Chapter II: Front Matter (2)

"The truth is, we cannot appreciate Byron till we come here," pursued Molly. "If we could only have a tempest now. Ah, I can imagine those mountain Alps. How beautiful and grand it is. Within this wide domain romance, science, and nature, murmur an eternal anthem, which wooes for every soul that finds itself herein a new aspiration, and a realization that, after all our study and care, we have appreciated creation so lightly!"

That afternoon Molly had her wished-for tempest. The heat had been sultry, but by five o'clock a heavy wind began to blow and huge billows of clouds began to appear above the tops of the mountains. The sky grew blacker every moment. By and by a mighty river of clouds began to pour itself down over the peaks into the valley below; one by one each haughty crest disappeared beneath the flood. In a few moments every ravine was filled with rolling masses of clouds and the rain was falling in sheets. We could trace its rapid flight over the space between the hotel and the distant mountains. A gentleman who has been at the Profile House for several summers said that he had never seen so grand a storm-cloud as the one just described. When the storm was past and the clouds began to melt away, it was natural enough that we should call to mind the following passage from "Lucile:"

Meanwhile,
The sun in his setting, sent up the last smile
Of his power, to baffle the storm. And, behold
O'er the mountains embattled, his armies, all gold,
Rose and rested; while far up the dim airy crags,
Its artillery silenced, its banners in rags,
The rear of the tempest its sullen retreat
Drew off slowly, receding in silence, to meet
The powers of the night, which, now gathering afar,
Had already sent forward one bright signal star.

A whole host of natural beauties and attractive scenes lie at hand near this great mountain caravansary. Turn in any and all directions, at every point a view greets the vision which rivals the touches of an almost divine brush on Oriental canvas. Avenues lead through a perfect labyrinth of forests in all directions, and many are the famous sights to be seen. Profile Lake lies close by at the base of Cannon or Profile Mountain and Mount Lafayette. From its shore can be seen that inspiring curiosity known the world over as the "Old Man of the Mountain," about which much good prose and passable poetry has been written. The profile is produced by the peculiar combination of the surfaces and angles of five huge granite blocks, and when viewed from one spot the resemblance is perfect. Colossal as it is in its proportions, being seventy feet from chin to forehead, the lines are softened by distance, and the sphynx itself is not carved more justly. There it stands, calm, grand, majestic, wearing from age to age the same undisturbed expression of sovereign and hoary dignity--the guardian spirit of the region. No wonder the simple red man, as he roamed these wilds, should pause as he caught sight of this great stone face gazing off through the mountain openings into the distant valley, and worship it as the countenance of his Manitou. All are impressed with it, and its influence is magnetic.

To climb Mount Lafayette will be scarcely less interesting than the ascent of Mount Washington, though it is more tedious, as it has to be made wholly on foot. But the charming views from its sides and summit will repay the labor of the tourist. A fine view of the Franconia Mountains can be obtained from the summit of Bald Mountain, to the top of which a carriage road has been constructed.

Following down the outlet of Profile Lake, the headwaters of the Pemigewasset, one may visit with profit and pleasure Walker's Falls, the Basin, the Cascades, and the Flume. The Flume is one of those rifts in the solid rock caused by some titanic force in ages long since. For many years there hung suspended far up above the path a huge granite boulder. In 1883 a sudden mountain storm caused a torrent to dash through the chasm, and the boulder became a subject for history. It disappeared, thus partially explaining how it was originally lodged in its former resting place. A short distance below the Flume are the Georgiana Falls, where the water descends for more than a hundred feet over a sheer precipice.

Franconia is a fairyland of wonderful fascination; and the weary of body and mind, or the despondent and languid invalid, and no less the strong and healthy, will find their physical faculties invigorated, and the mind and soul elevated by a sojourn among the attractions of that lovely town. It was with the deepest regret that we turned from those delightful regions. Our time was not lost, for as we pant and struggle in "life's ceaseless toil and endeavor," a thousand memories come to cheer us from those sojourns in this romantic and magnificent mountain land.

Again at Bethlehem Junction we follow the main thoroughfare through the mountains to the great chain of hotels of world-wide fame known as the Twin Mountain House, Fabyan's, and the Crawford House. Up the valley of the Ammonoosuc to the Twin Mountain House, which takes its name from two prominent peaks of the Franconia range, is a delightful ride. We are now in the midst of the mountain region, the White Mountain plateau. Here nature, _en dishabille_, with locks unkempt and loosened zone, reclines at Ease in her most secret chamber, beyond the reach of intrusion, and neither thinking of, nor caring for, the critical philosophy of the outside world; an emerald-crowned Cleopatra, revelling in the midst of her great vassals.

The Twin Mountain House, like Fabyan's and the Crawford House, is a post-office. It is a hostelry, also, that is not surpassed in its management, cuisine or in magnificence by any in the chain.

"It is good to be here," said Molly, lying back in her chair on the long piazza, "while the wind blows fair, as in Indian myth blew the breeze from the Land of Souls."

"Do you remember the other time we were here, Molly?" asked Fritz, "and the beautiful moonlight evenings we enjoyed?"

"Oh, yes. How many nights we sat here or promenaded among the trees. It was in September and the moon was full. As she arose over the eastern hills and threw her light upon the valley beneath, I never saw her more majestic. The soft, mellow radiance of the queen of night filled every nook and crevice with light. The trees waved their branches, and beckoned the woodland nymphs forth to a dance on the green. Surely, it seems as if Shakespeare must have had just such evenings in his mind when he wrote 'Midsummer Night's Dream.'"

