locality, for the distance between them prevented intercourse with the voice. But to his great relief he soon heard his own name repeatedly called, and answered to the call with shouts which echoed from rock to rock. Footsteps were also approaching, and as they drew nearer, the forms of three men were indistinctly seen emerging from a thicket of brushwood. “Never were the forms of mortals so welcome to the sight as yours are to mine, my good friends,” exclaimed Harry, grasping their hands in his delight. “Mr. Fabyan, fearing you had lost yourself among these intricate windings, sent us to search for you, and guide you safely down,” replied one of the three. “Thank you! you are all very kind!” said Harry, “and but for your assistance I might have had a perfect Radcliffe adventure; for I verily believe this is the haunt for gnomes, witches, and all the dread family of evil spirits, who would choose such a night as this to walk abroad.” Under the guidance of these men, Harry descended the declivity; first ascending a rough and almost imperceptible path, which a thick hedge of laurels hid entirely from view, until they came to the footway which led below. The descent was tedious, and would have been, without the escort of one thoroughly acquainted with the path, totally impracticable in the darkness. Harry Thatcher was a Virginian by birth. His health had been delicate for some time, and a tour north had been recommended by his physicians, with a view to his entire recovery. Already he had visited Saratoga, Niagara Falls, Canada and the Lakes, and was now taking a homeward route through New England. Wherever he went the hand of friendship was extended to him, and a sigh of regret was heaved at his departure, for he inherited from nature all those qualities which, properly cultivated, can render a man esteemed. It would prolong this story too much to detail all his voyages of discovery over the summits of this exceedingly picturesque and wild “Alpine region.” It was to the end full of interest and excitement. The Willey house, which has been celebrated by the catastrophe which happened in 1826, when a whole family were swept from a living world into eternity, particularly interested him, as also did the far-famed Notch, which is a “sundering of the mountains” supposed to have been caused by a convulsion of nature. CHAPTER II. Here, too, dwells simple truth; plain innocence; Unsullied beauty. Thomson’s Seasons.