{"1": {"fulltext": "F 9\\nM17", "height": "3757", "width": "2373", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0001.jp2"}, "2": {"fulltext": "Qass.\\nBook.", "height": "3595", "width": "2272", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0002.jp2"}, "3": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3595", "width": "2272", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0003.jp2"}, "4": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0004.jp2"}, "5": {"fulltext": "PRICE, 25 CENTS,\\nA\\nThousand /V\\\\iles\\nWITH THE\\nQueer Quartette\\nA flaprative of a Trip by Bieyele and Boat through\\n^eui York and fletu England.\\nBY\\nAKTHU-R H.MacOWE/N,\\n(CHRIS WHEELER.)\\nPHILADELPHIA:\\nflmefiean Athlete Publishing Office,\\n1218 FILBERT STREET.", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0005.jp2"}, "6": {"fulltext": "BY THE SAME AUTHOR.\\nRhymes of the Road and River,\\nCloth, Gilt, $2.00.\\nOPINIONS OF THE PRESS.\\nA truly elegant volume containing a qnantity of lively, cheery poems,\\ngay in their fancies and their rhythms. His beautiful book will find many\\nsympathizing readers. Philadelphia Evening Bulletin.\\nSome of his poems are realy pretty, being informed with thi love of\\nfresh air and quiet scenery, and the sentimental spirit of a genuine poet m\\nfeeling who has read his ordsworth or Longfellow in the air.\\nPhiladelphia Record.\\nFull of well turned conceits and healthy out-door descriptions. It ha-\\nnone of the Boston School of Culture about it, ut a great deal of nalurr.\\nby one who loves everything connected with out-door life.\\nCincin nati In quire r.\\nAs an example of Chris Wheeler s breezy verse, we must spare room\\nfor\\nThe foam flakes are flying away behind.\\nThe swallows are circling against the wind,\\nI herc s a glow on the clouds where crimson lined\\nThey smother the sunlight dying.\\nThe fancy shown in the last line is a promising indication. There are a\\ndozen rhymes, especially in the third portion, which well deserve the nanu\\nof poems Philadelphia has every reason to be proud of her Chri\\nWheeler, not only for his present performance, in which he has celebrated\\nher roads and her river, and her park, but more for the promise which his\\nwork shows. Philadelphia Press.\\nl he author invests his verse wth a romantic interest which is charm-\\ning, and it is in no way commonplace.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 ^o^^ tv? Bicycling World.\\nIn some of the verses, as in the first verse of Night Lights, there arr\\ndelicate indications that with study and experience Mr. Wheeler may writr\\nsomething worthy to be called poetry. The young man that can writf\\n-St jig^j^ j^jj-,-, v^oiiie poetic feeling and a clever turn\\nof the hand. Philadelphia Tiuies.\\nChris Wheeler, of this city, has given abundant evidence in this, his\\nfirst volume, that he posesses real poetic talent, though the good impression\\nmade by some of his poems and songs is marred by the introduction of\\nothers that might better have been left unpublished. There are many\\npretty conceits gracefully expressed, they have a healthful out-of-door\\natmosphere, and the descrijitive parts are like sketches from nature.\\n\u00e2\u0080\u0094Philadelphia Public Ledger.\\nPHILADELPHIA\\nAmi .kicax Athlete Publishing Office,\\n12 1 8 Filbert Sireet.", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0006.jp2"}, "7": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0007.jp2"}, "8": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0008.jp2"}, "9": {"fulltext": "^\\\\a(LVJV^: e. f\\\\v\\nA\\nTHOUSAND MILES\\nWITH\\nThe Queer Quartette.\\nBEING AN ACCOUNT OF\\nA TRIP BY BICYCLE AND BOAT FROM THE CITY OF PHILADELPHIA\\nTO THE WHITE MOUNTAINS AND RETURN,\\nBY WAY OF\\nLAKES GEORGE AND CHAMPLAIN.\\nCHRIS WM\\nD p^i^n^ ^vS^j,\\nJAN 26 1892 j\\nPHILA\\nAmerican Athlete Publishing Company,\\n1 218 Filbert Street.\\n1891.", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0009.jp2"}, "10": {"fulltext": "Copyrighted, 1891,\\nBy Chris Wheeler.", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0010.jp2"}, "11": {"fulltext": "PREKACE.\\nMerely as a matter of form, and not by any means as a necessity,\\nis the inevitable Preface placed here in its time-honored position. All\\nthat need be said is, that if the facts here related and nothing but facts\\nare related in this book give pleasure to the friends for whom they are\\nput into this form, then the object of the Quartette in thus boldly\\nsending them abroad in print has been realized.\\nCHRIS WHEELER.\\nWest Philadelphia, Nov. ist, 1891.", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0011.jp2"}, "12": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0012.jp2"}, "13": {"fulltext": "A THOUSAND MILES\\nWITH THE QUEER QUARTETTE.\\nCHAPTER I.\\nTHE QUARTETTE.\\nBefore having anything to do with the Thousand Miles, it may be as\\nwell to briefly introduce the Queer Quartette to those who feel enough\\ninterest in them or their doings to follow their wanderings as described in\\nthe following pages.\\nThe Quartette was composed of four Philadelphia cyclers, Mr. H. L.\\nRoberts, Mr. Gilbert F. Wiese, and Mr. Arthur H. MacOweii, members of\\nthe Pennsylvania Bicycle Club, and Mr. Chester Roberts, a younger brother\\nof the first-named gentleman. That they were a Queer Quartette will\\nbe sufficiently evidenced before their story is fully told, and a very brief\\npersonal mention of each in advance will suffice for the needs of a formal\\nintroduction. That a formal introduction is necessary is accounted for by\\nthe fact that Mr. Roberts, Sr., is a great stickler for the proprieties this\\nis not casting any reflection on the general make-up of Mr. Roberts, Jr., or\\nthe rest of the party and he will no doubt feel more at his ease on being\\nintroduced as Laurie, which Annie, one of his friends, will recognize\\nas his distinctive pet name. He is tall and spare, and you would never\\ntake him to be a cycling traveler, but what his form lacks in volume it more\\nthan makes up in muscle. He wears whiskers when he permits and culti-\\nvates their growth, and a mustache always the only things which he\\ncarries about with him as constantly and faithfully as the same mustache\\nbeing his ever-present attribute of kindly good nature and an ever-ready\\nability to eat. One other feature of his personality must not be over-\\nlooked. His camera is as much a portion of himself as are his hands, only\\nperhaps more so, for he never forgets that he owns a camera. Only one\\nmore of genial Laurie s good points need be noted\u00e2\u0080\u0094 he has an eye for\\nthe ladies, and two eyes for the very pretty ladies, and when he divests\\nhimself of his hirsute chin ornaments it really does seem as though the\\nladies have a partiality for him.\\nPerhaps we should have first introduced our youngest companion in arms.\\nChester Roberts is what a mutual male friend termed a dandy, and\\nwhat a gushing young lady defined as a daisy. Exactly how the two\\nterse summings up apply as describing accurately one individual is a prob-\\nlem to be worked out by our readers, if they have the inclination and pos-\\nsess the patience to follow the Quartette in its ramblings. Chester,\\nwho was the pet of the party, is a clean-cut, straight-limbed youth no re-\\nflection intended anent the limbs of the rest of the party with the bud-\\nding promise of a blonde mustache, and with a fully developed sensi-\\nbility as to the claims which everything beautiful and nearly everything\\n5", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0013.jp2"}, "14": {"fulltext": "good has upon his attention. Chester is a little less spare and a little less\\ntall than his elder fraternal traveling companion. He has a slightly scien-\\ntific bent of mind, has read a book or two in his time, and can dance bet-\\nter than he can play tennis, which latter recreation he affects more than\\ncycling. Possessing very taking ways, it early became evident to the\\nother three-quarters of the Qaartelte thxt it would be advisable in\\nchoosing stopping places to select those at which the usual summer-resort\\nstate of things existed, viz., a multiplicity of the fair sex, and as much of a\\npaucity as possible of the opposite one. However, taking him all in all,\\nChester was a very fair fellow, both in face and action, throughout the\\nWanderings.\\nSay, Chester.\\nA half-sleepy and wholly-tired well, from Chester.\\nGood night, Chester. Gilbert F. Wiese formed the third fourth part\\nof our Quartette, and if we indulged in the prerogative of a son of Hi-\\nbernia, we would say, he constituted the biggest fourth of the whole. At\\nany rate, he possessed the biggest voice, and whether rendering the sweet\\nmodulations of Annie Laurie, Steady Boys, Steady, or Lassie\\nQueenie, or whether howling to be allowed out of the salt water at New-\\nport, on the first acquaintanceship of his life with it, his lung power could\\nalways assert itself over any two others of the Quartette. Gilbert,\\nor Gil, which, remembering that brevity is the soul of wit and many\\nother good things, is the name by which his friends know him, is tall and\\nnot spare, with a head and face molded on the lines of some of those old\\nstatues of Roman patricians that is, it is round without being bullet-\\nlike and with eyes which, although not Csesarean, would have stood their\\nowner a fair show with Marc Antony in the good graces of Cleopatra, for\\nGil s optics laugh as well as his lips.\\nGilbert never rode a bicycle until three months ago, and he never laid\\neyes on the ocean until he saw it at Coney Island on the first day of the\\nQuartette s wanderings. But if in such matters his education was ne-\\nglected, like individuals who lack the possession of any one or more of\\nthe senses, his mastery of other things is wonderful. Music hath charms\\nfor others than the untamed, of course, and certainly it hath charms for\\nGilbert. Only for his having to carry, most religiously, a package of\\ncigarettes wherever he went, it is fair to suppose that his mandolin would\\nhave formed a portion of his traveling outfit.\\nHope deferred maketh the heart sick, and we have no doubt but\\nthat our readers have been impatiently waiting to hear what the fourth\\nparty of the Quartette is like, therefore we hasten to relieve the impa-\\ntient strain of expectancy by saying that we are an implicit believer in the\\ntruth of the old saying that the last is always best, and we think this is\\ndescription enough of the writer.", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0014.jp2"}, "15": {"fulltext": "CHAPTER II.\\nTHE START.\\nWhere are you going, my pretty maid\\nTo Coney Island, sir, she said.\\nWhat will j ou do there, my pretty maid\\nWhy I ll see what the world calls fun, she said.\\nIt had been the original intention to start from Philadelphia on July 4th,\\nbut two of the party being detained at the great meet held at Ilagersiown,\\nMd., and the other two having ridden several times across New Jersey, it\\nwas decided to start from New York on July 5th, and leave the ride be-\\ntween the two great cities of the eastern seaboard until the return trip,\\nand thus preserve as much as possible the schedule of the ride as at fir^t\\nlaid down, one of the party having but two weeks at his disposal.\\nBrightly gleamed the waters of New V^ork Bay as the huge ferry-boat of\\nthe Pennsylvania Railroad forged slowly out of her New Jersey dock, and\\nslanted her pug nose across the broad bosom of the Hudson toward Cort-\\nlandt Street on the New York side. In the first row of passengers, crowd-\\ning as American passengers always will, to the front, so as to make time\\ngetting off, was the Quartette, each with his bicycle, and each in the\\ngray habdiments characteristic now of so many of our cycling clubs. In\\nthe front of three caps were three silver keystones resting on three little\\ncross-bar squares of blue and gold ribbon, the former the emblem of the\\nPennsylvania Bicycle Club, the latter mementos of the Hagerstown\\nBicycle Meet at which the colors of Pennsy had been carried in the\\nfashion instanced. On two of the machines cameras were strapped, on\\none a tripod and fixings were securely lashed, and on every one was\\nalso a large bundle, encased in a waterproof cover. These bundles, aver-\\naging in weight 15 pounds each, with the cameras, constituted all the\\nbaggage considered requisite for a trip of from two to three wetks.\\nWhere are you bound for? asked an old gentleman, who evidently\\nvoiced the wish on the part of the surrounding crowd to know where the\\nsquadron of heavy cavalry was bound for.\\nThe White Mountains, was the answtr from the writer followed by\\nthe words, and beyond, from Gil Weise.\\nWhat, on those things said the questioner, elevating his eyebrows,\\nand then he added, and, how far beyond\\nGil thought that perhaps he was counting his chickens, or, more pro-\\nperly speaking, his miles before they were realized, so he said\\nThat depends, sir.\\nI should think it does. But I wish you a pleasant trip there and be-\\nyond, said the old fellow, laying the least little bit of stress on the word\\nbeyond.\\nThe crowd looked us all over as the boat ran into the slip, and, no\\ndoubt, many of them set us down as of the genus fools, which was rather\\nrough on Gil Wiese, seeing that he formed, as before remarked, the big-\\ngest quarter of the Quartette.\\nBy boat and bicycle to the White Mountains, and as far beyond as\\npossible, was the programme of our trip, and the afternoon of the 5th was\\nto see us on board the palace steamer Pilgrim, en route for Newport,\\nTwo of the party, strange to say, had not been in New York before, and,\\n7", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0015.jp2"}, "16": {"fulltext": "of course, wanted to see everything from the Battery to the far end of\\nCentral Park. Such a programme being out of the question for one day,\\nit was resolved to cross the city to the East River Bridge, then across this\\nconnecting link between the two great centres of what should be one me-\\ntropolis, ride through Brooklyn to its beautiful Prospect Park, and from the\\nPark by way of the splendid boulevard to Coney Island, the Brighton of\\nNew York. While conversant with all that makes Atlantic City the\\nBrighton of Philadelphia, and, indeed, of a great portion of America, the\\nQuartette were wholly ignorant of what Coney Island, which main-\\ntains the same relationship with New York, was like, so the wheels were\\nfronted eastward, and the softest Belgian blocks selected until the long\\nrise to the magnificent aerial spans of the Brooklyn Bridge was reached.\\nOver this monument to the engineering genius of the New World passes\\nthe great stream of travel between New York City proper and Brooklyn.\\nSteam cars, all kinds of wheel vehicles, and pedestrians cross it, and from\\nthe central span, under which large ships can pass without stepping their\\ntopmasts, a splendid view is had of the two cities, the bay, islands, and\\nshipping extending for miles in every direction. A halt was made on the\\ncentre of the structure, and the camera unstrapped. Along came a large\\nthree-master, a barque, and as she passed underneath our feet, the novel\\nsight was caught and kept for reference by our photographer. Down the\\nLong Island side of the bridge there is a slope that is good for a magnifi-\\ncent coast, but several accidents having happened to cyclers who, deceived\\nby what appears but a slight grade, allowed their machines to get from\\nunder control, the police have strict orders to prohibit coasting by wheel-\\nmen on the bridge. Being strangers we were sampling the lazy man s\\nride, when wan of the force politely informed us we were brakin the\\nlaw, which offense was immediately condoned by braking the machines.\\nThe belgian blocks of Brooklyn are no better than those of New York\\nor Philadelphia, and we had to cover quite a number of them before\\nSchermerhorn Street was reached, and a few asphalt thoroughfares carried\\nus to the entrance to Prospect Park, the pleasure-ground on which Brook-\\nlyn prides itself.\\nWithout the ultra cultivation of Central Park, and without the wild,\\nnatural beauty of Fairmount Park, Prospect Park has a charm of its own,\\nand approaches more the style of beautiful Druid Hill Park, in Baltimore,\\nthan do either the noted Nev/ York or Philadelphia pleasure grounds. A\\nlong and most enjoyable coast round the side of the lake sent us out\\ntoward the gate on the Coney Island side at a rapid rate, and then per the\\ncounsel of a local cycler, we followed the sidewalk all the way to Coney\\nIsland, a distance of some seven miles. The roadway is good enough,\\nbut rather cut up on account of the amount of driving done on it, and no\\nobjection is made to wheelmen using the footway, which, for the entire\\ndistance, is little better than the ordinary sidepath on a country road run-\\nning into a country town.\\nRiding at a fast gait, we were just beginning to think the miles very\\nlong when the hotel buildings on the beach came into view ahead and in\\na very few minutes we were among them and in the precincts of the much\\ntalked about and lauded Coney Island.\\nThe said Coney Island is not a patch upon Atlantic City, except in the\\nmatter of running beer saloons and keeping concert gardens and theatres\\nopen on Sunday. In the matter of size and general make-up, it cannot\\ncompare with the great New Jersey summer resort, and to get anything of\\nthe better sort of entertainment in the line of creature comforts, as well as a", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0016.jp2"}, "17": {"fulltext": "moderate amount of ease or retirement, you have to cross over to Manhat-\\ntan Beach or Brighton Beach. As for a board-walk, that is a thing the\\nConeyites don t have.\\nEverything goes, as the saying is, at Coney Island, week day and Sun-\\nday. There is an endless variety of the stereotyped amusements which\\nthe great public never tires of. Merry-go-rounds, toboggans,- razzle-dazzle\\nrides, shooting galleries, monstrosity shows, theatrical and acrobatic ex-\\nhibitions, music, mixed with beer and other things, the big elevator, and\\nthe monster elephant, chance games of all descriptions, bathing in all its\\nbranches, and in all rigs, etc., etc., etc.\\nA few pictures of scenes eminently typical of the most democratic of\\nAmerican holiday resorts were imperative and a few were secured, owing\\nto the courtesy of Superintendent R. Schermerhorn, of the Prospect Park\\nand Coney Island Railroad.\\nIt was within five minutes of sailing time when the Quartette pulled\\nup at the wharf of the Fall River line of steamers, after pounding for a\\nconsiderable distance over the New York belgians and cobble-stones, which,\\nso far as softness and smoothness goes, are not a whit more pleasant to ride\\nover than their brothers which make the streets of Philadelphia alike the\\nterror of cyclers and carriage drivers and the pride of city councilmen.\\nAnd now we have to recount a curious fact, but before recounting said\\ncurious fact, we will record an extremely gratifying one. Upon deciding\\nto start from New York, we also decided to take the Pennsylvania Rail-\\nroad to that place, and both on the train and in Jersey City, the conductor\\nand also the brakeman of the train, No. 4, were more than attentive, the\\nformer opening up a car in which were some of the Columbia College\\nparty returning after the boat race the previous day, and the latter waiting\\na quarter of an hour with us in the depot to see that we got our wheels and\\nbaggage on the elevators in the new mammoth terminus that we were\\nstrangers to.\\nThis was the gratifying fact, and now we will mention the curious one.\\nThe Fall River line charge fifty cents a wheel for the trip between New\\nYork and Newport. This seems curious since the large transportation\\ncompanies carry wheels free. Each bicycle, with what we had on it,\\nweighed less than the regular amount of baggage allowed passengers, and\\nof course we handled them ourselves and they lay up in a corner side by\\nside, taking up but little space, and giving no trouble to either the cloak\\nroom or parcel office. The Hudson River boats, on the contrary, do not\\nmake any charge for a man s bicycle, neither do the Lake Champlain\\nsteamers, so that when a party of wheelmen like the Quartette are on\\na trip it is questionable if it is policy to take the Fall River line if transport\\nis required in the direction we followed.", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0017.jp2"}, "18": {"fulltext": "CHAPTER III.\\nON TO NE\\\\yPORT.\\nAll aboard the Pilgrim\\nSteaming fast and free,\\nOver fair Long Island s\\nRoyal inland sea\\nJolly boat and cycle\\nPilgrims, four are we.\\nCloud-tops far to Westward\\nLose their amber light,\\nHill-tops off to Eastward\\nSlowly fade from sight,\\nJolly boat and cycle\\nPilgrims say Good night.\\nLong Island Sound is a splendid sail by day, as it is a beautiful one by\\nnight when the moon lends its aid to enhance the charms of this beau ideal\\nroute between the metropolis and the large centres of New England. I\\nhave traveled it by day and by night, and when the queen of the dark\\nhours dedicated to repose asserts her right to rule over the calm waters\\nthat stretch for 150 miles along the New York and Connecticut shores, the\\njourney over the shimmering wavelets, is an experience which the most\\nprosaic individual cannot make without experiencing some pleasure, be it\\ngreat or small.\\nThe Quartette, however, were not favored with the attention of her\\nmost gracious majesty. Slowly the green slopes of Long Island grew\\nmore distant, slowly the village- fringed shore of Connecticut receded to-\\nward the west, and slowly the shadows dropped over a scene of water,\\nsky, and woodland that is indeed very fair to look upon, while fast sped\\nthe great steamboat, the much-talked-about and truly palatial Pilgrim,\\ntoward the haven we desired to reach, the noted Newport.\\nAn adjournment to supper at half-past seven, developed the fact that,\\ntrip appetites were coming to the front, and introduced us to the storage\\ncapacity, fearful and wonderful in its make-up and extent, of our Laurie.\\nCigarette, stogie, and cigar helped to while away the hours on the upper\\ndeck after supper, and the strains of the really good orchestra, which is a\\nfeature of travel on this and all the boats of the Fall River line, found\\ntheir way out of the windows of the main saloon, and set Gil Wiese sing-\\ning, or trying to sing, for, oppressed with the knowledge that he was on\\npart and parcel of the ocean, our vocal light seemed more inclined to be\\nmeditative than musical. By degrees, what looked like low-lying stars\\npeeped out along the water-line they were the lights on the fa- -away shore\\nof Long Island, and ever and anon a cluster would appear on\\nthe opposite side showing where some town or village lay on the seaward\\nedge of Connecticut,\\nOwing to our late arrival we had failed to secure a state-room aboard,\\nevery one being taken, and about 10 o clock, as the great waste of water\\ncontinually passing away behind us commenced to grow tiresome in the\\ndarkness, almost simultaneously the question suggested itself to us all. Well,\\nwhat are we going to do about it\\nLet s sit in the saloon all night, suggested Laurie.\\nOr on deck, put in Chester.\\n10", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0018.jp2"}, "19": {"fulltext": "Yes we will, I m g;oing to get a bed somewhere if I pay double for it,\\nchimed in Wiese. I ll go ask the Captain, he added, jumping up as he\\nspoke.\\nWe all commenced to laugh.\\nThe Captain will refer you to the cook, Gil, said Laurie suppose\\nyou try the steward.\\nGilbert went off, and had not been gone long when he returned jubilant\\nand smiling, saying:\\nHallo, boys let s all sing Rock me to sleep, Mother, I ve got the\\nquarters, come see them.\\nIt is needless to say we were not slow in responding.\\nThere s your couch, fit for an Ottoman Turk, said he, pointing to the\\nupper floor of the grand saloon.\\nWe looked in astonishment along the corridor formed between the orna-\\nmental woodwork covering in the engine space, etc., and the long row of\\nstate-room doors. On the floor were dozens of improvised beds, made up\\nof a mattress, blanket, and pillow each, and most of them were already\\noccupied, some with wakeful, others with most undoubted from the noise\\nthey made sleeping travelers. The whole scene looked more like what\\nyou would see in a hospital than what you would expect to see on a pal-\\nace steamboat.\\nAny objection to sleep with your feet to the boiler, Chester? said Gil,\\nthrowing off his coat.\\nNone in the least, but it s not in there.\\nWell, the inwards of the boat are, whether they are the boiler or not,\\nI know there are no berths there, for I looked, said Gil. This is a free\\ntreat, boys, from the Captain, you don t pay anything for this kind of a sleep,\\nhe added, as we all commenced to turn in.\\nThis was the case. W^e paid nothing for our berth, and as we had to\\nget off at two o clock in the morning, at which time the steamer reached\\nNewport, our missing getting a state-room was not such a severe affliction\\nafter all.\\nNewport, gents, shouted the colored steward, and with some grum-\\nblings at the unearthly hour, we rubbed our eyes, sat up in our not uncom-\\nfortable sleeping places, and took a look at the long lines of sleepers upon\\nthe floor. Then there was a hustle into our outside garments, which we\\nhad discarded for what was a short period of repose, and then a descent to\\nthe lower deck for our wheels.\\nThe big boat got slowly up alongside the wharf and in a few minutes\\nwe were once more on terrajirma, feeling very much as if we were stran-\\ngers in a strange land, at two o clock in the morning, and also feeling\\nslightly chilly, owing to the sudden transition from our warm quarters\\naboard the boat to the cool air of a Rhode Island night. Obtaining our\\nbearings from a wharfman, we followed about a quarter of a mile of\\nthoroughfare to the Perry House.\\nOur time being limited breakfast was ordered early, and then, by the ad-\\nvice of the natives, we took in what is known as the Ocean Drive, a\\nmagnificent stretch of macadamized road running for lo miles around\\nthe town and the coast adjoining. Passing the noted Casino and the\\nOcean View Hotel en route, we soon found ourselves among the villa resi-\\ndences of the fortunate and wealthy, which inake Newport so well known\\nin the realm ruled by money and fashion. The great Vanderbilt marble\\nmansion, now in course of completion, loomed up on our left, and then\\nafter a mile or so, we ran out on the coast, and for several miles traversed", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0019.jp2"}, "20": {"fulltext": "a succession of small ups and downs, with an extended view of the sea to\\nthe left, and to the right, rocky hillocks, farm lands, and handsome summer\\nresidences. On returning to the town, Gilbert, who had never tasted the\\nsweets of salt-water bathing, proposed that before dinner we should hunt\\nup the beach and go in. To reach the bathing place a mile had to be\\ntraversed a-wheel, and a local cycler who sported one of Sterling Elliott s\\nhickory bicycles very kindly showed us the way, and then piloted us back.\\nThe rider of the hickory product of Newton, Mass., was very curious\\nabout the hickory Common Sense wheel that wherever our party\\nwent drew attention. While we enjoyed the salt water, he tried the Phila-\\ndelphia wooden wheel, and said he did not think the Quaker City\\ncould be as slow as it was generally made out to be. Colder than the\\nwater at Atlantic City or the other New Jersey coast resorts, it was a try-\\ning ordeal to Gil on his first introduction to the embrace of Father\\nNeptune. Although a capital swimmer, try how we would we could not\\ninduce the product of the Allegheny and Monongahela Rivers to go be-\\nyond waist deep in the briny pool at Newport.\\nIs this what you call salt water, why it is as cold as ice water, ice\\nwater that you can t drink, too, that makes it worse I m going out to wait\\nfor a better day, shouted he of river water education, and out he went,\\ntoo. At a later date, however, when you got him in you could hardly get\\nhim out of the ice water.\\nThe cottages at Newport are the great feature of the place, and they\\nbear favorable comparison with the most pretentious of our rich men s\\nsuburban residences near Philadelphia, New York, or the other large\\ncities.\\nIt was after three o clock when we bade adieu to this noted watering\\nplace, with its beautiful harbor, its handsome residences, and its historic\\nassociations, in connection with the chequered early life of New England,\\nand turning our faces northward took the road up the Island for Fall River,\\nsome i8 miles distant on the Massachusetts side. The sun shone with\\na little more good-will than was exactly comfortable, but from many points\\non the road we had glorious views of the beautiful land-locked stretch of\\nblue water that forms the highway for vessels from the ocean to Fall River\\nand Providence. The roadway itself was not bad, and no dismounts were\\nin order until within a few miles of Fall River, where, after descending a\\nlong and rough surfaced hill, we tumbled into the unwelcome embrace of\\nsix-inch deep sand, which extended for a mile along the level of the water\\nwhich some httle time before we had almost lost ourselves in admiring.\\nThere is nothing in this world either in the way of pleasure or pain that\\nis not counterbalanced in some way or other by its opposite, although you\\nmay not always realize the fact. We fully realized that, in the wealth of\\nsand which we had to sample, there was more than the balance to the\\npleasure we had derived from the splendid view over the sail-dotted and\\nhill-girdled expanse of beautiful blue water.\\nA causeway takes you across the narrow portion of the river or inlet,\\nfrom the Rhode Island to the Massachusetts side, and then you are only a\\nmile from the great manufacturing town of Fall River, and strike very fair\\nroads until you run in on the belgian block pavement of the city proper.\\nWe entered the place just about the time that many of the mills were\\nletting out their swarms of employees, and dusty as we were, and burdened\\nwith more than the ordinary amount of baggage carried by cycling strollers,\\nthe attention of the rank and file of cotton spinners, etc., was of necessity\\naroused.", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0020.jp2"}, "21": {"fulltext": "13\\nThe writer carried a valise strapped on the handle-bar of his machine,\\nand the way that machine steered in consequence was, to descend to the\\nvulgar, a caution. In addition to the weight of mundane cares in the\\nway of baggage, two of the party carried extra weight in the shape of the\\ndivine endowment of whiskers, and such attributes of cycling being evi-\\ndently new to the unsentimental citizens of Fall River, most pointed and\\nnot very flattering remarks were passed, not sotto voce, either, by those se-\\nverely practical sons of toil, and presumably true-blue Democrats,\\nLook at the man with whiskers riding a bicycle, shouted a young\\nurchin, with a tin dinner-pail swinging in one hand while with the other\\nhe pointed with half glee, half ridicule at our dear old Laurie, riding over\\nthe hillocks of a not very good road. Everybody within hearing distance\\nwho was not looking looked at our little party on hearing this sally. Wiese\\nburst out laughing, and shouted to our vanguard\\nLaurie, you re a marked man hold up your head.\\nThe writer laughed also, and then laughed again, but the second time\\non the wrong side of his mouth, as the same shrill treble, prefacing his ex-\\nclamation with an expletive, yelled\\nOh here s another on em with whiskers look at the portmantys,\\nfellers get onto em. G ain t they good uns.\\nHe was only a 12-year-old, and must have been English, by the way he\\nspoke. While on the subject, I may add that the facial adornments of two\\nof us seemed a fruitful source of pleasure to the dwellers in a number of\\nplaces we,struck in this region of what we supposed to be one of the en-\\nlightened divisions of this great United States. Whether they do not hold\\nsuch things at their proper value or not, I cannot say, but, while the feel-\\nings of the writer were not exactly hurt, he could not help experiencing\\nsome disappointment at finding out that the education of the masses which\\nMassachusetts brags so much about, is not all that it is cracked up to be.\\nRidmg into the centre of the town, which, by the way, is a large and\\nprosperous one, with many fine mills and extensive manufacturing inter-\\nests, we commenced to look around for our hotel, and while eagerly scan-\\nning the names of streets, and looking for signs that would tell us whether\\nthe place was prohibition or not, a cycler hailed us and inquired if\\nwe wanted the L. A. W. stopping-place. On our answering yes, if it was\\na good house, he directed us to the Mellin House, and we had no\\nreason to regret his kindiy courtesy, for we found the place eminently to\\nour taste, and though the most pretentious hostelry in the town, it did not\\nprove too much for our pocket-books. I make this remark because we had\\nstarted out with half an idea of roughing it\u00e2\u0080\u0094 that is, trying if we could not\\nstrike places en route after the order of the wayside inns of England, where,\\nas a couple of us had experienced, man and beast are well entertained at\\ngenerally preposterously low prices. Early on our trip, however, we gave\\nup the idea of following this programme on this side the water, and\\nwhen a town was struck Gil Wiese s first question always was, Where is\\nthe Delmonico s of this city? while good, patriotic old Laurie would\\nchin in with, No, Gil, no; not Del s. What is Del s. Where s the\\nplace that s the nearest thing to Boldt s that can be gotten in this centre of\\nEastern civilization\\nWell, we had fun, even if sometimes it was at the expense of the whis-\\nkered battalion, and at the expense of Eastern education.\\nAfter supper we strolled out to see what was going on without the hotel,\\nand were scarcely 50 yards from our temporary home when we were ac-\\ncosted by one of the natives, who turned out to be a cycler like ourselves,\\nand a member of the Fall River Bicycle Club.", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0021.jp2"}, "22": {"fulltext": "H\\nAre you the gentlemen who are touring from Philadelphia he asked,\\nin a way that stamped him at once, not as an inquisitive Yankee, as we\\nhad been brought up to believe all Yankees are, but after a fashion that at\\nonce impressed us that he was a friend and a brother.