Zbe Dome of tbe laconics. 35 



and came suddenly into the finest stretch of the 

 whole route, a path lined for nearly a mile with the 

 dark, glossy leaves of the mountain laurel ; a path 

 which was glorious for refreshing, deep, restful green 

 in this hot August day ; a path which in June, with 

 its blossoms rivalling the pink and white of the 

 apple-trees in the plains below, must be more mag- 

 nificent than the costliest gardens of royalty. Nor 

 are August and June the only months in which this 

 path would woo the lover of the beautiful ; for all 

 along its sides, peeping out from beneath the under- 

 brush and the creeping vines, were the unmistakable 

 leaves and hairy stems of the trailing arbutus, where 

 next May the tiny pink cups of its blossoms will be 

 uplifted, full to the brim of the choicest fragrance of 

 the spring. 



Soon after the laurels are passed, the path crosses 

 the bed of a stream, and turns a sharp corner to the 

 right, close by an old corduroy bridge. A few rods to 

 the east of it is a spring whose waters we had found 

 as abundant as they were sweet and cool, but which 

 now was dried up to about a scanty pint, lingering in 

 the last hollows of its rocks. But there was enough 

 to slake our moderate thirst and leave sufficient for 

 our return. Then for a half-mile we hastened south- 

 west through an almost level path which winds 

 about the base of the mountain's last great dome, be- 

 fore we bent sharply to the south-east and scrambled 

 up the narrow footpath toward the open ledges. 

 The sun came slanting through the saplings which 



