found. Here Mount Washington towers, in satisfactory majesty, above the whole curving line of the confederate summits.

Stern Sagamore! where are the tawny tribes
Who gave to thee a name, and roved supreme
Around thy foot? the travelling sun, each day
Returning from the prairies of the West,
Will tell thee he has seen their sepulchres
Where the lank wolf the lonely desert roams;—
Thou hast survived them all, and to this day
Thou gazest upon argent streams, and lakes
Dreaming among the hills, and clustering elms,
That seem like columns of decaying fanes,
About whose mouldering shafts and capitals
The ivy clings most beautiful but sad;
And thou beholdest too the haunts of man-
His rural homes embowered 'mid waving groves,
His yellow harvests billowing in the breeze,
And the proud monuments that mark his skill,
For which he lauds himself unto the skies;-
But dost thou not contemplate by the side
Of these his works the solemn village spires,
Whose frequent curfews knoll from day to day
Reluctant generations to the grave?

Our very works are tombstones to our dust!
Achilles rears his mound and saith, "I lived!"
God utters forth a voice, and mountains rise
And whisper to eternity, "I am!"

What a pity that the hills could not have kept the names which the Indian tribes gave to them! The names which the highest peaks of the great range bear were given to them in 1820, by a party from Lancaster. How absurd the order is! Beginning at "The Notch," and passing around to Gorham, these are the titles of the summits which are all seen from the village just spoken of: Webster, Clinton, Pleasant, Franklin, Monroe, Washington, Clay, Jefferson, Adams, Madison. What a wretched jumble! These are what we have taken in exchange for such Indian words as Agiochook, which is the baptismal title of Mount Washington, and for words like Ammonoosuc, Moosehillock, Contoocook, Pennacook, Pentucket. Think, too, of the absurd association of names which the three mountains that

rise over the Franconia Notch are insulted with-Mount Lafayette, Mount Pleasant, and Mount Liberty! How much better to have given the highest peaks of both ranges the names of some great tribes or chiefs, such as Saugus, Passaconaway, Uncanoonuc, Wonnalancet, Weetamoo, Bomazeen, Winnepurkit, Kancamagus,-words that chime with Saco, and Merrimack, and Sebago, and Connecticut, and Ossipee, and Androscoggin.

Even the general name, "White Mountains," is usually inapplicable during the season in which visitors see them. All unwooded summits of tolerable eminence are white in the winter; and in the summer, the mountains of the Washington range, seen at a distance in the ordinary daylight, are pale, dim green. The first title, "Crystal Hills," which the white explorers gave them, it would have been better to have retained. But how much richer is the Indian name "Waumbek!" The full title they applied to them was WaumbekMethna, which signifies, it is said, "Mountains with snowy foreheads." Yet not a public house in all the mountain region bears the name of Waumbek, which is so musical, and which might be so profitably exchanged for Alpine House, or Glen House, or Profile House, or Tip-Top House. We are surprised, indeed, that the appellation "Kan Ran Vugarty," signifying the continued likeness of a gull, which it is said one Indian tribe applied to the range, has not been adopted by some landlord as a title to a hotel, or in some village as the name of a river, on account of its barbarity.

Would this be worse than to give the name "Israel's River" to the charming stream, fed from the rills of Washington and Jefferson, which flows through the Jefferson meadows, and empties into the Connecticut? The Indian name was Singrawac. Yet no trace of this charming name is left in Jefferson or Lancaster. Think of putting "Mount Monroe," or "Mount Clay," or "Mount Franklin," or "Peabody River," or "Berlin Falls," or "Israel's River," into poetry. The White Mountains have lost the privilege of being en

shrined in such sonorous rhythm and such melody as Longfellow has given to the Indian names in his lines:

Down the rivers, o'er the prairies,
Came the warriors of the nations,
Came the Delawares and Mohawks,
Came the Choctaws and Camanches,
Came the Shoshonies and Blackfeet,
Came the Pawnees and Omawhaws,
Came the Mandans and Dacotahs,
Came the Hurons and Ojibways,
All the warriors drawn together
By the signal of the Peace-Pipe,

To the mountains of the prairie,
To the great red Pipe-stone quarry.

