shown themselves so simply wise as to reject a jewel which would have
dimmed all earthly things, its splendor waned. When other pilgrims
reached the cliff, they found only an opaque stone, with particles of
mica glittering on its surface. There is also a tradition that, as the
youthful pair departed, the gem was loosened from the forehead of the
cliff, and fell into the enchanted lake, and that, at noontide, the
Seeker's form may still be seen to bend over its quenchless gleam.

Some few believe that this inestimable stone is blazing as of old,
and say that they have caught its radiance, like a flash of summer
lightning, far down the valley of the Saco. And be it owned that, many
a mile from the Crystal Hills, I saw a wondrous light around their
summits, and was lured, by the faith of poesy, to be the latest pilgrim
of the GREAT CARBUNCLE.





SKETCHES FROM MEMORY

THE NOTCH OF THE WHITE MOUNTAINS

IT was now the middle of September. We had come since sunrise from
Bartlett, passing up through the valley of the Saco, which extends
between mountainous walls, sometimes with a steep ascent, but often as
level as a church aisle. All that day and two preceding ones we had been
loitering towards the heart of the White Mountains--those old crystal
hills, whose mysterious brilliancy had gleamed upon our distant
wanderings before we thought of visiting them. Height after height had