\\nAn affirmative answer being given to his query, the next step was an\\nintroduction by him to several other gentlemen with whom he had been\\ntalking prior to our advent on the scene, and then an adjournment to the\\ncozy quarters of the Fall River Bicycle Club, close at hand, where we\\nfound that body of active wheelmen in session, at their regular business\\nmeeting. They would by no means hear of our retiring, so we at once\\nbecame part and parcel of the gathering, and heard the various little\\nthings touching the eligibility of this party and that prior to election to\\nmembership, which our own experience of club life in Philadelphia made\\nso familiar to us. The meeting did not last long, and then we found what\\na nest of good fellows we had tumbled in amongst. We carry many\\npleasant memories of that evening s chat about old-time cycling experiences,\\nand all the rest of those things wheelmen delight in raking up from the\\npast, and won t forget in a hurry D. T. Johnson or Frank Nicolls or Frank\\nBurgess, or the rest of them, and may we get to Fall River again some-\\ntime, even if some of the public school graduates did get on to per-\\nsonal charms which they did not themselves possess. On parting from our\\nfriends too early they said, but we had work before us next morning\\nnothing would do but that they should send a party to speed us on our\\nway, and, sure enough, promptly on time, Mr. Johnson, Mr. Nicoll, and\\nseveral other gentlemen dismounted at the hotel door next morning and\\ninformed us that we would not go astray for at least five miles out of\\nFall River.\\nThat morning ride was enjoyed by us all. The sun shone fiercely, but\\nthere were fair roads underneath us, and as the hour was shortly after 8\\nA. M., and we were riding over a very fair road, and riding in very\\npleasant company, time flew fast, and the beautiful view of the splendid\\nsheet of water along our left, fringed for miles with green-clad hills, rich\\nwoods, and numerous thriving mill centres and hamlets, flew by us all too\\nquickly. Five miles outside Fall River our guides left us, carrying back\\nwith them our kindly feelings for unlooked-for favors from them, and\\nleaving with us wheelmen s wishes for an enjoyable trip.\\nThe roadway from here on was what might be termed fair, it certainly\\nwas not good, but it was decidedly better than the experience we had be-\\nyond Middleborough. I am anticipating, however. Our road lay through\\nMyrickville, and the total distance to Middleborough by the route followed\\nwas something over 21 miles. A few miles outside the town, the glancing\\nof water through the trees which bordered the roadside caught the eye of\\nthe ever-watchful Gilbert, and with the idea of a swim being within reach,\\nhe dismounted and proceeded to investigate. The result of the explora-\\ntion was the discovery of a beautiful little sheet of water, its shore about\\n200 yards from the roadside, and into its cool depths the Quartette\\ntumbled before you could say Jack Robinson. The first man who found\\nbottom thought his days were numbered. The finder of the bath and the\\nfirst man in, fresh-water Wiese, stuck a whole foot and half a leg\\ninto what it was reasonable to suppose was mud, at any rate, his roar to the\\nrest of us on no account to try for bottom, showed that, whatever our ex-\\nperience of the morning had been, walking just then was not very good.\\nThe programme therefore was, dive in from the old ice slip, keep oft the\\ngrass or mud, and scramble out on the end of the slip as well as you could.", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0022.jp2"}, "23": {"fulltext": "IS\\nOne towel and two sponges were all the bath-room paraphernalia the party\\nhad to fall back on, except the little looking-glass in Chester s handle-bar\\nbag, and a cake of soap in Laurie s pack, which latter we did not like to\\nsoil the water with, as it was very clear before we went into it, and not any\\nperceptibly less clear when we left it, although Gilbert did try and stir up\\nwhat he said was three feet of a mud bottom. This swim put an extra edge\\non our appetites, and we bore down on Middleborough for the regular mid-\\nday attack on the best hotel in the town.\\nT^iding into the place we struck a cycler, who in the same breath di-\\nrected us to the hotel and informed us that he was not the League Con-\\nsul for the place, although he ought to have been, the fellow holding that\\nenviable position being of no account. This little incident set us thinking\\nhow men were much the same all the world over. Why he should volun-\\nteer to us, perfect strangers and uninterested parties, the inside of things\\ncycling in Middleborough at a minute s notice, and berate the League offi-\\ncial of the place, without our having some terrible grievance to relate,\\nshows what sentimental nonsense in regard to cycling matters still lingers\\nwith wheelmen. Our new friend evidently had as good an opinion of him-\\nself as he had a poor one of the other fellow.\\nMiddleborough is not much of a place, but we got a fair dinner at, I\\nthink, the Newmarket House.\\nBefore leaving for Plymouth, we heard the most doleful stories of the\\nbadness of roads leading to that place, and as long as we were going to\\nBoston, the universal advice was, leave Plymouth alone and go on to Bos-\\nton through Taunton and the good roads of that region.\\nWe were deaf to this advice, however. It was true that at Boston a trip\\ncould be taken by steamer round the coast to Plymouth, but we were within\\n1 8 miles of the place, and, as Laurie said, We ll get to the Rock, boys, to-\\nnight, if we walk the best part of the way.\\nThe route chosen was to the left of the direct way. Through Carver is\\nthe shortest way from Middleborough to the coast, but if you go through\\nCarver you also go through sand, which although not spelled with a big\\nS, on general occasions, is a bigger place than Carver to cyclers who\\nride through that locality. We followed a northern course to Plympton\\nand North Plympton, and ran into Kingston, four miles above Plymouth\\non the coast, from which place into Plymouth runs a fine stretch of macad-\\namized road. Before reaching Kingston, owing to the solicitation of Gil,\\nwe took a road through the woods recommended to us among a dozen\\nothers by no doubt well-meaning but cruel friends. Gil is the very mis-\\nchief on roads through the woods, as some of the party on a 1 de cycling\\nexcursion to Washington can testify, and he hollers, too, before he gets\\nout of them. On the occasion of the woods near Kingston, however, his\\nhollering it was not singing of popular ditties of the order of Sweet\\nViolets, and inducing the rest of us to sing, did one good thing, it pre-\\nvented very much swearing being done, and it was just as well such was\\nthe case, as our vocabulary in the line of cuss words required husband-\\ning for occasional use later on.\\nWell, we got out of the woods walking, mind you and dropped right\\noff on a good macadamized road, which it is fair to suppose would have\\nbeen cultivating the acquaintance of our tires long before had we not;\\ngone walking with Wiese through the woods. Everybody looked at\\nthe road, and held their peace.\\nWhile we held our peace, however, the clouds which had been gather-\\ning all day refused to hold water, and just as the pretty homes of Kingston", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0023.jp2"}, "24": {"fulltext": "i6\\ncame into sight, down came a heavy shower, and we went out of sight in\\na big barn. This was our first experience of rain on the trip, and, while\\nconsidering ourselves lucky, we did not relish the idea of being but four\\nmiles from our destination, and with the best piece of road struck during\\nthe day, getting its face washed to our discomfort. Moreover, was not sup-\\nper ahead, and were we not hungry An old lady who had been working\\naround after eggs, or something in that line in the barn, volunteered the\\ninformation that the rain would last all night, so donning coats, a race was\\nmade of it into Plymouth.\\nThe road runs along the high ground overlooking Plymouth Bay, and\\naway out to the left, standing boldly up on its promontory height, we could\\nsee the monument to Miles Standish looming through the mist. The rain\\nmoderated about a mile outside the town, and we ran in, laboring more\\nagainst the disability of mud than of falling water. No decision had been\\nmade as to where we should stop, and it was just as well, for the Fall\\nRiver experience was enacted over again, a League member directed us to\\nthe Central House as being the L. A. W. hotel, and then, scarcely had\\nwe turned to make for the neighborhood of supper when, a member of the\\nPlymouth Bicycle Club came up, and in the most friendly way offered\\nthe use of the club-house to store our wheels during our stay. This offer\\nwas of course accepted, and then Charles G. Bradford and A. E. Lewis, of\\nthe Plymouth Club showed us our hotel, and left word they would see us\\nagain. This was treatment that savored of the good old days when wheel-\\nmen were few and far between, and the wheel was necessarily a pass-\\nword to good-fellowship and, by the way, who says that the L. A. W. is\\nof but little account Probably only the cyclers who sit at home at ease,\\nand who do not work for the good cause beyond cavilling at the men\\nwho do for the interests of cycling the very best they can.\\nWhile the Quartette dried off and had supper and it was a good\\none, too, that host E. J. Shaw provided the rain came harder than ever,\\nand the idea of going out to sample the sights of the old Paritan town was\\nabout given up when our new friends from the Plymouth Club appeared,\\nand informed us that we were booked to go to the Armory, where the first\\nconcert of the season would be given by the Regiment Band, and where\\na dance would wind up the occasion. Chester jumped at the word dance,\\nbut a blue look stole over his face as he heard the added news,\\nAll the town will turn out, lots of pretty girls, find you all partners,\\nno trouble. Chester s countenance was clouded, he was looking at his\\nrubber-soled shoes. Rubber soles or no rubber soles, we went to the con-\\ncert, and listened to the strains of a band that has gained more than a\\nlocal celebrity under the baton of E. Thurston Damon, well-known in\\nBoston as a leader of ability. And after the universally popular skirt\\ndance had been rendered to an encore fancy the grave Puritans of\\nthe long-ago Plymouth encoring a skirt dance our Gil and our Chester\\nshook a foot around the big armory with some very tangible skirts, and\\nthe writer held the caps of the party, with all the silver Keystones facing\\none way and toward the optics of the Plymouth brethren, on the floor\\nand in the galleries.\\nPoor Chester, his prettiest young lady, whatever she may have thought\\nof the wearer, she did not think much evidently of rubber-soled shoes,\\nfor she went out of the room on the arm of a handsomer man no, on the\\narm of her mother. Good night, Chester.", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0024.jp2"}, "25": {"fulltext": "CHAPTER IV.\\nPLYMOUTH AND ON TO BOSTON.\\nHeroic sleepers on yon classic mound,\\nThat watches ever by the outer edge\\nOf this New World, which at your coming found\\nMore than a dream fulfilled, and a high pledge\\nOf Heaven s good-will toward man, ye reck not\\nThat I stand on this fair shore\\nAnd gaze with reverent awe on that which speaks\\nTo me, and will speak evermore\\nTo all who owe allegiance to this land,\\nTo all who dwell on proud Columbia s strand,\\nOr plain, or mount, of the great boon that ye\\nWrested from fate and evil days, and placed\\nFree at the feet of all humanity, and graced\\nThe records of the fuller and completer earth\\nWith a true God-like gift, when giving birth\\nTo a new life that throws its glorious span\\nUngauged across the future lot of man.\\nHeroic sleepers, we your children stand\\nHere on the edge of our great fatherland,\\nAnd, while the breeze of this New England blows\\nOver yon mound, and while the great tide flows\\nForward and back, on ocean s heaving breast.\\nTurn we from where in sweet and hallowed rest\\nSleep of our country s founders, ye, the noblest and the best.\\nPlymouth, Mass. What associations crowd themselves on all those who\\ntake an interest in the land in which they live when the name of that little\\nNew England coast town is mentioned. To the average American a visit\\nto Plymouth will always be interesting if he does not choose to make it\\ninstructive.\\nThe scene of the early trials and struggles of those heroic souls who\\nfor conscience sake left home and country and went forth to found a na-\\ntion, will ever be held sacred by their descendants, now enjoying the\\nlegacy left by them, the greatest and most valuable that man can leave to\\nman, the legacy of freedom.\\nIt may be that those rugged old forefathers of the America of to-day\\ndid not realize the stupendous work they were inaugurating. It may be\\nthat their legacy, curiously enough, was born under auspices and had its\\nfirst nurturing amid associations that were as intolerant and as undesirable\\nas the manners and methods which had driven them to take up a work\\nwhich all the world honors them now for putting their hand to without\\nlooking back. This may all be true, but no matter for the temporary\\nworking garb, the work was done and done well, and while the Pilgrim\\nFathers, and the Pilgrim Mothers, too, sleep calmly on that green hill\\nby the Massachusetts shore, their names are being handed down through\\nthe centuries as honored creators of the nation.\\nThe rain fell heavily during the whole night of our stay in Plymouth,\\nand for half of the next day, Wednesday. What could we do except eat\\nas much as possible at breakfast, smoke a cigar or two, look out of the\\nhotel windows, and wish for some religious works we had read the\\npapers to while away the time. Toward lo o clock the rain grew\\nlighter, and, borrowing a few umbrellas, we accepted the invitation of a Mr.\\nH. W. Loring to go round to his club, the Plymouth Club, I think at any\\n3 17", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0025.jp2"}, "26": {"fulltext": "rate it is the big social club of the town, to which most of the business men\\nbelong. Here, ensconced in comfortable quarters, several gamis of whist\\nput us over the time until nearly noon, when our hospitable new acquaint-\\nance wrote out an order for our admission to the Loring Co. s tack factory,\\nand through the mud we sallied down to ?ee what was a most interesting\\nsight. The making of tacks is quite an industry in Massachusetts. By\\nthis time the clouds were breaking away over toward Duxbury, and the\\ntall column erected to the old hero, Mdes Standish, commenced to stand\\nout black against the gray sky, and the word was dinner first and the\\nRock and patriotism after. The rain had not spoiled our appetites,\\nand, when these were sitisfied, a climb to the summit of the forefathers\\nburying-ground, on the hill in the centre of the town, followed. Here the\\nmoldering headstones, boasting the wonderful antiquity for young America\\nof several hundred years, were inspected, as no doubt they have been\\nmany and many times by interested pilgrims like ourselves, and then,\\nbundles were once more strapped on machines and the journey renewed,\\nwith the historic Rock for our first stopping-place.\\nIs that Plymouth Rock said Gilbert, as we rode up, dismounted, and\\ndeposited our machines at the foot of the hill rising from the place\\nwhere the historic piece of stone rests under its monumental granite cov-\\nering.\\nThat s it, said Laurie, commencing to unstrap his camera what did\\nyou expect to find?\\nWhy I thought it would be a big rock standing up out of the water\\nyonder, but that s only a big stone, and it s cracked, too, and plastered up.\\nWell, better have it plastered up than falling to pieces. I expect you\\nwant a Holy Coat of Treves kind of antiquity, Gilbert, said Chester.\\nLook at the peanuts, boys suddenly cried Laurie, almost dropping\\nhis camera look at them, never mind the rock and the plaster, Gil, go get\\nsome of those peanuts.\\nI have not seen a peanut since I left good old Philadelphia, said\\nChester. And forthwith he went over to the basket man vending the pre-\\ncious product of American forests, and laid in a stock of the delicacy dear\\nto the hearts and palates of the masses.\\nOf all the things that the writer abhors in the way of shell commodities\\nit is peanuts. Their taste is pretty nearly as bad as their smell, when the\\nlive charcoal has squeezed out of them that which to the bulk of Philadel-\\nphia s citizens is a fragrance to which the odor of the rose of Sharon or of\\nChilds is as nothing. Peanuts! deliver me from them, whether they are\\nsecurely bagged up in pint lots on the costermonger s tray on Market\\nStreet, or whether they are in the pocket of some belated traveler on one\\nof the night-line cars, or whether they are reposing in the lap and busying\\nthe fingers and the facial make-up of some fair creature who has petitioned\\nyou to Oh do, now, get me a few peanuts, please do. Peanuts faugh,\\ntake them away, ye degenerate members of the Quartette. I will take\\ninstead a pretzel and a mug of Milwaukee as my portion, while I sit here\\nand gaze on this historic stepping-stone to fame if it was not to fortune.\\nWhen we got done looking at the rock we mounted our machines and\\nthen the hill, and bidding adieu to our friends of the Plymouth Club,\\nMessrs. Skinner, Bradford, and Lewis, proceeded on our way toward\\nKingston, to stop en route and view the noted Forefathers Monument.\\nThis nrnss of granite stands on the top of a hill back from the town, and\\noverlooking the waters (3f the harbor and the spot whereon the forefathers\\nlanded. It consists of a massive pedestal, and on it the figure of a female", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0026.jp2"}, "27": {"fulltext": "19\\nwrought out of granite, and facing seaward. It is said to be the largest\\ngranite statue in the world, and from its heroic pose and lonely situation,\\non the brow of an eminence devoid of timber, it has a weird fascination\\nfor the visitor, in keeping with the generally gray and stony landscape, and\\nthe checkered fortunes of those whose story it perpetuates. On the sides\\nof the pedestal are representations in marble relief, covered with glass, of\\nepisodes in the dramatic story of the Pilgrim Fathers, and above these are\\ntabulated the names of the forefathers, and of the white-winged ancient\\nsailers of the ocean, on which they braved the dangers of the seas.\\nThe Forefathers Monument was the last thing of interest we saw in\\nPlymouth. Down the hill and along the good road into Kingston was the\\nword, leaving on the right the memento to Miles Standish, which we had\\nnot time to travel to, and then at 4 p. m. the programme was on to Boston.\\nAnd to Boston we went, over roads that, although in Massachusetts,\\nwere none of the best for wheelmen to travel over. Through Kingston,\\nDuxbury, Marshfield, and Hanover to Weymouth. We must have taken a\\nrather roundabout way, for the inner man was complaining, and it was\\nseven o clock when we drew up at the hotel in Weymouth and demanded\\nsupper. Weymouth is a good step out of Boston, I want you to know,\\nwhen you make an eight o clock start in the evening. A 12-mile ride on\\nLancaster Pike after dark is all right, but into Boston through Braintree,\\nQuincy, Neponset, and Dorchester Avenue, with its miles of Belgian block\\npavements and its hordes of hooting gamin?, is not by any means fine rid-\\ning. We reached our stopping place, the United States Hotel, about 10 p. m.\\nAs this history does not pretend to be a guide-book, little need be said\\nabout the good old city of Boston, beyond that in it we found all that we\\nexpected, and much more.\\nWe expected to find an extraordinary amount of ultra-cult, and we found\\nit, even to the extent of discovering a waiter at the United States Hotel\\nwho would insist upon prefacing what he considered perhaps as attentive\\nqueries with the words, Will you gentlemen be pleased to etc., etc.\\nAnd we found more than the evidences of a general good education\\nwith which the inhabitants of the Hub are credited. We found in the\\nharbor the White Squadron, and our desire to see what Uncle Sam s\\npretty ships looked like tempted us to take a sail on the placid waters of\\nBoston Harbor, and on deciding to do this, we killed two sights on the\\none sail, and went on to the well-known Nantasket Beach, which is to\\nBoston what Coney Island is to New York or what Atlantic City is to\\nPhiladelphia.\\nWhen you want to go to Nantasket from Boston, if you are a stranger\\nin the Hub, you had better tackle one policeman after another until\\nyou find one who can direct you to Rowe s Wharf, and whea you have\\nfound the well-informed mimber of the force, you will attentively listen\\nto him while he says, with an assumption of most intense gravity, Yis,\\nI ll tell yez. Yez ll be afther goin down this next sthreet here, an turn to\\nthe roight there, de yez see, an thin down to the roight ag in, an yer\\nroight there.\\nWhen you get your directions the trouble only begins, for you have to\\nadhere to them strictly, or, ten chances to one, you will come right on top\\nof the same policeman inside of ten minutes, and on tackling him the\\nsecond or third time his Hibernian astuteness is aroused, and you stand a\\ngood chance of being run in as a suspicious character.\\nOur sail to Nantasket Beach was a most enjoyable one. The White\\nSquadron of the United States Navy happened to be lying off the city,", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0027.jp2"}, "28": {"fulltext": "io\\nand a sham fight, embracing an attack on Deer Island, was on deck the\\nday we sampled the blue waters of Boston Hc^rbor. Hundreds of craft\\nwere out to see the evolutions of the men-of-war, and numerous excur-\\nsion steamers, loaded down with people, were passed by our boat as we\\nsteamed toward the old town of Hull, en route to Nantasket.\\nRowe s Wharf is named after John Rowe, who is famed as being the\\ncitizen who proposed making the first revolutionary cup of tea in Boston\\nHarbor.\\nWho knows how tea will mingle with salt water, said stout old John\\nRowe on December i6lh, 1773, and shouts of laughter rang through the\\nclassic shadows of the Old South Church, where Boston s citizens were in\\nmeeting.\\nOn leaving the wharf you pass first Thompson s Island, then Fort Inde-\\npendence, the stone walls and black guns of which the writer had not seen\\nfor over 20 yeafs. Then you run by Spectacle Island, Long Island, the\\ncurious pile of stones known as Nix s Mate, Deer Island, Gallop s Island,\\nRainsford Island, and a number of other patches of land surrounded by\\nthe generally quiet waters of the harbor.\\nThe steamer stops at the old town of Hull, once a place of importance,\\nbut now more noted as a suburban resort for Boston people than as a sea-\\nport, and shortly after you enter the winding Weir River and run up to the\\nwharf at Nantasket Beach. The beach is on the opposite or ocean side\\nof the neck of land on which you disembark, and immediately on. setting\\nfoot ashore you are assailed by a couple of dozen Jehus, monarchs of\\nthe lumbering coaches attached to the numerous hotels and restaurants and\\nall offering rides free to their different hostelries, where you can get the\\nbiggest dinner, clam-bake, or otherwise for the moderate sum of 50 cents.\\nWe gave them all the cold shoulder, however, and walked across to the\\nregion of hotels, merry-go-rounds, fortune-tellers, and bathers. There were\\nbut few bathers in. It was, however, too good a chance to be missed, and\\ninside of a few minutes Gil Wiese was once more tasting the sweets of\\nsalt water wetness. This time he was all right, and a crowd of a couple\\nof hundred people soon assembled along the beach to watch the antics of\\nthe Queer Quartette.\\nOf course we did the sights in Boston, visited Bunker Hill, the Old\\nSouth Church, the historic Common, Trinity Church, Commonwealth Ave-\\nnue, and the hundred and one other places of interest which this old hot-\\nbed of sedition boasts.\\nEverything went along smoothly, except that Gilbert imagined every one\\nwas looking at his shapely calves, and he felt uncomfortable, accordingly,\\njust in proportion to the amount of admiration with which he suppoc.ed\\ncertain persons viewed his handsome nether proportions. It was useless to\\ntry and persuade him that if there was any interest awakened by our ap-\\npearing on the streets of aesthetic Boston in cycling guise, he did not most\\ncertainly monopolize it all. No he would insist ifpon it that he was\\nthe cynosure of all eyes, and that there was never a ballet placed upon the\\nstage or seen off it, that created such a ripple of excitement as did Gil\\nWiese when he favored Tremont or Washington Streets with a sight of\\nhis muscular development encased in Quaker gray. Nothing would do\\nbut that he should get a pair of pantaloons, and all honor to well-known\\ncourteous Harry Gill, of the United States, who took the unfortunate\\ntraveler to his room and gave him the selection from six pairs of trousers.\\nGil thought none of them just the thing, but chose one pair that, if hitched\\nup as they ought to have been, or as Providence and the tailor intended", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0028.jp2"}, "29": {"fulltext": "21\\nthem to be, would have come six inches above his shoe-tops. It can be\\neasily understood, if not seen, therefore, that M^hen Gilbert effaced the six\\ninches of space at the bottom by a lowering process, the upper regions as-\\nsumed a relationship that the same Providence and the tailor never de-\\nsigned them for consequently, when good old Gil walked the streets, he\\nlooked very much like an old alderman with a very young face on him,\\nand no one would ever have taken him for a trim-built Pennsylvania\\nboy. But Gilbert could not see it, because he could not see them the\\npants.\\nWe could have spent a much longer time in Boston than we did to con-\\nsiderable profit, but, not being millionaires in the matter of time, which\\ncommodity, according to every accepted authority, is nothing more or less\\nthan money, it was deemed expedient to cut our visit short and seek some\\neminence of greater altitude than Bunker Hill Monument, somewhere out-\\nside the town from whence we might perchance get even a momentary\\nglimpse of anything that would look like the White Mountains.\\nTalking of Bunker Hill, it might be incidentally mentioned that if any\\nreaders of this sketch want a taste of something unique in the line of\\nmusic or noise, let them, if they ever ascend the tall column that dominates\\nCharlestown, stick their heads, to the number of three or four, through the\\napertures that open into the well inside the monument and howl Annie\\nLaurie with all their might.\\nThe last view of Boston was a bird s-eye one. Ascending to the roof of\\nthe new Old Colony Trust Company s building, we gazed across the great\\nmass of brick and mortar spread below us and over the thousands of towers,\\nsteeples, and chimneys and numberless white filmy puffs of steam, floating\\naway into nothingness, and denoting that the great pulse of the city was\\nbeating with all its accustomed health and regularity. Over the blue waters\\nof the harbor, with its disfigurements of old black hulks and its adorn-\\nments of white-winged flyers, over the heights of Charlestown, with the\\ntall obelisk marking the historic battle-ground on Breed s Hill, cutting\\nclear against the sky and over distant Chelsea, which we were to pass\\nthrough within an hour on our way to Lynn and Salem. The view from\\nthis great sky-scraper among the many big buildings of Boston made up\\nfor us a quartette of such experiences during various cycling trips. We\\nhad, of course, sampled the magnificent vista across two States and one\\ngreat river, seen from the roof of the vast pile of marble known in Phila-\\ndelphia as the Drexel Building, and gazed with admiration across the wide\\nexpanse of fair Lake Michigan, and over the wilderness of smoke and\\nsteam and seething humanity that make up Chicago, from the tower of the\\nmass of granite known as the Auditorium Building, and also feasted our\\neyes, with more admiration than at any of the other places, on the glorious\\npanorama where the city of New York joins hands with Brooklyn and\\nJersey City, and where the noble Hudson loses its grand identity in the\\nembrace of old ocean and the Boston view from the top of her latest and\\nmost pretentious mercantile building made a fitting fourth to the other\\nthree.\\nA League member, resident in Chelsea, whom we met on the ferry-boat\\ngoing over to that place, and to whom we got talking about roads and one\\nthing or another, offered to go to his house and get us his Massachusetts\\nroad-book, but we showed a very neatly written bulletin of directions as\\nfar as Portsmouth, N. H., which we had obtained from Mr. A. D. Peck,\\nwho, in the office of the Pope Manufacturing Co., in Boston, is the recog-\\nnized Moses in the matter of roads and routes round the Hub, and", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0029.jp2"}, "30": {"fulltext": "when our Chelsea friend heard that Peck had fixed us, he seemed to\\nthink that the road-book would be superfluous, and just then up came\\nN. U. Walker, also from the big cycling emporium on Franklin Street,\\nand we left Boston, therefore, under very pleasant auspices. Before go-\\ning further, however, we will take the opportunity of telling any cycling\\ntraveler who may want information touching Massachusetts roads, to call\\nwhen in Boston on A. D. Peck, at the Pope Manufacturing Co. s office,\\nand they will find a courteous gentleman and a well-informed wheelman,\\nwho, as he did for us, will only be too willing to do all he can in the way\\nof affording any information desired.\\nFollowing directions, our road from the ferry led us out Winnisemmett\\nStreet to Everett Avenue to Woodland Cemetery, and thence through Sau-\\ngus to Lynn. It was about six o clock when we left Boston, and there was\\na disposition on our part to stop for supper in the Shoe City, but know-\\ning that Salem was not much more than an hour s ride it was decided to\\npush on and have our evening meal in the oldest settlement of any size in\\nNew England. Through Swampscott, therefore, we went, and on the road\\npicked up a couple of Lynn riders out for an evening spin, who took us\\nalong at a slapping pace and informed us that the good road over which\\nwe were traveling was a favorite run from Boston and Lynn. Salem is\\nonly 20 miles from Boston, and, as we debouched into the splendid wide\\navenue, lined with noble trees, which takes you to the business portion of\\nthe town from the Boston side, we could partly realize why it is that dwell-\\ners in this pretty place are so much attached to it, Salem was at one time\\nof considerable importance as a port. It possessed one of the finest har-\\nbors on the Atlantic seaboard, and its merchants and traders were industri-\\nous and to a certain extent enterprising. But the more go-ahead and pro-\\ngressive city of Boston stepped in and drew nearly all the trade of this old\\nplace to itself, and now, while many of the citizens continue to reside\\nin Salem they carry on business in its near-by old-time rival.\\nThe Essex House was our destination, and, although somewhat late, sup-\\nper was fixed up for us in good style and we enjoyed it after what had\\nbeen a smart ride in fi om Boston.\\nWith its many historical associations of colonial days, Salem would have\\nbeen an interesting spot to have stopped in for a day or so, but as our des-\\ntination was beyond, an early start the next morning was agreed upon.\\nA trip to The Willows not much of a place at night was taken, per\\nelectric cars, and on our return to the hotel we found a former Philadelphia\\nrider, Mr. Snyder, waiting to see us. A pleasant chat with this gentleman\\nand two or three other Salem riders filled in an hour before bed-time, and\\none of our new friends, Mr. Geo. E. Allen, very kindly proffered his ser-\\nvices as guide to take us out of town the next morning.\\nWe had arranged to do what we did not more than twice on the trip,\\nviz., start before breakfast, and bright and early the next morning, as the\\nclock struck half-past seven, our Salem friend appeared and the Quar-\\ntette, with their guide, turned their backs on the pretty New England\\ntown and took the road for Ipswich and breakfast. This road was a good\\none, and we had promise of an excellent highway all the way to Newbury-\\nport, which promise was fulfilled.\\nBreakfast at Ipswich put us in good form, and, bidding adieu to our\\nobliging Silem riding companion, we struck out over the warranted good\\nroad to Newburyport.\\nThis road is certainly an excellent one, and offers a great contrast to the\\nhighways which further south had been the medium of our reaching Ply-", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0030.jp2"}, "31": {"fulltext": "23\\nmouth. The road surface being first-class, the run into Newburyport, about\\nthe same distance from Ipswich that the latter is from Salem, was made\\nahead of dinner-time, and our ride of about 21 miles not having made us\\nsufficiently hungry to induce a wait for the mid-day meal, forward was the\\nword, and forward we went some 10 miles to Hampton, where a halt was\\ncalled at the Whittier House. Here the proprietor, Mr. O. H. Whittier,\\nwho is, I believe, some connection of the poet, J. G. Whittier, treated us\\nin good shape, and on the broad porch of the hotel a most comfortable\\nlounge after dinner repaid us for waiting to satisfy the inner man in so\\npretty a place. The camera did good service here in catching an old stage-\\ncoach and a farmer s wagon with a team of oxen, as well as a bevy of fair\\ntennis players who were making things lively on the couits next the house.\\nAccording to advice from parties staymg at the hotel, we determined to\\nstrike off to the coast, not more than a few miles distant to the right, and\\nsee Rye Beach and whatever of interest was thereabouts. Before leaving\\nthe hotel, however, and while sitting on the porch, after the two cameras\\nhad been made to capture the surrounding vistas, an amusing incident oc-\\ncurred. Chester had picked up an old, tattered copy of the New York\\nHerald and was lazily picking out scraps of reading, when suddenly he\\ngave vent to what was a young shout, and called to Wiese, who was en-\\njoying a cigarette at the other end of the porch.\\nHallo! Gil, he shouted, they ve got you in the New York Herald.\\nWhat do you think of that\\nWhat do you mean where did they hear about us said Gil, coming\\nover.\\nUs I didn t say us, said Chester. I said you here you are as large\\nas life, and such a description. I ll keep this paper if I have to steal it\\nfrom the house here. Listen, Laurie, haven t they got Gil down fine in\\nGotham And forthwith Chester, who could hardly read for laughing,\\ngave us the following, and it was a study to watch Gilbert s face while the\\nverse was being read.\\nHe came from somewhere inland,\\nFrom Pittsburgh, I surmise.\\nAnd down along the Jersey coast\\nHe strayed with bulging eyes\\nHe saw the dainty maidens\\nAmong the wavelets slosh,\\nAnd when at last he oped his mouth\\nHe simply said, Begosh\\n\u00e2\u0080\u0094Nen, York Herald.\\nA roar of laughter all round greeted the above, and the paper was care-\\nfully put away by Chester, who thought he had got one in on Gil, who was\\nnever tired of teasing him as to his methodical tying-up of bundles and\\ntaking up time, whether in the matter of getting up in the morning or\\ngetting on his wheel after a meal.", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0031.jp2"}, "32": {"fulltext": "CHAPTER V.