14000 MILES 



Having driven through Franconia Notch five times 

 and seen the "boulder" before and after its fall, we did 

 not fret about what the weather might be this time. We 

 had been through in rain and sunshine, in perfect, gray, 

 and yellow days, and never failed to find it charming. 

 This time it poured in torrents. We dined at the Flume 

 House, and watched those who were "doing" the Notch 

 for the first time, and almost envied them as they gayly 

 donned their waterproofs and were off for the Pool and 

 Flume. One party declared they had laughed more than 

 if it had been pleasant, and all in spite of that ruined 

 Derby, too, which the gentleman of the party said he had 

 just got new in Boston, and intended to wear all winter. 

 They had passed us in the Notch in an open wagon, with 

 the rain pelting their heads. 



The drive to Campton that afternoon was one of those 

 "cosy" drives. It never rained faster, and the roads were 

 like rivers. Memory was busy, for it is one of the love- 

 liest drives in the mountains. It was dark when we 

 reached Sanborn's, at West Campton, but it is always 

 cheery there, and the house looked as lively as in 

 summer. 



One might think we had had enough of mountains and 

 mists by this time, but we were not yet satisfied, and 

 having plenty of time, we turned north again, just before 

 reaching Plymouth, with Moosilauke and the Green 

 Mountains in mind. A happy thought prompted us to 

 ask for dinner at Daisy Cottage in Quincy, and unex- 

 pectedly we met there one of the party who braved Fran- 

 conia Notch in winter a few years ago, and who told the 

 tale of their joys and sorrows in the Transcript. We 



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