The Republican journal., 1915-08-19
he Season in tie White
Mountains.
Miss Newell's Entertaining Notes from the
Crawford House.


Miss Newell's Entertaining Notes from the
Crawford House.
MY DEAR JOURNAL: Day before yes
terday should have begun my letter:
cat last we have perfect days Craw-
ford day" but in the afternoon we had
a terrific shower Yesterday the same
thing happened, after beautiful morn
Ing the earth was soaked and the sky
was clouded. This morning make the
plunge and begin: "This is perfect day
"a Crawford day"-but most people
here, knowing this, would say "Oh go
on! you can't fool US. We will keep near
enough to the house to make quick run
in case of RAIN, Crawford day or no
Crawford day." am not going to
waste much time on the weather. The
weather is incorrigible, hopelessly bad,
unfit for polite society, and should be
tabooed. If it could only be snubbed
until it was ready to get down and bite
the dust and behave itself! If one of
those people who feel equal to doing it,
would only meet the wretch somewhere,
put up an eyeglass. and say with the
right degree of superciliousness: "Oh
yes; this weather? Yes, we came
from the same town. l have often heard
this-er-weather spoken of but do
not know it at all-not at ALL" There
would be no more trouble with the
r yoI1II cS, ,vlx
collapse.
This morning when l first looked out
and beheld the sunshine there were half
dozen burros feeding on the lawn.
Have you ever seen lot of burros and
heard them try to sing? If not it would
pay you to come to Crawfords. OF all
the unintelllgent Chats the term Charles
Havener applied to my nice Galloway
cow of all the unintelligent looking
animals-and of all the cracked discord-
ant voices-and yet there is something
fascinating about the downrightness and
honesty of burro. You soon become
aware that the burro is doing his level
| best under all circumstances. When he
climbs mountain with you on his back
he goes up slowly, carefully and con-
scientiously -and he comes down the
same way. When he eats he make a
business of it, and conscientiousy eats
everything in sight that is eatable and
when he sings he puts his whole heart
into it, and sings without any frills or
operate trills. His tones are cross be-
tween the creaking of saw mill and
the bass notes of steam calliope, but
there is pathos about his musical eff
forts that appeals to me. l too, also,
have had aspirations and have not been
a success in the world of music.
Since my last letter Benton and l,
despite the weather, have climbed Mt.
Willard. We started at 10. 80 one morn
ing, went over Mt. Willard Boulevard to
the Mt. Willard carriage road, and fol-
lowed its broad pleasant wooded wind
ings to the summit. Birds futtered
about in the trees, chipmunks and squir-
rels played and chartered, the mountain
brook sang its merry song and the air
grew lighter and clearer as we assembled.
The walk took US perhaps an hour; we
were little tired when we reached the
summit, but we forgot our fatigue when
we stood upon the plateau there and
gazed upon the magnificent scenery.
The different mountains seemed only a
stones throw away. We watched the
little automobiles come along the narrow
thread of road through the clearing down
at the Wiley house, and then, coming or
going, disappear in the dense woods. The
little railroad train crept slowly along
the narrow line of railroad, leaving its
little trail of smoke, and crept over the
wonderful Wiley Brook bridge that
looked like a miniature copy of its real
self. The cascades on the sides of the
neighboring mountains-Gibbs cascade
on Mt. Clinton and Silver and Flume
cascades down in the Notch-glittered in
the sunshine like threads of silver, and
off in the distance MI. Washington kept
watch over the whole. Soon we realized
that the climb had made us hungry
'hungry as hunters we sat down
to eat the delicious lunch that had been
put up for US at the house, exclaiming
with delight as each new dainty was un-
folded from its enveloping waxed paper.
"Gee," said Benton, chats some lunch,
that is" and fully agreed with him.
After time few dark clouds, in am
buscade behind Mt. Webster, began to
peer at us over the top. "My boy"
said, ''It's time we were going of it,
and it was. We made good record trip
down to the house, and reached it just
as those clouds opened-not fire but
water-and the torrents descended. We
were much luckier than great many
other people on that day too.
On the 9th of July that inevitable
thing, birthday. overlook me. Every
body here was most kind; beautiful and
unexpected gifts ending with the ever
welcome post card. 'Cheer-up! We all
have them' made the nav hannv ono