\\nTHE MASSACHUSETTS AND NEW HAMPSHIRE COASTS.\\nBlue is the ether and blue is the sea,\\nBrushing the wave-tops winds blow free,\\nSunshine is slanting on sails afar.\\nTacking for Portsmouth s Harbor bar.\\nAway in the east the Shoals lie low,\\nLike a cloud too timid its face to show.\\nYou can see the rise of the land no more\\nFrom the ragged back of the Little Boar\\nAnd you wish that you knew\\nAll the tales that to you\\nWhen you stood on that bluff.\\nThe bold winds blew\\nFrom the Shoals away off shore.\\nLeaving the village of Hxmpton, the road we followed led us to Hamp-\\nton Beach, a fine stretch of open coast, and quite a resort for bathing and\\nall-round sea-shore pleasures, without the assistance of Coney Island s\\nconventional attractions. The same may be said of Rye Beach, further\\non, and to reach which we had to go back on our tracks and travel by\\nway of Litde Boar s Head.\\nThough it has a large name, this is a small place, but it is an exceed-\\ningly pretty one. We were now on the New Hampshire coast, and, as\\nthe road suddenly took a bend to the left and disclosed to us an unbroken\\nview of the great blue ocean, stretching miles and miles outward and to\\nleft and right, a simultaneous shout went up from and a dismount was\\nmade by us all. The many beautiful residences which make up the town\\nor hamlet of Little Boar s Head are all situated on high ground, over-\\nlooking the sea, with a wealth of green sward and trees round and back\\nof them. Away below the waves roll lazily and curl round the rocks in\\nwavy masses of foam, except when they dash and roar with all the force\\nborn of their ocean vantage, urged on by angry winds from seaward.\\nEverything was serene and beautiful, however, when we paused to admire\\nthe grand vista of rock and water. Never was sea more blue. Talk of\\nyour Mediterranean skies and sea, they are equalled and surpassed by\\nwhat we have on this side of the Atlantic.\\nAllowing the machines to rest against the fence, the four of us climbed\\nover and lay along the brow of the bluff overlooking the water. Away out\\nto sea and to the left could be seen the Isle of Shoals, famous as a summer\\nresort. Several islands make up The Shoals, and steamers ply the\\ndistance between them and the mainland, about lo miles, several times a\\nday. It was not without great reluctance we left so charming a spot.\\nAccustomed to the low-lying sandy shores of New Jersey, it was a rare\\ntreat to find ourselves on a veritable rocky coast, and the little taste we\\nwere getting of it, recalling old times to at least some of us, made strong\\nthe longing for even the least little taste of the rugged shores of Maine.\\nGilbert, of course, had never seen anything like it, and as we lay looking\\nout to sea, under the blue sky and the warm sunlight, his thoroughly un-\\nbiased judgment was summed up in the remark\\nWell, boys, you may talk about your Coney Islands, Nantaskets,\\nor Atlantic Cities, but give me some place like this. I could live here for\\ntwo weeks without any trouble.\\n24", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0032.jp2"}, "33": {"fulltext": "25\\nYes, if somebody else were here too, Gil. In which case you might\\nstay two weeks and a half or longer, said Laurie.\\nWhat time is it, Gil queried Chester.\\nIt s just five, replied Gilbert, consulting his watch.\\nThen it s time to start. I thought you would like a reminder, Gil,\\nand Chester looked what might be termed a smile at the balance of the\\nquartette, while Gilbert looked again at the dial of his time-piece, at least\\nthat is what he appeared to look at. Chester told us afterward that when\\nhe wanted to put Gil in a good humor he always asked him what time it\\nwas, and as we had noticed that there was a picture of some sort or other\\nin the said watch, we gave Chester credit for z. finesse that before then we\\ndid not know he possessed.\\nThe roads round this region are simply superb, both as to surface and\\nlocation. The surface is macadam, and good macadam, too, and round\\nLittle Boar s Head and Rye Beach they lead you a trip in full view of\\nold ocean, and yet in close proximity to all that makes country life amid\\ngreen fields and trees so enjoyable. One of the finest hotels in the way of\\na summer resort that we struck on our trip was the Farragut House at Rye\\nBeach, Superb in its appointments, both in-door and out-door, by general\\nconsent the Quartette, only for what was beyond would have liked\\nto have settled down for a couple of weeks stay at this grand old house,\\nwith its charms of country and seashore, its pleasures of the ball-room\\nand tennis court and coaching roads thrown so luxuriously and lavishly\\ntogether. But the Farragut House, with its charms of location and society\\nwas not meant for us, as long as we were bound for the White Mountains\\nand beyond, and we lingered but a short time underneath the grand\\nold trees that make the place look like one of the ancestral halls of the\\nEngland of long ago. Making a tour of the grounds, we struck out once\\nmore on the high road to Portsmouth, and passing a couple of fashionable\\nrigs with tanned city beauties holding the reins, returning to the hotel from\\ntown, the Quartette were soon in the middle of the pretty old town of\\nPortsmouth.\\nThat the town of Portsmouth is old is a matter of history, that it is\\npretty is a matter of opinion. It certainly has many fine residences, very\\nfair road surfaces, several large industrial establishments, and one of its\\nhotels, the Rockingham, looks as though it had been taken from among\\npalatial companions in Boston, New York, or Philadelphia and set down\\nas a luxurious curiosity in what by comparison is a most unpretentious\\ncity.\\nGilbert had not to hunt far for his Delmonico s or Laurie for his\\nBoldt s. By universal consent we were directed to the Rockingham, and\\non arriving there found that supper was one of the things the management\\npaid special attention to. We had ridden altogether, since leaving Salem\\nthat morning, a distance of 62 miles, so the good meal set before us was\\nnot by any means treated with neglect. Having several friends in town,\\nthe writer proceeded to hunt them up after supper, and, having discharged\\nthis duty, returned to the hotel to find Mr. Charles A. Hazlitt, one of the\\njolly good old-timers of cycling, waiting to see the patty. There is not a\\nbetter informed cyclist in New Hampshire than Mr. Hazlitt, and on un-\\nderstanding that we were on an extended trip, it was his great desire that\\nwe should stop over at Portsmouth for a day or so, and see what he called\\nsome of the most interesting sights in New England. On our telling him\\nthat we could not possibly stay longer than half the following day, Sun-\\nday, he was greatly disappointed, but most kindly offered to wake us up\\n4", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0033.jp2"}, "34": {"fulltext": "26\\nearly the next morning and show us all of Portsmouth that could be seen\\nin half a day. It was early next morning when, true to his promise, Mr.\\nHazlitt turned up at the hotel, and a few minutes time saw us mounted\\nand pedalling toward the Piscataqua River, to cross over to Newcastle.\\nThis was one of the most pleasing experiences of our trip. As an au-\\nthority on the historical data connected with the neighborhood in which\\nhe lives, and as an active wheelman, conversant with the highways and\\nbyways leading to and from every point of interest, Mr. Hazlitt is a\\nprize which the cycling visitor to Portsmouth may count himself as a\\nspoiled child of fortune if he captures. Old Fort Constitution, with its\\ncurious gateway, about the only specimen of the portcullis feature of forti-\\nfication to be seen in this northern country, the heavy black guns lying\\ngrim and sullen on the sward outside the walls, the few pyramids of shells,\\nwith grass and weeds of all kinds growing at will around and over all,\\nstruck us as being one of the most interesting things we had seen on our\\npilgrimage. Chester climbed to the top of the old Martello tower near\\nthe entrance. Gilbert smoked a cigarette, and asked an old ship captain\\nwho was standing by how it was that while there was no license in Ports-\\nmouth, whisky was sold to citizens and also to strangers.\\nBecause we likes to buy it, laconically -answered the old tar. Laurie\\ngot both cameras to work, while the writer sat down on a mammoth pile\\nof granite, cut long ago to build the new fort, but never used, and scribbled\\non the back of the last letter to hand from Philadelphia, a Portsmouth\\nsentiment to carry back to the Quaker City\\nUseless now the embattled wall,\\nThe grim portcullis and the high-thrown mound,\\nAll destined once to see the grim death-play\\nOf strife twixt man and man\\nAll labor spent is vain and useless now but stay\\nSay not quite useless, since we can\\nSee in these serried ranks of quarried stone,\\nSee in these old-time shells that here alone\\nLive on, the thought that, what in hate began\\nBetween two peoples through whose veins there ran\\nThe same rich blood, may end in sovereign love\\nAs fixed and sure as are the heavens above.\\nFrom the top of the Martello tower Chester called to us. He was taking\\nin the view through the agency of a field-glass which the before-mentioned\\nold sailor carried, who was also on top of the tower. Laurie s photo-\\ngraphs were by this time taken, and we all scrambled to the top of the\\nsquat-looking edifice that dominates the knoll of ground back of the fort.\\nThe term Martello comes from a place of that name in Corsica, where one\\nof these small defences made a memorable resistance to attack during the\\nFrench wars at the end of the last century. The visitor to Ireland can\\ncount hundreds of these towers round the coast of that island, built by\\norders of the British War Ofifice, with the double object of affording work\\nto the peasantry and providing against a threatened invasion of the coun-\\ntry by the first Napoleon. It was a similar exi\u00c2\u00a7|ency that called into ex-\\nistence the circular pile of brick which, though now dismantled, watches\\nover the waters at Portsmouth.\\nFrom the front porch of the splendid Wentworth house you can obtain\\na beautiful view seaward, looking toward the Isle of Shoals, and from the\\nrear porch another view almost equally fine can be had of the river, town,\\ncountry, and the faraway mountains. To these latter our gaze wandered\\nwhenever it got the chance. They, or those back of them, were the goal", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0034.jp2"}, "35": {"fulltext": "27\\nof our expectations, and, notwithstanding the enjoyment of the present, we\\ncould not help speculating as to what, both in the way of pleasure and\\npain, was in store for us.\\nFrom the rear porch of the Wentworth, our guide pointed out to us the\\nold Wentworth Mansion, the home of Governor Wentworth. As every\\nState has its more or less noted Governors, so has New Hampshire, and in\\nearly colonial days the name of Governor Benning Wentworth, as it is\\nstill, was identified prominently with New Hampshire and with Ports-\\nmouth. The story of his marriage to Martha Hilton is a romantic incident\\nthat possessed so much of interest as to inspire Longfellow to pen one of\\nhis prettiest verse narratives.\\nCrossing the long bridge from the island over to Portsmouth we got a\\ndistant view of the Kittery Navy Yard and the old frigate Constitution,\\nwhich lies there, an object of patriotic veneration to all good citizens who\\nhave attended public school and profited thereby. A ride around the town\\nand an inspection of what it had to show in the way of residences put us\\nwell on to dinner-time, and, as our departure was scheduled for immedi-\\nately after that meal, our more than kind guide bade us adieu and carried\\naway with him our more than thanks.\\nAnd now we were to turn our backs upon the coast for comparatively\\nlevel riding over what, for the past few days, had been good roads, we\\nwere to exchange mountain climbing and, by all accounts, indifferent high-\\nways. No matter, we were in for it and we turned our backs on the ocean\\nand on Portsmouth with but one regret that we had not at least a week\\nto spend among friends and scenes alike pleasant and instructive.\\nIt was nearly three o clock before we got started. Our first stopping\\nplace would be Dover, and then Rochester for supper and to stay over-\\nnight. The latter place is about 20 miles from Portsmouth. A fair road\\ncarried us to Dover, though in places the ruts asserted themselves to a\\ngreater extent than was pleasant. Beyond Dover this was even more the\\ncase, and we began to think that, if the New Hampshire public highways\\ndeteriorated much more, we were in for the reverse of what is generally\\nknown as a soft snap. However, Rochester was made all right, but not\\nquite as early as we expected, consequently, our opportunity to see much\\nof the place was limited, as supper had to be discussed, and then a rest on\\nthe porch with heels in air and a cigar and stories to the fore made loafing\\nat the hotel preferable to rambling round city streets, of which we get\\nplenty and enough when not traveling in quartettes.\\nBefore turning in, it was agreed that the opinion of some local cycler\\nshould, if possible, be secured as to the best route to follow in entering the\\nmountains, and as Mr. Charles Corson was known by reputation to nearly\\nall of us, his address was secured, and, in our dreams that night we each\\nand all of us saw ourselves coasting Mount Washington, photographing\\nthe Profile and Fabyan s, blowing cigarette smoke into the face of\\nthe Old Man of the Mountains, or dancing with pretty girls stranded in\\nthe same mountains.", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0035.jp2"}, "36": {"fulltext": "CHAPTER VI.\\nLAKE WINNEPESAUKEE AND BEYOND.\\nWhen Heaven first looked on earth and threw\\nA loving smile upon it.\\nOf all the spots that tried to gain\\nThat smile, but one spot won it\\nFor when New Hampshire spread abroad\\nHer cloud gloved hands above her,\\nHow could the great and mighty One\\nWho made her, fail to love her.\\nO Winnepesaukee fairest lake,\\nHeaven smilin,i o er thy mother,\\nBrought thee to life since when it has\\nNot smiled on such another.\\nAs sweep ng o er thy tide I see\\nThat great smile mirrored in it,\\nWell guarded by those grand old hills\\nWhich helped New Hampshire win it\\nI see the green-garbed isles lie like\\nFair gems in silver setting,\\nAnd barken to the breeze-borne song\\nOf wave on rockland fretting.\\nO Winnepesaukee! fairest lake,\\nNo other smile shall smother,\\nThis smile of thine, for Heaven will ne er\\nVouchsafe earth such another.\\nThe morning of Monday broke clear and beautiful, and as it wore on\\nalso grew hot. Our original intention was to go into and through the\\nmountains by way of North Conway, and when in Boston, the writer,\\ngrowing tired of carrying a valise on his machine, packed in it everything\\nnot absolutely essential to comfort extra films for the cameras, etc. and\\nshipped it on to North Conway. When, however, at an early hour on\\nMonday morning, the Quartette walked into Mr. Corson s establishment,\\nwhere he handles all kinds of bicycles and cycling goods, and, introducing\\nthemselves, asked for directions, the whole programme was changed, and,\\nper that gentleman s advice, we switched our ideas and line of travel to\\nthe left, and decided to make a break for water in other words, we de-\\ntermined to sample the charms of New Hampshire s most beautiful lakes.\\nLake Winnepesaukee and the big and little Squam Lakes are known to all\\nthose who travel on this continent in search of the beautiful, and, profiting\\nby the directions of our Rochester friend, we started at a good round pace\\nfor Farmington, New Durham, Alton, and Lake Winnepesaukee.\\nGetting our bearings from Mr. Corson, who had made frequent trips\\ninto the White Mountains, not all cycling trips, however, we bade adieu\\nto Rochester and took the road to Farmington, some seven miles dis-\\ntant.\\nThe riding was not what would be called first-class, but taking it all in\\nall, it was not wholly and aggravatingly bad, as we had been led to expect\\n28", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0036.jp2"}, "37": {"fulltext": "^9\\nit would be by dwellers east of Rochester. Rochester and Farmington\\npeople seemed to think their highways first-class, but they very evidently\\ndid not do much riding in the neighborhood of Portsmouth and Rye\\nBeach, or they would have criticized their own road-surfaces a little more\\naccurately. Taking the New Hampshire roads as a whole, however,\\nthrough the region we traversed, they afforded good riding for Safety\\nbicycles.\\nFarmington was reached about half an hour later than we had calculated,\\nand learning from local riders that we would have to reach Alton Bay,\\nsome II miles distant, on Lake Winnepesaukee, by 12 o clock, or, failing\\nthat hour, 4 o clock p. M. in order to cross it, a start was at once made\\nwith the idea of reaching there by noon. A couple of Farmington riders\\ntaking a spin on the main street very kindly volunteered to go a piece of\\nthe way with the Quartette, and we had the pleasure of their company\\nfor about two and a half miles out of town when they left us, and about\\nthe same time the good road also left us, or rather we left it, for from there\\non through New Durham there was a wealth of ruts, and once or twice\\nthe recommendation of our Farmington friends to take the train at New\\nDurham in order to reach Alton Bay by noon came very near being en-\\ntertained by the sun-roasted four. The day was a boiling hot one, and not\\nby any means the kind of day to tempt over-exertion on the part of cycling\\ntourists, so the very wise conclusion was reached, at a council of war held\\nin a dry water-course, flanked by a luxurious growth of ripe raspberries, to\\ntake things easy, take a pull at the raspberries and at something else to head\\noff evil consequences from a hearty indulgence in the tempting fruit, take\\ndinner at Alton Bay, take the 4 o clock trip across the lake, and perhaps\\nfake supper at Centre Harbor or some place beyond, on the further side of\\nthe lake. This pleased all parties, and after a grand loaf in the shady,\\ndried-up water- course, the road was again tackled, and about 12.30 the\\nhouses of Alton came into view. The first thought on our reaching the\\ntown was, of course, dinner.\\nNo I am wrong. Perhaps the first thought was well is this place\\nprohibition also. If this was not the first thought, as well as the writer\\ncan remember, it was the first expression that fell from the lips of one of\\nthe party who shall be nameless on catching sight of the hospitable\\nroof of G. F. Savage s hotel.\\nWhether the place is prohibition or not, readers can find out for them-\\nselves when they visit it, at all events, if good treatment and good food is\\na desideratum, by all means look up Mr. G. F. Savage.\\nAnd now a noteworthy incident has to be chronicled. Up to this point\\nof the pilgrimage, our Laurie had manfully borne the disability which the\\nownership of whiskers seemed to impose upon him, while traveling\\nthrough the frequented and unfrequented beauty spots of New England.\\nWhile enjoying a half hour s rest on the hotel porch before dinner, sud-\\ndenly, our knight of the camera jumped from his chair and said\\nBoys, I ll do it I\\nDo what asked Gilbert.\\nGet shaved, was the brief if it was not the witty answer.\\nLook out, Chester, we ll have another Richmond in the field, as far\\nas the ladies are concerned, by the time we reach the White Mountain\\nnotches, remarked Weise.\\nI m satisfied you re handicapped just twice as much as before, Gil,\\nreplied the good-humored Chester, and Gilbert forthwith busied himself\\nfishing a last cigarette from a dilapidated box.", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0037.jp2"}, "38": {"fulltext": "30\\nTwenty minutes elapsed, and just as dinner was announced back came\\nour fraternal fourth party, minus the masculine embellishment of a care-\\nfully cultivated beard, in the full enjoyment of which he had but lately left\\nus, Gilbert, who had never seen his traveling companion clean shaven\\nbefore, nearly succumbed to extreme surprise and perhaps a little envy, for\\nby general consent, the three-quarters of the quartette who had not been\\nto the barber of Alton, voted that a good-looking individual had been\\nadded to the party. It may be noted in passing that it seemed as though\\nwith the loss of his hirsute facial appendages, our fellow-traveler seemed\\nto have effected a clear gain in the line of eating capacity, and this char-\\nacteristic followed him throughout the remainder of the trip.\\nIt is but a short mile from Alton to Alton Bay, the point of embarkation\\nfor the further end of beautiful Lake Winnipesaukee. It is at this point\\nthat the Concord Montreal Railroad makes connection with the hand-\\nsome steamers that ply on the lake, and which transport visitors to the\\nnumerous pleasure resorts on its profusely indented and well-wooded\\nshores.\\nAhead of time, we lay about the wharf watching the small fish and some\\nsnapping-turtles enjoying themselves round the piles in the beautiful clear\\nwater below the jetty. Here a telegram was sent on to North Conway, to\\nhave the writer s grip forwarded to Bethlehem, which telegram mis-\\ncarried, entailing some little uneasiness among the party later on, relative\\nto the matters of fresh films for the camera, and fresh fittings in the way\\nof clothes for the writer.\\nBy and by, round the far side of the green island half a mile from port,\\ncould be seen creeping the smokestacks of the expected steamer, looking,\\nas Gilbert remarked, much as they would look from certain points of view on\\nthe Mississippi, and in a few minutes, round the end of the island came the\\nMount Washington, the handsome boat that was to convey us to the other\\nend of the lake, about 23 miles distant. F rom the moment of setting foot on\\ndeck of this well-appointed steamer, the real enjoyment of the trip in the way\\nof novelty commenced. Whether this was in part owing to the discovery\\nthat we would not be charged for the carriage of our wheels, I will not say.\\nI do not think, however, that any such mercenary motive for our indulging\\nin light hearts could have existed we were above it, as much above such\\nfeelings as were the high hills around us above the fair bosom of the beau-\\ntiful sheet of water over which we were swiftly and yet gently speeding.\\nThere were the usual adieus, handshaking, wavings, etc., to other\\ntravelers left on the wharf, and then every one settled down to the enjoy-\\nment of a ride alike restful and beautiful.\\nWhy do not more of our great commonality sample pleasures such as\\nthe one under notice, which are as easily attainable as many which com-\\nmand and receive an amount of attention and patronage they do not, com-\\nparatively speaking, deserve? Instead of spending a certain amount of\\ntime and money on pleasures more or less connected with every-day city\\nlife, it would seem as though, at the expense of a little patience you can\\nhardly say self-denial and by a judicious use of capital, more of our peo-\\nple could, in a week, or two or three, taken from the 52 which make up\\nthe year, learn something of the magnificent land that lies around them.\\nIf not in an extended way, at least in a local way, this could be done,\\nand right here the bicycle comes in as an agent, the best of any, perhaps,\\nplaced at the disposal of the ordinary run of every-day workers. Get\\nyour bicycle, and it will lead you to learn something, be it much or little,\\nabout your country.", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0038.jp2"}, "39": {"fulltext": "31\\nSteadily swept the Mount Washington over the bright, sparkling\\nwaters of Winnepesaukee. It was a glorious sail. The day was superb,\\na trifle too hot, perhaps, but we were not on a rutty road, we were on a\\nwell-appointed steamboat, gliding over a sea of blue and silver. Rattle-\\nsnake Island was passed on our left, and, as we progressed, island after\\nisland, bay after bay, hill after hill, and mountain after mountain was\\neither passed or came into view and was then shut out again by some new\\nobject of interest. The different-hued foliage on the many hills inclosing\\nthe lake lent a charm to the panorama flying by that was as ever-interest-\\ning as it was ever-changing. Islands with small summer residences on\\nthem, boats lying in little coves, odd fishermen dominating solitary rocks,\\nother islands with white tents pitched under green canopies, where camp-\\ning parties were thanking Heaven before meals, or swearing at the cook\\nafter them great mountains in the distance, and beyond them what\\nWell we did not know. All these and many other sights which make\\nWinnepesaukee all that it is said to be, with its 300 islands, its waters of\\ncrystal, and its waves of silver, its sky, when we saw it, as blue as its hills\\nwere green all these and many other beauties made us sorry when our\\nboat ran into the wharf at Centre Harbor, and we had to decide whether\\nwe would stop at the Senter House that night or seek a lodging further on.\\nWe decided to go on. There was still an hour and a half of daylight,\\nand although we were ignorant as to hotel accommodations ahead, we de-\\ntermined to risk the chances of having to sleep in the woods. Mr. Corson\\nhad given us the name of a large boarding-house, about a mile outside the\\ntown, where it would be preferable to stop, in view of the fact that the\\nsaid mile lay up, as John Bunyan might have written it, a very steep and\\nterrible hill. We had heard of this hill from two riders whom we had\\nmet on the other side of the lake, they having ridden down it. We walked\\nup it, and after walking up failed to find our promised stopping-place.\\nWhat to do was the question. Tackle the Sturtevant House, half a mile\\non, was Laurie s suggestion. This is an old farm-house turned into a\\nmountain boarding-house, and right comfortable it looked, sitting on the\\nelevation it occupies over the road. Full up, no accommodations, go back\\nabout a mile and a half to Centre Harbor, or else go on some five miles to\\nthe Asquam House, was the word here. Go back down that long, long\\nhill. Oh no better go on if we have to walk every step of the way in\\nthe dark. Our decision was looked at with wonder by a couple of ladies\\nand three city wearers of red and black blazers, just out from having had\\nsupper, and I doubt not but that some talk was indulged in after we de-\\nparted touching the recklessness of those bicycle riders. In half a\\nminute s time the Quartette was congratulating itself upon its bravery\\nin pushing ahead, for a long down-grade, rough as they make them, sent\\nmachines and jaws rattling, and also sent our spirits up to high-water\\nmark. We must have run down a full mile before bringing up to push on\\nthe pedals once more.\\nSteady, boys, steady, ready, boys, ready,\\nDuty, boys, duty, wherever you are sent\\nNever know defeat, boys, death before retreat, boys,\\nThat is the song of our Regiment.\\nSo sang Gil Wiese for the hundredth time, as we commenced to pay up\\nfor our pleasureable down-grade run. It was now dusk, and we had as\\nmuch as we could do to keep on the machines. Indeed, we could not\\nkeep on them it was ride, boys, ride, and then walk, boys, walk, and then", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0039.jp2"}, "40": {"fulltext": "32\\nagain slide, boys, slide, ere we could clap the brake on to prevent going\\ndown grade faster than was quite agreeable. At a fork of the road we\\nnearly went wrong, but, fortunately, a solitary cottage farm-house stood\\nright at the junction point, and though a pretty 15-year-old country lass\\ncould not tell us much about the route, an old man, who, in point of looks,\\nwas the greatest contrast to such a child that I think I ever saw, pointed\\nout our road to the Asquam House, Up to the present we had not learned\\nthat this mountain hostelry stood on Shepard s Hill, boasting an elevation\\nof 800 feet.\\nIt was ticklish riding now, and once again we nearly lost our way, but a\\nten minutes hunt for an inhabited house, saved us from journeying off to\\nPlymouth, There are but few houses round this region, and several of the\\nones we did see were untenanted.\\nWhen about a mile and a half from our destination, we came upon an\\nextensive farm establishment, in front of which stood an old man, as ven-\\nerable looking as the place itself. He was hale and hearty, however, and\\non our stopping to ask directions, he put a number of questions to us as to\\nwho we were and where going,\\nWiese almost floored him at the first go off, by telling him we were from\\nPhiladelphia, You don t mean to tell me, said he, you ve ridden\\nthose things from Philadelphia, The best part of the way, ex-\\ncept across the water, replied Gil.\\nA rather strong expression followed from the old countryman which he\\nfollowed up with Philadelphia is a great place. Was there once goin\\nto the war. We thought they treated us well in Boston, but when we got\\nto Philadelphia, I ll never forget it, Nothin was too good for us. I\\nnever saw Philadelphia since, and don t suppose I ever shall again, but\\nthere s lots of us yet thinks there s no city like that of yours,\\nHe spoke so earnestly about the kindness of Philadelphia people that\\nwe spent ten full minutes chatting to him, before asking all we wanted to\\nknow. In answer to our query as to whether we had much of a hill to go\\nup to the Asquam Hou e, he stuck his thumbs into his suspenders and\\nbroke out with\\nHills, hills is it You ve got a mountain to go up, a of a big\\nmountain, the biggest one you ve seen .yet. But, come now, you don t\\nmean to say you are going up on those bicycles\\nWe assured him that we purposed so doing, and after an expression of\\nsorrow on his part that he could not put us up for the night, we went on\\nfor our mile and a half jaunt to the Asquam House, It was very well that\\nwe were not cognizant of all that was before us, for I question whether we\\nwould have had the courage to climb the tremendous hill to the house\\nthat night if we had known what the task would be like. There was no\\nsing to Gil Wiese when we got to the top, and saw the lights of home\\non our right, up a further incline, Chester said he had pretty nearly\\nenough of the mountains already, Laurie said nothing, but no doubt he\\nthought much, and wished himself at home on Arch Street, Philadelphia,\\nand the writer wondered if he would have sufficient wit to say his prayers,\\nprovided he got some supper before having to perform that duty. Mr.\\nCilly, the well-known proprietor of the Asquam, fixed us all right, how-\\never, and probably he never had four more played-out travelers in need of\\nfood and lodging than the Quartette who that night tumbled into the\\nAsquam House.", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0040.jp2"}, "41": {"fulltext": "CHAPTER VII.\\nFROM THE BIG AND LITTLE SQUAM TO THE FRANCONIA NOTCH.\\nSQUAM LAKE.\\nBeautiful lake of the mountain world.\\nResting in sliadows deep,\\nBeautiful lake of a beautiful land\\nRound thee the hill-tops keep\\nEver their watch, that the wind-god may\\nBreathe but a sigh o er thy sleep.\\nBeautiful lake is this greater Squam,\\nVeiling its isle-flecked face\\nUnder the woodland s cloak flung out\\nTo soften the rough embrace,\\nOf the hills that make this greater Squam\\nOf rest, the abiding place.\\nThe sunlight was streaming in through our windows on our awakening the\\nnext morning. By this it need not be supposed that the Quartette were\\nlate in rising, for it will be remembered that the time of year was July, and\\nalso we were on the top of a very high hill, which latter fact, owing to the\\nexperience of the previous evening, we were fully cognizant of. What a\\ngrand prospect greeted our eyes on leaving our rooms and exchanging\\ntheir narrow limits for the broad freedom of the porch running round the\\nhotel. On almost every side a panorama of mountain and lake greets the\\neye, and we found but few if any views on our trip that came up, in\\nthe way of serene loveliness, to the view on Squam Lake from the Asquam\\nHouse. Away below us was more than a semicircle of water, extending\\nround the eminence on which this splendid summering place is situated.\\nThe greater and lesser Squam Lakes stretch around the base of Shepard s\\nHill, the surface of the former dotted with many islands, and both sur-\\nrounded by ranges of hills that inclose their waters and notably in the\\ncase of the larger lake, give them a beauty that perhaps can be matched\\nby but few such places either in the Old World or the New. Among the\\nsmaller lakes of America, Squam Lake, it is said, occupies a first place,\\nand I am willing to believe the statement, for certainly I never saw a more\\nbeautiful combination of water, wood and mountain within small compass\\nthan where the Big Squam lies in quiet content amid the retirement of\\nthe New Hampshire hills.\\nIt had been our intention to leave early, immediately after breakfast, in\\nfact, but, when a good meal had made us feel the least little bit lazy, and\\nwhen the spirit of rest which seemed to dominate the whole place and\\npermeate the air took hold of us, the programme was changed and the\\ntime of starting postponed until after dinner. There were a great many\\nguests at the house, and the numerous pretty cottages on the slope of\\nthe hill overlooking the lake were almost all full of rest-seeking families.\\nAbout 200 yards from the hotel and standing on the brow of the hill are\\ntwo or three pine trees, and it is under these trees that the poet Whittier\\nloves to sit and look out over a vista that coaxed from his pen his well-\\nknown lines on this beautiful spot.\\n5 33", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0041.jp2"}, "42": {"fulltext": "34\\nI m going to make a motion, said Gilbert, as we took in the charm-\\ning view from near the Whittier trees. I move that we stay here instead\\nof going on among those mountains.\\nI second the motion, the writer ventured to remark, but Laurie looked\\nat us reproachfully as he adjusted the lens of his camera to capture the\\nphysiognomy of the beautiful sheet of water below us.\\nWe did not start out to loaf around Newport, Squam Lake, or any\\nother place, put in Chester. The fact is, he continued, Gil, here,\\nsaw a couple of extremely pretty girls, from down South somewhere, on\\nthe porch last night, and he wants to stay here^and make their acquaint-\\nance.\\nYou would be a good hand to write novels, Chester you ve got a\\ncapital imagination, said Gilbert, having recourse to his cigarette box.\\nWell, it s true, said Chester, putting that peculiar high emphasis on\\nthe word true, which is characteristic of voices not cut out for bass sing-\\ning.\\nWell, have it so don t you want to stop, too Look at that lake there.