At this season of the year the snow had disappeared from the valleys and hills, but the summits of the mountains were still white. In all directions the scene was grand and inspiring. We could trace the Kennebec river in its windings to the sea and fancied we could see in the dim distance the blue Atlantic. To the southwest mountains seemed piled on mountains, while here and there in intermediate vales bright lakes reflected the blue of the upper deep. In this direction there were farms, but they looked like mere dots on the face of the earth. Lake Umbagog lay coiled in the shade of distant mountains in the southwest. We fancied that we could see the ragged crest of the white mountain still further beyond. The scene had also its historical associations. Along the base of this mountain, on the northwestern side, ere his name had been sullied by the foulest treason in our country's history, Benedict Arnold bravely led the Colonial troops in the campaign against Canada. With him, as an aid, was Col. Bigelow, whose name is given to the mountain. The gallant little army halted on the banks of Dead river at the base of the mountain, and made their camp. While the army was resting at this camp Lieut. Col. Bigelow ascended the mountain and planted his country's flag upon the highest peak, doubtless the first white man who made the ascent, and the mountain is his monument to-day. Around the site of the camp was planted the colony of Flagstaff. While we were gazing on the magnificent scene, musing upon its varied beauties and recalling its historical associations, the sun set, and reluctantly we set out on our return, a descent the more perilous because it was growing dark. Extreme caution was necessary; nevertheless we made good headway, as we found ourselves sometimes sliding and even rolling down the path that we had ascended with so much difficulty in the forenoon. It was long after nightfall that, tired and hungry, we reached Wyman's hotel on the banks of Dead river.