"Ah, that was a 'Lover's Pilgrimage,'" observed Fritz, grimly, "now it is a pilgrimage for--"

"What?"

"You interrupted me; we will call it an æsthetic pilgrimage."

What days those were we passed in the upland region. Fabyan's is situated in the very heart of the White Hills and is the objective point for all tourists. From the verandas of this spacious hotel, one obtains an uninterrupted view of the whole Presidential Range, and can watch the course of the train of cars as it creeps slowly up the precipitous sides of Mount Washington.

Taking the train at Fabyan's, one glides rapidly up the steepest practical grade to the Base station, where he leaves the ordinary passenger coach and takes his seat in a car designed to be pushed up the Mount Washington Railroad. After the warning whistle the train starts slowly on its journey--the grandest sensation of the whole trip to the ordinary traveller. The most magnificent scenery is soon spread before the tourist. No other three miles of railway in the world affords such a succession of wild and startling views as the passenger has on his mountain ride on this iron line up the steep inclination of this mighty summit of the great northern range. We get glimpses of the wide valley below, the bold landscape ever changing, yet always filled with grand and startling outlines. Up and up we go. We pass Gulf station, Naumbet station, Jacob's Ladder, and the monument of stones which marks the spot where, in 1855, Miss Lizzie Bourne of Maine died from exposure. At last we are at the summit, in front of the hospitable looking Tip Top House. We are standing at an altitude of over six thousand feet above the sea, or to be exact, 6,293 feet, according to Professor Guyot, on the highest point of land with one exception east of the Rocky Mountains.

"Isn't the thought inspiring," I remarked to my companions, "that we are on the highest land for which our fathers fought a century ago?"

"And is it not the theme the _ultima thule_ of grandeur in an artist's pilgrimage?" said Molly. "What a prospect! The plains of Canada, the forests of Maine, the mountains of New York, and I really believe the sea, if I mistake not that faint blue line in the far distance over the billowy land! What a grand spectacle a sunrise or a sunset would be, viewed from this height!"

The next morning we saw the sun start from its bed in the Orient, swathed in radiant clouds and vapors, and rise up behind the eastern range of hills; we had never seen anything so beautiful and striking before, and the scene is one which neither pen can describe nor pencil portray. Our memory will not fail to cherish it as the choicest revelation to be seen in a life time.

"Do you know it was just one hundred years ago this very year, 1784, Mount Washington received its name?" asked Fritz. "Well it was, and eight years later Captain Eleazar Rossbrook penetrated into the heart of the mountains and made a clearing where the Fabyan House now stands. His son-in-law, Abel Crawford, the patriarch of the mountains, settled the next season in the Notch, in the vicinity of Bemis station. Captain Rossbrook built the first house for the reception of visitors in 1803. Ethan Allen Crawford, son of Abel Crawford, took Captain Rossbrook's house in 1817, and two years later opened the first footpath to the summit of this mountain, where he soon after built a stone cabin. There, I give all that information to you _gratis_."

"Very kind of you, I am sure," said Molly, "but who will vouch for its authenticity?" you used to be a terrible story-teller."

"Clio does not lie; this is history."

"You would have us believe the staid muse very modest," said Molly. But I remember some one has said history is a great liar."

"A libel, a _positive_ libel! Shall we believe nothing?"

"Only absolute truth. Do you believe in the Trojan war? Do you believe that Marshal Ney said at Waterloo, 'Up guards and at them?'"

"Do you believe there is a Mt. Washington? Your iconoclasts would destroy everything. There are White Mountain legends, of course, but there is also White Mountain history, and the time is not so remote but that the data can be relied upon."

"No one can argue with you, Fritz," answered Molly. "I accept your data in this case. You are welcome to wear the wreath of victory."

A night spent at the White Mountain House, one of the old-fashioned hostelries, cheery, hospitable, and with an excellent cuisine, cool, airy chambers, where one is made to feel at home by the urbane landlord, Mr. R.D. Rounsend, and we turned from this section.

The Crawford House, four miles below Fabyan's, is one of the finest in its plans of the mountain houses, its wide piazzas extending the entire length of the buildings. It is magnificently situated upon a little plateau, just north of the gate of the White Mountain, or Crawford Notch. The Saco River has its source not far from the house, its birthplace being a picturesque little lake. At the right hand Mount Willard rears its shapely mass, from whose summit a glorious view can be obtained. The ascent is easily accomplished by carriage, and the prospect, though not so grand and wild as that from Mount Washington, exceeds it in picturesque beauty. The whole valley of the Saco, river of the oak and elm, lies spread before the vision. The grand outlines of the gorge, the winding road through the whole extent, the leaping cascades flashing in the sunshine, all appear before the eye as in a picture. One feels like exclaiming with Cowper:

"Heavens! what a goodly prospect spreads around,
Of hills, and dales, and woods, and lawns, and spires,
And glittering towers and gilded streams,
The stretching landscape into smoke till all decays."