\\nI m going down for a swim directly, perhaps a row, too. Look at those\\nmountains. We ve got as good or better out Pittsburgh way but, still,\\nthese are all right think of the breakfast we had no scrapping around\\nand worrying to find a decent place to get a meal at. Now, I think if we\\nare wise travelers we will lay up here honest, now, I mean it.\\nAnd Gil really did mean what he said, and, but small blame to him,\\nas the Irishman said, for wishing to take it easy under circumstances and\\namid associations as pleasant as those of Squam Lake and the Asquam\\nHouse.\\nVery shortly after breakfast we started down the hill and brought up at\\nthe boat-house, from which place we were rowed over to the bath-houses\\nby the keeper of the boats, who turned out to be a student from one of the\\nNew England colleges putting in his vacation in that fashion. We found\\namong the waiters at the hotel several other students who M ^ere spending\\ntheir vacation making an honest penny in that capacity, and, doubtless,\\nbenefiting by the change of occupation and by the health-giving properties\\nof the place. At the bath-houses, owing to the kindness of a couple of\\nthe guests, we secured bathing-suits and took a swim in the clear, cool\\nwaters of the lake. It is surprising how clear the water in these New\\nHampshire lakes is. You can see very often a distance of 20 feet and\\nmore to the pebbly bottom. In Squam I ake there are large quantities of\\nfish, and fishing parties are one of the institutions of the place.\\nIt was 3 o clock in the afternoon when, fortified by dinner and a rest of\\nabout three-quarters of an hour after it, the Quartette mounted machines\\nonce more, and in a whirlwind of dust rushed down Shepard s Hill, round\\nthe shore of the Lake, and followed the road in the direction of Plymouth.\\nAccording to advice, we left this road after traveling a short distance and\\ntook one to the right, which led us over, perhaps, a more hilly route, but\\nwhich carried us away from sand, which we understood was a feature of\\nthe road near Plymouth. Our object was to strike over to the Pemige-\\nwasset River by way of Livermore Falls, and then follow the road along\\nthis stream by way of Campton, Thornton, and Woodstock into the\\nFranconia Mountains. The road was a very fair one indeed, so far we\\ncould not complain on the head of roads, as we had been favored with\\ngood ones on the whole, and better than we had expected to find. At\\nLivermore Falls, which we reached by dint of many inquiries, the river is\\nspanned by a high iron bridge, and from this bridge a charming view is", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0042.jp2"}, "43": {"fulltext": "35\\nhad of the falls, which, while not very large, are extremely picturesque,\\nas the water rushes over huge, jagged masses of rock. Crossing the\\nstream, we followed the road leading along the west bank, and just as\\nsupper-time was well-nigh vanished, and with it, of course, supper, the\\ntree-covered hostelry known as Sanborn s came into view, and it was re-\\nsolved that enough had been done for that day, and that a stop over for\\nthe night at Sanborn s was the proper thing. This well-known stopping-\\nplace for visitors to the New Hampshire hill country stands on the road\\nrunning through to the Franconia Notch, and, with its annex on the\\nopposite side of the same road, is quite a large place. Although somewhat\\nlate, supper was not long in making its appearance, and seeing that we\\nhad covered some 12 miles during the afternoon, the meal was extremely\\nwelcome. After supper there was a long sit on the porch, a smoke, and\\nsome chatting with the other guests, and then an invitation to join a pro-\\ngressive euchre party at the annex. There was only room for two, and the\\nlucky two were Chester and the writer, so Gilbert and Laurie sat on the\\nporch, and while Gil smoked, the fourth party to the Quartette told\\nhim that there were 16 ladies in the party in the large room, where the\\nbell tinkled and chairs were pushed backward and vacated and occupied\\nagain by fortunate or unfortunate players. The two non-players went over\\nafter a while and passed the time on the main hotel porch, while other\\nplayers than their traveling-companions won the prizes at the euchre\\nparty.\\nServes you right you need not have expected to win after leaving us\\nthe way you did, said Laurie, on our return.\\nLeaving Sanborn s the next morning we determined that, as during the\\npast few days loafing rather than riding had been the programme, we\\nwould bestir ourselves and get over some ground. The intention was all\\nright, but the matter of putting it into execution was a little bit difficult.\\nIn the first place it was hard work, very hard work, riding. The road-\\nsurface was fair, to be sure, but the grades were a little too much for\\ncomfort, and it was a remarkable fact that the four minds of the Quar-\\ntette seemed very often to run in the same channel, and nobody just\\naround that neighborhood had the hardihood to dispute the fact that the\\nwalking was very good. And then again, the magnificent scenery\\ncropping up on either hand as we closed in on Woodstock, the giant\\nmountains looming up near by and in the distance the leaping, tumbling,\\nlaughing, and always lovely Pemigewasset River, the necessity for catch-\\ning and carrying away with us some of the glorious scenes we were passing\\nthrough, all these had an influence in keeping us from making fast time,\\nand it was not until on the far side of Woodstock that lowering clouds\\nand distant peals of thunder sent us into North Woodstock for dinner at a\\nfaster rate than we had ridden for days.\\nIt was a question after dinner whether to go on or not. A heavy\\nshower had fallen over North Woodstock just before we reached it; the\\nmountains were covered with fast-flying clouds, which rolled along their\\nsides in great white masses, and the mutterings of the distant thunder\\nmade subdued music through the hills. We had stopped at the Russell\\nHouse, and from the plateau back of it were shown by another traveler\\nthe towering masses of hills ahead of us, through which we were about to\\npenetrate. As it was evident that we would have rain, whether we re-\\nmained at North Woodstock or pushed on, a forward movement was de-\\ncided upon, and the road through the Franconia Notch, by way of the\\nFlume House and the Profile, was taken, with some misgiving as to the", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0043.jp2"}, "44": {"fulltext": "36\\nprobability of reaching either place ahead of rain. The Profile House\\nwas about lo miles distant.\\nIt was on this portion of the road that we ran across one of the prettiest\\nlittle cascades we had dropped on in our travels. It is known among the\\nmany others along the line of the beautiful Pemigewasset as the Cascade\\nin the Franconia Notch, and on one of the large flat boulders underneath\\nthe fall of water is to be seen a good representation of a gigantic footprint.\\nThis is said to be a relic of the Old Man of the Mountain, or, if you choose\\nso to consider it, it is a legacy left by the Old Boy himself from the\\ntime when he used to go rampaging around, the monarch of all he sur-\\nveyed in these magnificent wilds.\\nThe first thing Gil Wiese did was to jump all over the holy or unholy\\nimprint, and the writer never knew he was on sacred rock until after he\\nhad lain all over it to reach down for a drink, having his legs held by two\\nothers of the party, for fear of his making too close acquaintance with the\\npool. Beneath the rock over which the water plunges, is a deep pool,\\nwhich must at least be 30 feet in depth, hollowed out by the unceasing\\nflow of the beautiful clear water through ages. You can see to the bottom\\nwithout the least difficulty, the water being as clear as the proverbial crys-\\ntal. Both above and below this beauty-spot of the Pemigewasset the\\nstream forces its way through little canons and over hundreds of rocks,\\nand forms countless little cascades that throw the music of their waters\\nupon the ear of the traveler as he follows the road through the famed\\nFranconia Notch.\\nBright Pemigewasset, sweet stream of the hills.\\nThy free, bounding waters are foaming,\\nO er rock and through fissure, as slowly we force\\nOur way through the Notch in the gloaming;\\nThe Flume is before us, thy music behind,\\nIt drops but at times on our hearing.\\nAnd fainter still grows the last plaint of thy song,\\nFor thy beautiful birthplace we re nearing.\\nBright Pemigewassett, sweet stream, I will tell\\nThy story wherever I wander.\\nAs breeze borne across the dark valley it comes\\nFrom thy rock-girdled banks over yonder\\nI hear it and love it the story is this.\\nThat one of New England s fair daughters\\nLost her voice in the hills, and twas found thereby thee,\\nAnd lives on in thy musical waters.\\nThe Pemigewasset River rises in the beautiful sheet of water known as\\nProfile Lake, and runs through the enchanting valley that takes its\\nname from it, and up which, for some 20 miles, we had been traveling.\\nWe were now fairly among the mountains. For several miles the other\\nside of Woodstock the cameras had seen hard service, and many were the\\nviews caught and stored away in the little black boxes on the handle-bars\\nof the machines. All the day, from the time we left Sanborn s, succes-\\nsions of hills came into view, each rising higher than the other, then\\nlarger mountains loomed up through the gaps in the lower hills and across\\nthe intervales, and still we kept climbing, climbing until the hills became\\nmountains all round, and we landed, as before remarked, in North Wood-\\nstock for dinner, and then passed on up the road through the Franconia\\nNotch. The railroad ends at North Woodstock, and from there on to the\\nProfile House all travel is carried on by stage-coach, a number of which\\nancient equipages we saw while in the mountains. Shortly after leaving\\nWoodstock we caught up with and passed one of these lumbering six-", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0044.jp2"}, "45": {"fulltext": "37\\nhorse coaches. It was loaded with people, satchels, boxes, and trunks,\\nand the horses had a hard pull. The professional tooling it, did not like\\nthe idea of us passing him, and kept us pocketed in the narrow roadway\\nfor nearly a quarter of a mile, but a level stretch a little wider than the\\ngeneral run of roadway gave us the desired chance, and we bade him\\ngood-bye. We made as good time as he did, notwithstanding the heavy\\ngrades, and reached the Lake ahead of him.\\nProfile Lake lies directly off the road to the left before you reach the\\ngreat hostelry known as the Profile House. You go down a number of\\nsteps and find yourself on the shore of a charming lakelet, with the pine-\\ncovered hills rising all around it, and away up above it, standing out\\nagainst the sky from the mountain side, is the wonderful natural rock for-\\nmation known as the Profile. It is a gigantic and most truthful side view\\nof a human face standing out from the side of Mount Cannon, and looking\\nacross the waters of the lake to the wooded heights beyond, the wonder-\\nful freak of nature is an object of interest to all who visit this beautiful\\nspot. Our view of the phenomenon was as nothing compared with what\\nmore fortunate travelers are favored with. The Old Man of the Moun-\\ntain, as the wonder is termed locally, had his nightcap on, and we were\\nin too great a hurry to reach shelter before the threatening storm should\\nbreak, to wait for him to take it off. The thunder was growling round us\\nonce more as we turned our backs on the lake and rode as fast as possible\\ntoward the Profile House.\\nYou come suddenly on this noted house of entertainment among the\\nhills. It lies in a sort of nest among the mountains, an infant plateau sur-\\nrounded on all sides by towering pine-covered heights, from which there\\nappears to be no means of egress, once you get in among them. Just as\\nwe reached the place, the threatening clouds burst almost over our heads,\\nand we made a break up the board incline leading to the coach-house, to\\nsecure our wheels and the precious packs from what appeared a second\\ndeluge,\\nYou re lucky to get in, said a big stableman, and you had better\\nstay in, too, you can t cross a hundred yards there without being soaked\\nthrough.\\nWe were starting across to the house, but at that moment it seemed as\\nthough a cloud had burst overhead, there was a blinding flash of lightning,\\na deafening crash of thunder, and then a rush of water as if a continuous\\nsheet were falling, instead of a million of separate drops. In a moment the\\nwhole road took on the semblance of a lake, and we began to understand\\nwhat a storm among the hills meant.\\nI guess we re booked to stay here all night, said Chester, ruefully, for\\nwe had calculated to spend the night on the other side of the mountains,\\nin the village of Franconia.\\nOh you re all right if you want to go 6n, said one of the men, this\\nthing won t last longer nor half an hour, here be you going to\\nWe told him we were bound for Mt. Washington, and on to Labrador,\\nor somewhere else, and he seemed mightily surprised when he heard that\\nwe hailed from Philadelphia.\\nYou wait about quarter of an hour after the rain stops, and then you\\ncan ride down the mountain to Franconia without much trouble, he said.\\nSure enough, the rain expended itself inside of half an hour, and as we\\nunderstood the distance was inside of five miles to Franconia, and down\\ngrade, too, a treat which we had not experienced for a long time, we decided\\nto push forward instead of putting up at the Profile for the night. A coach,", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0045.jp2"}, "46": {"fulltext": "the one that had come up with us, was just setting out when we started,\\nbut within five minutes we had passed it, and then commenced a-going\\ndown process which the members of the Quartette will probably re-\\nmember as long as they live. It was one continuous descent of the\\nmountain for about three miles. In places the rush of water had swept\\nthe roadway clear of everything but the substratum of young rocks and\\nstones. The seething waters had carried the sandy surface down to each\\nthank-you-mam, and left it on its upper side, so that, when you rode up\\nto one of these humps, the surface would appear level, but suddenly,\\nswish you went into about eight inches of sand and slush, then came a\\nbump, and then a skyv, ard elevation from the saddle, and then a useless\\nputting on of the brake, and race, if not for life, at least for safety. It\\nwas hold on like grim death and go it, if you ever expected to get there,\\nfor to get off was merely to walk into a regular slough of despond. If the\\nmachines could cut through the aggregations of mud and sand, and if they\\nwould but hold together over the terrible beds of exposed rocks and stones\\nand if through it all you could keep your seat, then all right, if not all\\nwrong.\\nSuddenly the clouds broke away as if by magic. We were skirting\\ndown the mountain side, and if it were not for the then uncomfortable,\\nnot to say dangerous state of affairs, I could now describe something that\\nis but seldom seen, at any rate seldom seen by myself. I could only get a\\nmomentary glance every now and then at an enchanting picture of blue-\\ngreen sky, red and amber tinted clouds, gleaming sunlight striking the\\ntops of the hills in one quarter, and wild rolling masses of white vapor\\nenveloping them in another. I mentally blessed that storm the one\\nmoment and mentally cursed the roadway the next, for I could not use\\nmy lips, my teeth were clenched, and my right hand was numb from hold-\\ning the brake, my left little finger was in the same condition from the\\npeculiar position I had it in holding the handle-bar, and it remained of but\\nlittle use to me for the balance of the trip. Down, down, still down, it was\\nthe longest three-miles coast I had ever struck. The rest were ahead, and\\nI had two fears, one that I should come upon one or more of them laid\\nout for waking, or else, that 1 myself might be cast away on this desolate\\nand dissolute piece of mediaeval macadam, and my companions be none\\nthe wiser. Down, still down, into the dusk of the valley, with the hills\\ngetting higher and higher behind, the glorious sunset flashing redder and\\nredder through the gaps of the hills, and that is all I knew until I almost\\nran smack up against a once white shirted individual whom I recognized\\nas our usually neat and natty Laurie. He was bending over his machine.\\nI could not stop if 1 wanted to, and ploughed past him through a swish-\\ning compound of mud, sand, and water. I could not even ask if he was\\nhimself or his ghost, and then I passed Chester who was also off.\\nWe re at the end, Laurie s broken his chain, he shouted, as I found\\nthe mud doing more for me in the way of a brake than the regular article\\nhad done or could do. Don t get off, he continued.\\nI rode on for about a hundred yards, until I struck a comparatively\\nhard spot, and then I jumped off into about two inches of red clay. Gil\\nWiese was some distance ahead, and after taking a momentary glance at\\nthe cloud-capped blue mountains behind us, I mounted and rode after him,\\nhalf a mile to the Lafayette House, on the left of the road, where we\\nthought it about time to call a halt.\\nGilbert got in ahead, and two more sorry-looking travelers you could\\nhardly find in a year s riding than we two as we stood on the hotel porch", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0046.jp2"}, "47": {"fulltext": "39\\nand looked up the road for the other half of the Quartette. Mud\\nwell, the backs of our white riding-shirts had changed color, there must\\nhave been a pound or so of sandy mud on them. In this element of sand\\nwas our only salvation. Had the surface of the road been clay, we would\\nnever have gotten down that grade on the machines, the wheels would\\nhave clogged inside of a few yards. As it was, however, we ran through\\nsoft spots from one-half to nearly a foot deep, the bark of which was worse\\nthan their bite, as the sand and water spurted out ahead in a kind of jet,\\nand went off behind in the same fashion, and rolled from the hubs and\\nspokes before having time to clog. We both had a good laugh at each\\nother, for, to put it literally, we were sanded all over. By and by, Laurie\\nand Chester came along, and the machines were consigned to the coach-\\nhouse, and the confession will have to be made without cleaning, for\\nwhich laziness we paid up next morning.\\nTalk about a place of rest for the weary, the Lafayette House was cer-\\ntainly such a place for us that night. Having caught some little of the\\nrain we were naturally anxious for something to warm up the inner man\\nand prevent danger of cold, but could not procure, before supper, any-\\nthing better than champagne cider, which was about the best of its kind\\nI ever sampled. After supper the porch was laid under requisition, and\\nour usual programme of a smoke and a chat indulged in. Some one of\\nthe party proposed to tell stories, but the proposition fell flat. The air\\nwas damp and rather chilly, and a white mist, a legacy from the late storm,\\nrolled down the valley.\\nI don t see why we should not spin a few yarns during our travels,\\nsaid Laurie. Gil, have you not a story to tell us\\nIf you give me an hour or so to think, perhaps I may scare up some-\\nthing. Go ahead yourself and tell one, said Gilbert, between whiffs.\\nWell, let s all agree to retail something strange or wonderful on four\\nfavorable opportunities, suggested Chester.\\nAfter some discussion, it was agreed that the plan was not such a bad\\none, but as no one appeared in a humor to start the ball rolling on that\\nevening, it was voted to have the first story from Gil Wiese on the first\\nfavorable occasion, when the Quartette would be taking things\\neasy.\\nWhat will be the subject of the novel, Gil queried Laurie. Recol-\\nlections of the City of Washington, or Wanderings in Africa Something\\nlurid, you know.\\nI don t know who will prove himself the biggest liar, said Gil, but\\nI ll do my best. Maybe I ll tell how we used to run an election in Pitts-\\nburgh.\\nMac, why don t you get up a new song for Gil, I m tired of hearing\\nhim give us that eternal steady, boys, steady, etc., that product of Wash-\\nington, you know, said Laurie.\\nIf you help me, I will get him up one in a few minutes, the writer\\nventured to remark.\\nCome along, then, we ll do it, said Chester, with more alacrity than\\nhad been expected of him, and forthwith Laurie and Gil were left on the\\nporch, and the other half of the Quartette went into the house to hunt\\nup some model on which to build a song for Gil. Chester hauled down\\na copy of Byron and broached the subject-matter of the effusion right\\naway, from which, it is reasonable to suppose, he had been thinking of\\nputting the job up on his companion for some time. Between the two\\nheads and the one model the following, after much labor, was evolved.", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0047.jp2"}, "48": {"fulltext": "40\\nA SONG OF TRAVEL.\\nCome hither, come hither, my Httle foot-page,\\nI ll tell you a story of love.\\nThat was coined where the good are supposed to hang out.\\nIn a region that s somewhere above.\\nI was riding one day by the side of the way,\\nWith my thoughts in a heavenly jamb,\\nWhen that side-path gave out, and my thoughts in a shout\\nReached the climax of bliss in oh\\nThe side-path that looks like a maid in her teenK,\\nAs fair as that white lily which,\\nIf you lose your poor head, will land you, as I\\nFound that side-path land me, in the ditch.\\nSo, take warning, take warning, my little foot-page.\\nAnd through life as you travel take care\\nThat you keep your eye open alike when you treat\\nWith a side-path or maid who looks fair,\\nAnd square.\\nOr I swear\\nYour young heart or your pants you may tear\\nSomewhere\\nOr everywhere.\\nWhenever you want to see a new rider do his prettiest take him on a\\njourney where a few side-paths have to be negotiated. For the matter of\\nthat, old riders very often fail to have an exalted idea of the delights of\\nriding in a six-inch track.", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0048.jp2"}, "49": {"fulltext": "CHAPTER VIII.\\nFRANCONIA TO FABYANS AND MOUNT WASHINGTON.\\nLord of the hills and vales which lie below\\nThe great expanse of bpoad New Hampshire s sky,\\nTis nothing that the tempests round thee blow,\\nOr that the clouds upon thy forehead lie,\\nTis nothing that the might of man has laid\\nHis hand upon thee, and proclaimed that thou\\nArt his, to cater to his will and lift\\nFor him thy form on high. See now\\nWe strain to see the poise of thy proud head,\\nBut, in thy mute disdain of our desire\\nCloudland is marshalled to repel our tread.\\nWhat a job we had after breakfast on that morning at Franconia, The\\nchains had to be taken off all the machines, including the hickory, and\\nthe bearings of all with the exception of the hickory had to be taken off\\nand cleaned. The wheels very nearly refused to turn at all, for between the\\nrust and mud on them they looked more like street cleaners paraphernalia\\nin wet weather than like respectable bicycles.\\nIt was after eleven o clock before we made a start, and then having\\ntaken a few pictures, we bade adieu to the Lafayette and Franconia and\\nmade tracks for Bethlehem in New Hampshire, for dinner.\\nOur ultimate destination was Fabyans, the distances being Bethlehem four\\nmiles, Bethlehem Junction eight miles, Fabyans eighteen miles. The road\\nlies up and down up and down but of course mostly up all the way. We\\nwere surprised to find the roadway on the whole fair, and going down into\\nBethlehem Junction, another magnificent coast repaid us for the labor of\\nclimbing. This time no storm was on hand to detract from the pleasures of\\nrapid transit and the thank-you-mams were negotiated with comparative\\nease. It was getting well on into the afternoon and we were beginning to\\nfeel the calls of the inner man and nine miles lay before us to Fabyans.\\nBoys, said Gilbert, it is fair to suppose that the road ahead is by no\\nmeans level as we have decided to come back this road to Bethlehem\\nlet us train it to Fabyans,\\nWe all looked at Gil when he thus delivered himself, but the wisdom of\\nhis proposition struck us at once. If we had one hour more all right, but\\neven by laying the railroad under contribution we would be barely in time\\nfor supper.\\nAll right, said Laurie, but I insist on riding back we want to cover\\nevery foot of land and water at least one way by boat or bicycle.\\nIt did not take us long to pile into the Concord Montreal train which\\nwas just starting, and in fifteen or twenty minutes time we found ourselves\\nat Fabyans and under the shadow of Mount Washington. Aboard the\\ntrain a better informed traveler than ourselves let us into the knowledge\\nthat if we cared less for style than comfort, the White Mountain House,\\nabout a mile below Fabyans, was a good place to put up at, so to the White\\nMountain House we went, and found it a hospitable stopping-place, the\\nlandlord paying us great attention and stating that he had had several cy-\\ncling guests during the season already. Fabyans lies, you might say, at the\\n6 41", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0049.jp2"}, "50": {"fulltext": "42\\nfoot of Mount Washington and the hotel is located almost on the railroad\\nplatform, and altogether on the direct road to the Crawford Notch.\\nOn our reaching the noted hotel in the hills, our first thought was for a\\nlook at Mount Washington. We were disappointed in this direction, the\\nKing of the New Hampshire mountains had his crown or his cap which-\\never you like to call it pulled down over his ears, in the shape of a bank\\nof white cloud. We wasted no time round the big hotel, or in looking for\\nwhat we could not see, but turned our wheels down the road and were\\nsoon enjoying a good supper at the White Mountain House. The evening\\nwas a glorious one, the sky was not devoid of clouds, but the air was clear\\nand the ground had benefited by the rain of the previous day, being firm,\\nand having the dust laid, it was pleasant to both ride and walk over.\\nAccompanied by several of the other guests at the hotel, the Quartette\\nvisited the pretty little waterfall that lies about three-quarters of a mile be-\\nlow the White Mountain House. The place is well worth visiting, the\\nriver rushing through a narrow gorge in the rocks, and running into a large\\ndark pool below the point of curtailment. The ledges of rock are cut and\\nworn away by the action of the fast-rushing flood into a variety of forma-\\ntions and the channel is almost choked up in places by the numerous logs\\nwhich, cut above, have floated down and are thrown in every conceivable\\nway on the rocks in the centre of the stream and along the sides.\\nOn our return from the waterfall, one of our party, Mr. Myron J. Ferren,\\nwho is member for Stoneham in the Massachusetts Legislature, proposed\\nthat the Quartette should go up with him to Fabyans and take a look at\\nthe celebrated hostelry. We all piled into a rumbling old bus and drove\\nthe mile to the hotel. The full complement of guests were not at this im-\\nmense summering resort, but, for all that, the large hall with its big open\\nfireplace, and its wealth of Japanese fans and other light and tasty adorn-\\nments was well filled with mountain sojourners, who were sitting round its\\nwide extent reading, chatting, and otherwise amusing themselves. In the\\nlarge parlor an orchestra was in full swing, with a bevy of children danc-\\ning in and out among the rich furnishings. The dining-room, a splepdid\\nhall, was evidently not yet under requisition for the large number of guests\\nit is calculated to accommodate, and the billiard and bar rooms were also\\nevidently waiting for the great rush of business a little later on. We were\\nahead of time for the big season in the mountains.\\nGoing back in the bus with us were a few other travelers, and that mile\\nalong the railroad track, from Fabyans to the White Mountain House under\\nthe shadows of the near-by hills, resounded to the echoes of John Brown s\\nBody, Annie Laurie, McGinty, Marching through Georgia, The\\nOld Oaken Bucket, and other patriotic and sentimental ditties. Coming\\nnear our stopping-place, a number of the guests turned out to see who the\\nnew arrivals were, and after we had extricated ourselves from the cavern-\\nlike depths of the lumbering conveyance, the proprietor requested that the\\nQuartette the musical one, he meant would favor him with the Old\\nOaken Bucket, of which song he was extraordinarily fond.\\nIt was rather late for story telling or anything of that sort when we re-\\nturned from Fabyans, so not much time was spent on the porch that night,\\nbut after arranging to ride a couple of miles up the road the next morning\\nand take a look at Mount Washington, the very comfortable beds of the\\nWhite Mountain House were sought for a much-needed rest.\\nThe sun shone brightly next morning when we bade adieu to our rest-\\ning place of the night, and following the road for about two miles up after\\npassing Fabyans and the Mount Pleasant House, we managed to see", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0050.jp2"}, "51": {"fulltext": "43\\nMount Washington with a few less clouds on it than it had boasted on the\\nprevious day. We then turned, as per the programme arranged for the rest\\nof the trip, viz., to forego passing round to the Crawford Notch, and instead\\nof taking in further scenes among mountains, to go back to Bethlehem,\\nthence round through Littleton and across Vermont through a portion of\\nthe Green Mountains to Lake Champlain, and crossing the lake from Bur-\\nlington, take in the much-talked-of Ausable Chasm, on the New York\\nshore.\\nMount Washington is a good-sized hill, and as such it duly impressed\\nus, but the Quartette were unanimous in deciding that it would pay\\nbetter to forbear making the ascent of this local lion of the hills, and in-\\nstead take a more extended ride and see something more than mountains,\\nin fact, reach the beyond that the New York skeptic had been doubtful\\nof our ability to attain.\\nWe had a glorious day for our ride back from Fabyans, Quickly the\\ngiant bulk of Mount Washington was left behind, the turns in the road\\nand intervening hills shutting it out from view every now and then. Then\\nTwin Mountain came into view to the left, while also to the left and away\\nin the valley below us leaped and tumbled the little stream, the music of\\nwhose waters would every now and then creep up to us. The Twin Moun-\\ntain House, sitting on a high knoll facing the eminence from which it de-\\nrives its name, was soon left behind and we drew near to Bethlehem\\nJunction. From this place on to Bethlehem we had to climb the steep\\ngrade of several miles, which had been such a welcome coast coming the\\nother way. Bethlehem reached, however, we had our reward, for, running\\ndown on the road to Littleton, we had the finest coast up to that time struck\\non the trip. The grade was not very steep, and the road surface was ex-\\ncellent. The machines fairly flew, and given much of this kind of riding\\nwe had no doubt as to our ability to reach St. Johnsbury, where we pur-\\nposed stopping for the night. We had wished very much to reach Bur-\\nlington on Lake Champlain by Saturday night, as by that time we would\\nhave,been exactly two weeks on the road, but on looking up data and find-\\ning that but little could be done in Burlington on Sunday, no boats crossing\\nthe lake on that day, it was resolved to take things easy through the beau-\\n-tiful green country ahead of us, stop at St. Johnsbury Friday night, the\\n17th, Montpelier Saturday night, and Burlington Sunday. It was just as\\nwell we decided on this programme, for the road between Montpelier and\\nBurlington, at least the valley portion of it lying to the right of the noted\\nCamel s Hump Mountain, was terribly sandy and proved most exasperat-\\ning for bicycle riding.\\nWell, to go back to that grand coast after leaving Bethlehem. We were\\nstill in New Hampshire, with the pretty summering place of Littleton\\nfor our first stopping-place. It was almost dinner time when the Quar-\\ntette pulled up at the Littleton House, and on dismounting were almost\\nimmediately joined by a local wheelman, Mr. F. B. Sawyer, mounted on\\nan Eagle bicycle, who turned out to be the local L. A. W. Consul. He\\nwas extremely kind and accompanied us about a mile outside the town on\\nour leaving it after dinner.\\nHe informed us that some Philadelphia riders had passed up to the\\nmountains about a month previou and had stopped at Littleton. We\\nlooked the matter up and found that they were Messrs. Mitchell, Elliott,\\nand Nelms of our own club, who had been on an outing through the\\nBerkshire hills and had extended their trip through Montpelier and Little-\\nton to the district we had just left behind.", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0051.jp2"}, "52": {"fulltext": "44\\nAt the Littleton House Gil Wiese was in his element, A couple of\\nthose strolling players who are constantly on the move throughout the\\nsummer resorts of the hill country, happened to be at the hotel and started\\nplaying in the general room. Gil kept them there during the hour of rest\\nafter the mid-day meal, and whether it was the peculiar manner in which\\nthe dark-skinned sons of Italy handled the harp and the fiddle, or whether it\\nwas that the three different kinds of pie which our companion had sampled\\nproved too much for his equanimity, it is a fact that our musical member be-\\ncame of the color generally characteristic of bilious individuals at sea, and\\nfor the space of half an hour at the hotel, and two hours on the road after-\\nward, he was not in exactly the condition that robust and healthy wheel-\\nmen like to be. Nevertheless the Quartette rode into St. Johnsbury\\nthat evening sound in mind and body. This little incident is mentioned as\\nbeing the only case of an approach to illness among the members of the\\nQuartette during the entire trip, and possibly the extreme heat of the\\nday had something to do with creating this single break in the monotony\\nof good health.\\nWe had struck some good riding running into Littleton, but it was on\\nleaving this noted summer resort that we dropped upon some of the most\\nenjoyable ups and downs of what to that date had been a most up and\\ndown excursion.\\nOur route from Littleton lay through Waterford, and to reach the Ver-\\nmont side we had to cross the Connecticut River, which is at this point a\\nwide stream. A bridge is in course of construction now on the site of an\\nold structure, and pending its completion travelers are ferried across on a\\nlarge float. Not knowing the topography of the place, we passed this\\nferrying point about a quarter of a mile before finding out our mistake.