OLD SHAG. 
147 
are charmed by the ever-changing beauties of a 
series of as exquisite cascades as are to be found 
in the White Mountains. It is true that in 
midsummer the brook is so reduced in size that 
its chief charm is seriously lessened, but if the 
time chosen for ascent is in spring, autumn, or 
after a heavy summer rain, the falls will be 
found at their best. 
On the morning of September 15, a party of 
four persons entered the “lost trail,” leading 
from Berry’s to the Swift River intervale. A 
heavy rain had fallen during the whole of the 
preceding day, and Paugus River, with all its 
sons and daughters, grandchildren brooks, and 
great-grandchildren rivulets, made the forest 
resound with the music of innumerable singing 
falls and rapids. Following the old trail for 
two miles, the party reached a spot where a 
good-sized stream appeared flowing eastward 
from the great hollow in the eastern flank of 
Paugus. Leaving the bridle-path at this point, 
and walking nearly due west, the explorers fol¬ 
lowed the branch towards its source. As the 
region was reported to be thickly set with bear- 
traps, the party walked in Indian file, while 
their leader sounded and punched every foot of 
moss and soft leaf mould with his stout staff. 
The traps used by the hunters on these moun¬ 
tains are murderous inventions, consisting of 
