Early the next morning, two bold Appalachians rose early and took a run up the mountain, getting back to breakfast and making the descent of nearly 1,200 feet in eighteen minutes! The climb was represented as more difficult than that of the day before. We did not find it so, however, as we proceeded with the reinforcements furnished by a hearty breakfast; the clear bracing air of the morning was delightful. The song-sparrows, perched at a safe distance, poured forth floods of melody, the Peabody bird added his high weird note, while other wild birds occasionally chimed in. The path led up through forests of black spruce whose sighing branches whispered softly over our heads. Every one was in excellent humor and had a capital story or a bit of geological scientific or botanical wisdom. The wild-flowers were scarcer than on Cardigan but there was greater variety of ferns. Half way up, a tiny spring welled up in the pathway. Our grave philosopher, as well-versed in mystical wood-craft as metaphysics, cut a strip of birch-bark from one of the over-hanging trees and deftly fashioned an Indian drinking-cup. Working from the idea of a birch-bark canoe somebody offered the cup-full, as a "schooner of water." On being asked to explain her nautical terms, the joker protested ignorance and entirely disowned her far-fetched joke. ** As we advanced, here and there, under the white birches or between the dense growth of spruce, broad glimpses were visible of the townships below. Suddenly, vegetation ceased and we were again on the bare rock with several hundred feet between us and the rude structure called, by courtesy, the Summit House. Beside the latter, we already descried our companions, not lost but gone before; and we find ourselves in the awkward predicament of the man with three hands--a right, a left and a little behind-hand.