14000 MILES 



for our carriage each morning-, as we walked up the long, 

 sandy hills (no wraps needed now), and winding about 

 such queer, forlorn roads, with fields of burnt stumps and 

 disagreeable marshes on either side, our map "annex" 

 and infallible guide, the Passumpsic, assuring us we were 

 not lost, until one bright morning we drove into 

 Newport, and a "trip by rail" had not even been men- 

 tioned. 



As we drove leisurely along the main street, taking our 

 first look at Lake Memphremagog, a friend from Boston 

 stepped oflf the piazza of the hotel and recognized us, as 

 he paused to allow our carriage to pass. When recovered 

 from his surprise, that we had strayed so far from home, 

 he told us he was on his way to meet his family, and pitch 

 his tents on the shores of the lake about twenty miles 

 from Newport, and suggested we should drive to George- 

 ville, and visit their camp. Now we realized the 

 convenience of having no plans to change, and went 

 directly to inquire about the roads, and secure oats for 

 Charlie, lest we should find none on our way. People 

 generally go by boat, but we were assured we should find 

 good roads. Having learned by experience that "good 

 roads" in Vermont take one up and down such hills as in 

 Massachusetts we should drive many miles to avoid, we 

 asked more particularly about the hills. "Oh ! yes, a little 

 hilly, but a good road." So with minute directions for 

 the lake-shore route, we left our friend to the mercy of 

 the waters, while we traveled by land. We never knew 

 when we crossed the Derby line, for we were absorbed in 

 watching for a turn which would take us near the lake, 



24. 



