[Entered According to Act of Congress, in the year 1879, by the Forest and Stream Publishing Company, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 
NEW YORK, THURSDAY, DECEMBER 1 I, 1879. 
Voltune 13—No. 19» 
No. Ill .Fulton Street, New York 
Selected. 
THE MOUNTAIN OF GOLD. 
A LEGEND OF ARIZONA. 
TN the region of chartless land that lies 
* Far oil In a dfeam of Hesperian sties; 
By the rivers, that drifting golden lees, 
Bear beauty and song to the Mexic seas— 
1 hare sat in the miner’s bivouac 
When night with its stars like a psalm unrolled, 
And beard, as he leaned on his grimy pack, 
A miner discourse of the Mount of Gold. 
And the howl of tho wolf was faint and far, 
As the moon, like a ship, from star to star 
Sailed on—and the plain, with a sea-like sweep, 
Lay silent and wide in its mystic sleep; 
And tho river below in an undertone 
Sang sweetly, and chiming Its cymbals sang 
Of a sorrowful land and the wolf alono 
Where oceans bave m a r ched and the old wars rang. 
And the gloriiled peaks stood high and white, 
Like kings that were called to the court of Night; 
And voices of mystery seemed to swell 
On the wind in the pines as it rose and fell;; 
For thus mid the audible throbs of earth 
The tale of the miner was fitly told— 
With never a sneer or a sound of mirth 
From those who had battled and tolled for gold. 
But the Mountain of Gold was said to stand 
Away to tho depths of a Bolemn land 
Which the rivers explore as they bend afar 
On the glimmering track of the evening star; 
And ever, like dust of the unhallowed dead, 
The sands of the desert do rise to clouds, 
■ And gather and sweep with a ghostly tread’ 
Around it, and rustle like dreary shrouds. 
And a skeleton #nard of mountains bleak. 
Where the brown vulture dozes and whets his beak, 
Defend it and hoard in their grizzly arms 
The dazzle of splendor and virgin charms 
That no one has seen but those priests of the Sun, 
Who fled from the sword of the Spanish Knight, 
And whose shadows still, when the day Is done, 
Kneel there on tho steps of their altar bright! 
’Twas sought—but the rider and horse were lost, 
Their hones white still, and their ashes tossed 
With the sands as they drift in eternal unrest, 
Where their spirits yet rise in the hopeless quest; 
But a glamor of mystery strangely shines 
Where the dead have been strewn and the living stray 
And the gorges are rich with exhaustless mines— 
Untouched as our hearts and our hopes deoay. 
And the robber Apache hovers far 
On the thundering chase or the trail of war. 
And the shark of the desert, gaunt and gray, 
Slips by like a shade to his distant prey; 
And yet and for aye, on the yellow hroast 
Of the dead and desolate waste, the prize 
Of that Mountain of Gold is said to rest, 
lake a star that has dropped from tho dreaming skies. 
Perhaps it is only a miner’s theme— 
The glint of some wandering Aztec's dream; 
As clouds in the magical sunset shine— 
Like islands of Bilver in seas of wine— 
But may he not think, when the placer falls, 
And poverty lurks on the olden tratlB, 
That treasure barbaric and Joy untold 
Are shining beyond to a Mountain of Gold? 
Portland (Oregon) Herald. 
Jr to §arm;uhme §ihc. 
W HILE waiting for a train in the Boston and Maine 
Station, in Boston, I bought a guide book of the 
Rangeley and Richardson Lakes, written by Mr. Samuel 
Farmer, of the Barden House, Phillips, Maine. The win¬ 
ter stated that the best route to Parmachene Lake was 
via Phillips and Farmington. Having found the route 
via Bethel, Upton, and Magalloway River tedious, I re¬ 
solved to try this new way. Leaving Boston, July 5th, 
at 8:30 A.M., I reached Farmington, where the railroad 
ends, at five P.M. During the last two hours the ride was 
interesting because mountains were quite constantly in 
view. Near Jay Bridge you have a fine view of a pretty 
rapid in the Androscoggin River, just above which ia an 
old fashioned covered bridge, now so rarely met with. 
The approach to Farmington is over a trestle-work, one- 
eighth of a mile long. Though the Sandy River, which 
it crosses, is but a narrow ribbon of water, winding 
among acres of grass, yet at certain seasons it fills the 
whole bottom, making this expensive structure necessary. 
At Farmington there was time for supper; then the 
stage started for Phillips, making the eighteen miles in 
three hours and a half. The drive between these towns 
was fine, as the road followed the Sandy River Valley, 
giving us excellent mountain views. The people of Phil¬ 
lips, although not exceeding three thousand, have a nat¬ 
ional and a savings bank; a telegraph line, erected at 
private expense, a newspaper, and a railroad nearly ready 
for the iron. 
