14000 MILES 



last one at Plymouth on the way home ! We have many 

 times driven from home to the post office packed for a 

 three or four weeks' journey, without the faintest idea 

 where we should go, and even sat there in the buggy 

 fifteen or twenty minutes trying to decide which way 

 we would leave town. 



Our journeys make themselves and we thought this 

 summer's journey was not going to be worthy of men- 

 tion, but would simply preserve the record unbroken. 

 We could spare but two weeks, and we were never more 

 at a loss what to do with it. Maine came to mind most 

 frequently, and we finally faced in that direction, spend- 

 ing the first night at the Groton Inn. Of course, facing 

 Maine-ward the Isles of Shoals lay in our way as a side 

 attraction, and as it was many years since we had been 

 there, we left our horse at Portsmouth, and took the boat 

 to Appledore, where we found the friends we hoped to 

 meet. After dinner and a walk to Celia Thaxter's resting 

 place, we returned on the afternoon boat to Portsmouth. 

 Our horse was waiting for us at the wharf, and we drove 

 on to Eliot, Me., where Green-Acre attracted us. 



A visit to Green-Acre alone would be enough for a 

 summer's outing, even if one were limited to the exoteric 

 interests of life — this beautiful acre of green on the 

 banks of the Piscataqua River, the finely located Inn, 

 with its hospitality, and the glorious sunsets — what 

 more could one desire? But if you have chanced to be, 

 or wish to be, initiated into the esoteric mysteries, what 

 a feast ! 



Unfortunately Miss Farmer, the organizer and secre- 

 tary of Green-Acre, was away for a few days, but we had 



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