One of the beauties of the Notch is the Flume, a brook that goes leaping through its curious zigzag channel of rock on the side of Mount Webster, hastening on its way to join the deeper current of the Saco. Then here is "Silver Cascade," which is above the Flume, a series of leaping, dashing, turning waterfalls, descending now in a broad sheet of whitened foam, then separating into several streams, and again narrowing to a swift current through the rocky confined channel. The visitor will pause by its whitened torrent, loth to depart from the scene.

The White Mountain Notch, after Mount Washington, is the great natural feature of the range. For three miles the road follows the bottom of a chasm between overhanging cliffs, in some places two thousand feet in height, and at others not more than twenty-five feet apart. This is the great thoroughfare of travel, from the northern towns on the Connecticut to Conway and the Saco valley, and _vice versa_; and through it pass the headwaters of the Saco, which afterwards broadens out into a great river, and flows with rapid course through the loveliest of valleys to the sea. Much of the natural wildness and grandeur of the pass has been destroyed by laying the line of the Portland and Ogdensburg Railroad, which has been graded through the ravine. Railroads serve a great utilitarian purpose, but they have their defects; it seems out of place to ride across Egypt or the Holy Land behind a locomotive; a prancing steed or a camel with tinkling bells seems the most fitting motive power. There is nothing sentimental about a railroad, but after all who would care to return to the old methods of locomotion?

The Willey House, famous in story, stands upon the Notch road nestling under the steep acclivity of Mount Willey, which rises some two thousand feet behind the house.

"Why don't some of our authors use more of the historical material of this region in story writing than they do?" asked Fritz.

"The material is so romantic that romance can add nothing to it," answered Molly. "But you forget Hawthorne. His Ambitious Guest has imparted a weird interest to the event. He makes a young man, travelling through the Notch, partake of the hospitality of the family on the fatal night. At the fireside they fall to talking of their individual plans, the guest expressing himself as desirious of achieving fame. It seemed a terrible thing to him to die and to be forgotten, to leave no name behind and no monument to mark his resting place. In the midst of the conversation the ruin came, and the ambitious guest, flying with the family, found his burial with the others. The story will live in Hawthorne long after the true facts have been forgotten; or they will live because Hawthorne's narrative will have conferred immortality upon them."

This memorable event happened on the night of Monday, the twenty-eighth of August, 1826. A terrible storm of wind and rain prevailed, the mountain branches of the Saco and the Ammonoosuc speedily overfilled their rocky channels, and the steep sides of hills loosened by the rain swept down upon the valleys, destroying many an ancient landmark. One of these slides swept down toward the Willey House, then occupied by Samuel Willey, his wife, and family. The frightened inmates, seeking safety by flight from the impending ruin, were overwhelmed by the avalanche and perished, while the house remained untouched. The bodies of two sons and one daughter were never found; the rest of the Willey household lie buried in a small cemetery enclosure near the mansion house of Willey Farm at North Conway.

A most charming ride is that down the line of the Saco river to North Conway, whether by rail or stage. The beauty and boldness of the scenery on either side alternately enchants and awes.

"It reminds me of Switzerland," said Fritz, who had travelled on the continent, "only there are more rocks and ledges visible. The lower Alps are clothed in green and the upper ones in perennial snow. The Simplon Pass is not nearly so rugged as the Notch. Only in the West among the Rockies is there anything to compare with this. But below, a few miles, we have a view as pleasant as Christian and Hopeful saw from the Delectable Mountains."

"And do we have to pass Doubting castle, as they did?" asked Molly. "I don't think I should care for their experience with giants and giantesses."

"Here are castles and strongholds, but the giants, if there are any, are as helpless as Giant Pope was, who could only sit in the sun and gnaw his finger nails."

The towering cliffs on either side smile like the walls of a prison. We felt a relief when once they were passed, and we found ourselves in the broader valley below, stretching wide and green and beautiful in the summer sunshine--the famous meadows of the Saco. All of the savage aspects disappeared or were seen only at a distance. Glimpses were caught now and then of charming vistas, with the waters of the Saco gleaming brightly between the trees. No fairer valley can be found in our land than that of the Saco; and as for skies and sunsets, stop at North Conway and see what cannot be matched in Italy or the Orient.

That is what we did. A broad, level plain, five miles long by three wide, is the site of the village, which is a quiet and picturesque rural hamlet of the average size of country towns. Far in the north towers the lofty Presidential Range, in full sight, the distance softening all harsh and rugged outlines into beautiful curves and combinations, Mount Washington wearing a snowy forehead often through the entire heated term. The swelling summit of Mount Pequakett rises at the north-east of the village, a lone sentinel, guarding the gateway of the mountains with bold and unchanging brow. On the western side extends a long range of rocky hills, with the single spire-like summit of Chocorua far beyond, piercing the blue vault of heaven.

Sitting on the cheerful piazzas of any of the many hotels, one can breath the mountain air as freely as if they sat under the tower of Fabyan's or the French roof of the Twin Mountain House, but much of the grandeur of course is missed. The mountains do not seem to frown down upon you; they smile rather, and seem to beckon and wave as if desiring to gain your closer acquaintance. To know the mountains you must visit them, press their scarred rocky sides, feel their cool breezes on your forehead, then you will love them, reverence them. And this privilege is free to every one. Great railroads penetrate into the very heart of the hilly region, and the cost of travel is reduced to such a minimum that the poorest man can once in a while take his family for a pleasant sojourn among the mountains. One can start from Boston in the morning, take a dinner at the Pemigewasset House, Plymouth, and at night eat his supper at Fabyan's. And even a short visit is so refreshing, so invigorating to mind and body, that it repays when even the sight is not a novel one.