\\nSome farm hands on the far side of the river, noting us going down the\\nroad, and guessing our desired route, shouted to us and motioned us back,\\nand without much difficulty we found the semi- byway leading down to the\\nford. The float, which carries wagons as well as pedestrians, makes the\\ncross-stream trip by means of a rope swung across the stream on wtiich\\nare rings and pulleys, and the novel stage is attached to these by other\\nropes, and is part poled across by the man in charge, and partly carried\\nacross by the action of the current, Laurie took a picture of the water-\\nman and his craft, but this tribute did not prevent the sunburned knight\\nof the pole and pulley from levying on us the customary tribute of a few\\ncents for the short voyage. It was from this point that we struck some of\\nthe enjoyable riding referred to above. Splendid coasts under arches of\\ngrand trees, and oftentimes along the sides of hills whose green sides, to-\\ngether with the green fields of the valleys and also of the opposite ranges\\nof hills, give ample evidence of the reason why Vermont should hold the\\nname it does, and why it should have the Green Mountains within its\\nborders.\\nThe only time when the Quartette so far forgot its dignity and its\\nrules of travel as to indulge in road-racing was on the dusty and, at times,\\nrutty macadam road running into St. Johnsbury. A supposed denizen of\\nthat neighborhood with his supposed best girl in the buggy with him passed\\nthe party, making no bones about taking the best portion of the road to\\nhimself and his horse and his accompanying load of sweet seventeen more\\nor less, and he evidently thought that by whipping up his Vermont trotter\\nhe could leave the Quartette of pedal-pushers far in the rear. He did\\nleave us for a season, but after about a mile and a half, after missing him,\\ncoming round a bend in the road, we drew up with him again. Owing to", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0052.jp2"}, "53": {"fulltext": "45\\nthe hilly configuration of the country it is impossible, especially as the\\nQuartette is a very modest one, especially in the matter of its own\\nachievements, to tell our readers exactly vi^hy it was we caught up.\\nWhether it was because we were fast riders or because the lord of the\\nbuggy had been taking advantage of the romantic loneliness and loveliness\\nof the surroundings to whisper lovely things to the second occupant of the\\nvehicle. Whatever the reason, we came right up on the handler of the\\nwhip and ribbons and passed him. Evidently our return of his compliment\\nto us did not please him or the lady, for on the first opportunity the whip\\nwas brought into requisition and the Vermont trotter responded to a\\nspanking by passing us the second time. Well said the Quartette,\\nwe will let him alone for a while until a good chance occurs, and then we\\nwill see what his trotter is made of. Accordingly, a respectful distance\\nwas maintained in the rear of the Green Mountain Maud S. until the rise\\nof the ground commenced going up to St. Johnsbury, when, on the up-\\ngrade, the Quartette drew close up behind and watched for what was\\nto come. At the top of the grade and in sight of the town the driver\\nagain whipped up his nag, but this time the pedal-pushers kept close up\\nbehind, though the dust was something fearful. Next thing the trotting\\ngenius knew was that one-half of the Quartette were by and speeding\\nalong the level into St. Johnsbury. Then there was a vigorous plying of\\nthe whip, and a quarter-mile dash followed in which the horse and buggy\\ncome off second best, clean up to the big hill in the middle of the town to\\nthe no small edification of a number of citizens, who evidently enjoyed the\\nspectacle and sympathized with the bicyclers.\\nThe Quartette lodged that night at the Avenue House.\\nSt. Johnsbury did not possess sufficient attractions to tempt us on an\\ninvestigating tour after supper. Recourse to the hotel porch was there-\\nfore in order, and while enjoying the regular rest after the day s ride, with\\na quiet smoke for one-half of the Quartette, Chester proposed that\\nGil should tell the story which he had promised. Our fourth portion\\nacquiesced, and with the prefatory statement that he was no story-teller and\\nthat his tale would be brief, started as follows\\na PITTSBURGH ELECTION.\\nYou may give Pittsburgh credit for being a smoky city, but there are\\nmany bright things there, as well as many dark things, some bright men\\nand some bright women.\\nReally, now; well, I m surprised, drawled the dry and caustic\\nLaurie. Laurie could be caustic, we found that out, although his tempera-\\nment is generally the reverse.\\nFacts are facts, and surprise don t make or unmake them, was the\\nrejoinder blown back by the story-teller in a cloud of cigarette odor,\\nwhich, by the way, Laurie detested.\\nWell, as I was saying, pursued Gilbert, Pittsburgh is a very good\\ncity good for business, good to live in good for politics, as Chris Magee\\nmakes pretty plain to your Philadelphia head-cook, Matthew Stanley Quay,\\nwho, it would seem, has cooked his goose a little too brown of late, and\\nwho may have consequently less gravy in the future than he has had in\\nthe past. There are other politicians in Pittsburgh and Allegheny City,\\nhowever, besides Chris Magee, and some of them have long heads, too,\\nas you shall see when I tell you how John Michael Carroll put his man\\nin from a ward very near to ours in the big city on the Allegheny.\\nJohn-Michael is a pretty strong name combination, if I recollect my", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0053.jp2"}, "54": {"fulltext": "46\\nreligious education right, to say nothing of the Carroll part of it. liut\\nplain Mike or Mickey was the appellation which this great power in his\\ndivision was known by, and it must have been in his case the essence of\\nJudea and Ilibernia boiled down into one strong condiment that made the\\nname of Mickey a tower of strength in the division of the\\nWard.\\nBut to get down to business. There was a hot time one fall in Alle-\\ngheny City and Pittsburgh, and while general issues did not run high, the\\nlocal-issue pot was just boiling over, because there was some glory and\\nconsiderable money depending on the result of what was a close fight.\\nOf course, Mickey was in it, and every one knew that the matter of\\na very few votes, no matter how they came, or where they came from,\\nwould swing things either way. Well, though Mickey lives in a big house\\nnow, and has an odd dollar to spend on the boys now and then, at that\\ntime he was in as tight a financial place as his party was in a tight political\\none, and the worst of it was that he had nothing but his name to raise the\\nwherewithal on. His name was all right, it was a thing to swear by in\\nthe district, but scarcely good enough security to loan money on, especially\\nin troublesome times such as then existed for himself and his friends.\\nOne night some of us were at the club, where it was customary for us to\\ngather to chat over local matters and sing a (ew songs, for some of us\\nwere struck in the musical way, and who should walk in but Mickey.\\nHello, Mickey the Mighty, how goes things? sang out Will.\\nWill is enough to designate one of the jolliest fellows in our crowd in\\nthose days. How goes it, Mickey Will Develin go through all right?\\nThat s more than I can tell, or you either, the way things is goin\\nnow, replied the new arrival, and then he continued, I want to see a\\ncouple of you fellows, \\\\Vill and Jake there, and you, Johnson.\\nWe went over to a corner of the room with the light of the\\nward, and his first words were\\nBoys, I want just $ioo.\\nYou come the wrong place to get it, old man. Look at that, said\\nWill, and at the same time he pulled out a larown morocco case he always\\ncarried, and laid a ten-dollar bill, a five, and three ones on the table.\\nWe re all poor here but what do you want it for, bail\\nThere is not much use in saying what I want it for, but I tell you\\nwhat the ward wants, it wants to win in to-morrow s fight just 89^ votes,\\nthat s what the ward wants no matter what I want.\\nEighty-nine and a half votes, we all repeated, with a heavy stress\\nlaid on the /la//. What on earth do you mein, Mdce, by a half vote\\nNever mind what I mean, it s just as I say. We want 89)2 votes to\\nwin the grandest fight we ve had here for ages. Now, who s the man to\\nput up 5100, if I go on record to win the fight?\\nWon t $Sgj4 do, Mickey queried Jake, laughingly, anyhow, where\\ndoes that half vote come in\\nJohn Michael looked very wise as he said\\nThat s my business; you can bet I ve got down to close figuring when\\nI get into half votes.\\nThat s the funniest thing I ever heard of, said Will, while Johnson\\nlooked at Michael as though he thought he had been out too long with the\\nboys. Look here, now, can I have that hundred, I ll give security,\\nsaid Mike.\\nNever mind the security, tell us about the mutilated vote the explana-\\ntion may be worth fifty, said Johnson.", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0054.jp2"}, "55": {"fulltext": "47\\nWell it s a matter of logic and common sense, is that half vote, said\\nthe would-be borrower. I ll take fifty for telling who the half vote is,\\nand, as I said before, I ll give security for the other fifty, if you ll only put\\nthe money up.\\na We re good for fifty anyhow, and maybe for more, on good security.\\nGo ahead and relieve our curiosity, Mickey, said Johnson.\\nAnd yez are good for the money, are yez put in the cautious Michael,\\nrelapsing for the moment into his old-time vernacular.\\nOf course we are, go on, was the chorus from the crowd around him.\\nA broad grin overspread Michael s face.\\nFaith then, he said, it s just this way. You know Fritz Guigenheimer,\\nboys, good Fritz, the best Dutch Republican I ever run against. Well,\\nyou know, he got married six months ago, to as pretty a little woman as\\never walked in Pittsburgh, but faith the beauty s all spoiled, all on account\\nof her bein one of them temperance crowd, over the hill there, she played\\nthe mischief with Fritz up to a week ago but he s feelin better now, I\\nguess, seein he s half booked to vote the Democratic ticket to-morrow.\\nYes, we all know Fritz, but about the half vote, the half vote, that s\\nwhat we want, we all cried.\\nWell, an isn t that what I m comin to, haven t yez any patience\\nwhile I m talkin about the ladies, and wan of the best of them at that.\\nBut, anyhow, here s the whole story of the half, and I hope ye ll all be\\nsatisfied. Fritz and his wife is wan, isn t they now, and Michael again\\ndropped into the vernacular. Now, I ve got the wife, and bein as the\\ntwo is wan, and I have wan, and the wan or the two, whichever yez like,\\nhas a vote, and I have the half of the one, aint I got half of a vote,\\naint I now\\nThe earnestness with which this unique story was given threw us all\\ninto convulsions of laughter.\\nMickey, you can reason like a Harvard professor, said Will, be-\\ntween the peals of laughter.\\nOh but wait, I haven t told yez all, wait till I tell yez the strategy,\\nraal Ginral Grant strategy, I employed to get the half. Ye see Fritz got\\nlet off to go down to that nest of pirates, at the Jim Blaine Club, No. 3,\\nwhere the other side works from, just for an hour once a week. Well,\\nhe filled his wife up full with the notion that the Republicans were to\\nfight against rum, in all shape and form, and I knew it, and I says to\\nmeself, Fritz, me boy, if I can fill you up full of the best whisky that\\never came out of ould Ireland, your vote s mine. And I did it. It wasn t\\nright by the little woman, boys, was it but what business had the fellow\\ngoin and makin out to her that the Republicans in the ward were all\\nsaints and the rest of us sinners. Yes, that woman believes that if the\\nRepublicans win, the whole country, law, order, and everything else will\\nbust sure. She s bound Fritz will vote the Democratic ticket this time,\\nand don t you forget it.\\nMickey, you ought to be ashamed of yourself, breaking up the domestic\\nfelicity of a worthy man, said Will, with mock solemnity.\\nDomestic felicity what s domestic felicity where a vote s consarned,\\nand haven t I me own domestic felicity, as you call it, to look out for, but\\nyez see, here s just how we managed it.\\nI had Mary Casey tip the wink to the old woman that it was goin the\\nrounds that her husband went home from the club along with half a dozen\\nof the boys with more happiness in his heart than his sweet little new wife\\ncould put there. Of course there was a devil of a row among the women", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0055.jp2"}, "56": {"fulltext": "48\\nover it, and Mrs. Fritz indignantly denied the allegation, and wanted to\\nknow who dared spread such reports about her husband. Well, two nights\\nafter there was a big deal to be fixed, and a certain party fixed Fritz, so he\\nshould have just enough as was good for him, and he walked home feelin\\nas though he was runnin the whole division. I don t know what happened\\nthat night, but Fritz went home straight after the next meetin The next\\ntime, however, when the big caucus was over, some of the boys got together,\\nand a couple of friends of mine got in with the crowd and engineered\\nthings so nice that happiness was no name for their frame of mind, and\\nthough Fritz walked home as straight as wan of the bulrushes that didn t\\nbend over to look at little Moses in his cradle, still he had a dozen cigars in\\nhis pocket and a pretty little light in his eye, in case he didn t have a match\\nin the other pocket. Well, that fixed it, with what Mary Casey said about\\nwe Democrats being dead set ag in liquor and Mrs. Fritz Guigenheimer\\nswore in her own manner, up and down that Fritz shouldn t go any more\\nto the Jim Blaine, No. 3, and that he should vote the Democratic ticket,\\nif she had to go to the polls and see him do it. There, now, what do you\\nthink of that for a half vote anyhow Where s that hundred\\nMickey, you don t deserve anything, you rascal indeed you don t,\\nsaid Will, who had enjoyed the recital, as he did any piece of clever fun,\\nbut where s the security for the other fifty? you re a great worker, and you\\ndeserve help, but you re an awful schemer.\\nIf I get that hundred, I ll get the best part of the 89^ votes we want.\\nCome along, you fellows, and I ll show you the security.\\nCuriosity led us to follow Michael round a few blocks and up to the\\nhill lying some distance from our meeting place.\\nThere, do you see that house sitting right up there near the top of that\\nhill, there s me security. But you don t own it, Mickey. You re going\\ncrazy, I think, said Johnson, eying him suspiciously. Oh but I will,\\nthough, if this thing goes the way we want it. You just let me get them\\n^9/4 votes, and that house is mine, and $100 won t be a drop in the bucket\\nfor me to fix up. Come now, boys, you won t see me. left for a mean little\\nhundred.\\nThe upshot of the thing was that Michael got his $100 on the security\\nof his well-known ability as a worker, backed by his prospective ownership\\nof real estate.\\nThe night after the election, he turned up where we were all gathered\\nat the club-house and handed a large envelope to Will, saying, as he\\nswelled his big chest out,\\nThere you are, gentlemen, there s your ^100, and many thanks. On\\nthe strength of the win yesterday I borrowed a loan, I did, and first thing\\npay back me just dues.\\nBut how did you get your 89 1/ votes. Mickey, tell us that, said Will.\\nNinety votes if you please, and 90 to the back of them, 90, gentle-\\nmen, because the half wan turned into a whole wan, whin Mrs. Fritz\\nGuigenheimer walked up to the polls and kept an eye on the little man\\nFritz. But yez want to know about the votes, well here s how 47 of em\\ncame anyhow are yez all true blue?\\nThere were seven of us, and we were all, as Michael said, true blue.\\nDo you know, boys, what I did with that little $100. I just laid in\\na big stock of victuals and drink, with the balance of quantity slightly on\\nthe side of the latter article, and with the cash left over I went down to\\nIsaac Isaacs and says I,\\nIsaac, you re a good Democrat I knew he wasn t, you know", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0056.jp2"}, "57": {"fulltext": "49\\nnow don t you think you ought to get the contract for the suits for those\\nItalian pavers who are going to be fixed up by our friend to work\\nacross the river for one year?\\nSure, says Isaac, sure, I can make those garmints that I have in\\nstock sell at almost nothing prices for those men.\\nWell, I says, if there s enough votes the right way to-morrow\\nyou gets the job, and lots more. Have you any relations, Isaac, over-age\\nones. I mean citizens, you know\\nOh yesh, yesh, lotsh, lotsh, hundreds I have\\nThere, that will do, Isaac as an earnest of what I say, I will buy a\\ncouple of dozen of these old hats, a dozen and a half of those second-\\nhand coats, and that bundle of odd sizes of pants there. How much\\nThe descendant of Oriental traders charged just twice as much as the\\nthings were worth, but you bet the good cause did not suffer.\\nIsaac, I said, I want these things for my wife, she is dead struck\\non the Indians out West, poor souls, and some of them haven t a rag to\\ntheir backs.\\nZe poor creatures, said good Isaac, with a grin, don t ze dear sav-\\nage red man want some of deze neckties, dey is sheep, vera sheep.\\nNo, thank you, Isaac, no, thank you, I said, my wife can t expect\\nme to buy her protegees I said protegees gold watches and neckties in\\naddition to the regular articles of civilized wear.\\nVera well, I will tink veramuch to-night and to-morrow about ze\\nother matter.\\nDo, Isaac, do, I said, you will find it to your advantage to do so,\\nmy friend, and then I walked home.\\nNow, boys, it s a hard thing to say, but it s a fact, can t help it being\\none, that more happy rtien went to the polls from our division yesterday,\\nbefore the result was known, than went to sleep after it.\\nMickey, you re a great rascal, said Johnson.\\nMichael paid no attention to the remark, but continued You should\\nhave seen old man Dunkleberger, after voting. Some of the boys had\\nhim round to the house. He was very foolish, when he got there, to mis-\\ntake champagne for cider, and after that to mistake one of Isaac s old hats\\nand coats for brand-new goods straight from Zusky s and swap his own\\noff for them, and then, most strange to say, he forgot he had voted and\\nwould insist on going to the polls again, and, stranger still, he made the\\nsame mistake later in the day when, in company with Doc. Adams, he\\nwent to get shaved, and the barber, mistaking orders, trimmed his whis-\\nkers goatee fashion, and his own wife did not want to let him in the house.\\nThe old man got his back up, and blest if he didn t have Doc. take him\\nround to vote again, as he fancied he was a fellow named Jigger or Jag-\\nger who had moved away from the division two years ago.\\nIt was a great stroke of policy, it was more, it was strategy, down-\\nright strategy, boys, and as he thus delivered himself Michael lay back in\\nhis chair and looked every inch a Ginral Grant, as he said himself.\\nThen a twinkle came in his eye as he said\\nI was goin to forget the best thing of the whole business. That con-\\nfounded old Isaac came round to the house this morning, and what do you\\nsuppose he wanted\\nSuppose he wanted to tell you he had voted the right way and wanted\\nthe contract, said Johnson.\\nThe divil a bit, he knew very well I knew how he voted. Do you\\nknow what the old sinner came after Why, he wanted to turn purchaser\\n7", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0057.jp2"}, "58": {"fulltext": "so\\nhimself. My dear Mr. Carroll, says he, an does ze Mrs. Carroll still\\nwant those goods for ze poor Indians. I vill buy zum back if freights is\\ntoo high just now. Do you know I liked the grasping old son of Abraham\\nand I let him have the whole lot, minus three hats and two coats for 25\\ncents. And that s how we did the business, boys. Pretty neat, wasn t it,\\nand there s your money back and many thanks for the accommodation.\\nMichael put on his hat, a new silk one, by the way, and went out,\\nwhile we discussed what had been to us an incident of peculiar interest.\\nIt is a fact that John Michael Carroll very shortly afterward acquired by\\npurchase the property he pointed out to us on the hill the night before\\nthat election, and there is not a man now among his friends in Pittsburgh\\nwho would question his ability to repay the loan of a hundred dollars a\\nhundred times over.\\nThere, now, the Quartette has had my story for all it is worth. It s\\ntime to turn in, and forthwith the four travelers retired to dream of high\\nhills and honest politics.", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0058.jp2"}, "59": {"fulltext": "CHAPTER IX.\\nACROSS VERMONT.\\nGreen are the hills and the valleys\\nAnd green is each mountain chain,\\nThat, stretching across the fair Vermont\\nSweeps down to the broad Champlain\\nThere Mansfield rears on high its head\\nWhere the clouds in jealous rest\\nAre holding council in billowy folds\\nFlung over its lordly crest,\\nAnd the Camel s Hump with curving line\\nCut clear where the cloudland ends,\\nAnd marking against the blue a blot\\nThat back to the traveler sends\\nSweet thoughts of the hills and vales that lie\\nIn New Hampshire and in Maine\\nNow left behind that with flowing sail\\nHe may sweep o er broad Champlain.\\nAt St, Johnsbury the symmetry of the Quartette suffered a sad blow.\\nOur hard-riding, good natured Chester had to leave us. We had been two\\nweeks on the road, and it was imperative that he should be home by the\\nfollowing Monday, so, on the morning of Saturday, the three-fourths of the\\nQuartette took a sorrowful farewell of the departing one-fourth, and\\nsent one of the best of traveling companions booming down the Passumpsic\\nRailroad, on his way to New York. We were extremely sorry to lose our\\nChester, and thought that in parting company at St. Johnsbury we had lost\\nthe story, which, as a member of the roving band, he had promised to con-\\ntribute for the edification of the whole. It was an agreeable surprise,\\ntherefore, when, jumping on the train, he handed a roll of paper to Laurie,\\nsaying: There, boys, is my contribution to the narrative bargain. You\\nwill forgive me for its dryness. Good-bye, and good luck for the rest of\\nthe trip.\\nWe ran out of St. Johnsbury down a short grade, passing the noted Fair-\\nbanks Scales Works on our left, and crossing a small wooden bridge, bore\\nstill to the left, and climbed a good-sized hill which took us away above\\nthe level of the town. The road was a very fair one. Our route, accord-\\ning to directions, lay through Danville and Marshfield, a distance of some\\n35 miles to Montpelier, the capital of the State. There was plenty of time\\nto make the run, as the programme was to stop at Montpelier that night,\\nand go on the next day to Burlington on the lake. It would have been a\\npity, or, as Laurie said, a downright sin, to make time in such a lovely\\ncountry. The roads were superb as far as surface went, and in the\\nway of scenery in the rural picturesque line the country was all that could\\nbe desired. A second Ireland, averred Laurie, and he was right.\\nDown long slopes with feet on the foot-rests, dispensing altogether with\\nthe labor of pedaling up long grades, walking where there was any dis-\\nposition to feel tired skirting along the sides of hills the party went, at a\\nrate of speed calculated to give a chance for a thorough enjoyment of the\\neminently rural region through which our route lay. The road between\\nDanville and St. Johnsbury is very generally traveled, and there were in\\nparts some few ruts to try our patience, but otherwise there was nothing\\n51", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0059.jp2"}, "60": {"fulltext": "52\\nto complain of about the highway. When near Marshfield, a two-horse\\nwagon with five men in it, returning from some race-meeting, was encoun-\\ntered. The men were pretty good fellows, and pulled up to ask about the\\nmachines, the wooden one especially attracting their attention. They\\nwaited for us to start in order to see if we could mount the hill which they\\nhad just come down, which feat a great one to them we successfully ac-\\ncomplished.\\nJust outside of Marshfield, and from the high ground overlooking the\\nplace, we obtained a very good view across a picturesque country, and\\njust at this point there is a half-natural, half-artificial waterfall, on the\\nOnions River, or as it is called now, the Winooski River, which latter is\\ndoubtless its original title, again bestowed on what lower down is a beau-\\ntiful stream. The cameras had again to be unstrapped at this point, and\\nabout an hour was spent clambering up and down the waterfall, catching\\nbeauties of rock and water under different auspices. There was a wealth\\nof raspberries round this neighborhood, and a few minutes industrious\\npicking resulted in quite a luxurious feed off of the red, ripe fruit. Some\\nsand was struck in this neighborhood, but not very much. I neglected to\\nmention that, getting hungry, we did not wait for dinner until we got to\\nMarshfield, but made a meal at a farmer s house by the roadside, near\\nJoe s Pond, a little lakelet, so named after some old Indian by the name\\nof Joe, who has thus left a most prosaic title for a very pretty little sheet of\\nwater. The main portion of our meal, as far as quantity went, seemed to\\nbe maple sugar, for a large basket of the toothsome commodity was broken\\nopen in our honor. After the meal, the trees from which the sugar was\\nderived were shown to us.\\nOn leaving Marshfield, it became evident that rain was in store for us,\\nand the pace was quickened in order to get into Montpelier ahead of the\\nthreatened dampness, which, most fortunately, was a thing that up to that\\ntime had not troubled us much on the trip. Also, at Montpelier we ex-\\npected to find the grip, which had been traveling all round the country\\nfrom Boston and North Conway, and which contained films for the cam-\\neras, and articles of clothing which the writer was most anxious to have,\\nas common string was scarcely the thing with which to darn stockings, and\\na gray shirt that had once been white was not the most pleasant or pre-\\nsentable garment to appear in in public. About two miles outside of Mont-\\npelier the rain came down pretty lively, and there was a medium mild\\nscorch into town. The big clock was striking six when the writer pulled\\nup at the express office, just as the clerk was locking up to go out for sup-\\nper. In answer to the demand for a grip came the answer that there was\\nno grip there, and a mixture of anger and disappointment was carried with\\nthe now broken Quartette to the post-office, and thence to the Montpe-\\nlier House.\\nGil got quite a grist of letters at this point. He had calculated on get-\\nting to Montpelier two days before we did, and had his generally volumin-\\nous correspondence directed to the capital of Vermont, so as to be absolutely\\nsure of getting it. The mail was all right, but the writer s grip was all\\nwrong, and a telegram was at once forwarded to North Conway to see\\nwhat was the matter^ with orders to forward the much-needed parapher-\\nnalia to Burlington.\\nThe rain came down heavily all the evening, much after the fashion that\\nit did at Plymouth, Mass., and there was nothing to do but stay indoors\\nafter supper, or sit on some dry corner of the porch. Very little informa-\\ntion could be gained as to the best road for bicycles to Burlington, through", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0060.jp2"}, "61": {"fulltext": "53\\nWaterbury, however, being the way that seemed to have the most favor,\\nand thence by way of Richmond, leaving Essex Junction severely alone,\\nand bearing to the left through Williston and Burlington. This was the\\nlongest way, but it was said to be the best. After we had sampled it we\\nwondered what the worst could be like.\\nThere being nothing but rain outside the house, and not very much to\\nbe done inside but talk and smoke, it was a very natural thing to call up\\nthe story-telling project, and as our departed Chester s contribution was all\\ncut and dry in Laurie s pocket, that worthy was directed to bring the same\\nout and read it, and being as curious as the rest of us to see what the\\nyounger scion of his house had to say, it needed no coaxing to bring forth\\nthe pencil-written tale of Chester, which, read by his brother, ran as fol-\\nlows:\\nMY SUMMER GIRL.\\nLightly blew the breezes over Lake George. Bright shone the sun over\\nthe royal sheet of water where I spent so many happy hours, and the\\nbeauties of which the balance of the Quartette will, no doubt, be enjoy-\\ning when I am once more in harness digging and delving amidst the wil-\\nderness of brick and stone and mortar known as Philadelphia.\\nI was on the lake in a light skiff I am on it again in imagination. I\\nsee the same ripples skimming over the placid water, I see the same beau-\\ntiful blue sky above me, and the same grand hills closing in around me\\nand jealously guarding myself and my treasure, and I hear again the soft\\nvoice, soft when whispering and soft when raised in laughter, that was\\nthen more than the world to me, and that now is a remembrance as pleas-\\nant in separation as it was then a beatific vision of loveliness in palpable\\nand tangible presence.\\nI hear you fellows saying\\nCome, now, what are you giving us, and I say in reply nothing but\\nwhat is fact, nothing but what fortunately or unfortunately for myself was\\nan incident in a life which has up to the present been singularly devoid of\\naccident, and, with one or two exceptions, absolutely free from the senti-\\nmental entanglements which are considered inseparable from youth and\\nyoung blood.\\nHold on there, Laurie, said Gil, you re making that up. I won t\\nbelieve Chester wrote any such stuff as that. Let me look.\\nHonest, Gil, it s all here. I don t know what the fellow is driving\\nat myself, said Laurie, whose eyes, as he read, had been growing to di-\\nmensions that resembled those of the conventional saucer. What s he\\ngoing to write about, anyhow continued Laurie, running his eyes down\\nthe manuscript.\\nNever mind; if you re not humbugging go ahead and read, said Gil,\\nsettling himself down in the cane-bottomed chair he occupied, and lighting\\na cigarette with an air of resignation.\\nLaurie scratched his chin in a vain search for the whiskers he was wont\\nto pull under exciting or puzzling contingencies, and proceeded as follows:\\nIt was a dream, a glorious dream, A vision of what life might be,\\nand, no doubt, what life was intended to be before the development of\\nwhat the world is pleased to call science invaded the realm of nature and\\nsentiment, and commenced to govern the actions of men and things with\\na line of wire, or a puff of second-hand water. It was a dream, I repeat,\\nthat summer by the bright waters of the royal lake a dream to be caught", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0061.jp2"}, "62": {"fulltext": "54\\nand held in the golden frame of memory as long as the life lasts that was\\nthen brightened by its existence.\\nGod bless him he talks like a book, said Gil, and that was all Gil\\nsaid during the remainder of the reading of Chester s story. Laurie pro-\\nceeded\\nI met Myra never mind her second name the summer a few years\\nago, that I was stopping at Caldwell, on Lake George. It was one of\\nthose acquaintanceships which, formed at such summering-places, rarely\\nlast longer than the circumstances or relationships which are answerable\\nfor their existence. But if any one had told me, if any one had ventured\\nto even hint to me that Myra and myself should ever think less of each\\nother than we did during that happy summer, I should have thought such\\nstatement ample cause for the demanding of satisfaction in some shape or\\nother at the hands of the embodiment of temerity making it.\\nYes, Myra was a daisy. She was a corker, and no mistake\\nabout it.\\nThere are times and seasons when the heart, feeling what the lips fail\\nto convey through the medium of words, has recourse to other means of\\nimparting a knowledge of emotions that, springing from the inmost re-\\ncesses of the soul, are on this earth, to my mind, a foretaste of what we\\nmay expect to be the joys of that future life which we are taught to look for.\\nIt was such a time with me, that summer which I refer to, when, with\\nMyra as well as with myself, the heart, too full for utterance by means of\\nthe lips, spoke with more than a passionate eloquence through the eyes,\\nthrough every feature, and through every action, in a way which seemed\\nto show that heaven, for at least two souls, had been anticipated on earth.\\nWe met by chance, as it were, at the summering house of a mutual\\nfriend. .She drove there in her pony cart I had ridden there on my bi-\\ncycle. A week later one wheel was off the pony cart and my bicycle had\\ngone to the blacksmith s, and she and I I, at any rate were floating in a\\ndream of ecstasy on that glorious dream of water known as Lake George.\\nTruly she wa_s my Myra, she was my first, my one and only love. One\\nweek had done the business. It seemed to me we were all in all to each other.\\nForgive me if I again say she, my Myra, was a daisy, a regular\\njim dandy, a corker from away back. In a week s time I was her\\nslavey forever. But to return to that one day the memory of which, like\\nthe echo of some sweet and lost song, haunts me still, and causes me at\\nmoments of retrospective leisure or of undisturbed meditation to question\\nthe eternal fitness of things as far as their relationship goes toward the\\nbeating of two hearts as one. To return, I say. The sun shone slanting\\nthrough the hills and across the waters of the lake waters stirred only\\ninto the tiniest ripples by but a baby breeze, ripples beside which the ones\\nawakened to life by the dipping of my oars appeared as great waves.\\nOver the sleeping woods, over the silver bosom of the lake, dwelt a great\\nquiet, an all-pervading restfulness that offered, could my inmost self have\\nbeen as open to an observer as was the face of nature round me, a marked\\nand wonderful contrast to the tumult going on within me. vShe was with\\nme, reclining in the stern of the skiff, both fair hands trailing in the softly-\\nlapping ripples along the sides of the frail craft, her glorious blue eyes\\ngazing into mine with a wealth of meaning that to me conveyed but one\\nthought, nay, one belief, and that was the belief that she loved me. And\\nI ran the boat in where the great elbow of a hill threw its dark shadow\\nover the little cove nestling at its base, and I sat and gazed into those eyes\\nand listened to those rosy lips laugh words of music that were sweeter to me", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0062.jp2"}, "63": {"fulltext": "55\\nthen than a first mortgage on a seraph s song in Paradise, And the\\nshadows lengthened over the miles of darkening water, and a silver streak\\ncrept across the wavering ripples from where the moon was rising between\\nthe hills, and I said Myra, may I tell you something\\nCertainly, what is it\\ntt 4 i( Myra, you can make me happy.\\nI thought I had done so, I thought you looked real happy and I think\\nso still.