Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1890-11-15
A PICNIC AND A PANIC.
WRITTEN EXCLUSIVELY FOR THE Evening
STAR BY DAVID GRAHAM ADgE.

pisiogee, to North Conway. that pretty nesting
halfway stoppage at the entrance to the noun
tains. and from fourteen TO sixteen hours to
coach between the Perry House AZ Portland and
the North Conway Hotel, a varied drive over
rolling country from sea to hillside OF some
seventy miles or so, the last town to pass
through on the journey being Fryburg. on the
boundary Of Maine-in those good old days, as
have said. OF six-horse coaching among the
granite White Hills OF New Hampshire, the
summer season in North Conway was as gay and
noisy as at any more fashionable and accessible
watering place within the whole Atlantic states.
Today things are changed Two long lines
of railroads run TO and through the steady
little town; the fine. young. Swapping stage
horse il sedate and steady at the pillow in
place of galloping spiritedly. with three COM
panions. up hill and down dale with at least
ton weight of passengers and luggage at his
sturdy heels: the rudy, red-beardcd coachee
no longer cracks his whip or holds the reins, q
dry-lsnd skipper, but follows his horses afoot
through field and furrow; and the rugged. half
savage landscape, notified by silvery stream
and hoary hillock. with small rocky farms and
vhltewashed villages strewn here and there. is
now a score of shades more highly civilized,
polished into mere commonplace, If possible,
by the usual modern innovations incident to
progress, enterprise, and universal sameness.
Soon. however, the soughing pine woods will
dwindle and disappear before the steady march
Of energy. And nature, what says she? Nothing
at all, for her voice IS soft and low, and only
to be heard among the solitudes OF her own
untrodden. or rather reverently trodden, realms.
With the loud advent of steel machinery, wood
DEPARTS with the brisk entry of mankind upon
the awakened scene, wild life of the earth, air
and water vanishes. save that which IS OF a
useful and remuuCratlye kind, for before the
tread of man all things are metamorphosed
North CONWAY may be called the gateway of
the White mountains. 1t stands upon plateau
of sandy SOIL below it and between it and the
Moat range lies deep green intervae, irri-
gated, park-like, by the flowing Saco, than
which crystal is not clearer; back of it and
above rest the Rattlesnakes. with broken ridges
outlined on the sky, while three miles off rises
the mighty sentinel of the scene, old Kear-
sarge. to the height of 5000 feet In midar.
The White Hills swing northward in a semi
circle. their apex, twenty miles away, culmlnat-
Ing in Mount Washington. a grand granite
mass near 1000 feet above the sea atop, point
where fall winds rage at the rate of ninety
miles an hour and the SHOWS lie clear and
heavy most of the year, hence the name White
Hills, for sailors sight the dazzling, ley, sunlit
submits from the decks and mastheads Of their
ships while vet far out IN the ocean.
There is an array OF hotels in Conway now;
but in the days of which i speak but two or
three small taverns and as many boarding
houses ready to grasp the summer travel were
all there we're. And yet in August of the year
j mean, the village was full of guests to over
flowing. City fashion had deisned to don plain
duck and calico for the nonce and disport itself
with new-found rapture river bank and
mountain side, or among cool glades by water
falls, where mayhap no human footstep had
fallen since the halcyon savagery Of the Algon-
quins-the aboriginal era of wigwam. bow and
arrow, and feathers and buckskin. But society
was now full atilt among the whilom haunts of
the red man, fishing. climbing, picnicking and
flirting to its genuine hearts content-more
healthful pastimes, indeed, than others Of our
species were then employed in at Saratoga or
Newport either. The little primitive place.
thus ruthlessly vandalized fairly rolled its open
eyes and held its sides with surprise and delight
al the busy scene of life. Tho village was ac-
cesslble by means of stage coaches, whose ar
rival at nightfall, with their dainty freight of
cts and cltesses, was the engrossing excitement
of the day.
On the 9Th day Of August, 1856, we ring up
the curtain for the playa simple melodrama
only. The hour Is pm. The sky is full of
moon, the road of dust, the atmosphere Of
drouth, the hotels OF heat, only the Saco river
being empty IN the summer heat. or nearly SO.
There are lights in every window behind fimsy
curtains. amid a silence most significant.
Where may be the guests, forsooth? Where?
Why, IN their chambers dressing for fancy
ball, to be given in the little pine plank dining
room and dancing hall of the hotel. The stages
have not yet come in. The days dry dust and
heat have retarded their advent fully two
hours beyond tho usual time. The music
piano, flute and fddle-brought from Fryburg,
and zeal inside, promising bravely. There
Is clapping OF hands and. entering, We see
some benches ranged around the walls, the or
chestra ut the head Of the room under the old
nag, which the flies have captured. and plenty
of wreaths and blossoms from the meadow
swung in festoons of marvellous taste and
beauty. Aidde-aged and elderly persons,
bachelors in wigs and ladies, dowager or spin
ster, IN caps and gowns. are on tho benches
chatting cneerfuly. while little lads and lassies
skip and scamper over the floor right merrily.
Who heeds grim care? Is it not a summer
lark?
Loud hand claps greet the entree of the first
maskers, dainty couple. to be surel Hay
makers, And yet such very genteel harvesters
In white and pink and blue, well-fitting and
becoming. Two more! Foresters! Lincoln
green and graceful quivers. and bugle horns
and natty bonnets. Punch and Judy club, rag
baby and all. Undine and Donald A slight,
graceful form. sinuOus as an asp and light as a
gazelle, a being Of gauZe and glltter-a posi-
tive sea nymph. And Donald has a good pair
of calves for a Yankee Scot. Sprites, gipsies,
Indians, naval and military heroes, a
lat boy, clown, acrobat an ancient
Greek from Harvard, oarsman CYale).
anegro or two Cork. three witches from
Macbeth, Tony Lumpkin, Rip Van Wrinkle,
chasseur cheval, Mrs. Darlington, thimble
rgger, jockeys. flower girls, crusader, Neapoli-
tans and other varieties of life too numerous
letter.
After the march quadrille is danced to pop
MAR Minstrel airs. II the midst of 1t all the
swapping OF whips, rolling of wheels. shouting
OF voices and a general hurry-scurrying out
side IS heard. announcing the simultaneous ar
rival OF the Portland and Center Harbor stages,
crowded without and within. Many of the
travellers straightway run up to the doors and
windows Of the ball room TO look in smllipCly
upon the maskers. Some of the Younger
strangers, girls in jaunty straws with bright
Parasols and neat little boots. and bows with
blue and red ribbons ont heir hats and wild rose
buds in their button holes. the dudes of that
day. press into the hall chirping and chitter-
Ing wild small talk in delight at the lively dis
play enacting before their youthful sparkling
eyes and happy hearts.
The square dance is ended and the round be-
gins. The dancers stare at the now Corners and
the new corners at the dancers. Another SEN
satIon, A tail. slim young gentleman cooilv
lounges i'll through the throng at the door
saunters with the most perfect sang froid i'm
nginabie among the walters up the room and
deliberately seats himself in a window near
the music. All eyes are fixed on him and a
general smile ard whisper goes around.
by Jove! Isn't he agile? He steers along
WithOu: one collision
and isn't his get-up splendid? Look at
those WHISPERS and that eve glass"
II wonder where he got hIs dress"
who Is 1t, an yhow?"
The observed Of all sits at ease and stares
about him, seemingly as unconscious of the at
tenhon he attracts if he were alone. His