THE HEART OF THE MOUNTAIN. 
Floating upon the clear waters of Chocorua 
Lake in the latter part of a warm July afternoon, 
and looking northward, I see the coolness of 
night beginning to grow in the heart of the 
mountain. At first there is but a slender dark 
line marking a deep ravine, through which a 
brook flows; then the shadow widens until a 
great hollow in the mountain’s side is filled with 
shade. As the sun sinks the shadow reaches 
higher and higher upon the wooded flanks of 
the two spurs which hold the hollow between 
them, until at last only the vast rock of the 
peak, resting upon its forest-clad shoulders, is 
left warm in the sun’s rays. The point where 
the shadow begins to form is more than a thou¬ 
sand feet above the level of the lake. From it, 
reaching upwards, two folds in the forest dra¬ 
pery extend towards the foot of the peak. One 
marks a brook coming from the upper part of 
the right-hand ridge, the other a brook which 
rises at the very head of the left-hand, or west 
ridge. The heart of the mountain is the wild 
ravine where these two streams mingle in per- 