After supper, Mr. Farmer, the proprietor of the Barden 
House, took me in a light wagon to Rangeley Village, 
twenty-one miles west, arriving there at 2:30 a.m., July 
6th. This drive into the mountains by moonlight, mount¬ 
ing higher and higher among them, was something to be 
remembered. At one point the tourist reaches an eleva¬ 
tion of about two thousand feet. Then let him look 
about and see mountains on every side, while below the 
distant peaks show silvery as the moonlight shines on the 
mist upon their sides. 
I found Mr. Samuel Farmer a very agreeable compan¬ 
ion, learning many facts about the country from him. 
Several persons told me that the railroad now being made 
between Farmington and Phillips, owed its advent almost 
entirely to his energy and perserverance. Tourists who 
have the good fortune to enjoy a ride through this coun¬ 
try with him cannot help being impressed with his 
manliness. 
After a late breakfast I started down Rangeley Lake in 
charge of Mr. David T. Haines, whom Mr. Hinkley, the 
genial landlord of the Rangeley Lake House, had recom¬ 
mended as my guide to Parmachene. I afterwards had 
reason to thank Mr. Hinkley for making so wise a select¬ 
ion, as Mr .-Haines proved to be a good woodsman. We 
enjoyed the trip in Captain Howard’s steam launch, the 
Mollyohunkamimk, exceedingly. When about three 
miles down the lake, the view was superb, the mirror¬ 
like water reflecting every mountain so perfectly as to 
make it difficult to realize that we were not sailing over 
another world. We passed on our way the Mountain 
View Hotel just beyond, being landed at the beginning 
of the portage to Cupsuptic Lake. This’portage is in the 
shape of a letter V, the steamer landingat the point. One 
arm goes to Soule’s Camp, the other to Rangeley stream, 
where it empties into the Cupsuptic Lake. The distance 
over the right arm, leading to this stream, opposite the 
buildings of the Oquossoc Angling Association, is about 
one and two-thirds miles. We arrived here in time for 
dinner, after which, Mr. Haines rowed me down Cupsup¬ 
tic Lake to the Cupsuptic Stream, a distance of four 
miles, Old visitors will remember the extensive feeding 
grounds for moose at this point. They are now destroyed 
by the rise of water caused by a dam. Thousands of 
dead trees, stripped of their bark and bleached to an 
ashen grey, give a sombre feeling to the tourist, that is 
lightened only by the numerous black swallows (Cotyle 
viparia), which have built in the dead tru nks —a curious 
instance of adaptation to the environment. The route to 
Parmachene lies up the Cupsuptic Stream ; for four 
miles there is no current; then yon walk around a rapid', 
while the guide wades the boat through it. This portage 
is about 1,100 yards long ; it leaves the stream on the left 
bank, following an old toll road. The walking is good. 
Beyond this rapid the stream is swift, crooked, and 
shallow for eight miles, then the portage to Parmachene 
Lake is seen leaving the west hank just opposite two 
small grass islands. On the way up the river a grass- 
capped rook will be noticed. This is called “Steve’s 
Numple.” 
A lumberman named Steve-stood hero all one 
cold spring day, keeping the logs as they went past from 
forming a jam. As the river was high, he could not 
reach the 6hore, hence his only food was buscuit tossed 
to him—not very substantial food for such exhausting 
work. At night, after reaching shore, he started for 
home, giving as a reason that the “ boss” had made h i m 
stay on “that darned nnmple till he was played out.” 
I have never seen the word “numple,” so perhaps he 
was a “ coiner of a word unknown to Keats.” 
Not wishing to travel rapidly, we camped before reach¬ 
ing the portage, which we crossed next day. Various 
estimates are given of its length. 
Mr. Danforth, one of the most noted trappers in this 
region, thinks it five miles, while the pedometer gave as 
an approximate estimate seven and a half miles. There 
are very few windfalls on this portage, so a fair estimate 
may be got from tho time required to cross, the shortest 
on’, record being that of two sportsmen who went over 
without baggage in two hours and ten minutes. The Par¬ 
machene. or west end, strikes the Magalloway River be¬ 
low the lake at Black Cat Brook. The portage is over tho 
range of mountains dividing the Cupsuptic stream aud 
Magalloway River, therefore it is steep in portions. 
There is boating on the river up to John Danforth's 
camp on Treat’s Island, in Parmachene, a distance of 
about three miles, 
John Danforth deserves to succeed on account of his 
perseverance. A few years ago he attempted to build a 
camp on the Magalloway River below the lakes, but was 
prevented by the owners of the land, though Mr. Flint, 
another excellent guide, had been granted this privilege. 
As Mr. Danforth allows nothing to deter h i m , he got pen- 
mission to cut lumber for a camp in the township north. 