\\nBut, Myra, you know what I mean. Myra, I love you will you take\\nme for what I am, will you make me the happiest fellow on earth\\nWhat s that make you what you imagine would be the happiest fel-\\nlow on earth and myself the most miserable girl in America?\\nI What do you take me for, Myra\\nWhy for a decidedly big fool for a boy of your age. Take your\\noars up, sir, and row me ashore.\\nAnd I rowed her ashore, and I thought then as I say now, that she was\\nthe corkingest, finest girl that ever hooked a fellow into trouble or made\\nhim pull out of it.\\nLaurie laid down the paper and looked round at us. That s all of it,\\nhe said.\\nWell, if I had not traveled for two weeks with Chester, I d say he was\\ntelling rather too good a story, but I do believe there is something in it,\\nsaid Gil, and then the Quartette turned in, to dream dreams and see\\nvisions of what lay ahead, where Lakes Champlain and George barred the\\nland passage to the West.\\nSundry were the maledictions felt, if not poured forth in words the\\nnext morning by the writer on the heads of all express companies, their\\nclerks, etc., who handle grips and such like baggage through the mountain\\nworld of Nev/ Hampshire.\\nPositively, I will not wear this thing any longer, I said, throwing my\\nsateen riding shirt, begrimed and stained with sand and mud from our late\\nexperiences, into a corner of the room.\\nYou know the old saying, said Gil, who was my room-mate. Don t\\nthrow out the dirty water, etc.\\nI don t care, I said, I will get that grip at Burlington, and we will\\nreach Burlington to-night.\\nIt s going to be hot to-day, and you don t want to ride in your coat,\\nsaid Gil, put the thing on, who cares for you or your white shirt up here\\nI sat on the side of the bed and looked ruefully at the bright sunlight\\ncreeping in through the curtains suddenly a thought struck me, one of\\nthose happy thoughts, F. C. Burnand thoughts, such as the noted humor-\\nist used to decorate the pages of Punch with.\\nGil, I said, do you think they would ever know the difference\\nWhat difference, and who do you mean?\\nWhy, the difference between that, and I pointed to the bundle of\\nsoiled linen in the corner, and the comparatively spotless garment of night\\nwear I was about to roll off and put in the bundle.\\nCapital, said Gil, but it s too fancy about the collar, and it s too\\nlong.\\nThe collar may be fancy, Gil, but I ve seen fancier.\\nNot on a bicycle rider, or in broad daylight but wear it, man what s\\nthe odds\\nI think I will; as for the length, Gil, the saddle felt awful hard,\\nyesterday.", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0063.jp2"}, "64": {"fulltext": "56\\nOh the length is all right, it s the collar they might get on to who knows\\nabout the length unless you wear the thing Chinese fashion But you\\ncan fix the objection at one end anyhow; why not cut it off?\\nThat s the ticket; but we have not Chester any more, and he has the\\nscissors.\\nNo; Laurie has Chester s work-basket or work-bag, needles, thread,\\nshears, and all the rest of it, and I want to mend this stocking, said Gil.\\nIn a few minutes time the bundle of linen in the corner was increased,\\nand a most comfortable night-robe suffered a mutilation from which it\\nnever recovered, and in fifteen minutes time, with coat buttoned tightly\\nup at the throat, I once more felt like the proverbial Richard a poor one,\\nno doubt, but happy and we three, instead of four, sampled breakfast.\\nUnder a bright sun and over a muddy road, the journey was again re-\\nsumed through Montpelier and out into the open country toward Water-\\nbury. Montpelier is a pretty town, with plenty of foliage surrounding\\nand bending over the many handsome houses setting well back from the\\nwide main street that leads in and out of Vermont s capital.\\nAgreeable to the riding code of the Pennsylvania Bicycle Club we wore\\nour coats while passing through the town, but when well outside consigned\\nthem to their regular place on the handle-bar, and then the laugh for a\\nfew miles turned on the wearer of what Laurie wanted a picture of very\\nbadly, but we reminded him that, m the absence of the grip and the new\\nfilms, we wanted all that was in the cameras for the beauties of nature\\nand not of art.\\nAt the start the roads were slightly heavy, but as the day wore on the\\neffects of the last night s rain wore off, and a fair road-surface carried us\\ninto Waterbury in time for dinner at noon. Beyond the great watch\\nfactory and some handsome residences, there is nothing in Waterbury to\\nneed special notice, and at 2 o clock the road was again taken, with direc-\\ntions to follow the windings of the beautiful Winooski River through the\\nhills to Bolton, Richmond, and Burlington. The road was said to be good\\nby parties whom we inquired of, but we found it only passable, and in\\nsome places simply unridable, where it ran between two ranges of hills,\\nbetween which wound the river over a sandy bottom. Near Bolton we\\nran across one of the most beautiful little waterfalls which we had struck.\\nLeaving the machines on the roadside, and guided by a farmer s lad,\\nwhom the present of a cigar tempted off the fence on which he was sitting,\\nwe descended a steep declivity through a bunch of woods to where the\\nnow noisy Winooski broke through a narrow gorge of the hills. There is\\none main fall, and then the river cuts through a young caiion, the rocks\\nbeing worn away and carved into many curious shapes. In several in-\\nstances we noted circular holes, cut down or up, as the case might be,\\nthrough immense rocks, much in the same fashion as if they had been\\ndrilled artificially. Away up above us towered a mass of rock, which,\\ncutting clear against the beautiful blue sky, seemed as though it might be\\nthe ever- watchful and grim guardian of this most beautiful spot.\\nFrom our guide we learned that a little lower down the stream there\\nwas a large cave, which was often visited by tourists. We had spent an\\nhour at the falls, and did not feel like going further down and crossing\\nthe stream to see the cave, so proceeded on toward Richmond. I\\nneglected to mention that, in the first half of the day, we had gone some\\nfour miles out of our way by turning up Mud or Mad river. Whichever\\nname it is we considered ourselves and our wheels mud when we found\\nout our mistake, and had to retrace our course.", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0064.jp2"}, "65": {"fulltext": "57\\nThe little hamlet of Bolton lies near the end of a long valley, or\\nrather at a point where the valley narrows in. All through this valley\\nseveral miles in length, runs the railroad and the river, as well as the\\nroad, if you can call it a road. Owing to the predominance of sand, a\\ngreat deal of walking had to be done, and many were the blessings\\nbreathed when, beyond Bolton, higher ground with a harder surface was\\nstruck. By the time the little town of Richmond appeared ahead, we\\nwere somewhat hungry, having been delayed by a couple of showers,\\nwhich, as a legacy from the storm of the previous night, came up to spoil\\nwhat was otherwise a perfect day.\\nSupper at Richmond, and then on for Burlington. The proprietor of\\nthe hotel advised us to to remain over-night at Richmond, but we wanted\\nto reach Burlington that evening, so as to be on hand for the boat next\\nmorning at eight o clock, for our visit to the Ausable Chasm on the other\\nside of Lake Champlain. It was a 45-mile ride from Montpelier to Bur-\\nlington by the way we had come, and from Richmond in by way of\\nWilliston the distance was about 15 miles. A good portion of this had\\nto be ridden in the dark, and did we not wish for the moon to rise sooner\\nthan we knew it would The first few miles saw good roads, then the\\ntravel became poor, and just as we were getting somewhat cross over the\\npossibility of another Shepard Hill ride, on turning round by way of\\nWilliston, the highway became a little more ridable, and for several miles\\nwithout light of lamps or moon, pot luck in the way of immunity from\\nfalls was taken along a very fair horsetrack, running in the middle of a\\nvery hard surfaced road.\\nWhen within about five or six miles of Burlington, however, the good\\nroad left us, and for three miles there was a vile compound of mud, sand,\\n*and darkness to navigate through. The moon was fairly well up in the\\nheavens by the hour of ten o clock, which hour saw us on the outskirts of\\nBurlington, and we entered that beautiful little city by a splendid wide\\navenue, covered overhead with arching trees. According to the directions\\nof our friend of the White Mountain House, Mr. Ferron, the Hotel Bur-\\nlington was looked up, not without some difficulty, for the first place\\nstruck, the police station, could have been raided most successfully by the\\nQuartette, the only signs of life about it being an officer s helmet and\\nclub lying on a table in the audience-room. It being Sunday night every-\\nthing was extremely quiet, scarcely a solitary citizen being seen on the\\nstreets. The Burlington was found after a short hunt, and leaving di-\\nrections to be called for the Ausable Chasm boat, the thoroughly tired out\\nQuartette turned in,\\nBurlington is a pretty town and a lively one in point of trade, being a\\ngreat lumber centre and a port for the general transportation business done\\non Lakes Champlain and George.\\nWe were up betimes on the morning following our arrival in the city,\\nand, leaving the machines at the hotel, went on board the Chauteaugay,\\nplying between Burlington and the towns on the northern shores of Lake\\nChamplain, Our destination was the Ausable Chasm and the port of\\nlanding on the New York side was Port Kent, It is about half an hour s\\nsail across the lake, and as the green Vermont hills fell away behind us,\\nwith the city of Burlington lying below them on the shore of the magnifi-\\ncent sheet of water, and with a beautiful sky above us, and the hazy bluffs\\nof the New York shore in the distance, the impression that we were in for\\na delightful time came home to us, and it was by no means a wrong im-\\npression, either. The monarchs of the Vermont side Mount Mansfield\\n8", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0065.jp2"}, "66": {"fulltext": "58\\nand the Camel s Hump ^became gradually bluer and bluer as they faded\\ninto the distance, and the less picturesque shores of New York State com-\\nmenced to rise higher and higher as we drew in nearer to our landing\\nplace. The distance across the lake from Burlington to Port Kent is lo\\nmiles, and to reach the Chasm you have to go three miles by rail. The\\nChasm lies midway between Port Kent and Keeseville, a village on the\\nAusable River six miles from the lake front. About a mile and a half\\nfrom Keeseville on the side of the lake the river makes a leap of about\\n20 feet into a semicircular pool of great beauty, and a little further down,\\nabout a mile, it takes another leap this time of about 150 feet.\\nThis latter waterfall is known as the Birmingham Falls. Not very far\\nbelow these falls the Ausable Chasm commences. The river narrows and\\nrushes through a channel from five to about 15 feet wide, above which rise\\nprecipices to the height of from 100 to 200 feet. The whole thing looks\\nlike a Western canon, and the towering masses of rock inclosing the\\nswiftly running stream impress one with the feeling that at times they are\\nbound to fall in and crush whoever may be down in the wonderful and, in\\nmany portions, most beautiful Royal Gorge of New York State. All\\nalong, especially in the fissures and gorges extending on either side from\\nthe main chasm, large pieces of stone and rock lie around, where they\\nhave fallen from the overhanging cliff s, which are composed of strata\\nwhich, to most people, look as though they were liable to part company\\nand come down at any moment. These side fissures all have names, and\\nyou can scarcely go into any of the larger of them without finding\\nhundreds of cards left by visitors who have inspected this wonderful piece\\nof nature s handiwork. Every State in the Union is represented, and as\\nthese cards must periodically be washed or blown away, the number of\\npeople who visit the Chasm must be enormous.\\nThe place is owned by a corporation, who charge admission and pro-\\nvide facilities, in the way of walks and bridges, for visitors to thoroughly\\ninspect the wonders of the Chasm. Near where the river widens out be-\\nfore running into the lake, the Chasm ends. The curbed-in waters of the\\nstream run for a distance of two miles between the precipices referred to,\\nwhich sometimes are close to each other and sometimes 50 feet or more\\napart. Near the lower portion of the Chasm is the boat ride, which you\\ncan take or not, as you see fit.\\nThe boat ride down what are not very dangerous rapids is a feature of\\nthe Chasm trip that is very generally patronized. You enter a large flat-\\nbottom boat, in which are two sturdy watermen who pole and row you\\nthrough the narrow part of the Chasm, where often but ten or twelve feet\\nseparate the perpendicular sides, which run up to the height of 100 feet\\non either hand. When about half-way through the passage, the rapids\\nare struck, and then some care is required in the handling of the craft.\\nYou swing round this rock, and scrape over that one the women scream,\\nand there is a general feeling of quiet nervousness until the boat glides\\ninto the smooth waters, where the great walls break away on each side,\\nand the stream opens out into quiet and unconfined life. To any one who\\nhappens to be in Burlington or near it, a visit to this wonderful natural\\nbeauty of the country is well worth taking. The admission to the Chasm\\nis 50 cents and the boat ride 50 cents additional. Take your lunch with\\nyou and spend the day there.\\nOne of the prettiest sights at or near the Ausable Chasm is the Alice\\nFalls, where the river takes a leap over a wide, rocky ledge, to seek a\\nlower level before making its second descent into the Chasm at the Bir-", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0066.jp2"}, "67": {"fulltext": "59\\nmingham Falls. There were several parties of tourists visiting the Chasm\\nas well as ourselves, and with one of them, numbering about five and\\nhailing from Burlington across the lake, the Quartette struck up quite\\nan acquaintance, and were treated to some inner-man comforts, and, later\\nin the day, on returning to Burlington, to very civil attentions on the part\\nof Mr, Dean B. Connell, editor of one of the city papers.\\nIt was a beautiful morning that 2ist day of July, when we left Burling-\\nton for our sail down the broad bosom of Lake Champlain, The Ver-\\nmont is quite a large boat, and leaving Burlington in the morning at\\n8.30, it is scheduled to arrive at Fort Ticonderoga at 12.30 P. M. At this\\nplace passengers take the train across the narrow neck of land separating\\nLake Champlain from Lake George, and then continue their journey down\\nLake George in another steamer. We did not intend to make the com-\\nplete trip by water, but purposed getting off at Ticonderoga and riding, if\\npossible, around Lake George to Caldwell, and then from there by way of\\nGlens Falls to Saratoga.\\nThe Vermont drew out from, the wharf at the appointed time, and\\nwith the Quartette on the upper deck made her way into the centre of the\\nlake and turned her nose toward Essex and Port Henry. Champlain is\\na splendid sheet of water, and while it has not the picturesque beauty of\\nLake George it still has a far-stretching quiet beauty of its own which\\nmakes it a real joy to travel on it and leaves a pleasant memory in the\\nmind of the traveler.\\nThe Quartette sat on the upper deck and smoked, while afresh\\nbreeze made them feel slightly chilly.\\nHere is a good opportunity for another story, said Gil come,\\nLaurie, let s hear from you.\\nDon t you want to admire the scenery said Laurie, who looked lazy.\\nCertainly we do, but that won t prevent us from listening to a good\\nstory. Go ahead and spin your yarn; you could not have a better oppor-\\ntunity.\\nI don t know that any story I can give you will be good, but as you\\nfellows seem bent on swapping lies, as the saying goes, I suppose I shall\\nhave to do my share. What shall it be, prose or verse, tragic, comic, fish,\\nbicycle, love, or what\\nOh I Chester gave us enough sentimenttolastfor a twelvemonth, said\\nGil can t you give us some fact, like that Pittsburgh election of\\nmine?\\nGive us some bicycling fact you must have some incident from the\\nother side of the water if you have not from this, the writer ventured to\\nremark.\\nWell, I can give you a cycling incident a true one. Here, I have\\nthe notes of it in this book, and Laurie drew a note-book from his\\npocket, The story was told by an Englishman in a Paris cafe to a half-\\ndozen of us when I was over there a few years ago. We were, to use the\\nsame expression 1 used before, swapping lies over the convivial board\\nwhen the Englishman proposed to tell real facts, and the proposal being\\nagreed to he related this story, which, as a bicycler, I took an interest in\\nand noted down the tale almost as he told it. It is nothing extraordinary,\\nlike Chester s narrative, and there are not the elements of local interest\\nabout it that made Gil s story a good one, and it is not a personal experi-\\nence, but it is interesting, I think, all the same,\\nThen, while Mt. Mansfield became an indistinct patch of blue in the\\ndistance, and while the bright waters that had rippled round the prows of", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0067.jp2"}, "68": {"fulltext": "6o\\nSamuel De Champlain s birch-bark canoes curled up in front of and fell\\naway in foam from the bow of the latter-day big steamer, on the deck of\\nwhich were seated our little party, Laurie commenced his story of\\nTHE CYCLER AND THE TIGER.\\n**I don t think you will have much of a bargain if you get me started on\\na true story, but since you must have it the sin be on your own head. A\\nyear ago I was stationed at Gerripore. Situated among the lower eleva-\\ntions of the Himalayas, this place occupies a position which in the way of\\nclimate recommends it, during a large portion of the year, to the patronage\\nof those Europeans who find the heat of the lower portions of the great\\nPeninsula of India extremely trying on their Caucasian make-up. As an\\nattache of the government engineer corps, with its then headquarters at\\nPeshawur, I had considerable to do in the way of traveling around, and I\\nhad contrived to get from England, more as a toy than anything else, a\\n50-inch bicycle. It was one of the Singer make of machines and there\\nwas as good stuff and workmanship in that piece of mechanism as I have\\nseen in any product of mechanical skill. While bicycling and tricycling\\nare becoming popular as recreations in the immense country known as Hin-\\ndoostan, still the use of these vehicles in the Empress of India s vast domain\\nis, of course, circumscribed as compared with England, and I was only\\none of a bare half-dozen Europeans who within, as far as I knew, the ra-\\ndius of 500 miles, owned what the natives considered as a conjuror s car-\\nriage.\\nThis machine of which I speak, of course excited considerable atten-\\ntion throughout the territory that I had occasion to travel round, and on\\nmore than one occasion I took it with me when I journeyed down to Luck-\\nnow and Delhi, It was on one of these trips that I had occasion to stop at\\nMassoree, and for the two days I was there lodged under the hospitable\\nroof of Captain Kirby, of the th native infantry. The town is not a\\nlarge one, and like most of these native villages it suffers every now and\\nthen at the hands of some forager of the forest, which interesting product\\nof the country generally takes the semblance of what the outside world\\nshudders over the thoughts of a man-eating tiger. Of course, there are\\nsuch things, but my experience of Indian life warrants me in believing\\nthat they are not nearly so numerous or so terrifying as the said outside\\nworld believes. They call them man-eaters, but if good, wholesome terror\\nis what story-tellers want to inspire they might as well add that they are\\nwoman-eaters and child-eaters as well. In fact, I question if these same\\ngentlemen of the forest don t prefer a plump, sleek minor human animal\\nto a tough and well-seasoned adult. Be this as it may, the good people of\\nthis town of Massoree had been in a woeful state of fear and trembling\\nfor six months time before I dropped among them, and all on account of\\nthe ravages of what they called the great man-eater. Not satisfied\\nwith crediting him with the carrying off and masticating of two children,\\none woman, and three men from their own burg, they held that he was one\\nand the same animal that had depopulated to about the same extent the\\nvillage of Derbagh on the other side of the Jungle. This Jungle runnmg\\nclose by was the bete noir of Massoree, and owing to its extent it offered a\\nsplendid retreat for the largest congregation of wild animals in that part of\\nthe country.\\nMr. Nesmyth, you must not go around by yourself in the evening on\\nthe Jungle side, said the wife of my host the day I arrived. I had men-\\ntioned something about taking a ride during the evenings, for I had my bi-", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0068.jp2"}, "69": {"fulltext": "6i\\ncycle with me and Jack Kirby, Captain Kirby s son, was extremely anx-\\nious to learn to ride it.\\nOh I don t think there is so much to be afraid of, Mrs. Kirby, I\\nsaid, but, of course, if you wish it, believing all that the natives say about\\nthis striped cannibal, why, I certainly won t be rash.\\nWell, what they say is in a great measure true, and there is really\\ngood cause for caution, said Mrs. Kirby. It would never do for you\\nto visit us to become food for even such a regal neighbor as our Bengal\\nfriend yonder.\\nIndeed, no, I said, laughing. I shall take precious good care to\\nkeep out of his clutches.\\nNow, it is a curious thing that if I had gone out hunting that tiger with\\nall the paraphernalia considered necessary or essential to the prosecution\\nof that royal sport of the far East, I would in all probability not have seen\\neven the extreme tip of my four-footed friend s tail. As it was, with no\\ndesire whatever to see him much less to see him alive and outside prison\\nbars I ran across that terror of the whole country side as coolly and as\\nnaturally as you please, and it happened this way\\nThe outlying trees of the Jungle lay some 50 feet away from the wagon\\ntrack for the distance of about half a mile, and along this stretch of rough\\nsurface I rode that evening shortly before dark. I was by myself, for\\ncycling companions were at a premium. Well, I had reached a point\\nabout half-way past the line of brush and trees forming the outer fringe of\\nthe Jungle, when suddenly there was a rustle on my right and about 30\\nfeet away, and about half that distance in front of me out stepped a ver-\\nitable tiger. And what a tiger From a howdah vantage point, and\\nwith a good rifle, what a noble quarry but by all the gods of Hindoo-\\nstan and elsewhere, what a terrible apparition viewed from the saddle of\\na 50-inch bicycle\\nWhether the beast had scented me and was coming after me, or whether\\nmy noiseless approach had taken him by surprise I do not know. Had he\\nscented my moderately fat carcass, and thought that a meal off a Euro-\\npean would go about as well as anything else, and then had presented to\\nhis eyesight an apparition that his sense of smell had not prepared him\\nfor, I knew not and cared not. All I knew was that the most magnificent\\ntiger I had ever seen, either in or out of captivity, had come into full view\\nand was looking at me. Up went his enormous head and then down\\nagain, the curve in his back seemed to rise several inches, there was a\\nsweep of his majestic tail, and then with what was more of a rumbling\\ngrunt than a growl, the huge beast swung round and bounded into the\\nbushes. Did I wait to see if he would return Did I Would you have\\ndone so No, gentlemen, I just did rhe old man Cortis act, and for half\\na mile imagined I heard the pat, pat of soft footsteps following the track of\\nthe bicycle. I never looked back. The animal may have followed me\\nfor a short distance, but I don t know. I do know, had any one asked me,\\nduring those terrible moments, if I would have staked my existence on that\\ntiger being present within 50 feet of my hind wheel, for the distance of a\\nquarter of a mile, I would have done so, for I had the feeling that he was\\nthere, though I dared not look back, and to this day I believe that, to the\\nentrance to the village, the man-eating beast followed me, and speculated\\nafter his own peculiar fashion as to what manner of man or beast was in\\nfront of him, and whether or not he was good for food. I never heard\\nwhat became of that special animal, but I suppose like nearly all of those\\nnoble beasts but terrible scourges, he fell before the rifle ball of some Eng-", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0069.jp2"}, "70": {"fulltext": "62\\nlish sportsman. My adventure may not seem very exciting told here,\\nbut put yourselves in my place on that evening and in that company and\\nit is an experience well enough to talk about, but not very pleasant to\\nundergo.\\nWhen I told my friends that night of my adventure in the early part of\\nthe evening, they were disposed to think I was giving them a good story,\\nbut on my assuring them that it was a positive truth, that I had really seen\\ntheir man-eater, they did not know whether most to rejoice over my es-\\ncape or envy my sight of the terror of that part of the country. Next day\\nthere was one of the periodical crusades in search of the dreaded scourge,\\nbut my friend of the previous evening had skipped. I sold my bicycle\\ntwo months afterward to young Jack Kirby, who, much to his mother s\\nterror, as I learned afterward, would sneak off for a ride in the late after-\\nnoon, with a rifle laid along the handle-bar. He never had my luck, how-\\never, in meeting the man-eater, therefore I consider that the experience is\\nworth remembering, if it is not worth retailing in the guise of a story.\\nAs Laurie finished his story, we drew in near Essex, on the New York\\nshore. Here there was the usual taking on and lettin^f off of passengers,\\nand then in succession the boat stopped at Westport, Port Henry, Fort\\nSt. Frederick, Crown Point, with its memories of Indian, French, and\\nEnglish wars, and, last of all. Fort Ticonderoga, the scene of Ethan Allen s\\nfamous exploit, when in the name of the Great Jehovah and the Conti-\\nnental Congress he demanded the surrender that was agreed to by the\\nBritish. At Fort Ticonderoga our water travel ended for the nonce, and\\nrecourse was again had to our bicycles. On the boat with us were a num-\\nber of the Bohemian Wheelmen, of Brooklyn, N. Y. They boarded the\\ntrain across to Baldwin, and took the boat at that point up Lake George\\nto Caldwell. If we had followed their example, we would not have ex-\\nperienced the hardest and toughest ride of the whole trip, and would have\\ngotten to bed, if we so wanted, in Caldwell at 8 o clock, instead of which\\nwe rode all that afternoon, and all that night, over what they called Hague\\nMountain, and did not get to Bolton and to bed until one o clock the next\\nmorning.\\nOn leaving the steamer, as soon as the train moved off, we mounted and\\nstruck out for the town of Ticonderoga, some two or three miles distant.\\nFrom this point the trend was to the right, leaving Baldwin to the left,\\nand, after passing it, running down to the lake shore and into the little\\ntown of Hague. From the road, running along the side of the lake near\\nthis place beautiful views are obtained of the splendid sheet of water, and\\nour cameras were several times brought into requisition. On leaving\\nHague the road, which in the neighborhood of Ticonderoga was terribly\\nhard, and at Hague very fair, ran alongside the lake for some distance,\\nand then turned to the right and went up among and over the hills. Be-\\nfore getting on the right road we made two mistakes, and lost the best\\npart of an hour, which was a serious matter for us, seeing that Hague\\nMountain had to be crossed, and that darkness would be upon us before\\nour stopping-place for the night could be reached. We left Ticonderoga\\nabout two o clock, and it was between four and five when the ascent of\\nHague Mountain was commenced. The road was but an ordinary moun-\\ntain highway, made for goats and mules, but not for bicycles, and up, up,\\nup this ever-rising mountain road the Quartette manfully pushed their\\nway. The original idea was to reach the top and ride down the other side\\nby daylight, but darkness was already falling when we reached the crest", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0070.jp2"}, "71": {"fulltext": "63\\nof the mountain, and then, owing to the steepness and the roughness of the\\nroad, it was impossible to ride down that exasperating grade in the dark-\\nness. It was a case of walk and ride, ride and walk, and fall off and get\\non again, and then walk again.\\nOn one occasion Gil Wiese had a narrow escape from going over the\\nside of a bridge crossing a ravine. If he had gone over the rocky bottom\\nof a small rivulet would have received him some 1 8 or 20 feet below. The\\nroad turned and twisted round and round, thank-you-ma am after thank-\\nyou-ma am was passed, sometimes ridden over, but more often walked,\\nand often the road led through woods, where the only thing you could see\\na few yards ahead of you was the white riding-shirt of your comrade in\\ndarkness. It v^as a weary crowd that pulled up at the small wooden house\\nof a laborer at the foot of the hill, and inquired how far it was to Bolton,\\nthe nearest town.\\nAbout eight or nine miles, was the answer, and the Quartette\\nwent at it once more. The road was miserable, and now lay through a\\nvalley, which we judged ran down to the lake, and in this surmise we\\nwere not mistaken. Then the moon commenced to throw some light into\\nthe sky from behind the dark hills on our left, and as we skirted these hills\\nand relegated them to the rear, the beauteous queen of night rose in\\nall her glory, and gladdened our hearts with some little light. Not one\\nof our lamps would burn, like the foolish virgins, we foolish wheelmen\\nhad not a drop of oil among the three of us.\\nBy and by the road began to go down again, this time it is the lake sure,\\nthought everybody. Heavy clumps of trees commenced to shut out the\\nmoonlight, but it was not long before, through the trees standing thick on\\nour left, we could see the dancing, shimmering wavelets on Lake George.\\nThen we ran out by the side of the glorious stretch of water, and what a\\nview it was. Lake George by moonlight. Out in the centre of the picture\\ncould be seen the few lights yet burning at the Sagamore House, away on\\nthe far side of the lake were other lights in other hotels and on landings\\nabove them rose the great dark hills, away in front of us lay the lights of\\nBolton Landing, while up in the clear heaven and slowly moving over\\nbeyond the hills the full moon threw her light over the enchanting scene.\\nTwo littly steam launches, conveying late travelers home, were out on the\\nlake, and the singing from their occupants was borne to us as we skirted\\nthe shore and made the best of our way into Bolton, where we had to\\nwaken up the landlord at the hotel Fennimore to give us lodging for the\\nmorning.", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0071.jp2"}, "72": {"fulltext": "CHAPTER X.\\nLAKE GEORGE TO SARATOGA.\\nI.\\nFairest Saratoga,\\nBrightest Saratoga,\\nGayest Saratoga,\\nSing I now of thee;\\nNot in fair Italia,\\nNot in bright Arcadie,\\nNot in any country,\\nFind I mate for thee.\\nII.\\nO er thee in their splendor,\\nBlue skies deep and tender,\\nTo thy beauties render.\\nTribute from on high\\nStars at night when sweeping,\\nO er the heavens and keeping,\\nWatch above thee sleeping,\\nGrieve to pass thee by.\\nIII.\\nGlorious Saratoga,\\nRoyal Saratoga,\\nGrand old Saratoga,\\nHere s a health to thee;\\nHere as faithful lover\\nSwear I, the world over\\nI cannot discover\\nSpot to mate with thee.\\nThere was not a very general movement on the part of the Quartette\\nto rise betimes on the morning of July 22d. Not having crawled into bed\\nuntil the morning hours, the disposition seemed to be to remain in the abode\\nof rest until at least 1 2 noon had ushered us into another evening but there\\nwas a long ride ahead, and also, as Laurie told us, a wilderness of sand.\\nWe were bou^dto make Saratoga that evening, Saratoga, that, as a late\\nwriter aptly describes it, gayest, wickedest, and most fashionable resort\\nof culture and refinement among watering places on this continent, if not\\nindeed in the world. It was a ride of close on 40 miles from Bolton to\\nSaratoga, and unless an early start were made, too much hustling would\\nhave to be indulged in to reach our goal by evening. Each one of the three\\ngrumbled fearfully when rolling out of bed, especially Gil, who had to mend\\nhis stockings again, and who was anxiously waiting for some respectable\\nsized town where he could purchase a new pair of Pennsylvania Grays.\\nWhat a glorious morning it was as we stepped out on the porch after\\nbreakfast. The sun shone brightly .over the placid waterrs of the lake,\\nreaching almost to the front entrance of the hotel. The glorious sheet of\\nwater stretching out before us in all its famed beauty, tempted a forsaking\\nof the bicycles and a patronizing of oar and rowlock. Simultaneously\\nwe all thought of our absent Chester and his summer girl, and Laurie said\\nWell, boys, I guess we had better fight shy of boats and stick to our\\nwheels.\\n64", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0072.jp2"}, "73": {"fulltext": "65\\nOf course there was nothing else to do, and bidding good-bye to the\\nlandlord, who got our story to put in the local paper, presumably to re-\\nflect credit on his house, the Quartette bowled briskly along the lake\\nroad for Caldwell, lo miles distant, at the head of the noble sheet of water.\\nMany stops were made en route, to catch the beauties of the surrounding\\nlandscape, the cameras doing good service. Villa after villa was passed,\\nand there were signs all around of the great summer population that\\nregularly frequent this resort. As Caldwell was approached, camping\\npaities, of which we had noted a number, commenced to grow less, and\\nin place of white tents gleaming through the green of the trees, hand-\\nsome residences, surrounded by well-kept grounds closed in on every hand,\\nnearly all of them looking out on the Silvery Water, which is the cor-\\nrect translation of the musical name of Lake Horican, by which Lake\\nGeorge is known in the glowing pages of Fenimore Cooper. The old\\nFrench name of this Queen of American Waters is also a beautiful\\nand suggestive one Lac Du St. Sacrajuent, the Lake of the Blessed\\nSacrament so named by the Jesuit Father Jogues, who, the first white\\nman to gaze upon its beauties, was carried across it in 1642 a maimed and\\ntortured prisoner, by his captors, the ruthless Iroquois Indians. Escaping\\nfrom their stronghold by the aid of some friendly Indians, this self-sacri-\\nficing apostle of Christianity and civilization returned to France, but four\\nyears later, the year 1646, found him again among the North American\\nIndians. It was in this year he gave the lake the name which it bore for\\na hundred years, and then surrendered up his life to the savage Mo-\\nhawks. In 1755 General Johnson re-christened it Lake George, in\\nhonor of the then reigning King of Great Britain.