen in a life time.

[Illustration: ECHO LAKE.]

"Do you know it was just one hundred years ago this very year, 1784,
Mount Washington received its name?" asked Fritz. "Well it was, and
eight years later Captain Eleazar Rossbrook penetrated into the heart of
the mountains and made a clearing where the Fabyan House now stands. His
son-in-law, Abel Crawford, the patriarch of the mountains, settled the
next season in the Notch, in the vicinity of Bemis station. Captain
Rossbrook built the first house for the reception of visitors in 1803.
Ethan Allen Crawford, son of Abel Crawford, took Captain Rossbrook's
house in 1817, and two years later opened the first footpath to the
summit of this mountain, where he soon after built a stone cabin. There,
I give all that information to you _gratis_."

"Very kind of you, I am sure," said Molly, "but who will vouch for its
authenticity?" you used to be a terrible story-teller."

"Clio does not lie; this is history."

"You would have us believe the staid muse very modest," said Molly. But
I remember some one has said history is a great liar."

"A libel, a _positive_ libel! Shall we believe nothing?"

"Only absolute truth. Do you believe in the Trojan war? Do you believe
that Marshal Ney said at Waterloo, 'Up guards and at them?'"

"Do you believe there is a Mt. Washington? Your iconoclasts would
destroy everything. There are White Mountain legends, of course, but
there is also White Mountain history, and the time is not so remote but
that the data can be relied upon."

"No one can argue with you, Fritz," answered Molly. "I accept your data
in this case. You are welcome to wear the wreath of victory."

A night spent at the White Mountain House, one of the old-fashioned
hostelries, cheery, hospitable, and with an exc