Glorious, grand, old mountain, lifting thy brow among the eternal snows; thou needst not the presence of Jove, nor the voice of a Homer to consecrate thee; and although Greeks and Trojans have never battled at thy base, still to us art thou dearer than Ida's wooded height where the gods sat enthroned to witness that divinely-recorded combat. Thy hoary peaks bear the names of chiefs and heroes who are not myths, and in the hearts of the people they are an everlasting memory.

* * * * *

THE PAST AND FUTURE OF SILVER.

By David M. Balfour.

Silver, next to iron and gold, is the most extensively diffused metal upon our planet. It is found frequently in a natural state, though never chemically pure, being invariably mixed with gold or copper, or sometimes antimony, arsenic, bismuth, quick-silver, or iron. It is distinguished by its whiteness, its brilliant lustre when polished, its malleability, and its indifference to atmospheric oxygen. It is remarkable for its beauty, and is ten times heavier than water. It does not appear to have been in use before the deluge. Moses does not allude to it before that event, but mentions only brass and iron; but in Abraham's time it had become common, and traffic was carried on with it, and its value was eight to one of gold. "He was rich in silver and gold, and bought a sepulchre for his wife Sarah for four hundred shekels of silver" ($250.) It was not coined, but circulated only in bars or ingots, and was always weighed. Silver usually takes precedence in the Scriptures, whenever the two metals are mentioned conjunctively. "Silver and gold have I none," said Peter to the importunate beggar, "but such as I have, I give unto thee." Silver is first mentioned in Genesis xxiii: 15; but where it was first found is unknown to us.

Silver was extremely abundant in ancient times. "And Solomon made silver to be in Jerusalem as stones." (I Kings x: 27.) "Cyrus heaped up silver as the dust." (Zacariah ix: 3.) In the earliest times the Greeks obtained silver from the Phoceans and Laurians. The chief mines were in Siphnos, Thessaly, and Attica. In the latter country the silver mines of Laurion furnished an abundant supply, and were generally regarded as the chief source of the wealth of Athens. They ceased to be worked in the second century of the Christian Era. At the period B.C. 500, the relative value of silver to gold was eighteen to one. The Romans obtained most of their silver from the very rich mines of Spain, which had previously been worked by the Phoenicians and Carthaginians, and which, though abandoned for those of Mexico, are still not exhausted. The most important use for silver, among the Greeks, was for money. At Rome, on the contrary, silver was not coined until B.C. 260.

Silver, as regards its mines, is represented in every portion of our planet. The richest silver mine in the world is Potosi; it is situated on an elevation thirteen thousand feet above the level of the sea, in a region of perpetual snow; it has always been worked in a very rude manner, yet it has already produced $250,000,000, and shows no signs of exhaustion. The annual product of the silver mines of South America, at the present time, is estimated to be $22,000,000. Their total product, to the present time, has amounted to $2,430,000,000. The silver mines of Mexico were wrought long before Cortez revealed them to the eyes of Europe, in 1513. Their annual product, at the present time, is estimated to be $30,000,000. The total product, to the present time, has amounted to $3,834,000,000. In 1850 Nevada was not reckoned among the silver-producing countries of the world. In 1867 she could proudly point to an annual product of $13,000,000; but it has declined to $6,000,000 at the present time. The total product of silver in Nevada has amounted to $340,000,000. The largest nugget of silver yet obtained was dug up in Arizona, and weighed 43,200 ounces, valued at the same number of dollars. The highest silver deposit in the world is on King Solomon's mountain, in Colorado, fourteen thousand feet above the Pacific Ocean. The annual product of the silver mines of North America is estimated to be $76,480,000. Their total product has amounted to $4,783,000,000, more than one-third of the entire product of the world from the earliest times to the present day. The annual product of the silver mines of America at the present time is estimated to be $98,480,000, and their total product has amounted to $7,170,000,000, more than three-fifths of the entire product of the world, from the earliest times to the present day. The export of silver from the United States, since 1848, has amounted to $413,292,757. The annual product of the mines of Europe at the present time is estimated to be $15,000,000; and their total product has amounted to $2,600,000,000. The annual product of the silver mines of Asia (including Australia, New Zealand, and Oceanica), at the present time is estimated to be $480,000; and their total product has amounted to $1,685,000,000. India has often been represented as destitute of silver, but we have statements from Sir Roderic Murchison that the Kulu valley is so rich in silver ore that it could yield a large product for future ages. The silver country of Vasours comprises the mountainous regions between the Beas, Sainji and Parbutti rivers. The mines, though previously worked, are now almost forgotten. The same is the case with the Manikarn mines, hitherto known to be incalculably rich. The annual product of the silver mines of Africa is estimated at the present time to be $40,000; and their total product to the present time has amounted to $389,000,000.

Silver, to the amount of $2,913,000,000, is estimated to have been obtained from the mines of the earth from the earliest times to the commencement of the Christian Era; from the date of the latter event to the discovery of America $521,000,000 were obtained; thence to the close of 1847, an addition of $6,025,000,000 was made; thence to the close of 1884, there was added $2,344,000,000; making a grand total of $11,803,000,000. The average loss by abrasion of coin is estimated by Professor Bowen at one per cent. per annum; and the loss by consumption in the arts, and fire, and shipwreck at $5,000,000 per annum. A cubic inch of silver is worth, at 48 3-4d., or 97 1-2 cents per ounce, $9.75; a cubic foot, $16.848; a cubic yard, $454,896.

