52 FOOTING IT IN FRANCONIA 



morning errand at tlie creamery, with one 

 or two tall milk-cans standing behind him in 

 the open, one-seated carriage. If you see a 

 man on foot as far from the village as this, 

 you may set him down, in ornithological lan- 

 guage, as a summer resident or a transient 

 visitor. Franconians, to the manner born, 

 are otherwise minded, and wiU " hitch up " 

 for a quarter of a mile. As good John Bun- 

 yan said, " This is a valley that nobody walks 

 in, but those that love a pilgrim's life." 



As I take the Notch road after breakfast 

 the temperature is summer-like, and the foli- 

 age, I think, must have reached its brightest. 

 Above the Profile House farm, on the edge 

 of the golf links, where the whole Franconia 

 Valley lies exposed, I seat myself on the 

 wall, inside a natural hedge that borders 

 the highway, to admire the scene : a long 

 verdant meadow, flanked by low hills covered, 

 mile after mile, with vivid reds and yellows ; 

 splendor beyond words ; a pageant glorious 

 to behold, but happily of brief duration. 

 Human senses would weary of it, though the 

 eye loves color as the palate loves spices and 

 sweets, or, by force of looking at it, would 

 lose all delicacy of perception and taste. 



