scot a short distance above the city, and unites Bangor with Brewer. This bridge marks the upper line of the harbor, which is about 1500 feet wide, with a depth of water sufficient for the largest vessels.

Bangor is the principal lumber port in the Union. Immense quantities of lumber are brought down the Penobscot, and shipped from this place by sea. During the season of navigation, which continues for about 8 months, over 2000 vessels leave this port laden with lumber. The city is also extensively engaged in the coast trade, in foreign commerce, and in shipbuilding.

Bangor is located upon high ground, commanding an extensive view of the surrounding country. It is well built, and contains several fine structures, the principal of which is the Custom House. It contains 12 or 13 banks, 11 churches, 4 of which are among the handsomest in the State; a theological seminary, and a number of flourishing schools. Two daily and 4 weekly newspapers are published in the city. The water-power is derived from a fall in the Kenduskeag, half a mile above its mouth, and is excellent. Several large factories, including founderies, machine shops, furniture manufactories, and saw mills, are established here. There is railroad communication to Old Town, on the Penobscot, and this road will soon be extended to Calais, on the border of New Brunswick. The population is 20,500.

MISCELLANY.

ARNOLD'S MARCH TO QUEBEC.

Hon. J. T. Headley, in his biography of the Rev. Samuel Spring, Chaplain of the expedition, thus describes this memorable march:

At length provisions began to grow scarce, and every one had to be put on short allowance. Mr. Spring took his three-quarters of a pound of pork per day cheerfully with the rest.

After incredible hardships, and the loss of 150 men, by sickness and desertion, the army at last reached the great carrying place, 15 miles long, extending from the Kennebec. to the Dead River. Only 3 small ponds occurred the whole distance, on which the boats could be launched. The rest of the way they and the provisions, ammunitions, etc., had to be carried on men's shoulders. This was a terrific strain on the army, and the dispiriting effect upon the soldiers was not relieved by the appearance of the Dead River, when they reached it, for it moved sluggish and dark like the waters of oblivion through the silent and motionless forest. Day after day they toiled up this sluggish stream, between the monotonous walls of forest that lined its banks, until it seemed as if there was no outlet or opening to the apparently interminable wilderness. At every bend, the eye strained forward to catch some indication of change, and when at last they came

in sight of a snow-covered mountain in the distance, telling them there was an outer world after all, the men sent up a shout that woke the echoes far and wide. Near its base they encamped 3 days, and Spring spent most of the time in visiting the sick, and praying with them. The army had scarcely got under way again, when the heavens became overcast; dark and angry clouds swept the heavens, and the heavy winds sobbed and moaned through the forest. Soon the rain came down in torrents. Side by side with the drenched soldier the tall chaplain trudged uncomplainingly on, and lay down like him on the wet ground at night. It poured without cessation for 3 days, shedding still deeper gloom over the army. The river rose steadily the whole time, till the sluggish current at length swept down with such velocity and power that the boats could with difficulty stem it. On the third night, just as the soldiers had lain down to rest, after having kindled a huge fire, Mr. Spring heard a roar in the forest above them like the sound of the surf beating upon the shore, and the next moment the glancing waters were seen sweeping through the trees on both sides of the stream. In an instant the camp was alive with shouts and cries rising above the turbulent flood that deluged the ground on which they stood. The fires were extinguished, and in the tumult, and confusion, and darkness, no one knew which way to flee for safety, or what to do. In this state of uncertainty and dread the night wore away. The daylight revealed to them a spectacle sad enough to fill the bravest heart with discouragement. Boats had drifted into the forest, and as far as the eye could reach the level ground was one broad lake, out of which arose the dark stems of the trees like an endless succession of columns. In nine hours the water rose 8 feet, totally obliterating the shores of Dead River.

But the provisions were getting lower and lower, and Arnold could not wait for the river to subside. The army was, therefore, pushed on, slowly stemming the flood; but seven boats, carrying provisions, were caught in the whirling, angry waters, and upset, and all their contents destroyed.

The boldest now paused in dismay, for only 12 days' provisions remained, while 30 miles across the mountain were to be traversed before they could reach the head waters of the Chaudière, that flowed into the St. Lawrence. A council of war was called to decide what should be done in this crisis of affairs. They had now been a month away from civilization, the sick were increasing, while famine was staring them in the face. It was determined at length to leave the sick there, and despatch orders to Colonels Green and Knox, in the rear, to hasten up, and take them back to Cambridge.

Here was an opportunity for the young chaplain to abandon the expedition, and yet apparently be in the path of duty. He had had enough, one would think, of toil, exposure, and suffering, not to wish to face still greater hardships, and perhaps death itself, by famine in the wilderness, he following its fortunes. But he believed the welfare of his country was deeply involved in its fate, and he determined, come what would, to share its vicissitudes, hazards, and destiny. Having, therefore, prayed with the sick, encouraged the desponding with the promise that relief would soon come, and pointed those whom he believed dying to the Saviour of men, and commended all to the care and mercy of God, he bade them farewell, and moved forward with the advancing column.

The cold, autumnal rains had now turned into snow, which, sifting down through the leafless tree-tops, covered the weary, wan, and straggling column with a winding sheet, that seemed to be wrapping it for the tomb. After they left the sick in the wilderness, they passed 17 falls before they reached the head

waters of Dead River.

It was still 4 miles across to the Chaudière, down which

they were to float to the St. Lawrence.

