CHOCORUA IN NOVEMBER. 
In Cambridge, Saturday, the 5th of Novem¬ 
ber, began its daylight in a driving snowstorm. 
The long, dry, sunny month of October was, as 
the farmers had prophesied, to be followed by 
a real old-fashioned, early and hard New Eng¬ 
land winter. By ten o’clock the warm sun and 
brisk northwest wind had dissipated the snow, 
and bad-weather prophets were silent. Not for 
long, however, for at noon the ground was again 
white, and as I crossed West Boston Bridge on 
my way to the train, the Back Bay was swept 
by a fierce wind which carried the spray from 
its gray-green waves half over the bridge piers, 
and into the level gravel walks on Charlesbank. 
My friends looked at me pityingly when I said 
that I was bound for the White Mountains, and 
asked whether I was not going to take my snow- 
shoes. 
Oddly enough, on reaching Portsmouth, hav¬ 
ing traveled to that point through dizzy myriads 
of flakes of the stickiest kind of snow, I found 
the sun brightly shining, and no snow visible on 
the Kittery pastures. Not until we were within 
