36 NEW" HAMPSHIRE 



book. And this third one, with its rusty leaves, 

 is the Lapland azalea. You remember the day 

 you saw it first — in middle June — when all by 

 yourself you were making your first ascent of the 

 mountain, walking alternately over snowbanks 

 and beds of flowers. So far as the lovely blos- 

 soms are concerned, you have never seen it since. 

 Next morning your botanist bids you good-by ; 

 he is going down by the way of Tuckerman's 

 Ravine ; and at noon, after some indolent, happy 

 hours on the carriage-road and in the Alpine 

 Garden, you are again in the hotel office when 

 half a dozen campers from the northern peaks 

 make their appearance. Dusty, travel-stained, 

 disheveled, they bring the freedom of the hills 

 with them and fill the place with their breezi- 

 ness. Some of the " transients " clustered about 

 the stove smile at a sight so unconventional, but 

 the manager, the clerk, and the bellboys are bet- 

 ter informed. They have seen the leader of the 

 party before, and in a minute the word is passed 

 round. This is Mr. , who came up the moun- 

 tain with his son a year ago on the day of that 

 dreadful storm, when two later adventurers upon 

 the same path perished by the way, and he him- 

 self, old mountaineer that he was, with another 

 life hanging upon his own, had more than once 

 been all but ready to say, " It can't be done." 