Here, on the summit of the hills on which the waters divide, one part flowing south and the other north, Arnold distributed the last provisions to the separate companies, and, taking only 13 men, pushed on for the Chaudière. He told those left behind, in parting, that he would obtain provisions for them in advance, if human efforts could procure them; but directed them to follow after as fast as they could, for, he added, their only safety lay in advancing. Spring remained behind with the army, to share its privations and its fate, whatever that might be. The gallant fellows gave their indomitable leader three parting cheers, and then began to heave their heavy boats from the water. Hoisting them upon their shoulders, while others were loaded down with baggage and ammunition, and others still dragged the few pieces of artillery along like cattle, they staggered on through the forest. The scanty provisions that were left them, though eked out with the greatest parsimony, grew rapidly less, and finally failed entirely. Under the low rations and severe labor combined, the men had gradually grown weaker and weaker, and now, pale and emaciated, looked on each other in mute inquiry. A council of war was called, and it was determined to kill the dogs they had with them, and push on till this loathsome supply was exhausted. These faithful animals, hitherto the companions of their toils, were slain and divided among the different companies. After the bodies were devoured, their legs and even claws were boiled for soup.

It was a sad sight to see the groups of half-famished soldiers seated together around a fire, watching with eager looks the pot containing this refuse of the dogs, and gazing with strange meaning into each other's eyes. The chaplain fared like the rest, and famine and incessant toil and exposure were telling on him as well as on the soldiers. The tall frame grew less erect, and the wan face showed that starvation was eating away his life. Trusting, however, in God, whom he served, he endured all cheerfully, and bore that famished multitude on his heart to the throne of heavenly grace. The soldiers, in all their sufferings, thought of him with the deepest sympathy, and could not but feel encouraged when they saw his serene, though emaciated countenance, and listened to his expressions of calm confidence in God, that he would yet deliver them. He often walked through the woods to look at the various groups, and see where he could be of most service. His heart bled at the destitution he witnessed on every side. One day he came upon a company gathered around a fire, boiling some dogs' claws they had preserved to make soup with. As he paused to look at them, they rose, and, in true kindness of heart, urged him to share their meagre, disgusting broth. It was a novel, but touching evidence of the deep affection they bore their young chaplain, and told, in language stronger than words, what an example of patient endurance he had shown, and how kind and faithful had been his labors among them.

At last the dogs gave out, and then the soldiers tore off their moose-skin moccasins, and boiled them to extract a little nourishment. The feet could stand the November frosts better than their stomachs endure the gnawings of famine. They reached at length the banks of the Chaudière, and launched their boats. The current, however, was swollen and rapid—now boiling amid the rocks, and now shooting like an arrow around a jutting precipice. On such a turbulent flood the boats soon became unmanageable, and one after another was stranded or shivered into fragments, till nearly all were destroyed.

They were still 30 miles from the French settlements, and now were compelled to shoulder their burdens, and advance on foot, in straggling parties, through the forest. During all these perils and sufferings, scarce a Sabbath passed in which Spring did not mount his pulpit of knapsacks, and preach to the troops, while every morning, before the march began, his earnest prayer arose to God for help.

The last miserable substitute for food was at length exhausted, and with empty stomachs and bowed forms they slowly, despairingly toiled onward, while all along their track the snow was stained with blood. As they were now approaching the French settlements, severe discipline was enforced. They needed no fires to cook their food, for they had none to cook; but none was allowed them to warm themselves by, and strict orders were given not to discharge a gun for any purpose. While the weary column was thus staggering silently on, suddenly the report of a musket was heard far in advance, then another, and another, till twenty echoed through the forest. They ceased, and then a long shout rolled back through the solitude, producing the wildest excitement. Mr. Spring never forgot that thrilling scene, and long after, in speaking of it, said: The army was starving, but moving on. The pioneers, who were ahead to clear the way, roused suddenly a noble moose. It was the first that had been seen. The temptation was too strong to be resisted. One man fired—he missed. Twenty guns were levelled at him. He fell-they forgot all discipline in their extremity, and shouted. It was a noble moose, weighing not less than 1000 pounds. A halt was ordered-camp kettles taken out, fires kindled, meat, blood, entrails, hoofs and horns chopped up, and soup made of all for the army.

The next day they

Revived by this unexpected supply, the troops pushed on. met a company of men with provisions, sent back by Arnold to relieve them. A loud shout arose from the whole army, and a general feast was ordered. Several of the soldiers, unable to restrain their appetites, eat so voraciously that they sickened and died. They had braved the wilderness, and withstood the ravages of famine, to fall victims to unrestrained indulgence. It was with profound sadness the young chaplain performed the last religious rites over their rude graves in the northern wilderness.

THE State of New Hampshire is bounded on the north by Canada East, on the east by Maine and the Atlantic Ocean, on the south by Massachusetts, and on the west by the Connecticut River and Vermont. It is 90 miles broad at its southern, and 45 miles broad at its northern extremity, and 185 miles long from north to south. It formis a species of irregular triangle, and is situated between latitude 42° 40′ and 45° 25′ N., and between longitude 70° 40′ and 72° 35′ W.

TOPOGRAPHY.

The surface of the State is broken and mountainous. The country rises rapidly as it recedes from the coast until its greatest height is attained in Mount Washington, one of the White Mountains, in Coos county. The White Mountains proper are only about 20 miles long, and lie almost entirely in Coos county, but broken and detached groups lie all over the State from the northern boundary down to and across the Massachusetts border. The only level land, exclusive of the mountain valleys, extends along the coast, and for about 30 miles into the interior. The principal Peaks in New Hampshire which are distinct from the White Mountains, are as follows: the Blue Hills, 1151 feet above the ocean, situated in the southeast part of the State; Mount Chocura, in Carroll county, 3358 feet high; Carr's Mountain, in Grafton county, 1381 feet high; Mount Kearsarge, in Hillsborough county, 3067 feet; Mount Monadnock, in Cheshire county, 3718 feet; Mount Andover, in Merrimack county, 2000 feet; and Moosehillock, in Grafton county, 4636 feet.