Here he felled the trees, floating them down to Parma¬ 
chene Lake, where he built a gigantic raft, on which he 
placed liis camps. 
These, to avoid weight, were constructed of a light 
framework of spruce, covered all over with thin strips of 
cedar. As the lake belonged to the State he possessed 
his camp in peace. He has since put the camps upon 
Treat’s Island, and last winter built another camp in ad¬ 
dition. In moving the two camps from the raft they had 
at their disposal only a piece of bed cord and some small 
iron pulleys taken from a sailboat. When we consider 
that everything about these camps, even the doorframes, 
bedsteads, and chairs, had to be made by hand out of 
trees rafted down the river, we cannot fail to be im- 
n-essed with the energy of the man who almost single 
landed has accomplished all this, in a country where 
provisions can be carried only in winter on a hand-sled 
more than twenty miles through a pathless forest, 
Parmachene Lake is a fine locality for the tourist or 
sportsman. On every side are mountains—Bose-Buck, 
West Kennebago, and one which Mr. Haines and the 
winter believe to he Snow Mountain, are the highest peaks 
seen. Snow Mountain forms one side of a chasm which 
is three-quarters of a mile long, and from ten to seventy 
feet high. Through this the Capsuptic stream rushes 
with great force, filling the bottom of the chasm entirely 
in many places in time of freshet. In one place the rock 
is free from trees, showing the sides of the chasm only 
about two rods apart, rising perpendicularly, and shut¬ 
ting out all the sky except a narrow strip overhead. This 
chasm is known only to two or three trappers. There is 
no trail to it, an accident to my knee having prevented 
our being out this summer from Lake Parmachene. It: 
has been named Haines' Chasm in honor of the trapper 
who told me about it. Unless we are mistaken in the 
peak which I believe to be Snow Mountain, the chasm is 
in an east course from the shore of Parmachene Lake, 
and not more than four miles in an air line. It is hoped 
that some of the readers of the Forest and Stream will 
cut this proposed trail during this Bummer, opening the 
chasm to tourists. 
Next morning, July 8th, taking provisions from Mr. 
Danforth’s, we started for a lake not yet visited. It had 
been seen by Mr. Haines while trapping in the. surround¬ 
ing mountains. Our plan was to go to Arnold's Bog, in 
Canada, then by keeping on the hills get round the bog, 
crossing the Boundary lidge west of Ox-Bow Mountain, 
hoping to strike the lake about two miles south of the 
head of the bog. Our route was up the Magalloway 
River. There is good boating to Little Boys’ Falls, three 
miles from Camp Danforth. Here the boats are lifted 
over a fall about three feet high, boating being without 
interruption except in low water to Otter Creek, formerly 
called the First East Branch of the Magalloway. The 
trail made by John Danforth to Arnold Bog water leaves 
the right bank of the creek about three-quarters of a mile 
above the river. This excellent trail crosses the water 
shed between our country and Canada, five miles from 
Otter Creek, from which point it descends over smaller 
ridges to the hog, three and one-half miles. The trail 
crosses three quite large mountain brooks, named Moose 
Yard, Half-Way, and Red Maple. 
At the bog we found a party of sportsmen who had 
that morning lulled a moose as lie stood on the shore. Wo 
took about twenty pounds of the meat in our packs, and 
after spending an hour with them started in a south-east 
course from the east side of the bog. This course was 
necessery to avoid the wet land which surrounds the 
water of the bog for miles. After travelling all that day 
we climbed a tree on the crest of a mountain to get our 
direction. As the lowest point in the hill seemed directly 
south, we decided to go in that direction. After descend¬ 
ing the mountain camp was made for the night. I believe 
the writer consumed, at the least calculation, three rounds 
of moose meat. Wonderful what an appetite that moun¬ 
tain air and a fifty-pound pack will give one. 
Next morning we kept our south course till we were 
bogged, being then obliged to make a long detour hack 
into the mountains. After getting up the valley about a 
mile we again turned south, and this time were success¬ 
ful in crossing, though the walking was not exactly dry. 
At half-past ten the boundary line was crossed. The 
compass showed it to he running northwesterly and 
southeasterly. About the middle of the afternoon it be¬ 
came advisable to get our direction again. A view ob¬ 
tained from a tree on the crest of a convenient moun¬ 
tain showed our lake in a southwesterly direction, not 
over two miles a.way, while to the north the waters of 
Arnold’s Bog looltecl like a narrow thread of silver lying 
in the middle of a green valley, which appeared to ex¬ 
tend for miles until closed in by the rugged form of 
Saddle Mountain at LakeMegantie. 
We struck the lake midway on its east side, As the 
shores were wet we turned east to higher ground, follow-. 
