DOWN THE TORRENT’S PATHWAY. 
Saturday, December 26, our last day in the 
intervale, was the least pleasant of our visit. 
At eight A. M. fog covered the mountains, the 
forests, and everything, in fact, save a few acres 
of deep straw-colored field on which only a few 
soiled patches of snow remained. The engine 
came in promptly, but found no cars loaded, 
and went back to Bartlett without freight. 
About nine o’clock the millmen came home and 
said there were no logs at the saw-mill, the 
Frenchmen having been drunk on Christmas. 
There were rumors of fights among the revel¬ 
ers. About ten o’clock, having finished our 
packing, we took a short stroll in the rain. 
There were kinglets in the woods by the road¬ 
side, but no crossbills could be found at their 
favorite feeding-ground. I think they migrated 
Christmas morning. 
We crossed Swift River on the railway bridge 
and entered the tract of densely wooded swamp 
which occupies much of the northern side of the 
intervale. It was at this point that my friend 
saw the deer on Tuesday. As we strolled along 