Silver, to the amount of $900,000,000, is estimated to have been in existence at the commencement of the Christian Era; at the period of the discovery of America it had diminshed to $135,000,000; after the latter event it gradually increased, and in 1600 it attained to $391,000,000; in 1700, to $1,410,000,000; in 1800, to $3,622,000,000; in 1842, to 4,998,000,000; in 1853, to $4,945,000,000; and at the present the amount of silver in existence is estimated to be $5,504,000,000; which, melted into one mass, could be contained in a cube of seventy feet. Of the amount of silver in existence $3,800,000,000 is estimated to be in coin and bullion, $1,200,000,000 in watches, and the remainder in plate, jewelry, and ornaments. Of the amount now in existence $4,722,000,000 has been obtained from North America; $613,000,000 from South America; $59,000,000 from Europe; $50,000,000 from Asia (including Australia, New Zealand, and Oceanica); and $60,000,000 from Africa. The amount of the precious metals in existence is estimated to be $13,670,000,000.

Silver, so far as its annual product is concerned, has varied greatly at different periods. At the commencement of the Christian Era it is estimated to have been $4,200,000; at the period of the discovery of America it had diminished to $150,000; after that event it gradually increased, and in 1600 it attained to $9,000,000; in 1700, to $18,000,000; in 1800, to $38,000,000; in 1848, to $47,000,000; in 1863, to $63,000,000; and at the present time it is $114,000,000.

Silver, in performing the function of money, is of great antiquity. Asia was a commercial country when Europe was a wilderness; and as the East has not changed her habits since the remotest ages, silver alone is the money of that continent, inhabited by more than one-half of the human race, and among whom paper-money is unknown. The _drachma_ was the principal silver coin among the Greeks, containing sixty-six grains of pure metal, worth about seventeen and a half cents. It furnished the type of the Roman _denarius_, containing fifty-eight grains of pure metal, worth about fifteen and a half cents. The silver _mark_ was imported into England from Denmark by Alfred in A.D. 870; the _penny_ was next issued in 1070; the _groat_ in 1280; then came the _shilling_ in 1503; and the _crown_ made its appearance in 1607. The earliest silver coin issued in France was the _livre_, which appeared in 800, of the value of eighty cents. It steadily depreciated, until, in 1643, it was worth only sixty cents; it then, fell rapidly, until the epoch of the Revolution, when its value was only nineteen cents, and the _franc_ took its place. The _Henri_ was issued in 1012; the _teston_ appeared in 1499; and the _couronne_ followed in 1610. The first silver coin issued in the American colonies was in 1652, by Massachusetts, in the shape of _pine-tree shillings_; silver coins were also issued, at a later period, by the colony of Maryland. Silver _half-dimes_ were issued by the United States in 1792; dimes appeared in 1793; and _half-dollars_ in 1794.

Silver, in regard to coinage, has exchanged places with gold since 1848. Since 1726, to the present time, the silver coinage of the French mint has amounted to 7,500,000,000 francs, of which 4,000,000,000 has been issued since 1850; since 1664 the silver coinage of the Russian mint has amounted to 488,000,000 roubles, of which 188,000,000 has been issued since 1850; since 1792 the silver coinage of the United States mint has amounted to $325,968,571, of which $352,741,869 has been issued since 1850; since 1603, the silver coinage of the British mint has amounted to £40,000,000, of which £16,000,000 has been issued since 1850. The silver coinage of the United States, within the last decade, has amounted to $271,954,638.

Silver, since the commencement of the present century, has trebled its annual product, but its price has declined but twenty-two per cent. The causes of the depreciation of silver may be thus briefly stated:

1. The increased production of the metal; it having increased from $47,000,000 in 1848 to $114,000,000 at the present time.

2. "Council Drafts," or bills drawn by Great Britain upon India, have proved a most potent cause in the decline in the value of silver. The materials which the Indian railways, or the Indian governments require, in order to conduct business, have to be largely imported from England, and therefore, payments are largely liquidated in these bills, which now average $60,000,000 per annum, while formerly they did not average one-fifth of that sum. These bills supersede silver, and the effect is the same as though the silver mines had been equally increased. The export of silver to the East has decreased from $80,000,000 in 1847 to $20,000,000 in 1884.

3. The demonetization of silver, which has taken place in various countries. In 1865 Italy adopted unconvertible paper-money, its previous metallic currency, nearly all silver, having been about $90,000,000, Doubtless, nearly all this amount was thrown upon the markets of the world. But this produced no appreciable effect upon the price of silver, which remained as formerly (62 3-4d.) until 1872; after which it fell rapidly, reaching its lowest point in 1876, when it stood at 46 3-4d. During the same period $30,000,000 were also thrown upon the markets of the world by Germany, and $10,000,000 more by the Scandinavian kingdoms. These direct effects of the demonetization of silver down to 1876 did not of themselves, produce any appreciable effect upon its price, as undoubtedly its very low price in 1876 was greatly due to panic. In resuming specie payments in 1879 the United States adopted a gold standard; Italy resumed specie payments in gold on the twelfth day of April, 1883; and in Europe, the previous annual absorption of silver in the leading countries has entirely ceased. The Occident, led by England, is abandoning silver as money, thereby reducing it to a mere metal; and thus depriving it of the chief source of that value, which it has possessed since the beginning of civilized society. Germany has discarded silver, and adopted a single gold standard; so have the Scandinavian kingdoms; and France has closed her mint, since 1877, against silver, to avoid being deluged with the metal, discarded by her neighbors.

