14000 MILES 



Mountain drive, and that suggested never-to-be-forgotten 

 roads among the Green Mountains, and again the glories 

 of our own Berkshire Hills, and so on until Lake Mem- 

 phremagog, the White Mountains, Green Mountains, 

 Berkshire Hills, Martha's Vineyard, Lake Winnipiseogee, 

 Newport, the Connecticut Valley and the network of 

 highways we have traveled were all in a tangle, and there 

 seemed to be no places of interest left within our reach. 

 Next came to mind the chance suggestion of friends. One 

 had said, "Why not take your horse aboard one of the 

 Maine steamers and explore that part of the country?" 

 Another thought the St. Lawrence drives very delightful, 

 and suggested we should take our horse by rail to some 

 point in that vicinity. A third only wished we could 

 transport ourselves to Colorado to begin our journey. We 

 think, however that a carriage journey taken by steamer 

 or rail loses something of its genuineness, and brought 

 our minds back to the familiar towns and villages adjoin- 

 ing our own, through some one of which we must go, and 

 somehow decided on Shirley. 



As we packed our "things" into the phaeton for the 

 eleventh time, we asked how long such vehicles are 

 warranted to last, and felt sure no other could serve us 

 as well. The bags, lunch basket, umbrellas and wraps 

 seem to know their respective places. Yes, the revolver, 

 too, drops instinctively into its hiding place. At last we 

 were off, but a half hour was now spent searching the 

 shops for a drinking-cup and saying good-morning to 

 friends, by which time we thought of a word unsaid at 

 home, and dropped our first mail at our own postoffice. 

 Our "reporter," watching for items while waiting for his 



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