The Birmingham age-herald., 1905-07-02
MIDSUMMER IN WRITER'S COUNTRY; ETHEL ARMES' STUDY OF SANDWICH CENTRE

'Midsummer in Whittiers Country by Ethel Armes, is a little book for the sum time. speaking much of the hills, the open fields the pine woods, the lakes and the winding roads far up in the north IL IS a study of that well-known and plc- turesoale village of the White mountains Sandwich Centre and tells quite simply the brief and almost uneventful annals of the town from it's waking in the reign of George III throughout it's term of ae- tive service in behalf of the colonies to it's sleeping time today. It also gives quick glimpses of a few of the little peo- pie and places of delight in and around the village, and relates the Indian legends and traditions told roundabout there. the story of famous Mount Chocora and the myths of Ossippee and Lake Asauam.
 The quotations running throughout are from Whittier's verse, as will readily be seen, and the sketches were done out un- der the open sky on the high hill tops. In apple orchards and long grasses, so that in those places where the students touch has failed, artist charm may be dreamed into them by whosoever knows these sweet mountains that were the Quaker poets golden fields, and likewise it is prayed into the book.
 The entire book breathes of life in the open, of sunlit days that the author passed in the White mountains She has literally leaned her heart against the day and painted a pastel of clouds and trees and meadow. The poetic charm notice able in all that Miss Armes has written qfy tn att distinctive. A few descriptive passages show unmistakably that the author is guided by memory and a love for Whit tiers country that has led her Into charming field, and 1t is hoped that this is but a beginning for other exquisite volumes
 The opening paragraph transports the reader at once to the Ossippee road and the apple orchards:
 Not far up along the road to Ossipee, just a quarter of mile beyond the will lage, there is little hill where rocks and apples grow A stone waN put up in the time of George Ill., shuts out tangle of mischievous blackberry briars, and helps support the heavily burdened arms of one of the oldest of the trees, some of whose rosy apples hang right over a tiny gate going into the hill. A few other apples have tumbled down among tall grasses, which f1rt in the wind with dashing groups of blaelI-eyed daisies-there, in the very face of the little path-and such little tattle tale of path! Off it runs to each one of the ancient apple trees, winks naughtily in the shadows, then hides in the spears of the red top grass away from the listening leaves. Pretty soon, shaking itself free from the field flowers and the long reaches of the crcling trees, 1t climbs up the steep side of the hill. shudders by some big savage rocks that stretch out like an ogre's arms to grab it. and then-suddenly-before 1t is aware is way up high on the tip top of the little hill. all by itself. looking out to the whole wide world alone.''
 Another view is given In the following:
 From this little path on the apple hill the small white houses of Sandwich vl- lage appear like slIowiaSes Some of them reach out in long glistening lnes-they are white apron strings trying to hold back the runaway roads, for the village is the mother place of hundred high land roads. those truant chieftains of the New Hampshire hills. Miles and miles through the purple mountains by the white lake shores. they wind, under gleaming birch belts, by dusky maple groves, along deep intervales where the elms and wilLjws droop. and where sing the sirens of tho pines. Sometimes they stop for breath in the lowlands
 
 sight of their mothers eyes, they make golden love to the flowers there. Grace full forms of a thousand ferns lean over them; fragrant elder bushes hurry forth their rare white lack work the fading tones of the overs of milkweed and iron rust cast their glances as falling eye lashes; pale celandine trails her bridal veil before them-daisies. buttercups, rich gol. den rod-all the maiden overs of midsum- mer time tiptoe close to the enchanterS-- with no modesty whatever. But on SC the flying ehieftains. ferns and flowers clinging to their kits. They round stone walls and fences made of the roots of giant old pines, hurry be deserted farms and abandoned mills, up and down, over streams, by long lanes and bridle paths, giant old pines, hurry by deserted farms chasing mists and still more flowers, on and on, rising and falling, past cornfields and orchards in the sky, until, like the little path on the road to Osslpee, they climb right up into the clouds, and are lost forevermore!"
 In and around the village are many lit tie places of delight, and the author con- tinues her descriptions:
 ''The way to the old float dam begins not far from Mildred's house, just back of pr. Whites cornheld. After leaving the corn field and jumping a fence there is space of quiet meadow, crescent shaped, half hidden by the trees and full of fair light grassies and sunlit daisies The pines withdraw their dark shadows far back. The gleaming branches of a solitary white birch form an arc of light just over the entrance into the mysterious wood, the beginning of the long trail. A log fallen over the marshy place just here makes a bridge to higher ground. Then but a little while and the heart of the