From Thence He Will Take
His Wagon On Through The Notch To The Crawford House, Sleeping
There Again; And When Here, Let Him, Of All Things, Remember To Go
Up Mount Willard.
It is but a walk of two hours up and down, if so
much.
When reaching the top, he will be startled to find that he
looks down into the ravine without an inch of foreground. He will
come out suddenly on a ledge of rock, from whence, as it seems, he
might leap down at once into the valley below. Then, going on from
the Crawford House, he will be driven through the woods of Cherry
Mount, passing, I fear without toll of custom, the house of my
excellent friend Mr. Plaistead, who keeps a hotel at Jefferson.
"Sir," said Mr. Plaistead, "I have everything here that a man ought
to want: air, sir, that aint to be got better nowhere; trout,
chickens, beef, mutton, milk - and all for a dollar a day! A-top of
that hill, sir, there's a view that aint to be beaten this side of
the Atlantic, or I believe the other. And an echo, sir! - we've an
echo that comes back to us six times, sir; floating on the light
wind, and wafted about from rock to rock, till you would think the
angels were talking to you. If I could raise that echo, sir, every
day at command, I'd give a thousand dollars for it. It would be
worth all the money to a house like this." And he waved his hand
about from hill to hill, pointing out in graceful curves the lines
which the sounds would take. Had destiny not called on Mr.
Plaistead to keep an American hotel, he might have been a poet.
My traveler, however, unless time were plenty with him, would pass
Mr. Plaistead, merely lighting a friendly cigar, or perhaps
breaking the Maine liquor law if the weather be warm, and would
return to Gorham on the railway. All this mountain district is in
New Hampshire; and, presuming him to be capable of going about the
world with his mouth, ears, and eyes open, he would learn much of
the way in which men are settling themselves in this still
sparsely-populated country. Here young farmers go into the woods
as they are doing far down West in the Territories, and buying some
hundred acres at perhaps six shillings an acre, fell and burn the
trees, and build their huts, and take the first steps, as far as
man's work is concerned, toward accomplishing the will of the
Creator in those regions. For such pioneers of civilization there
is still ample room even in the long-settled States of New
Hampshire and Vermont.
But to return to my traveler, whom, having brought so far, I must
send on. Let him go on from Gorham to Quebec and the heights of
Abraham, stopping at Sherbrooke that he might visit from thence the
Lake of Memphra Magog. As to the manner of traveling over this
ground I shall say a little in the next chapter, when I come to the
progress of myself and my wife. From Quebec he will go up the St.
Lawrence to Montreal. He will visit Ottawa, the new capital, and
Toronto. He will cross the lake to Niagara, resting probably at
the Clifton House on the Canada side. He will then pass on to
Albany, taking the Trenton Falls on his way. From Albany he will
go down the Hudson to West Point. He cannot stop at the Catskill
Mountains, for the hotel will be closed. And then he will take the
river boat, and in a few hours will find himself at New York. If
he desires to go into American city society, he will find New York
agreeable; but in that case he must exceed his two months. If he
do not so desire, a short sojourn at New York will show him all
that there is to be seen and all that there is not to be seen in
that great city. That the Cunard line of steamers will bring him
safely back to Liverpool in about eleven days, I need not tell to
any Englishman, or, as I believe, to any American. So much, in the
spirit of a guide, I vouchsafe to all who are willing to take my
counsel - thereby anticipating Murray, and leaving these few pages
as a legacy to him or to his collaborateurs.
I cannot say that I like the hotels in those parts, or, indeed, the
mode of life at American hotels in general. In order that I may
not unjustly defame them, I will commence these observations by
declaring that they are cheap to those who choose to practice the
economy which they encourage, that the viands are profuse in
quantity and wholesome in quality, that the attendance is quick and
unsparing, and that travelers are never annoyed by that grasping,
greedy hunger and thirst after francs and shillings which disgrace,
in Europe, many English and many continental inns. All this is, as
must be admitted, great praise; and yet I do not like the American
hotels.
One is in a free country, and has come from a country in which one
has been brought up to hug one's chains - so at least the English
traveler is constantly assured - and yet in an American inn one can
never do as one likes. A terrific gong sounds early in the
morning, breaking one's sweet slumbers; and then a second gong,
sounding some thirty minutes later, makes you understand that you
must proceed to breakfast whether you be dressed or no. You
certainly can go on with your toilet, and obtain your meal after
half an hour's delay. Nobody actually scolds you for so doing, but
the breakfast is, as they say in this country, "through." You sit
down alone, and the attendant stands immediately over you.
Probably there are two so standing.
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