p through
the land than all objects and persons by the way have a new and
curious interest to him. The tone of his entire being is not a
little elevated, and all his perceptions and susceptibilities
quickened. I feel that some such statement is necessary to justify
the interest that I felt in this backwoods maiden. A slightly pale
face it was, strong and well arched, with a tender, wistful
expression not easy to forget.

I had surely seen that face many times before in towns and cities,
and in other lands, but I hardly expected to meet it here amid the
stumps. What were the agencies that had given it its fine lines and
its gracious intelligence amid these simple, primitive scenes? What
did my heroine read, or think? or what were her unfulfilled
destinies? She wore a sprig of prince's pine in her hair, which gave
a touch peculiarly welcome.

"Pretty lonely," she said, in answer to my inquiry; "only an
occasional fisherman in summer, and in winter--nobody at all."

And the little new schoolhouse in the woods farther on, with its
half-dozen scholars and the girlish face of the teacher seen through
the open door,--nothing less than the exhilaration of a journey on
foot could have made it seem the interesting object it was. Two of
the little girls had been to the spring after a pail of water, and
came struggling out of the woods into the road with it as we passed.
They set down their pail and regarded us with a half-curious,
half-alarmed look.

"What is your teacher's name?" asked one of us.

"Miss Lucinde Josephine--" began the red-haired one, then hesitated,
bewildered, when the bright, dark-eyed one cut her short with "Miss
Simms," and taking hold of the pail said, "Come on."

"Are there any scholars from above here?" I inquired.

"Yes, Bobbie and Matie," and they hastened toward the door.

We once more stopped under a bridge for refreshments, and took our
time, knowing the train would not go on without us. By four o'clock
we were across the mountain, having passed from the water-shed of
the Delaware into that of the Hudson. The next eight miles we had a
down grade but a rough road, and during the last half of it we had
blisters on the bottoms of our feet. It is one of the rewards of the
pedestrian that, however tired he may be, he is always more or less
refreshed by his journey. His physical tenement has taken an airing.
His respiration has been deepened, his circulation quickened. A good
draught has carried o