Silver, owing to the lesser amount in existence, and its less convenient portability, is fast being superseded by gold in monetary circles. Of the amount of the precious metals in existence, $8,166,000,000 are furnished by gold; and of their annual product $98,000,000 are furnished by it. The ratio of silver to gold has risen from fifteen and one-half, which it has maintained since 1700, to nineteen and one-half, at the present time, and with a still rising tendency. Owing to the great loss by abrasion of coin the amount of silver in existence has gained but little within the last forty-two years, it having increased but nine per cent, while that of gold has increased three hundred and thirteen per-cent. The price of the precious metals follow the great politico-economic law of supply and demand. Gold, owing to its great demand for international exchanges, has maintained its present price for the last one hundred and sixty years, while silver has declined twenty-two per cent. within thirteen. The _prestige_ enjoyed for centuries, as the instrument and measure of commerce in all the civilized and trading parts of the world, and its normal currency, has been gradually lost since 1843, and will probably never be recovered by silver.

* * * * *

RAMBLES AMONG MASSACHUSETTS HILLS.

By Atherton P. Mason, M.D.

In the old Bay State there is no elevation of surface that really deserves the name of mountain, but yet some of the more lofty eminences rejoice in this appellation which serves to distinguish them from their lesser brethren, the hills. In this paper, however, let us start on the assumption that all the elevated points in the State that are worthy of having received a name, from Saddle Mountain downwards, are hills. This uniformity of nomenclature surely will not detract from the almost sublime grandeur of Greylock and Wachusett any more than it will enhance the picturesque beauty of Sugar Loaf, or the Blue Hills of Milton.

There are three rather lofty and extensive ranges of hills crossing Massachusetts. The most western of the three is the Taconic range, which is upon the very border of the State. East of this, across a valley several miles wide, is the Hoosac range, which occupies eastern Berkshire and the territory between this almost Alpine county and the winding Connecticut. Still east of this is the hilly belt of country comprising eastern Franklin, Hampshire, and Hampden Counties, and the whole of Worcester County, to which range no particular name has been given. The Hoosac and Taconic ranges may be considered as a portion of the great Appalachian system of eastern North America, of which the Green Mountains of Vermont are a continuation; while the third hilly belt may be regarded as a side-show, so to speak, to the main exhibition of nature's mighty upheavals. In this belt Wachusett is by far the grandest elevation, and Worcester County may well be proud of the majestic pile in her midst; but as it has been so recently described in the BAY STATE MONTHLY, nothing need be said of it in this paper.

Scenery, in order to be truly mountainous, must present to the spectator's eye towering peaks, bristling crags and beetling cliffs, overhanging deep ravines and foaming torrents. Such objects rivet the attention and produce a feeling of deep awe and reverence as one gazes upon them and endeavors to contemplate the mighty forces of nature that gave them being. Taking the word in this sense it may truly be said that the scenery of Berkshire County closely approximates to mountainous. In other parts of the State the isolated hills generally present a rounded outline, and with a few exceptions do not inspire those strong emotions which one must necessarily experience while standing like a pigmy among the piled-up, craggy hills of northern Berkshire. Here is found the most lofty elevation in the State--Saddle Mountain--whose summit is three thousand six hundred feet above tide water. Its name originated from the alleged resemblance of its top to a saddle, and is certainly neither poetical nor romantic.

This is true of the majority of the names of our hills, and Professor Edward Hitchcock, in commenting on their uncouthness, concluded his disapproval with a pun worth preserving, by saying, "Fortunately there are some summits in the State yet unnamed. It is to be hoped that men of taste will see to it that neither Tom, nor Toby, nor Bears, nor Rattlesnakes, nor Sugar Loaves shall be _Saddled_ upon them." The highest point of this great mass is appropriately named Greylock on account of its hoary appearance in winter. As the cold increases the line of frostwork creeps down the sides, producing fantastic changes in the aspect of the hill. Saddle Mountain lies near Williamstown and is between the Hoosac and Taconic ranges. It is insulated, being almost entirely surrounded by valleys, and forms a very imposing object in the scenery of that region. It consists essentially of three distinct ridges, separated by two valleys, called respectively the Hopper and the Bellows. Greylock is the middle ridge, and from its lofty summit a grand view can be obtained, and it is much frequented by sight-seers during the summer. To the west is seen the beautiful valley in which nestles Williamstown, with its fine college grounds and buildings, and beyond rises the slope of the Taconic range, stretching from north to south in an almost continuous chain, while to the north-west are the lofty hills beyond the Hudson. The thriving town of North Adams lies in an adjacent valley to the east, and beyond is the Hoosac range. Looking towards the north or south one sees ridge after ridge, rising in constant succession, until the peaks vanish in the distant horizon. It is indeed a sublime sight, and may well inspire feelings of deepest reverence for the Power that controls those mighty forces that produced these everlasting hills.

