14000 MILEvS 



Hartford. As the young man handed out the last, he 

 said, "Please have your mail directed to street and num- 

 ber after this." "We have no street and number, sir, we 

 are tramps," we replied. "Why was not our mail put 

 into the hotel box?" No satisfactory explanation was 

 offered, but when we got to the carriage and looked over 

 our letters, none was needed. Evidently they had not 

 stayed in the office long enough to get into anybody's 

 box. They had traveled from pillar to post, had been 

 opened and reopened, and scribbled over and over in an 

 effort to find an owner for them. 



All was well when our letters were written, so we had 

 only to decide on the pleasantest route homeward. A 

 friend in New York wished us to visit Old Lyme, which 

 was made so interesting in Harper's a year or two ago. 

 This was directly in our course if we followed the advice 

 to go to New London before turning north. Charlie was 

 at his best, and we drove thirty miles through towns and 

 villages along the coast, stopping two hours at Guilford, 

 and spending the night at Westbrook, a "sort of Rum- 

 ney," our diary record says, only on the coast instead of 

 up among the mountains. The recollection uppermost 

 in our mind is, that everybody's blinds were closed, 

 which gave a gloomy look to every town we passed 

 through that day. 



We felt a little constrained in Connecticut on Sundays, 

 and thought we should stay in Westbrook quietly until 

 Monday morning; but after breakfast, which we shared 

 with the apparently very happy family, the father asked 

 if he should "hitch up" for us. We said not then, but as 

 it was so pleasant perhaps we might drive on a few miles 



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