\\nThe road from Bolton to Caldwell- is a good one, and is kept in\\ncondition by the various hotels and resorts along the lake front. It\\nskirts the lake almost the entire distance between the two rivers. Nothing\\nextraordinary being characteristic of Caldwell, a stop was not indulged in,\\nbut the direct road was taken and followed at a brisk gait to Glens Falls.\\nFrom Caldwell to Glens Falls, a distance of about eight miles, there is a\\nplank road, and it forms for the entire distance remarkably good riding.\\nThe approach to Glens Falls, which is quite a manufacturing place, is very\\npleasing. You descend a long grade, going down which a good view is\\nobtained of the tov. n. At Glens Falls lunch was in order, and then, with\\nmany misgivings, the direct road to Saratoga was taken. It is about 18\\nmiles from Glens Falls to Saratoga, and that our misgivings touching the\\nroad were justified is fully shown by the fact that we walked 11 out of the\\n17 or 18 miles which should have been ridden. Cyclers will find it to\\ntheir advantage to take the more circuitous route by way of Fort Edward,\\nfor, if they do as we did, take the direct road running from Glens Falls to\\nSaratoga, they had better study up the literature of expletives before they\\nembark on the enterprise. The road for 1 1 miles is simply unrideable, and\\nas for that distance there are practically no side-paths the state of our case\\ncan be very well imagined. Although not quite as tired as on the former\\nday s trip over the Lake George hills, the Quartette returned heartfelt\\nthanks when that road, fearfully and wonderfully made, or rather not made\\nat all, faded away behind, and the light and life and wealth of Saratoga\\nclosed around us as we made our way to the Commercial Hotel. That\\nnight we did the Springs, and the fine string band at Congress Hall Park\\nhad to stand a fire of criticism from those short-breeched travelers who\\nhad not been treated to such sweet sounds for several weeks.\\nSaratoga is a collection of mammoth hotels. No conception can be had\\n9", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0073.jp2"}, "74": {"fulltext": "66\\nof the number and size of these great hostelries without actually seeing\\nthem. And what a blaze of beauty and fashion these hotels present at\\nnight when under the glare of the electrics. Greek meets Greek in\\nhe mad whirl that is born of the possession of intellect, money, and pas-\\nsion. At Saratoga you can take your medicine in any fashion you may\\ndesire. If you are ordered to drink the waters you have your choice of\\ndozens of springs, all boasting their marvelous properties and all the best.\\nIf you are visiting the place for a restful time, you can have a restful time, with\\nthe most lovely surroundmgs to militate to your comfort. If you want a gay\\ntime that is the place to have it. If you look for a religious time you can\\nenjoy it there as well as anywhere else. The young debutante with a fortune\\ncan there find, very likely, a matrimonial companion with another fortune,\\nor with perhaps a title. The aspiring young blood from Broadway and\\nFifth Avenue, to quote the words of Trevelyan on Charles James Fox,\\nthere finds himself surrounded with every facility for ruining himself\\nwith the least delay and in the best company. If you are a sportsman you\\nhave thrown at your feet that glorious elysium of wood and water that\\nmakes Northern New York State the Mecca of so many worn-out\\nworkers in our vast centres of commercial strife and enterprise. Truly,\\nSaratoga would have suited those men of Athens who delighted ever\\nin some new thing.\\nSaratoga, the cosmopolitan, is the sobriquet most aptly describing this\\nworld-famous resort. The Quartette spent one evening and half a day\\nnoting the sights, and at 2 o clock Thursday afternoon, after a hearty meal,\\npulled out from the great watering place, and took the road to Albany via\\nDunning Street, Mechanicsville, and Troy. The road out of Saratoga\\nwas fair, but there had been several heavy showers of raia during the pre-\\nvious night, and off and on during the forenoon, with a probability of\\nothers, and the road surface had suffered considerably in consequence.\\nMud predominated for about five miles, and as clay constituted a consider-\\nable portion of the ingredient of which the said surface was composed,\\nriding became very heavy. By the side of Round Lake the party tumbled\\ninto what was a regular Slough of Despond on the side of a short\\nhill. This was one of the most curious experiences of the trip. The\\norder of march was Roberts, Wiese, and the writer. Looking at this hill\\nfrom the top, rapid transit over its surface appeared practicable, and For-\\nward the Light Brigade, in the person of Roberts was the programme.\\nAfter him went Gil, the heavy man of the party, and then the writer.\\nWell that hill was simply a mud hole. Laurie got through to the bottom\\non his wheel and then fell off on a comparatively hard spot. Gilbert got\\nhalf way and then his wheel choked with mud, threw him into the filthy\\ncompound, which at that precise spot enveloped his manly proportions to\\nthe knees, and nearly all the way to the right hip. Scared by what was\\ngoing on in front, the writer did not wait to try conclusions with the\\nmiddle of the grade, but twisting to one side and carrying a bucketful of\\nmud on wheels and frame, fell in a rank growth of green weeds and bushes\\nby the side of the roadway. Sure such a sight was never seen before\\nor since by the participants. The two machines had to be lifted bodily up\\nthe side bank, for the wheels refused to revolve, and then a stick was cut\\nfrom a neighboring bush and a surgical operation commenced to relieve an\\nabnormal growth in their proportions. Beyond this point the road for\\nseveral miles proved soft, and then as the evening closed down, it most\\nfortunately turned into a slate macadam highway, and at a rattling gait the\\nQuartette rolled into the busy, bustling town of Mechanicsville.", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0074.jp2"}, "75": {"fulltext": "67\\nThere was every prospect that more rain would fall during the night,\\nand this was most annoying, seeing that the worst roads had been covered\\nand for the short remaining distance to Albany, a well-surfaced pike ex-\\ntended, which could be easily covered in the morning, in time to get the\\nday boat down the great and glorious Hudson for New York.\\nThe Talmadge, the house of entertainment at which we stopped in\\nMechanicsville, was one of the coziest and most comfortable which we had\\nstruck on our travels, and the fact that we were extremely well treated was\\nno doubt in part due to the hotel being a favorite stopping-place for cyclers.\\nWe were not aware of this when deciding to put up there, but soon found\\nthat we had not made any mistake in choosing our lodgings. The hotel is\\non the direct road to Troy and Albany, and as this road is one of the best\\nin that part of the State, it is much patronized by wheelmen.\\nLaurie, you ought to be ashamed of yourself, said Gil, when sitting\\nin the parlor after supper.\\nWell I like that. It seems to me you are the one to be ashamed of\\nyourself. Why don t you clean your machine?\\nThe thoughts of great minds run in the same channel. The saying\\nmust be a true one, my remark was caused by my thinking you rode the\\nmost disreputably dirty bicycle I ever laid eyes on, said Gil.\\nLet s both jump on Mac then, we won t ride with him to-morrow un-\\nless he cleans up, replied the owner of unfortunate machine No. i.\\nWell, said Gil, we will say nothing about the matter, though that old\\nwooden cart of his does look tough, if he tells us that story he owes. We\\nhave all, as you put it, Laurie, swapped lies, except the rider of the\\nhardest looking wheel in the crowd.\\nI don t feel any more like telling a story than I feel like cleaning a\\nwheel, ventured the writer, and then added, suppose we put the stable\\nman to work.\\nThat s a good idea, more especially if we have to train it to-morrow\\nmorning, as now appears likely, said Gil.\\nThe rain was falling heavily as we crossed the yard to the coach-\\nhouse, and as everything pointed to our having to sample the railroad for\\nthe short run into Albany the next morning, the stableman was made happy\\nby the opportunity to earn an honest penny currying our rubber-hoofed\\nsteeds.\\nOn returning to the hotel Laurie again proposed to have the Quar-\\ntette s fourth story, but on representing that the long trip down the Hud-\\nson might be a little more tedious thail would be the retailing of the said\\nstory, it was agreed to postpone its recital until the following day.\\nAfter a conference as to the advisability of riding to Albany next morn-\\ning, the decision was arrived at to ride if the rain ceased. If the incle-\\nment weather contmued, then, for the sake of sentiment, it would be non-\\nsense to cover the few miles awheel, and recourse to the railroad would be\\nthe sensible programme. Leaving word to be called at four o clock, if no\\nrain was falling, the party divided up into singles to, first, pray for a fine\\nmorning, and then sleep for a longer time than had been our lot for a week\\nbefore.\\nWhether the Quartette did not stand very high in the favor of\\nHeaven, or whether the prayers above referred to were too short or not\\nwide-awake enough, four o clock the next morning saw the rain still fall-\\ning heavily, and Gilbert was recreant enough to say that he was glad of\\nthe chance for a longer sleep than he had expected.\\nThe distance from the hotel to the railroad station was about a quarter of", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0075.jp2"}, "76": {"fulltext": "68\\na mile, and under the steady down-pour the three of us ran a-muck, in\\na double sense, over the foot pavements to the D. H. C. Co. s depot. A\\nfew rain-drops and all blue-coated representatives of the law were dodged\\nsuccessfully, and the last machine lifted into the baggage car with the as-\\nsistance of an obliging hack driver, just as the train moved off. In the\\nhurry attending the getting of the machines on board, Laurie cut his hand\\nseverely, and a handkerchief was scarcely large enough to form an effec-\\ntive bandage. By the time we had made the Hudson trip, however, and\\nwith the aid of a roll of court-plaster, the wounded member was again in\\ntrim for riding.\\nSeen from the car windows as the train ran down to Albany, a good\\nview was had of the road which we would have ridden over but for\\nadverse circumstances. It appeared a first-class one, but as then seen had\\nan uninviting top-dressing of mud, with numerous small puddles into\\nwhich the lain- drops splashed dismally.\\nBoys, if good old Charlie Harvey were with the Quartette, ten\\nchances to one but we would be riding along out there getting our faces\\nwashed, said Laurie.\\nYou bet I wouldn t, put in Gil. I like to ride in trains as little as\\nanybody, but excuse me from fun that s no fun, as Mac might say.\\nIt took but a few minutes to make the run to Albany, passing en route^\\nthe busy centres of Troy and West Troy, and then, skirting the immense\\naggregation of lumber along the far-reaching docks of the Delaware and\\nHudson Canal Co., the train brought us up beside the wharf where lay the\\nbig boat that was to bear us down the Hudson. The rain slackened just\\nthen, and there was promise overhead for a clear day after all.\\nNo charge for bicycles, put them along in that gangway, were the\\nwords of the deck officer, as we got aboard, and in two minutes time the\\nwheels were stowed and things began to take on a brighter hue as the rain\\nceased and the big steamer drew away from the wharf.\\nAlbany presents a pleasing appearance viewed from the river, the\\nmuch-talked-about Capitol building, showing up to advantage above\\nthe many other large edifices of the city. From the distant view obtained\\nof it, this much-lauded architectural creation seemed to us as not being\\nanything near what the City Hall of Philadelphia is, so far as exterior\\nappearance goes, although it may be perfectly true that, as regarding its\\nnterior fittings, it is without a rival in this country.\\ni At Albany the Hudson is an unpretentious and an uninterestiiig stream\\ngiving but scant promise of the beauties which further down make it world,\\nfamed for its scenery. Securing seats on the middle deck, the Quartette\\nmade itself comfortable, Gil being in the seventh heaven of satisfaction,\\nbecause there was a band on board. Music is one of the big factors of\\nday and night travel on the Hudson, a brass and string band being attached\\nto every boat plying between New York and Albany.\\nBoys, we re in for a nice trip, there is a patch of blue sky yonder and\\nthere goes the music, said our crank on the subject of sweet sounds, as\\nour boat, the City of New York, swung loose from her berth and\\ncommenced to make her way carefully down-stream. The spires, roofs,\\nand chimneys of Albany, dropped behind, soon a couple of bends in the.\\nriver shut them out from view, and then as the stream broadened, the\\nsteamer began to make the time for which the Hudson River boats are\\nnoted. Comfortably ensconced on the middle deck, close to the musicians\\nwhere we had located ourselves to please Gil, there was nothing to do but\\nchat, smoke, and take note of our fellow-passengers. As is always the", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0076.jp2"}, "77": {"fulltext": "69\\ncase, there was quite a crowd on board, embracing all sorts and conditions\\nof men and women. Rich, poor, business people, pleasure seekers, and\\nthe ubiquitous loafer. There were quite a number of parties going on,\\nor returning from summer trips among the many places of interest through\\nwhich the Hudson runs as the main artery of travel. From Lake George\\nand its surrounding beauty spots, from Saratoga, from the Adirondack s\\nand the hundred and one other places easily reached from the upper\\nwaters of this noble stream, the palace steamer was carrying away crowds\\nof pleasure seekers, whose places would immediately be filled by number-\\nless others, and so the great tide of summer travel goes on all through the\\nseason, and when the name of the Hudson River is brought up, wherever\\na little knot of American travelers are gathered, it generally recalls\\npleasurable reminiscences to a number of them.\\nAbout an hour s time was filled in after this fashion, and, when the nov-\\nelty of the music hftd worn off, and the immediate surroundings had been\\nfairly well sized up, Laurie moved for an adjournment to the upper deck\\nfor a more extended view and for the telling of the last story.\\nThis is Friday, boys, he said, to-night we may not feel like sitting\\nup, and to-morrow we will have to ride clear across New Jersey. So let s\\nhave Mac s story.\\nYes, go ahead, as we are on the water we want a yarn, chimed in\\nGil.\\nIt was the writer s turn to spin the bargained-for tale, so he asked the\\nquestion\\nWell, boys, what will you have\\nI never take anything strenger than beer, and very little of that, ex-\\nclaimed Gil.\\nIt is very little of that you will get just now, except you are disposed\\nto do the paying. What I asked you about was how you wanted to be\\ntreated in the way of a story What kind do you fellows want\\nAny kind, said Laurie make it about the boys, the girls, or bicycles,\\nbut preferably let the ingredients be the two former, as we are well-versed\\nin matters regarding the latter, thanks to the past three weeks.\\nAmen, came seriously from Gil.\\nWell, then, here goes, boys, let s have what we will call the story of\\nANNETTE.\\nCHAPTER I.\\nAnnette, I love you.\\nI whispered the words in her ear, she was the last one to whom I was\\nbidding farewell on the pier, and then I sprang from her side, and crossing\\nthe gang-plank stood upon the deck of the Aurania.\\nI was the last passenger to board the great Atlantic liner, and as I\\nreached the deck, I turned to look back at, and shout to, the knot of re-\\nlatives and friends who had come down to the pier to see me off for\\nEurope.\\nAnnette Lascelles was among them. I loved Annette, but never had\\nhad the courage to confess the fact to her until then, then, a half-second,\\nwhich I felt with a lover s instinct was my own and hers, gave me the\\nsudden inspiration to make known that love under what must have been\\nthe most curious circumstances that ever enamored swain could have\\nchosen for such a confession.\\nThe moment I gained the deck and turned to look back, my eye sought", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0077.jp2"}, "78": {"fulltext": "70\\nout Annette. She was staring after me with more of a look of blank\\namazement upon her face than anything else, there was a flush on her\\ncheek and the hand she had suddenly placed on Cousin Bess arm I\\nfancied was used to steady herself, I waved my hand and then threw a\\nkiss which I meant individually of course, but which was taken collect-\\nively. Only a few yards separated us from the pier, and the big boat had\\njust commenced lazily to drift out under surveillance of the tugs. Good-\\nbye, au revoir^ I shouted.\\nI ll not forget the cane, Jack, I said to my brother, as I leaned over\\nthe rail.\\nNor my fur cape, said Cousin Bess.\\nDon t forget the Pneumatic, shouted my younger brother, Dave.\\nWhat shall I buy you, Annette, I called out. A diamond ring\\nI was about to say, but she interpolated, as quick as a flash\\nNecklace a diamond necklace, while the rest of^ the party laughed,\\nand Cousin Bess said something to her, and 1 thought I could see her\\ncolor heighten again.\\nThen she drew out a dainty, little, pink-edged handkerchief, and\\nwaved it to me, while the big vessel forged slowly into the stream.\\nI devoutly wished then that I knew the deaf and dumb alphabet and\\nthat she knew it, or else that I was conversant with some nautical or other\\nsignal code and that she had studied the same code to advantage, so that\\nI could ask one question and get an answer one way or the other, but there\\nI stood like a big fool, waving my handkerchief it was to be presumed to\\na group of 20 persons, when in reality I was thinking only about one, and\\nfor all I knew without one iota of any sort of encouragement to keep on\\nthinking of her. But there she stood, and the pink-edged handkerchief\\nkept on waving as long as I could make out the special little crowd, and\\nthe special trim-built little figure that was to me the embodiment of all\\nthe prettiness, piquancy, and goodness of the femininity of New York.\\nConfound my irresolution I muttered, and then I turned to watch\\nBartholdi s colossal Statue of Liberty loom up ahead, as we slowly made\\nour way down the bay.\\nCHAPTER II.\\nMid ocean.\\nHave you ever lost yourself in a sea of speculation, and, utterly bewil-\\ndered, given up Tossing around, grasping after something intangible, have\\nreturned to the landmarks of sober reason, and then taken up again one\\nof the more sensible themes or duties of every-day life, to find in it more\\ntrue enjoyment than could be found in all the wild experimenting with\\nunknown quantities\\nHave you ever crossed the wide I was going to say, but it is wide no\\nlonger stretch of water between America and Europe, and while in mid\\nocean, with nothing but the sea and sky around you, nothing outside the\\nplates of iron that intervene between you and one of the most pitiless of\\nelements, but other elements equally as pitiless when roused to wrath by\\none of their number trespassing on the territory of the others While thus\\nsituated, I repeat, have you ever dreamed\\nIf you have not, you have no business on the vasty deep. You have no\\nbusiness there except to be sick, and as near sick unto death as it is possi-\\nble to be, for that should be the only excuse for a mortal, blessed as the\\ncase may be, with or without imagination, not dreaming whether he be old\\nor young. He must dream when he finds himself flung, as it were, more", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0078.jp2"}, "79": {"fulltext": "71\\nclosely under the eye of Heaven than he can possibly find himself any-\\nwhere else on earth, except perhaps, on the wide expanse of some\\nWesternland prairie.\\nBreasting the green billows under somewhat such circumstances as those\\nwhich may have drawn from William Allingham the well-known lines\\nA wet sheet and a flowing sea\\nAnd a wind that follows fast,\\nonly steam instead of poetic air was her motive power, the good ship\\nAurania plunged on into the nearer Orient, and leaning back on the se-\\ncurely-lashed steamer chair, watching the blue smoke from the half-con-\\nsumed cigar between my lips curl up toward the bluer vault above, I\\ndreamed.\\nBoys, do you care for dreams\\nSometimes they are worth listening to, sometimes they are not. Some-\\ntimes, for the mere reason that they are dreams, they possess a fascination\\naltogether wanting in the more practical phases of what is a most practical\\nthing, life, only equalled in point of practicalness by one other thing,\\ndeath and the practicalness of the latter, so far as we are concerned as\\nindividuals, is limited, so to speak, to the speculative, for our experience\\nof it will be so eminently practical that we can but leave to others a legacy\\nof the speculations we at one time indulged in ourselves regarding it.\\nBut we are wandering, and what wonder; nay, rather, we are commenc-\\ning to dream, and what more natural, with naught but sky above us, naught\\nbut water round us, nothing to take the place of wind whisperings through\\nthe leaves of many trees but ever and anon discordant sighings of the\\nwayward breeze round ropes and lines of various thicknesses and different\\npowers of resistance. Further, nothing between us and the speculatively\\npractical save a quarter of an inch or maybe a half-inch of metal. But\\nwe don t think of this latter fact; it is the farthest off of any from our\\nthoughts, we give no heed to it, we dream, and then we dream again; and\\nthen well, what follows is to come.\\nCHAPTER III.\\nI loved Annette.\\nI had loved her from the first moment I had set eyes upon her, or rather\\nfrom the first moment my eyes met hers on the night the Wrexhams gave\\nthe ball that was a nine days wonder of Fifth Avenue, and which is now,\\nexcept in cases such as my own, not more than a half memory.\\nAnnette was not handsome, she was pretty. I did not want her to be\\nhandsome, or, rather, to me she was handsome, more handsome than the\\nproudest beauty, product of royal court or Imperial palace, and I have\\nseen a great many such lights of the social world that is, I have been privi-\\nleged, as the old world citizen would put it, to look upon them.\\nDid Annette love me? Dolt that I was, I had not discovered whether\\nshe did or not. I had paid her the most marked attention, and she was the\\nsweetest little friend that man could have but strange, with her I felt a\\ndiffidence that, truth to tell, was scarcely characteristic of me in a general\\nsense, and unlike the brave, whose right the old saying has it is to deserve\\nthe fair, by my hesitancy and procrastination I most certainly did not de-\\nserve the wave of that pink edged handkerchief that was my only answer,\\nto the desperately and hotly-breathed words Annette, I love you.\\nHeavens I, calling myself a man, afraid to speak to a little mite of a\\nweak woman, and taking a boy s method of confessing what might be a", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0079.jp2"}, "80": {"fulltext": "72\\nfault, when I knew I was pretty safe to escape immediate punishment.\\nBut, the pink-edged taste of muslin or what ever it was, as small and deli-\\ncate, as prim and pretty as its owner; did its fluttering to the breeze that\\nflounced out from the heights of lloboken mean anything\\nPshaw I flung the cigar overboard and sprang to my feet, and the deck\\ndid not slope sufliciently to divert my nervous tread more than a few planks\\none way or other as I strode rapidly from one end of the promenade-deck\\nto the other.\\nIf Tom Campbell is to be trusted in regard to his assertion that dis-\\ntance lends enchantment to the view, then he solves the problem of how\\nit came about that as knot after knot was reeled off by the stout ship bear-\\ning me away from the now far-off Western World, the view in my mind s\\neye of that dingy New York pier, with its commonplace surroundings\\nremained the most interesting spot among the many I had knowledge of in\\nthe great land that owned me as a son, and the one little object that was\\nthe head and front of that bright mind s-eye vista grew into a tantalizing\\nconcentration of enchantment that was positively unnerving.\\nConfound it! I said, there is no such thing as stopping off here,\\nchanging cars, side-tracking, or doing as the wise men are said to do, tak-\\ning second thought and in my case going back. What did you go away\\nfor anyhow, Will C hay tor\\nWhat had I gone away for anyhow\\nI had asked myself the question, andjiardly knew how to answer it.\\nThe only answer I could make was: For pleasure.\\nAnd here I was, fretting to be back once more. Clearly I was not on a\\ntrip of pleasure bound. I might have dreamed of taking such a trip, but\\nthe dream was certainly in a very poor way of being realized.\\nI crossed to the rail and leaned over, watching the waters apparently\\ntravel by at racing speed. I only looked for a moment. It annoyed me\\nto see the demonstrating evidence that I was getting farther and farther\\naway from the place that now I wished the less and less to be removed from.\\nWill Chaytor, you are a fool, I said, as I threw myself down once\\nmore in my chair. The blue vault above looked as deep and beautiful\\nwell, as deep and beautiful as Annette s eyes. Will Chaytor, you are a\\nfool, I repeated, and dre*v a big rug closely round me while the brisk\\nwind blowing from the far-off American shore seemed to throw back to\\nme as an echo the words Will Chaytor, you are a fool\\nThe breeze was but a poor comforter, it would make savage attacks on\\nthe end of the rug, it would insist on trying to tear my cap off, and the\\nblue sky above looked down as deep and beautiful as confound it, I\\ncould not help making the comparison again as deep and beautiful as\\nAnnette s eyes.\\nI made a rush for the library and pulling from a row of George Sand s\\nworks the volume Consuelo^ strove to bury my thoughts in those of\\nanother.\\nCHAPTER IV.\\nSix days out.\\nWe were off the Irish Coast. Every eye was strained to catch the first\\nglimpse of the Fastnet Rock, with the famous lighthouse dominating its\\nrugged and storm-beaten sides. The possessors of the numerous field\\nglasses trained on the Eastern horizon were the first ones to shout, I see\\nIt, there it is.\\nWhere is it? let me look, please let me look, and many such words", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0080.jp2"}, "81": {"fulltext": "dropped from rosy lips under sunburnt cheeks, and from pale blue lips\\nunder as pallid sick-lined faces.\\nI was not looking toward the Fastnet, I had seen it before, and, more-\\nover, I had not been sea-sick, though I had not been enjoying myself to\\nany extraordinary extent. I was looking astern, to where, in the distance,\\nthe great white wake of the steamer melted into the green-blue of water\\nand sky, and watching the fading West, where the sun was fast drop-\\nping down to rest. In an hour we were up to the sentinel of gray rock\\nthat guards the first approach to the European Contineiit on the main route\\nacross the Atlantic. We were past it, the flag had been raised and lowered\\nby the watchers on that lone ocean post, ours had been run up also, and I\\nknew that within a few moments, over the wires would be flashing the\\nnews to the Old W^orld and the New World alike, that the good\\nship Aurania had arrived.\\nWould Annette scan the paper in the morning to see if I had reached\\nport safely, would she give more than a passing thought to the fact that I\\nhad? Would she feel any more than the ordinary satisfaction of a friend\\nwho learns that a friend had safely completed a journey on which the\\ndanger of accident was a probability\\nI could not help such thoughts. Then as the red sun sank away in that\\nfar West where lay my thoughts, and as the crimson streaks of what was\\na glorious sunset shot up among the higher clouds, I turned to look on the\\ngray shores looming up on our left. I wished it were morning instead of\\nevening; I did not like the great shadows falling over the rocky coast and\\nthe distant inland heights of Kerry and Clare, I had seen them under the\\nglancing sunlight, and they had looked bright and fair, but as night closed\\ndown they appeared dark and forbidding, and even the bright full moon\\nslowly rising and welcoming us ocean sojourners to her Old World\\nrealm, failed to rouse me to an appreciation of the beauties of Queenstown\\nHarbor on a clear, bright night. I marked the round topped hills as we\\nran through by the forts; they were familiar objects. I marked the odd\\nlights twinkling up above the ramparts, showing that life was there. Then\\nacross the glistening waters of the harbor, other lights from the white-\\nfronted houses of the town came into view as we swung out from where\\nthe anchor dropped below fhe silver-tipped waves. Then the lights seemed\\nto creep behind the black hull and square yards of a huge British man-of-\\nwar, but of course they were stationary and it was we who were swinging\\nround with the tide. Then came the assault from the shore and I was\\nwatching a big Irishman trying to sell one of my traveling companions a\\nblackthorn stick for double its value, when somebody touched me on the\\narm, and looking round I saw our table steward, who surprised me by\\nsaying,\\nThere is a telegram for you in the saloon, sir.\\nI thanked him, and not waiting to see the result of the deal over the\\nblackthorn, went down the companion-way.\\nWho could be telegraphing me I expected one or two letters from\\nLondon, but had not looked for a wire from either side of the Atlantic,\\nand I wondered if anything unexpected could have happened at\\nhome, or if anything extraordinary had transpired among my friends\\nin England.\\nOn the table in the saloon were two letters addressed to me and a mes-\\nsage. It was a cable, and from America. I allowed the letters to lie and\\nhastily tore open the message and read it. Then I read it a second time,\\nI even read it a third time. Then I laid it on the table and sat down and\\nlo", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0081.jp2"}, "82": {"fulltext": "74\\nlooked at it. Then I got up again, held it to the light, I could not doubt\\nit. The words were there and they were these\\nWill Chaytor, you are a fool to leave New York and Annette.\\nBoys, I m hungry, broke in Gil Wiese, and it s lunch-time there\\nis a dining-room aboard and Mac s sentiment has shut his ears without\\nopening his eyes.\\nCan t you wait awhile longer and hear the finish of the story said\\nLaurie.\\nNot when I have heard the dinner bell, said Gil come along, eat\\nfirst and talk afterward.\\nIt was Gil s style. You could not do anything with him. Put him in\\nWestminster Abbey near lunch-time, and he would not take a guide-\\nbook in one hand unless you put a ham sandwich or something better in\\nthe other. The writer must plead guilty to being perfectly willing that the\\npractical member of the party should be the puller of chestnuts out of the\\nfire. He would also when hungry sooner eat than tell stories, and Laurie,\\nwho was beginning to think his brother s story all right, thus left hopelessly\\nin the minority, gracefully gave in, and the three pairs of knickerbockers,\\nsailing down the Knickerbocker stream, on the pre-eminently Knicker-\\nbocker boat, turned into the big dining saloon of the New York, and\\nsecured a table to themselves.\\nDo you know what a story always seems like to me, whether I read it\\nor hear it told said Gil, as the soup appeared.\\nNot getting any reply, he went on.\\nIt seems like this plate of soup you don t know what s in it.\\nWe all looked up, while the darkey waiter looked down, and with a be-\\nnignant countenance remarked\\nThat is mullagatawny, sir.\\nAh, I didn t mean what was in the plate, said Gil I meant what\\nwas in the soup.\\nThe countenance of the dusky attendant did not smile quite as much on\\nhearing this, and he went after a spoon.\\nGil, you will get us all in the soup if you talk like that, put in Laurie.\\nYou re not dipping into a well, Gd, but you may find the truth you are\\nlooking for at the bottom of that plate, said the writer.\\nWell, if 1 do find this particular soup, pure and undefiled mullagatawny,\\nI will retract and say it is unlike a story.\\nRather rough on yourself, Gil, as well as on Pittsburgh.\\nNot a bit of it, I ll prove the truth of my story, which is an exception\\nto the general run. But you fellows can t shove on me your Lake\\nGeorge vagaries, or the stories of your being chased by tigers in India, or\\nchasing yourselves for no reason whatever across the ocean. Oh no, but\\nI m curious to know what MacOwen did with that New York product of\\nsweetness.\\nYou don t mean to say you think I m relating a personal experience,\\nGil almost shouted the writer.\\nWhy of course I do. You told the thing that way, so you need not get\\nmad, anyhow if you were not in it so much the worse luck for you, and\\nit s only another proof of what I said about truth in most stories being an\\nunknown quantity.\\nWell I m very sorry to spoil your idea, I am not the hero, but I know\\nhim and can vouch for the truth of the story which of course I tell in my\\nown words.\\nOh! use whatever words you like only don t let them be quite as tough", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0082.jp2"}, "83": {"fulltext": "75\\nas this duck I wish I had taken roast beef anyhow, Mac, what did the\\nfellow do about the telegram\\nI protest against having our last romance spoiled by the contiguity of\\ntough duck, it is bad enough, Gil, to have a doubting Thomas like\\nyourself around. Wait until we go on deck, remarked Laurie.\\nIn half an hour s time we were once more enjoying the delights of pure\\nair and a wide vista from the upper deck, and as the interesting portion\\nof the trip lay further down-stream the interrupted story was in order.\\nCome now, give us the rest of Annette, and don t hurry, for we have a\\ngood stretch of the river before us, said Laurie.\\nGil settled himself to listen with an evident air of interest, and the big\\nsteamer and the tale voyaged on.\\nCHAPTER V.\\nWill Chaytor, you are a fool.