Though loth to leave this grand pinnacle, we must not tarry longer upon Greylock. Let us now take a trip down the Housatonic valley, close beside the Taconic range. This forms an almost continuous ridge across the State, and its summit is nearly upon the line between our State and New York. There are no peaks of consequence until we get south of Pittsfield. The range is bold and precipitous on its western side, and fine views may be obtained from almost any part of the ridge. The highest point of the old stage road between Pittsfield and Albany affords a good prospect, though a view from an old road between Hancock and Lanesboro is perhaps more striking. On either side are the valleys of the Hudson and Housatonic, the cities of Albany and Pittsfield, the distant Catskills and the Hoosac range. A little south of Pittsfield is a spur from the Taconic range, parting from it at Egremont. The various portions have received different names--the northern being called Lenox Mountain, the middle Stockbridge Mountain, and the southern Tom Ball. The last named is the highest part of the spur, and is located in the township of Alford. The view from Tom Ball is very fine. A perfect panorama of hills, with handsome towns and villages nestling in the valleys, is spread out before the eyes, while the southern horizon is filled by the giant piles in the township of Mount Washington.

Going still further south we find just north-east of Great Barrington a vast mass to which the ugly name of Beartown Mountain was applied by our forefathers. Its altitude is nearly equal to that of the other great hills of Berkshire, but being quite gradual in ascent, and much rounded, does not impress the traveller as much as it might, and there are no peaks from which a good view is obtainable. Just west of this is a hill that deserves mention. It is called Monument Mountain, and was so named because of a great pile of stones found at its southern extremity, and supposed to have been placed there by the aborigines to commemorate some important event. This hill rises only about five hundred feet above the plain, but its eastern side presents an imposing appearance, being an almost perpendicular wall of quartz. From the top there is an excellent view. Saddle Mountain can be seen, and portions of the Green Mountains, while to the west the Catskills, blue and dim in the distance, appear through a depression in the Taconic range. Near the highest part of the cliff a pinnacle of quartz has been parted from the main mass, and forms a tower fifty feet high, called Pulpit Rock. It was standing not long ago, but the frost may have toppled it over ere this.

Before leaving this portion of Berkshire we must visit the township of Mount Washington, near Sheffield. It consists wholly of an immense hill, and the few inhabitants dwell in a valley that is two thousand feet above tide water. This valley is bounded on the west by the Taconic range, which a little farther south rises nearly one thousand feet above the valley, and is there called Alender Mountain, and on the east by an imposing peak, originally called Ball, or Bald, Mountain, but which Professor Hitchcock named Mount Everett, in honor of Edward Everett, at that time Governor of Massachusetts. Mount Washington is not as well known as it should be. Comparatively few people in the State, outside of Berkshire, are even aware that such a town exists. But it would be a delightful place in which to spend a quiet summer. It is cool and healthy, the air is clear and bracing, and the scenery simply superb. The view from Mount Everett fully equals, if it does not surpass, that from Greylock. In whatever direction the spectator looks a most glorious display greets his eyes. Peak rises above peak on all sides, and the blue surfaces of lakes and ponds in the vicinity greatly enhance the beauty of the scene; while the charming valley through which winds the Hoosatonic River stretches far to the north and south.

One more locality must be visited before leaving this Alpine county of Berkshire, and that is Hoosac Mountain. Before the tunnel was completed a stage ran from the east side over the mountain and down into North Adams; so there is a good road all the way over. The walk is by no means difficult, and one feels well repaid for his labor. The road runs quite near the three main shafts that go down to the tunnel beneath. The woody growth is scanty, and hence the view is unobscured the greater part of the way. After reaching the summit the prospect towards the east is especially beautiful. The surface slopes off towards the Connecticut and is dotted with innumerable hills and ridges, among which winds the romantic valley of the Deerfield River. This is but a meagre account of the scenery of Berkshire, than which there is certainly none grander in the State, though in beauty it is inferior to that of the Connecticut valley.

In regard to geological formation it need only be remarked that the Berkshire valleys are almost wholly composed of limestone, and the supply for architectural and agricultural purposes being practically unlimited, will prove a source of great wealth to that region for many years to come. The hills, however, are all composed of quartz, gneiss, talcose slate, or mica slate.

We will now visit the valley of the Connecticut, where is to be found some of the boldest, and by all odds the most beautiful scenery in Massachusetts. The broad and fertile plains through which the river gently flows are, in themselves, charming, but when we add to them the bordering hills, the scene is one of surpassing loveliness.

Between Hadley and Easthampton, the river runs through a gorge in a greenstone ridge nearly one thousand feet high. The portion of the ridge east of the river is called Mount Holyoke, and the portion west of it Mount Tom. This gorge is very interesting because of showing the amount of erosion that can be performed by water in long periods of time. In all probability the bed of the Connecticut was, in remote time, much higher than it is at present, and the river itself much larger, and the rich, alluvial plains that border it at the present day were once beneath its broad waters.

At one point in the gorge a mass of greenstone projects some rods into the river from the west side of Holyoke, having a perpendicular face twenty to one hundred feet high. This mass exhibits a columnar structure similar to that of the Giant's Causeway. The structure is not very evident above the level of the river, but at low water, by rowing along the face of this rock one can find the tops of regular columns reaching nearly to the water's surface. On the opposite side of Holyoke, not far from the road going to the summit, is another interesting example of these greenstone columns. Professor Hitchcock named these respectively Titan's Pier and Titan's Piazza; and any lover of geology is well repaid for the labor spent in getting a view of them.

