was the utmost limit of our voyage; for a few hours more in the rain would have taken us to the last of the locks, and our boat was too heavy to be dragged around the long and numerous rapids that would occur.
On foot indeed we continued up along the banks, feeling our way with a stick through the showery and foggy day, and climbing over the slippery logs in our path; still with as much pleasure and buoyancy as in brightest sunshine, pushing on whither our path led through the genial drenching rain; and cheered by the tunes of invisible waterfalls, scenting the fragrance of the pines and the wet clay under our feet, with visions of toadstools and wandering frogs, and festoons of moss hanging from the spruce trees, and thrushes hiding silent under the leaves; the road still holding together through that watery weather, like faith, and reaching to distant points, while the travellers confidently followed its lead. We had resolved to travel to those White Mountains whither the old colonists went in search of the Great Carbuncle,—the Crystal Hills, which one Darby
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