wonderful interest, the music of whose looms and shuttles, belts and
wheels, engines and flame, will ever come in vivid variety amid the many
voiced memories of life and its mystic music.




CHAPTER XIII.

"There is an old belief that in the embers
Of all things, their primordial form exists;
And cunning Alchemists could recreate
The rose, with all its members,
From its own ashes--but without the bloom,
Without the least perfume.
Ah me! what wonder-working, occult science
Can from the ashes of our hearts
Once more the rose of youth restore?
What craft of alchemy can bid defiance
To time, and change; and for a single hour,
Renew this phantom flower?"


Taking New Hampshire in my route, I was pained to find the season too far
advanced to admit a trip to White Mountains, and among the great objects
of interest I must of necessity omit this "Noblest Roman of them all," and
pass silently by the grandeur of this rugged mountain scenery.

I went to Waterbury, Vermont, the birth-place of Mr. Arms, and, after a
short rest at the hotel, walked through the meadow, and crossed the clear