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A STRENUOUS HOLIDAY 



ONE August a few years ago (1918) I set out with 

 some friends for a two weeks' automobile trip into 

 the land of Dixie joy-riders with a luxurious out- 

 fit calculated to be proof against any form of dis- 

 comfort. 



We were headed for the Great Smoky Mountains 

 in North Carolina. I confess that mountains and 

 men that do not smoke suit me better. Still I can 

 stand both, and I started out with the hope that the 

 great Appalachian range held something new and 

 interesting for me. Yet I knew it was a risky thing 

 for an octogenarian to go a-gypsying, and with 

 younger men. Old blood has lost some of its red 

 corpuscles, and does not warm up easily over the 

 things that moved one so deeply when one was 

 younger. More than that, what did I need of an 

 outing? All the latter half of my life has been an 

 outing, and an "inning" seemed more in order. 

 Then, after fourscore years, the desire for change, 

 for new scenes and new people, is at low ebb. The 

 old and familiar draw more strongly. Yet I was 

 fairly enlisted and bound to see the Old Smokies. 



Pennsylvania is an impressive State, so vast, so 

 diversified, so forest-clad the huge unbroken 



109 