The eastern wilderness of Maine is more favored in this respect, of · which Whittier has written in his poem of "The Lumbermen:

Where the crystal Ambijejis
Stretches broad and clear,

And Millnoket's pine-black ridges

Hide the browsing deer:

Where, through lakes and wide morasses,

Or through rocky walls,

Swift and strong, Penobscot passes

White with foamy falls;

Where, through clouds, are glimpses given

Of Katahdin's sides,

Rock and forest piled to heaven,

Torn and ploughed by slides!

Far below, the Indian trapping,

In the sunshine warm;

Far above, the snow-cloud wrapping

Half the peak in storm.

O'er us, to the southland heading,

Screams the gray wild-goose;

On the ni; it air sounds the treading

Of the brindled moose.

Noiseless creeping, while we're sleeping,

Frost his task-work plies;

Soon, his icy bridges heaping,

Shall ourg-piles rise.

The lumbermen work, also, during the fall and winter, in the wilderness that slopes into Randolph and Jefferson. They pile the hemlocks and the hackmetacks by the stream, so that

When, with sounds of smothered thunder,

On some night of rain,

Lake and river break asunder

Winter's weakened chain,

Down the wild March flood shall bear them

To the saw-mill's wheel,

Or where Steam, the slave, shall tear them
With his teeth of steel.

But "Whipple's Grant," and "Hart's Location," and "Israel's River," and "Knot-Hole" road, are not so redolent of poetry as crystal Ambijejis and Katahdin and Millnoket. The lower portion of New Hampshire is more fortunate in this respect, as the following passage from Whittier's "Bridal of Pennacook" will convince our readers delightfully :—

The trapper, that night on Turee's brook,
And the weary fisher on Contoocook,
Saw over the marshes and through the pine,
And down on the river the dance-lights shine.

For the Saugus Sachem had come to woo
The Bashaba's daughter Weetamoo,
And laid at her father's feet that night
His softest furs and wampum white.

From the Crystal Hills to the far Southeast

The river Sagamores came to the feast;
And chiefs whose homes the sea-winds shook,
Sat down on the mats of Pennacook.

They came from Sunapee's shore of rock,

From the snowy sources of Snooganock,

And from rough Coos whose thick woods shake

Their pine-cones in Umbagog lake

From Ammonoosuck's mountain pass

Wild as his home came Chepewass;

And the Keenomps of the hills which throw

Their shade on the Smile of Manito.

With pipes of peace and bows unstrung,
Glowing with paint came old and young,
In wampum and furs and feathers arrayed
To the dance and feast the Bashaba made.

Bird of the air and beast of the field,
All which the woods and waters yield,
On dishes of birch and hemlock piled,
Garnished and graced that banquet wild.

Steaks of the brown bear fat and large,
From the rocky slopes of the Kiarsarge;
Delicate trout from Babboosuck brook,
And salmon spear'd in the Contoocook;

Squirrels which fed where nuts fell thick
In the gravelly bed of the Otternic,
And small wild hens in reed-snares caught
From the banks of Sondagardee brought;

Pike and perch from the Suncook taken,

Nuts from the trees of the Black Hills shaken,
Cranberries picked in the Squamscot bog,
And grapes from the vines of Piscataquog.

But the Indian names and legends are shorn from the upper mountain region. They have not been caught for our literature. The valleys are almost as bare of them as the White Mountain cones are of verdure. What a pity it is that our great hills

Piled to the clouds,- -our rivers overhung

By forests which have known no other change

For ages, than the budding and the fall

Of leaves-our valleys lovelier than those

Which the old poets sang of-should but figure

On the apocryphal chart of speculation

As pastures, wood-lots, mill-sites, with the privileges,
Rights and appurtenances, which make up

A Yankee Paradise-unsung, unknown

To beautiful tradition; even their names,
Whose melody yet lingers like the last
Vibration of the red man's requiem,
Exchanged for syllables significant
Of cotton mill and rail-car!

We can scarcely find a settler who can tell any story learned in