loftiest Washington. Mountains are Earth's undecaying monuments. They
must stand while she endures, and never should be consecrated to the
mere great men of their own age and country, but to the mighty
ones alone, whose glory is universal, and whom all time will render
illustrious.

The air, not often sultry in this elevated region, nearly two thousand
feet above the sea, was now sharp and cold, like that of a clear
November evening in the lowlands. By morning, probably, there would be a
frost, if not a snowfall, on the grass and rye, and an icy surface over
the standing water. I was glad to perceive a prospect of comfortable
quarters in a house which we were approaching, and of pleasant company
in the guests who were assembled at the door.

OUR EVENING PARTY AMONG THE MOUNTAINS We stood in front of a good
substantial farmhouse, of old date in that wild country. A sign over the
door denoted it to be the White Mountain Post Office--an establishment
which distributes letters and newspapers to perhaps a score of persons,
comprising the population of two or three townships among the hills. The
broad and weighty antlers of a deer, 'a stag of ten,' were fastened at
the corner of the house; a fox's bushy tail was nailed beneath them; and
a huge black paw lay on the ground, newly severed and still bleeding
the trophy of a bear hunt. Among several persons collected about the
doorsteps, the most remarkable was a sturdy mountaineer, of six feet two
and corresponding bulk, with a heavy set of features, such as might be
moulded on his own blacksmith's anvil, but yet indicative of mother wit
and rough humor. As we appeared, he uplifted a tin trumpet, four or five
feet long, and blew a tremendous blast, either in honor of our arrival
or to awaken an echo from the opposite hill.