Norwich bulletin., 1910-04-16
(written for The BuIletin.)


 Crampton is one of the loveiiest towns in New England. It lies in a long. low. narrow valley enfolded by gentle hills. is shaded by elms and naples and birches. and frightened by small sparkling rivers and by deep. still pools that reflect the blue or gray or dapple of the sky A village of homes it is, homely and homelike, with an old-time village green. with up lands and meadows, with winding roads lined by old colonial mansions and still older early settler cottages, and with outlying hill slopes dotted by farmsteads. In Champion the grass Is greener than elsewhere, the sky bluer. the air softer and more bal1ny-for Crampton is home.
 Crampton folk think highly of them selves, as why should they not? From the beginning they have been not merely respectable, but aristocrat1c, as we misuse that word. They tell were of England's gentle blood; and, amusing as it may seem dn country that calls itself the Great Republic" !" there is more than one family of old Champion that insists on retaining the titles borne by their forbears in the past. As we in America count age, Cramptou is an old town. It is more than two hundred years old, and not a today bear the names of those who braved the perils of the wilderness to plant their name and race on these New England hills Crampton, they will tell you, has a noble history. Her founders were bold pioneers; their de- scendants have always been patriots. Steadily, too, through successive gen. erations. the old town has sent forth her sons to win distinction as states men, college presidents, soldiers and sailors, in law, surgery. art and let ters. These distinguished sons have not failed to cast back upon their na- fixro in light their fellow townsmei1 bask and shine. Indeed to a loyal Cramptoner and HneaI descendant of the early set tiers, there could seem no greater mis- Champion traditions; for CraInpton is as ancient Rome upon her seven hills, with all the outer world barbarian.
 Occasionally, there strays into Crampton from the outer world bar barian stranger. To him, Champion and Champion folk present a problem. About each au inhanltant m a seems % to pc ger, finding it impenetrable. deems it a wall of ice and 1ikens Crampton to the Polar sea, heart-freeztng region for one to get ice-1ocked into un- awaress. To him no one seems wholly at ease with anyone else. Everyone seems to be a little afraid of everyone else. Apparently, no one quite dares to think for himself, nor to speak out from his own inward conviction. have heard Crampton folk called snob- bish, purse proud, and-deepest dis grace of aIll-even bourgeois. And am told that an outsider coming to Crampton might live in the town twenty years, and not feel any. more at home on the last day than the first; that he might make a large circle of acquaintances, yet not one intimate friend; and that he might live among the Champion folk a lonely-hearted stranger to the end of his days.
 I am always glad when my old friend, Dr. Oliver, invites me to drive with him on his rounds. He is an old fashioned family doctor, and he drives in a leisurely way, leaning against the cushions of his top buggy and letting the reins lie loosely over the horses