The Republican journal. [volume] (Belfast, Me.) 1829-current, 1915-07-15
At Crawford's.

The White Mountains are Attractive, but
Home Scenes and Saline Cdors are not
Forgotten.
MY~DEAR JOURNAL: "a great many
years ago. as dear old friend used al
| ways to begin her reminiscences-ag great
many years ago, driving up over the
Bluff hill towards Citypoint at sunset.
| deep in admiration of the scene which
never loses its charm or grows wearisome
to the eyes that love it, we were sur
! prlsed by deep sigh from the quaint
little lad of our party, and the unexpect-
ed words, ooh, for an inspirationv' And
we laughed, as grown ups will laugh
when quaint little, folks use grown up
expression and stumble in it's use. Years
after, driving over the same hill with a
woman-a very good sort of woman, too,
in her very practical, matter of fact sort
OF way-I, myself, drew a long breath
and said: "Oh-h-h! Did you ever see
anything so beautiful in all your life?"
YES" answered my neighbor in an alb
sent minded tone, Eyes, it is pretty"
then, with sudden animation, ''Do you
know I'm so hungry l feel as though
could eat bushel of boiled dinner to-
night-corned beef and cabbage. N.Y.!
wouldn't it taste good!''
Dear Journal did anything like that
ever happen to you? Did you ever have
boiled dinner corned beef and cab
bage-fiung into the middle of an exalt-
ed moment like that? If not you cannot
imagine what shock it gives one. At
that terrible instant my thoughts went
back to the little lad of the ''inspira-
ton" and my heart went out to him, for
l know that for him no corned beef and
cabbage ever yet got mixed up in Pas
sagassawaukeag river sunset-or ever
will.
Watching the many people come and
go here at Crawfords, often find my
self wondering how many of them find
an inspiration in the wonderful scenery,
and how many of them are only-hun-
cry. The rains have freshened the green
OF all the mountain sides-Mt. Webster,
Mt. Willard, Avalon, Mt. Tom and the
rest-and have filled the mountain
brooks, and sent the cascades rushing
and foaming madly down over their
rocky beds. George Rowland says:
There's water running in brooks here
that l haven't seen before in ten years.
Anyone who has been at Crawfords
knows the beauty of these cascades after
heavy rain. There are days when the
clouds hang low and drift over the noun
tains, and "Jack's pot is boiling" up
through the Notch, which means more
rain; and there are days when the sun
shines, and the air is like tonic, and
every breath one draws means a meas
ure of health and strength; when the
waters OF Saco lake dance and sparkle.
and the birds sing, and every face wears
smile. whether it is turned towards the
gorgeous sunset sky or towards the
opening dining room doors, where, like
the genii of an Arabian Nights tale. Mr..
Pinney and George Heidelberg stand
guarding the region of delight. Jacks
pot is boiling" right merrily to-day, for
it has rained hard all day. Jack was the
hermit who, until death claimed him.
lived on the mountainside. and last wear
his deserted cabin still stood in its little
clearing. On days like this when the
clouds come pouring in through the
Notch, they appear like steam from a
mighty cauldron, rising directly over
Jacks cabin. Years ago some person
with an imagination said, 'Jack's pot is
boiling and so the expression came
into use. 1t never clears, they tell US,
while the pot boils.
1t is week last Monday since 1 set
tied down in my own little corner of
Crawfords and found everything and
everybody so unchanged that it might
have been only the night before last that
l closed the telegraph key and went out
from the place. With very few excep-
tons our family" is the same, both
guests and household. Gen. and Mrs.
Barron, with their fine courtesy and
kindness, welcome the coming, speed
the parting guest" The clerk this year
is Mr.. Wright; his wife is in charge of
the bazaar, in place of the serious young
Englishman of last summer. Both Mr..
and Mrs. Wright are former Crawford
ties, who were away last year, and since
knowing them it is easy to understand
the many inquiries for them, and the re-
grets at their absence which were
voiced during the season. Dear to US
all, Mrs. Geo. Rowland, the housekeep-
er, looks after everybody's comfort.
Mrs. Pinney, smiling and serene, still
presides over the postoffice. Benton is
here, my companion in numerous de-
lightful walks already, and my staunch
friend. always, although falling out
was imminent, when he carried pocket
full of big torpedoes on one of our strolls