"Ah, that was a 'Lover's Pilgrimage,'" observed Fritz, grimly, "now it
is a pilgrimage for--"

[Illustration: MOUNT MADISON, IN GORHAM.]

"What?"

"You interrupted me; we will call it an æsthetic pilgrimage."

What days those were we passed in the upland region. Fabyan's is
situated in the very heart of the White Hills and is the objective point
for all tourists. From the verandas of this spacious hotel, one obtains
an uninterrupted view of the whole Presidential Range, and can watch the
course of the train of cars as it creeps slowly up the precipitous sides
of Mount Washington.

Taking the train at Fabyan's, one glides rapidly up the steepest
practical grade to the Base station, where he leaves the ordinary
passenger coach and takes his seat in a car designed to be pushed up the
Mount Washington Railroad. After the warning whistle the train starts
slowly on its journey--the grandest sensation of the whole trip to the
ordinary traveller. The most magnificent scenery is soon spread before
the tourist. No other three miles of railway in the world affords such a
succession of wild and startling views as the passenger has on his
mountain ride on this iron line up the steep inclination of this mighty
summit of the great northern range. We get glimpses of the wide valley
below, the bold landscape ever changing, yet always filled with grand
and startling outlines. Up and up we go. We pass Gulf station, Naumbet
station, Jacob's Ladder, and the monument of stones which marks the spot
where, in 1855, Miss Lizzie Bourne of Maine died from exposure. At last