wider and freer down the long steep slopes. The meadows beneath look level as a floor, and are laid with a carpet which seems to be an illusion of tender green grass, and light gray ground. The head of the Imp catches cool tinges of the pallid lustre, which slowly wanders down and off into the great caldron we have spoken of under the Carter Mount. And as it descends, the exhalations from the dusky depths, born from the invisible streams, that sing along the rugged beds of the ravines, rise and drink the moonlight to fulness, and hang before the mountains as though they might be woven of the very texture of the chaste beams that are falling over the wilderness.

And now in the daylight let us make an excursion to

BERLIN FALLS.

If there were no other attraction in the Gorham Valley, part of a day, at least, out of the mountain journey, should be devoted to the village for the sake of the drive to this, the most powerful cataract of the mountain region. Cascades we can see in other districts of the hills. The Ammonoosuc Falls are very powerful after a heavy rain, though the turbidness of their flood gives them little beauty then. But here we have a strong river that shrinks but very little in long droughts, and that is fed by the Umbagog chain of lakes, pouring a clean and powerful tide through a narrow granite pass, and descending nearly two hundred feet in the course of a mile.

The ride to the Berlin Falls is charming. The road is on the western bank of the Androscoggin all the way. The river moves now and then in such sweeping curves, and is overhung for most of the distance by a mountain with foliage so massive and varied, and the gradual descent of the river-bed gives the current, during a great portion of the way, so much briskness, while the mountain views be hind are so majestic, that the six miles, if we drive in an open wagon,

do not seem long enough, however eager we may have been to see the cataract. There is no hard climbing or long walking required after leaving the vehicle. The Falls are close by the road. It is a

winding granite gorge through which the river rushes, over the narrowest part of which a stout bridge is thrown. Visitors should alight at the lowest part of the cataract, and go out through a little thicket

of trees upon a mossy ledge, about fifteen feet above the current, where they can face the sweeping torrent. How madly it hurls the deep transparent amber down the pass and over the boulders,―flying and roaring like a drove of young lions, crowding each other in furious rush after prey in sight. On the bridge, we look down and see the current shooting swifter than the "arrowy Rhone," and overlapped on either side by the hissing foam thrown back from each of the rock walls. Above the bridge, we can walk on the ledge of the righthand bank, and sit down where we can touch the water and see the most powerful plunge of all, where half of the river leaps in a smooth cataract, and, around a large rock which, though sunken, seems to divide the motion of the flood, a narrow and tremendous current of foam shoots into the pass, and mingles its fury at once with the burden of the heavier fall.

We do not think that in New England there is any passage of river passion that will compare with the Berlin Falls. But if we stay long on the borders of the gorge, as we ought to, we shall find that the form and the rage of the current are subordinate in interest to its beauty and to the general surrounding charm. Who can tire of gazing at the amber flood, from the point first described, to see the white frostwork start out over its whole breadth, and renew itself as fast as it dies? Fix the eye upon the centre of that flood, and it seems to be a flying sheet of golden satin, with silver brocade leaping out to overshoot it, as it hurries from its loom. An artist, with whom more than once we have rested on the bank to catch the short-lived effects on the shifting currents of the river, speaks of the charm of "the foam foliage, white and prismatic, that crests the leaping waves, running from fall to fall, and circling dark domes of water that revolve over submerged stones." He recalls the grace of "the fountain jets of silver spray, and of the ever-falling crystal fringes that hang around the black rocks." And he tells us that, at such a spot, "by joining somewhat of the poet's contemplation to the artist's study, we may see glimpses of sylphic shapes, shining in the darkness of some thin-curtained arch, or, glancing along the liquid coils

from pool to pool, nimbly working out those rapidly changing designs, whose wondrous beauty and inexhaustible variety are not inherent in material things, but are possible only to fairy or supernatural powers."

The sides of the rocks through which the Androscoggin thus pours are charmingly colored with lichens and weather-stains. In the crannies and little juttings on the sides where soil has lodged, grasses, small bushes, and wild flowers have taken root, and unfold their verdure and beauty undisturbed by the wrath below. Out to the very edge of the walls, young birches and pines, too, have stationed themselves to catch the fresh mists that rise. It was a cataract in Switzerland for which Wordsworth wrote the following sonnet; but how could it be more appropriate if it had been written as a description of the torrent in whose praise we quote it? What more can we say than that its fitness is equal to its beauty?

From the fierce aspect of this River, throwing
His giant body o'er the steep rock's brink,
Back in astonishment and fear we shrink:

But, gradually a calmer look bestowing,

Flowers we espy beside the torrent growing;

Flowers that peep forth from many a cleft and chink,

And, from the whirlwind of his anger, drink

Hues ever fresh, in rocky fortress blowing:

They suck-from breath that, threatening to destroy,

Is more benignant than the dewy eve

Beauty, and life, and motions as of joy:

Nor doubt but He to whom yon Pine-trees nod
Their heads in sign of worship, Nature's God,
These humbler adorations will receive.

Those who have passed a delightful hour or two of the afternoon by Berlin Falls, and who read these pages, will be tempted to ask us, as we now turn from them, "Why do you not say something of the inspiring view of Mounts Madison and Adams, whose peaks, seen from the bridge, soar with such proud strength in the western sky? Why do you not call attention to the glorious lines that support their crests, those of Madison a little more feminine than those of Adams, but both majestic,-a lioness and lion crouched side by side, half

resting, half watching, with muscles ready in a moment for vigorous use? Why do you not try to report the singular charm of looking down the broad stream, roughened with foamy rapids, as it hurries towards the base of those twin crests, and of the rich colors that combine in the harmony of the picture, the snowy caps on the blue river, the green banks, the gray and gold of the mountain slopes and crowns?" We certainly would not overlook these features of the landscape at Berlin Falls; but we have a richer pleasure in store for our readers by inviting them to take with us

A DRIVE TO MILAN.

It disturbs our geographical prejudices a little, perhaps, to be told that only six or seven miles divide settlements with such distinguished names. But it will help us to discriminate if we learn to pronounce these names as the Yankees do, with the accent strong on the first syllable. We should look in vain for any imperial palace as we drive through our Berlin; and instead of a university we shall see only a cluster of saw-mills, where part of the forests of Umbagog are prepared for service to civilization. So too, if we should ride to the very borders of Milan, we might not find in the red spire of the village church that would greet us, the artistic satisfaction which one would anticipate from the first glimpse of the Duomo, which we associate with the capital of Lombardy. (A wicked friend of ours who took the drive with us, when the village first saluted our eyes remarked, that this Milan seemed to be set in the plain of Lumber-dy.)

But we will not drive so far as the village. We will follow the road" about two miles above Berlin Falls, cross the large, covered bridge of the Androscoggin, and drive about two miles above that on the eastern bank of the river. Then we will turn the horses' heads again towards Gorham. Now look down the river towards the moun