14000 MILES 



We remembered very pleasantly the house in Franconia 

 where we were cared for two years ago, when night 

 overtook us on our way from Littleton, and by two 

 o'clock we were quite at home there again. It is away 

 from the village, and directly opposite the house is an old 

 wooden bridge. Sheltered by the high wooden side of 

 the bridge is an old bench, where one can sit hours, 

 rocked by the jar of the bridge to the music of horses' 

 feet, reveling in day dreams, inspired by the lovely view 

 of the mountains, peaceful rather than grand, and the 

 pretty winding stream in the foreground. We did not 

 leave the charmed spot until the last sunset-cloud had 

 faded, and darkness had veiled the mountain tops. We 

 retired early, full of anticipation for the morning drive 

 from Franconia to Campton, which has such a rare com- 

 bination of grandeur and beauty, and is ever new. We 

 drove up through the "Notch" several years ago, but the 

 drive down would be new to us, for when we drove 

 down two years ago, we might have fancied ourselves on 

 a prairie, were it not for the ups and downs in the road. 

 Not even an outline of the mountains was visible ; every- 

 thing was lost in the hazy atmosphere which preceded 

 the "yellow day." 



We took an early start, and passing the cheery hotels 

 and boarding-houses of Franconia, were soon in the 

 Notch, of which Harriet Martineau says, "I certainly 

 think the Franconia Notch the noblest mountain pass I 

 saw in the United States." However familiar it may be, 

 one cannot pass Echo Lake without stopping. We did 

 not hear the cannon which is said to be echoed by a 

 "whole park of artillery," but a whole orchestra seemed 



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