Holyoke, though two hundred feet lower than Tom, is more frequented by visitors. The ascent is not very difficult, and the view from the summit is both grand and beautiful. The river is of course the most attractive feature in the landscape. Far to the north and south it stretches, like a silver, sinuous thread, gradually becoming narrower until it is lost in the distance. Owing to an optical illusion the river seems to ascend in both directions, and at the points where it is lost to view, seems on a level with the eye. It is one of the best examples of this species of optical illusion to be found in this part of the country.

A half century ago the river between this gorge and a point about a quarter of a mile north of it made a most magnificent curve, three miles long; but during the flood in the spring of 1840 a straight channel was cut across, and the water continuing to flow in the old bed as well as the new, there existed for some years what may be called an island in the river.

At least three educational institutions of importance can be seen from the summit of Holyoke--Mount Holyoke Female Seminary in South Hadley, Smith College in Northampton, and Amherst College. Of the towns seen from here Northampton presents the most beautiful aspect. Its fine public and private edifices and grand old elms show to great advantage. One cannot tire of looking at the level plain stretching along on either side of the river, its surface divided into rectangular plats, covered in summer by the various luxuriant crops. The view to the south includes, of course, the river, and also the pleasant village of South Hadley with its Seminary. Springfield is not very plainly visible, but the spires of Hartford, Connecticut, can be seen on a clear day. To the south-west, and at one's very feet, is the wide gorge, with Tom rising directly across, its top being nearly two hundred feet above the position of the observer. To the north-west Greylock is seen shooting up its head beyond the Hoosac. To the north-east Monadnock looms up in the distance, while Wachusett lies low in the eastern horizon. Close to the observer are Toby and Sugar Loaf, each presenting rather peculiar and fantastic outlines. The view from Tom is essentially the same as that from Holyoke, and embracing as it does a radius of at least seventy-five miles in every direction, over the most fertile and charming region in New England, is one of rare beauty.

The ridge forming Tom and Holyoke is, as has been said, composed of greenstone. All the other hills of consequence about the valley of the Connecticut are sandstone, and this is distinctively a sandstone region. Of the other three hills to be spoken of, Toby and Sugar Loaf hold about the same relation to each other as do Holyoke and Tom, the Connecticut flowing between Toby on the east and Sugar Loaf on the west. The former is nearly one thousand feet high, and lies in the northern part of Sunderland village. It is of irregular shape, being indented by a number of valleys, and is densely wooded, so that until within the last few years it has not been a very desirable place from which to obtain a view; but there are now accommodations for sight-seers, and some of the obstructing forest having been removed, interesting views may now be obtained from several parts of the hill. The view of the valley of the Connecticut from the southern part of the highest ridge is perhaps even finer than that from Holyoke.

Sugar Loaf, on the other side of the river, in South Deerfield, is one of the most picturesque objects to be found in this region. It is an isolated peak of red sandstone rising, on the riverside, by an almost perpendicular cliff, to the height of five hundred feet. From the river it looks wholly inaccessible, but on the opposite side is a very good path, rather steep, to be sure, by which one can gain the summit with comparative ease. Upon the top there is a house in which is a good telescope that visitors can use for a small fee, and a very extensive view may thus be obtained. But the most interesting feature of a visit to this hill is to stand upon the brink of the precipice on the eastern side, and look down to the river and green plain five hundred feet below. One feels an almost irresistible desire to take a plunge into the blue waters of the Connecticut.

This hill overlooks the place where one of the most inhuman atrocities was perpetrated by the Indians, and a scene of carnage enacted that will long be remembered by the people of New England. The Bloody Brook massacre occurred in 1675 on a spot about a mile north-west of this hill, and eighty young men, "the very flower of Essex County," while engaged in transporting grain from Deerfield to Hadley, were suprised by the Indians and murdered almost to a man.

A little north of Sugar Loaf is Deerfield Mountain, or, as it is often called in that region by the original Indian name, Pocumtuck, which is the last eminence to be visited in this locality. Its summit is about seven hundred feet above the village of Old Deerfield, and the bold sandstone brow overlooks the valley of the Deerfield River. This brow is bare and level for quite a space upon its top, and is called Pocumtuck Rock. It is a favorite place for picnic parties, and if there were a good road to the summit it would be more extensively patronized. It is certainly a most lovely spot in which to eat your evening meal, and gaze down upon the waters of the Deerfield, glittering in the rays of the setting sun; and as the sun descends towards the western hills, it is delightful to watch the shadows creeping along the plain below, until at last the brilliancy of the river is snuffed out, and the shades of evening gather fast within the peaceful valley. An excellent view of Old Deerfield, or Deerfield Street, as it is often called, is also obtained from the Rock. But very few of the houses can be seen owing to the magnificent elm trees that line either side of the street, and form in summer a continuous arch of greenness above it; and beneath the shade of these old patriarchs of nature nestle many a quaint dwelling. There is much in Deerfield to interest the antiquarian, historian, and lover of nature; and all admirers of art will take an interest in it because it was the birthplace, and for many years the residence, of George Fuller, the painter, who recently died in Boston. Deerfield is one of the best places in which to pass the summer, but is not so much frequented by visitors as it once was, as there are at present no sufficient hotel accommodations. A hotel of considerable size was burned there two years ago, and has not been rebuilt.