\\nThe condemnation which I had passed upon myself, receiving such a\\nswift and indisputable confirmation, and that, too, from a quarter whence\\nI had least expected it, was nearly the last straw, which, according to the\\nold saying, is bound to break the camel s back.\\nWhat did it all mean Did the words staring me in the face, or more\\ncorrectly speaking, the words at which I was staring, signify that I had\\nhopelessly and irrevocably hurt myself in the estimation of Annette, or,\\non the contrary, were they intended to convey the impression to me that\\nAnnette thought sufficiently of me to be pleased at my bold confession at\\nthe moment of leaving, while being displeased at my going away from all\\nthat I professed to hold dearest. Never in my school-boy days had I to\\nwrestle with a proposition in Euclid or an obstinate algebraic equation so\\ndesperately as I had to work over the problem as to what that telegram\\nmeant. Why was it sent what mission was it designed to perform\\nwhat should I do about it\\nI realized the truth that on my action depended what was more to me\\nthen, than the acquisition of the world s empire would have been to an\\nAlexander or a Napoleon. That message meant something. It meant\\none of two things, either that Annette meant to be my friend or that she\\nwas something more.\\nCHAPTER VI.\\nThe return trail.\\nI had resolved to take it, and I held in my hand the schedule of\\nWestern sailings of the ocean greyhounds. For one-half hour I pondered\\nover the import of the message and then my resolve was taken. I will\\naccept the words, Will Chaytor, you are a fool to leave New York and\\nAnnette, as a command to return from the Old World and all that it\\noffered in the way of pleasure, the friends who were expecting me there,\\nthe acquaintances of many a bright memory of the past, the boon com-\\npanions who were looking for my coming to duplicate in a milder way the\\nfrolics of old times. I would throw them all to the four winds, if I could\\nfind but a favoring breeze to bear me on the return trail across old ocean,\\nas fast, or faster than I had come over it.\\nIt was Saturday. By consulting the table of sailings and interviewing\\nthe first officer, I found that I could catch one of the flyers the next day at\\nQueenstown if I got off there instead of going on to Liverpool. It took\\nme but an instant to decide upon this, once my mind was made up as to\\nhow I should accept the meaning of Annette s message, and, grip in hand,", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0083.jp2"}, "84": {"fulltext": "76\\nI bade a hasty farewell to my shipmateSj who wondered at my sudden de-\\ntermination to go ashore at the Irish port, and after a few minutes dash\\nacross the bright waters of Queenstown Harbor, I stood upon the landing\\nand ran the gauntlet of the customs authorities. Then, suddenly, the\\nthought came to me, how about those remembrances for the family, how\\nabout that necklace for Annette. I must get them, and surely Cork, a few\\nmiles up the river Lee, must be enough of a city to possess a fur cape, and\\neven the necklace for Annette. Happy thought, those pneumatic bicycles\\njust come out, and one of which my younger brother had desired me to\\nbring him, were a product of the very island I was in, there must be an\\nagent for them in the capital of Munster\\nBy rail to Cork was but a pins-head of travel, and a fur cape was assured\\nof a trip across the ocean. An Irish blackthorn stick and a bog oak cane\\njoined the cape, and then I went for the biggest jeweler in the city. Before\\nI found him I ran across the agency for the Mecredy cycles, with pneu-\\nmatic tires, and that job was settled, but here my luck stopped. I could\\nnot get a necklace to suit. In the whole of Cork I could not find one\\ngood enough for Annette, and then another thing cropped up, which,\\nstrange to say, I had not thought of before. I had not enough money with\\nme. My letter of credit was all I had, beyond what 1 had spent on my\\nother purchases.\\nWhat was I to do Wait for the next steamer or forfeit the present for\\nAnnette, the most important gift of the lot What action would Annette\\nthink most of, my prompt return minus the necklace, or a later arrival with\\nthe most beautiful gift I could find in the line of diamonds It did not\\ntake long for me to decide that I would return by the very next boat, even\\nif I had to forego the bearing of a costly token of love from the shores of\\nthe Old World to the shores of that other New World which held\\nAnnette.\\nBut stay, no need to lose the chances that the bearing of the necklace\\nmight give me. There was a way yet as certainly as there was a will. I\\nwent to the branch of the National bank in the city, stated my case partially\\nto the cashier, and in half an hour the wires carried a message to one of\\nthe largest exporting houses in Liverpool, to whom I was well known,\\nsaying to secure one of the finest diamond necklaces in the city of\\nLiverpool, and send it by special messenger via Holyhead and Dublin to\\ncatch the Servia the next day at Queenstown. A second telegram\\nsent personally, and partly explaining matters, and placing limit of price\\nat ;i^5oo, with orders to draw on New York for that amount, followed the\\nfirst one.\\nI knew that, providing the message reached our house in Liverpool in\\ntime, they would attend to the business without questioning. They wei e\\naware I was on the Aurania, and while they might wonder at what looked\\nlike some vagary on my part, they could not afford to do anything but\\nfollow my orders. The matter then was so far settled until I could get an\\nanswer from them by return wire. In due course it came, and read,\\nMessenger leaves this p. M. on the Servia with goods as directed.\\nMy head felt light as I walked away from the bank and sought my hotel.\\nThat night I slept as solidly as any rock lying a hundred fathoms below the\\nreach of wind and tide, for the next night I knew would see me lOO miles\\nwest of the Fastnet on the return trail over old ocean.", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0084.jp2"}, "85": {"fulltext": "77\\nCHAPTER VII.\\nAll aboard\\nAll were aboard the big ocean liner. The tender which had brought\\noff the Queenstown passengers lay alongside the long black hull of the\\nServia. She looked by contrast like a forester s cottage set down by\\nsome Rhine fortress, or like a New England frame homestead dropped\\nbeside a Chicago monolith of brick and mortar.\\nSign here, sir, said a smooth-faced ministerial-looking individual,\\nwearing the whitest linen, the smallest black tie, and the neatest check\\nsuit I had seen since leaving New York.\\nHe was the representative of the firm I had wired to in Liverpool, and\\nhe had put into my hands the small package, which, opened before him,\\ncontained a box holding what was a superb necklace.\\nI signed the paper that he laid before me, which was a receipt for the\\nvaluable consignment, and thanked him for the attention.\\nI suppose you are aware that the article is dutiable, he said, looking\\nup at me,\\nYes, I guess it will cost me something to cross the gangway with it\\nat New York, I replied,\\nNot necessarily so, he said.\\nAs he folded up the paper I noticed the sparkle of a diamond ring\\nwhich he wore on the fourth finger of his left hand.\\nI see you are a judge of good stones, I said, as my eye dwelt on the\\nbrilliant in its rich setting.\\nHe raised his finger to the light and turned the ring round with the fin-\\ngers of his other hand, saying,\\nYes, it is a very fair stone I gave ^50 for it yesterday.\\nI looked at it a moment and then said,\\nI want just such a ring as that. I will give you ;^6o for it.\\nHe took the ring from Ms finger. I paid him the money, and, appa-\\nrently thinking that he had had a pleasant trip, if a short one, he boarded\\nthe tender and joined the group on her deck, who were waving handker-\\nchiefs and shouting to us as we weighed anchor and headed out of the\\nharbor. The package, with a few other things I placed in care of the\\npurser, and under the slanting rays of the western dropping sun we steamed\\nout between the forts and ran along the same coast which I had passed\\nbut little over a day before. The green round-topped hills faded away\\nbehind us. The bright sunlight seemed to come to meet us from the\\nwestern sky, the heavy swells of the great Atlantic came broader and\\nlonger as we edged slowly away from the leeward shore. Once more the\\nFastnet loomed up. this time on our right. Once more the flags waved\\nand once more the wires bore the message that the good ship Servia\\nwas on the westward trail, and I was happy. Would Annette s eye note\\nthe sailing If so, would she have the remotest idea that I was on board\\nImpossible It would be the last thing she would think of. It would be\\nthe last thing that any one in New York would think of. She might half\\nexpect a letter, but a letter could not reach New York before I would once\\nmore set foot on the pier, or the next pier to the one on which I had\\nleft her. I was happy,\\nCHAPTER VIII,\\nHomeward bound.\\nYes, homeward bound, and homeward bound meant Annette. Stay,\\ndid it mean Annette What reason had I to believe that it did I did", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0085.jp2"}, "86": {"fulltext": "7S\\nnot know. I do not know now why I felt that there was not a doubt\\nahead. There might be 3,000 miles of water, there might be storm and\\ntempest, there might be danger, even death. I did not think of any of\\nthem. I only thought of Annette, and as I stood on the forward deck and\\nsaw the heavy rolling seas part to right and left before the prow of the huge\\nmass of steel and iron bearing me into the red lap of the western sky, I\\nonly thought of one bright spot in the world of golden light flung over the\\nsea and sky in front of me, and that one bright spot was the dingy pier\\non the North River where I had last seen Annette.\\nCHAPTER IX.\\nSix days out.\\nWe were past the Banks. The ocean breeze had given place to a\\nfew hours of fog. The business-like roll of the dark billows of the At-\\nlantic, melting into the long, easy, lighter green swell of the Banks,\\nhad given place to a somewhat heavier sea, and the great ship rolled\\nslightly as she bore down on the eastern shore of the New World.\\nAgain I lay on that same steamer chair. Again the same wind seemed\\nto dislike that my rug should be rolled so tightly round me, again it strove\\nto play fast and loose with the cap which I had pulled securely down over\\nmy ears. Again the blue curls of smoke from one of my last cigars floated\\naway to that other blue above, that blue which had made me thmk of An-\\nnette s eyes, and which now made me think of them again, and again I\\ndreamed.\\nI will ask you again, boys, do you care for dreams\\nYou do well, here is what I dreamed.\\nIt seemed as though we were already passing underneath the uplifted\\nhand of the Bartholdi statue in New York Bay. Then we had passed\\nQuarantine without a stop, and then, running by the Battery and leaving\\nthe square tower of the Produce Exchange and the tapering spire of old\\nTrinity Church behind, we dropped into our berth alongside the pier.\\nAmong the crowds on the pier I eagerly sought for some one whom I\\nmight know. Suddenly my eye caught sight of a little group standing\\napart from the body of the crowd, and my heart jumped as I recognized\\nthe familiar faces of those who had seen me off from the same place but\\ntwo short weeks previous. I could not believe my eyes. Not one or two\\nor three were there, but all of them. Ail of them, did I say? Not all of\\nthem. I looked again. Most surely not all of them were there. Where\\nwas was was Annette I rubbed my eyes and looked again. Yes,\\nthey were all there, Annette must be there, she must be. But look as I\\nmight, as hard and as long as I could, there was no Annette, there was no\\nwave of a pink-edged handkerchief, there was no leaning of a little figure\\non a larger and stronger one, there was no confound it everything was\\ndark and misty, there was no light, and then a most diabolical pandemo-\\nnium of laughter commenced, which died away as I awoke into the re-\\nverberations of the dinner gong and the human merriment of a number of\\nmy fellow-travelers who were standing round me when I had rolled off\\nmy chair to the deck.\\nHallo, Chaytor, said one of them. You were having a sweet old\\ntime there to yourself. You ve burnt a hole in your rug; what on earth\\nwere you dreaming about?\\nI would wager from the way you look, Mr. Chaytor, that you dreamed\\nyou lost the pool on to-day s run, which you were so sure of winning a half\\nhour back, said another.", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0086.jp2"}, "87": {"fulltext": "79\\nI was not dreaming at all, I said, I was not even asleep, but from\\nthe hesitating way in which I made the statement and from the laugh that\\nwent round, I felt that my words did not carry conviction to my hearers,\\nso I went below to bury my disturbed feelings in the mysteries of the din-\\ning-room.\\nThat dream knocked me out completely. We were nearly into port\\nbut I was almost afraid t\u00c2\u00ae get there, I would have liked a postponement of\\nour landing for a day or two. Such feelings were foolish, however, and\\n1 shook them off as best I could, reasoning with myself that by no pos-\\nsibility could my friends have any idea that I was on board the Servia.\\nI slept but little that night and next noon we ran into port.\\nCHAPTER X.\\nNew York\\nWe were back once more. Four puffing and fussy little tugs nosed the\\nbig steamer into her berth, and once more I stood on American soil.\\nWould my dream be realized, where was the incomplete group waiting\\nto receive me I could not find it, and my heart felt glad, for, failing in one\\nparticular, my vision must necessarily be faulty as a whole. Securely\\nstowed away in an inside pocket, I carried the diamond necklace for\\nAnnette, on which I did not propose to pay duty, and against the\\nprobability of having any trouble regarding it, I had fixed by the ring in-\\ncident at Queenstown, I wore the ring myself, and intended as soon as I\\ngot on shore that I would have the stone re-set for ladies wearing. All\\nthe baggage which I had was one trunk and the bicycle, and these luckily\\ngot off the boat with the first lot of passengers effects, and I ran them\\nthrough the hands of the custom officers without much trouble.\\nIn one hour s time from leaving the wharf I was at home, where,\\nthough late in the afternoon, I found not a single member of the family\\nto supplement the surprise of the servants on seeing me thus suddenly turn\\nup when they understood that I was on the other side of the Atlantic. I\\nwas scarcely in the house 15 minutes before my younger brother came in,\\nand, what between myself and the pneumatic bicycle importation, 1\\nthought the boy would go pretty near crazy.\\nDave was always a bright youngster, from the time he was a year old,\\nand in 10 minutes time, he had the machine at his fingers ends, letting the\\nair out of the valves, pumping it in again, screwing up this joint and\\nloosening that one, and literally walking all over the wheel.\\nSuddenly he ceased his attention to the toy and came over to where I\\nwas rearranging my trunk, after taking out the things I had brought over\\nfor the family.\\nBrother Will, he said, somewhat hesitatingly, I want to tell you\\nsomething.\\nWell, go ahead, Dave, I said. Isn t the machine all right\\nOh it s a dandy, and I m ever so much obliged to you for it, I deserve\\nto be kicked for wasting the past half hour on it when I had something of\\nimportance maybe to tell you.\\nWell, then make a break. What is it? You don t owe that con-\\nfounded Wallis any more money, do you? Dave sometimes got into\\nsmall pecuniary difficulties, and I was invariably his confidant.\\nA little, not much, but that s not what I meant, it s worse than\\nthat.\\nWorse than that, well I had better not go away in such a hurry again.\\nWhat s up now", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0087.jp2"}, "88": {"fulltext": "So\\nI don t think you had, leastwise you hadn t, I mean you were\\nfoolish here he stopped.\\nthe boy, I muttered, as I gave a vicious twist to some stuff in a\\ncorner of the trunk, he s got the fool racket on, too.\\nDave saw there was something wrong and he hesitated.\\nHand me a match and fire away with what you have got to say, I\\nsaid.\\nHe struck the match, and as I lighted a cigar blurted out\\nYou know Annette Lascelles, don t you, brother Will\\nWhy, of course I do, I replied, in as suave a manner as possible,\\nthough mentally I was saying, the young scallawag, he knows that as well\\nas I do without asking.\\nWell, you know that crazy- head lawyer feller, Somers, don t you,\\nWill\\nYes, I know Dick Somers, but what the devil has he got to do with\\nMiss Lascelles?\\nAnd you know Mr. Hicks, that stuffed so at mamma s reception, who\\nlooks like old Cleveland, only he hasn t any more manners than a boot-\\nblack\\nWhat are you driving at, Dave What has Hicks to do with Somers,\\nor what have they both to do with Annette? I dropped the name in-\\nadvertently, and at the same time dropped my cigar.\\nI stooped to pick it up, at the same time brushing the ashes off my coat\\nsleeve.\\nDave took advantage of my occupation and came right out with\\nThey ve got this much to do with her, one of them is going to marry\\nMiss Lascelles, that s alL I thought you would like to know.\\nI let the cigar lie and stared in blank astonishment at Dave, who was\\ntwirling one of the pedals of his machine round as if his life depended\\non making it go at the highest speed attainable.\\nDave, I said, you re an ass.\\nMaybe I am, but she s a bigger one if she marries one of those Jakes.\\nI scarcely knew whether to be angry at Dave s want of respect for\\nAnnette, or mollified at the disparagement of two of the men who, I must\\nconfess, I had had my eye on for some time past as being possible rivals for\\nthe favor of Annette.\\nCome, come, Dave, you are mistaken, I said. What makes you\\ntalk like that?\\nWell, brother Will, I didn t know^ but it would interest you, because\\nI heard Cousin Bess say that it would, and she said you were a fool to go\\nto Europe, and now that you re back, why don t you knock those chaps\\nout I like Annette, I do; she s a daisy, and she used to like you before\\nyou went away. Cousin Bess said that, too.\\nI was pretty nearly dumbfounded. I picked up my cigar, relighted it,\\ngot some writing materials, penned a note saying I was in New York and\\nhad brought her something from Europe, directed it to Annette, called\\nDave over and said\\nDave, when you have delivered that letter and brought me an answer,\\nyou can bring me that bill from Wallis and any others you have. I ll look\\nafter them.\\nYou re not angry with me. Will, are you? Wallis bill is only about\\n^loo.\\nCertainly I m not, you re a good boy for once, Dave. Now leg it, or\\nride it as fast as you can, and bring me an answer.", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0088.jp2"}, "89": {"fulltext": "I ll ride, and I ll get an answer or bust that pneumatic, he said, as,\\nwith the machine, he flung himself out of the room.\\nThere was wonder without stint inside of the household an hour from\\nthat time. Questions without number were piled on me from every mem-\\nber of the family, but I kept my counsel and merely said that I got tired\\nof the trip before it had commenced, and decided to return home.\\nCHAPTER XI.\\nThe answer.\\nDave had brought It. I tore the little square envelope open with fever-\\nish impatience. There were three lines written across the small sheet of\\nnotepaper, and they were these Will Chaytor, you were not a fool to\\nreturn to New York and Annette\\nDave, bring me that bill of yours, and any others your unlimited ex-\\ntravagance may have contracted, I said to my trusty messenger.\\nHe was about to speak, but hesitated.\\nWell, what s the matter, got a whole mountain of debt resting on your\\nshoulders, Dave\\nBrother Will, the bicycle is broke, he said, in a crestfallen way,\\nBroken already dead broke, is it, like yourself? Well, that s a pity\\nwe must get it mended.\\nI couldn t help it, Will down at Desbrosses Street a big truck ran\\nclear over the back wheel.\\nWell, don t look so down in the mouth about it, Dave, I suppose you\\ncould not help it. The thing is easily mended.\\nThat s just what I told Miss Lascelles.\\nThe bicycle broke, then, when you were going that was worse stilL\\nNo, it didn t, either the fool of an Irishman ran into me just as I\\ngot off the ferry.\\nHow in the name of sense, then, could you tell Miss Lascelles about\\nit?\\nI didn t say I did. You told me not to be down in the mouth about\\nit, and that s just what I told Miss Lascelles about you. I wasn t talkin\\nabout the bicycle.\\nI grabbed him by the arm.\\nWhat s that you say, I shouted; you told Annette not to be down\\nin the mouth about me Dave, I ll kick you\\nNo, I didn t, either. I told Annette you were down in the mouth\\nabout her, or if you were not, you had lost an awful lot of money, or\\nsomething. I told her you looked worried almost to death, but that I\\nthought that she was so good and kind she could mend things up. That s\\nalmost what you told me about the bicycle.\\nI went over to a mirror and surveyed my physical appearance. I never\\nappeared better in my life, never looked stronger or heartier.\\nDave, you re an ass a double-distilled concentration of stupidity, I\\nsaid.\\nNo, I aint. Will, I ll bet you I aint, for Annette said, Poor Will he\\nmust have had a fearful bad trip I think she said fearful, and then she\\nwrote that letter.\\nWell, maybe you are not such a bad fellow, Dave, after all. Look\\nthose bills up, and I ll get them fixed, and get the bicycle fixed, too, and\\nhere, shake hands, Dave, my boy, you knock the special messenger service\\nout anyhow.\\nNow, I suppose you fellows think you re going to get a taste of realistic\\nIX", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0089.jp2"}, "90": {"fulltext": "b2\\nlove-making. Not a bit of it Annette was one of the most practical little\\nbodies within the boundaries of New York. Two hours from the time I\\nreceived her answer to my note I had knocked the chances of the other\\nfellows supposing they ever had any into a good, old-fashioned cocked\\nhat, and it was not the necklace, fine as it was, that did the business, I\\nmight have let the said necklace go, or a dozen of them for that matter,\\nwhich fact on my discovering it forced me to acknowledge that, in sober\\nearnest, I had very nearly made a big fool of myself, and to also acknowl-\\nedge that I had found a wise little woman, as well as a loving one, in\\nAnnette.\\nAt Nyack-on-the-Hudson, there is a typical American home where, on\\na ground-work of common sense, dwell love, honor, and happiness, and\\nthe greatest of these is happiness, because it is born of love and nurtured\\nin honor.\\nThere s your story, boys, how does it suit you? I am sorry I could\\nnot tell it better than I have done. With Gil there, it s being a veracious\\ntale will go a long way toward excusing its literary faults.\\nI m satisfied, said Gil, but you forgot to tell us if, after chasing\\nyourself across and back on the Atlantic, yourself, or rather Annette and\\nthe chaser, got married.\\nGil would like the whole courtship, marriage-service, and honeymoon\\nserved up with extra salad dressing. Come, Gil, you re not so dumb as\\nall that can t you understand they got married, did Will and Annette,\\nand lived happily ever after at Nyack, said Laurie.\\nDon t we pass that place going down the river? queried Gilbert.\\nYes, very shortly.\\nWell, then, suppose Mac shows us the exact spot where the heroine\\nof this romance of real life lives, put in Gil.\\nOh you can t see the house from the river, the writer remarked,\\nI thought not, that s generally the way with interesting things of this\\nsort, and as Gil spoke he got up and went over to the rail.\\nMac, is that tale as true as Chester s Give it straight, old man,\\nasked Laurie.\\nAs far as I know of Chester s story, the one I have told is truer. I\\nnever saw his summer girl flame.\\nNor I. I suppose he had no compunctions about taking us into his\\nconfidence, as it is several years since his trip to Lake George, said Lau-\\nrie, and then he also went over to the rail, as he remarked, to take a\\nsnap-shot of Nyack when we should reach that place.", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0090.jp2"}, "91": {"fulltext": "CHAPTER XI.\\nHOME AGAIN.\\nIt was but a short half-hour from the finishing of the last of the quar-\\ntette of stories, when the high banks at West Point rose up to the right.\\nAs the steamer passed this historic spot a cheer from a group of cadets be-\\nlonging to the famous military college at that place greeted the wash from\\nher paddle wheels on the rocks of the Point. The Indian fighters of the\\nfuture to the number of about twenty were enjoying a swim, some of\\nthem being in the water and others spread over the rocks. In a few\\nmoments they were away behind. To one-half of the Quartette this\\nnoted river trip was entirely new, and the cameras had to do heavy duty\\nin catching the numerous objects of interest along the time-honored shore,\\nthe flotillas of canal barges, and the various pleasure craft dotting the\\nbroad bosom of the river, Poughkeepsie, Newburgh, Storm King\\nMountain, standing out bluff and hearty against the gray-blue sky;\\nthe old-time abiding places of Washington Irving and the many other\\nnotable characters in literature and history, whose names are indissolubly\\nlinked with this beautiful stream. Then the Palisades rose up dun\\ncolored and impressive in the distance, and not the less interesting as we\\npassed them. Up-stream came the noted old river-boat, the Mary\\nPowell, and then as.the great Babylon of the New World, represented\\nby the cities of New York, Jersey City, and Brooklyn, was approached,\\nlying under a hazy mist which rolled in from the ocean, the shipping of all\\nkinds increased in number, and as the broadside of Gotham crept toward\\nus, or rather as we swept down upon it, the head and front of marine\\ninterest came into view in the shape of the White Squadron, which we\\nhad last seen at Boston on the commencement of our journeyings.\\nUncle Sam s great cruisers were lying at anchor in mid-stream, and as\\nwe ran by them, all eyes were bent on the stately vessels lying at ease on\\nthe calm waters of the royal stream, their square yards, black smoke-stacks,\\nand white hulls forming a splendid spectacle, interesting alike to the eye\\nof the unsophisticated landsman and the professional seaman. Inside of\\na few minutes from reaching it, our boat ran into her berth, and once more\\nwe were on solid earth in the city of New York. Only for a few minutes,\\nhowever, for it was nearly six o clock, and, making straight for the Penn-\\nsylvania Railroad ferries, we were soon on the Jersey shore and sampling\\nthe rough-and-tumble pavements of Jersey City. As long as daylight\\nlasted the programme was to go ahead. So, through Jersey City, and\\nacross the low-lying lands between that great centre and Newark, the trio\\nof riders made their way. The road connecting the two large cities may\\nbe a fairly good one in point of surface, but we found it a most abominably\\nfoul one in the way of olfactory embellishment. Of all the evil smells\\nmet with during the course of the three weeks trip, those of the seven or\\neight miles stretch between Jersey City and Newark were most decidedly\\nthe worst.\\nOnce is enough to travel that dismal stretch of country. By the side of\\nthe road stretch long vistas of marsh-land covered with waving masses of\\nflags and rushes, suggesting scenes and incidents such as in our younger\\n83", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0091.jp2"}, "92": {"fulltext": "84\\ndays we had delighted in dwelling upon in blood-curdling creations of the\\nrealistic novelist and crime concocter. The proximity of numerous hog-\\nslaughtering and like establishments was most offensively demonstrated\\nthrough more than one of our very acute senses, and it was with feelings\\nof relief that we saw the heavenward climbing chimney of the Clarke\\nthread mills gradually grow taller and taller as we approached the busy\\ncentre of industry known as Newark.\\nAt Newark supper was in order and Heaven deliver us from ever hav-\\ning to sup or dine or sample any kind of meal in that burgh again. The\\nsample we had of supper, decided us to push on to Elizabeth, some four\\nmiles nearer Philadelphia, for a stopping-place for the night, and into this\\nlatter town we rolled about lo p. m., and half an hour later went to sleep to\\nthe music of endless moving trains on the Central Railroad of New Jersey.\\nNext morning the Quartette was most inexcusably lazy. It was nine\\no clock before breakfast was finished and the magnificent road leading to\\nWestfield and Plainfield tackled. Being Saturday, it was imperative that\\nthe State of New Jersey, lying between us and our much-desired homes in\\nPhiladelphia, should be crossed. It was an 8o-mile ride, but, on the last\\nday of the trip, and hardened as we were by three weeks of work on the\\nroad, this did not appear as anything too much to cover, and under clear\\nskies and over one of the finest roads in America, running through West-\\nfield to Plainfield, the Quartette made the best time of the whole trip.\\nBeing the route followed by the great century runs between Newark and\\nPhiladelphia, the ride across New Jersey needs but slight description.\\nReaching Plainfield and Bound Brook too early for dinner, the enjoying of\\nthe mid-day meal was postponed until Hopewell was reached, and at this\\nquiet little hamlet the weary inner man was refreshed after a manner that\\nis well and favorably known to cyclers who make the journey a-wheel be-\\ntween the two great metropolitan centres of New York and Philadelphia.\\nDinner over, a half-hour s rest followed, and then on for Trenton was\\nthe word, and on for Trenton we went, over roads that, built of red clay,\\nwere passable enough, but not nearly so satisfactory riding as the grand\\nhighways leading out of Elizabeth and ending at Plainfield.\\nHistoric Trenton We reached it, we went through it, we did not stop\\nin it, it was old ground to us, but straight down that well-known composi-\\ntion-block paved street to the long bridge across the Delaware went the\\nQuartette, and as the evening shadows commenced to assert them-\\nselves in the eastern sky, the Pennsylvania shore was gained, and into\\nBristol, after an abominably rutty and sandy ride, with one mistake made\\nas to the road, the now slightly weary pedalers pushed their way.\\nSome refreshment was in order at Glosson s noted hostelry, and then\\ndown the Bristol Pike with the appetite of expectation whetted, the Quar-\\ntette rode and walked toward the City of Homes. The sun had set.\\nDarkness was falling faster than we bargained for, and faster than the mis-\\nerably surfaced road rendered agreeable. Side-path riding was all that\\ncould be done, and side-path walking was as often as not the order of\\nmarch. The swiftly-rushing trains on the Pennsylvania Railroad between\\nPhiladelphia and New York passed us in either direction, their on-rushing\\nmaking mock of our comparatively slow advance. Then night fell, and\\nas we drew near the environs of Frankford and its aggregation of cobble-\\nstones and vile street railway tracks, the practical soul of Gil Wiese re-\\nbelled against work fit only for hewers of wood and drawers of water,\\nand he proposed that for the balance of the ride into the overgrown vil-\\nlage the steel highway should be laid under requisition. The writer", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0092.jp2"}, "93": {"fulltext": "85\\nseconded the motion, and down to one of the way stations, through what\\nwas pitch darkness, floundered the Quartette, A resident of the locality\\ninformed us that the next train did not stop.\\nFlag it, said Gil Wiese.\\nYou can do so by a green light, said the local citizen.\\nForthwith Gil raised a green lantern secured from the station, and\\nmounting a truck on the platform, he swung the signal frantically round\\nhis head as the great eye of the locomotive came down the track.\\nWe were aboard the train in a jiffy, machines and all, and, curiously\\nenough, found the baggage-master a cycler and a rider of a Hickory\\nwheel. He made things comfortable for us for the lo minutes trip across\\nthe city to the much-frequented Zoo station, where, piling out, five\\nminutes later saw the Quartette safe within the precincts of the Penn-\\nsylvania Bicycle Club,\\nKind and long-suffering reader, we have finished; our trip is at an\\nend, our bicycles lie in their old accustomed racks in the wheel-room of\\nthe club-house they are, as we are ourselves, soiled and travel-stained,\\nthe blue and gold on their handle-bars is faded, and in one instance miss-\\ning, lost amid the New Hampshire hills, but they are, as we are ourselves,\\nsafe at home.\\nThe sweetest, dearest spot of all the rest,\\nand over them hangs the club banner, and in blue emblems, on a field of\\ngold, we read the club song.\\nI.\\nTender and true\\nThe gold and the blue\\nWaves over Pennsylvania/^\\nAnd rolling high\\nThe grand old cry\\nRings out Pennsylvania.\\nII.\\nWith hand and with heart,\\nThough spread far apart.\\nStill it is Pennsylvania\\nStill tender and true,\\nThe gold and the blue.\\nStill we are Pennsylvania,*\\nIII.\\nCan never grow old\\nFor us or for Pensylvania;\\nFor tender and true,\\nNeath the gold and the blue,\\nWe re nothing if not Pennsylvania.\\n[the end,]", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0093.jp2"}, "94": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0094.jp2"}, "95": {"fulltext": "The HilliaFd GyelometeF,\\nVhe lightest, neatest, cheapest, and most accurate\\ncyclometer made. It is easily attached to the\\nmachine, where it can be at all times consulted,\\nand it is guaranteed absohitely\\nTveeu-RATE.\\nTHE J. S. HlIililfiRD GOIVlPflllY,\\nManufacturer s Agents, Importers and Jobbers,\\nCycling Accessories and Specialties.\\nOFFICE:\\n1220 FILBERT ST., PHILADELPHIA.\\nH. Ii. ROBERTS GO.,\\n(Successors to EDWARD L. WILSON)\\nPhotographers,\\nMANUFACTURERS AND PUBLISHERS OF\\nStereoscopic Views.\\nOPTICAL LANTERN SLIDES.\\nAMATEURS NEGATIVES CAREFULLY\\nDEVELOPED AND PRINTED.\\n/No. 1305 A-RCH STREET,\\nPHILADELPHIA.", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0095.jp2"}, "96": {"fulltext": "V\\niN DESIGN CONSTRUCTION %FiN15H\\nIU-V6TRATED CATALOGVE f REE\\nS/=rAr~/CM MOUSES\\nW/\\\\FIREM 5T fi\u00c2\u00a3W YOf=fH. 29/ W/^BMSH /iV\u00c2\u00a3 CN/C/^GO.\\nFACTOFfY /iflHTFOFlD. COntY.", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0096.jp2"}, "97": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0097.jp2"}, "98": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0098.jp2"}, "99": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0099.jp2"}, "100": {"fulltext": "Hi\\nLIBRARY OF CONGRESS\\ni III Hi: nil\\n014 042 621", "height": "3600", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "newenglandhandbo00swee_0100.jp2"}}