108 FIVE DAYS ON MOUNT MANSFIELD. 
throw a snow-ball in the middle of July — 
this was almost like being at the North Pole; 
it would be something to talk about after 
getting home. 
One visitor I rejoiced to see, though a 
stranger. I was on the Nose in the after- 
noon, enjoying once more the view of Lake 
Champlain and the Adirondacks, when I 
descried two men far off toward the Chin. 
They had come up the mountain, not by the 
carriage road, but by a trail on the opposite 
side, and plainly were in no haste, though 
the afternoon was wearing away. As I 
watched their movements, a mile or two in 
the distance, I said to myself, ““Good! they 
are botanists.” So it proved; or rather one 
of them was a botanist, — a college professor 
on a pedestrian collecting-excursion. We 
compared notes after supper and walked 
together the next morning, enjoying that 
peculiar good fellowship which nothing but 
a kindred interest and au unexpected meet- 
ing in a lonesome place can make possible. 
Then he started down the carriage road with 
the design of exploring Smugglers’ Notch, 
and I have never seen or heard from him 
since. I hope he is still botanizing on the 
