ing rock, uptipped and moss-covered; over this fell the gauziest sheet of silver water, glinting against the richly cushioning moss, veiling the elfin depths within. At the back of the grotto, which is hardly two feet deep, lies a minute pool in which Titania and all her fairy troop disport themselves in the moonlight—we are all entirely sure—to the music of the silver tinkling of the sparkling water as it falls, in cadences all too fine for mortal ears, into the soft emerald velvet of this tiny dell of enchantment.
The delight of the bit of magic beauty held the explorer breathless. He had caught the scene at its fairest and he hung over it enchanted, for he had come upon it unexpectedly. He had it in mind to find a trail that he had been told wandered up from this spot towards the Sweet-Water Spring and then on around a little-used path, skirting Monte Rosa until one reached the northwest side of that friendly little peak which rises abruptly from the southwest shoulder of Monadnock. Having feasted his eyes on
