Some of the many readers of the Transcript may remember seeing in its columns about one year ago (Dec. 27, 1880) a letter under the heading “Summer Travels in a Phaeton,” which gave an outline of nearly three thousand miles’ driving by two ladies in nine successive summer journeys. Since then we two ladies have enjoyed our tenth anniversary, and will tell you something about this last journey, which lost no charms from having become an old story.
Many times during the winter and spring came the query, “Shall you take your carriage journey next summer?” and as many times we answered “We hope so,” but often with a smothered doubt, as we thought of the fate of hosts of “best-laid plans,” and feared we would not always be exceptions to such a general rule.
As the early summer weeks passed, the obstacles multiplied; after a while circumstances began to combine in our favor, and by the 15th of August the way was clear for a start. A new difficulty now arose. Where could we go?
All through the year we had thought of Maine, which was sufficient reason why we should not go there, for we never go where we have thought of going. We have driven through the valley of the Connecticut, and along the coast from Newport, R. I., to Wells, Me., over the Berkshire Hills, up to Lake Winnipiseogee four times, all through the White Mountains, over the Green Mountains to Lake Champlain, Lake George and Saratoga, and taken in all the big hills, little mountains, inhabited island and country resorts on the way. Where should we find “new worlds to conquer”? In our perplexity, we remembered that a party of friends were in Dublin, N. H., for the summer, and resolved to make that our starting point.
The morning of the 15th of August dawned bright and cool, and we held our wraps close about us, as we stowed ourselves away for the tenth time in our same cosy phaeton, with all our equipments in the way of bags, straps, waterproofs, umbrellas, books, maps, writing materials, fancy work, lunch basket, and—the only thing we take which we never use—our revolver.
Our first day’s drive was very enjoyable; the air was so cool we could not dispense with our wraps even at midday. We said good-morning to our friends in Fitchburg, rested our horse, and sent our first mail home at Ashburnham, lunched by the wayside, surprised friends from Boston who were rusticating in the berry pastures of Rindge, and finally passed the night at East Jaffrey, the only place in the vicinity where we had not proposed spending the first night. The hotel proprietor was suffering from a recent sunstroke, but had recovered sufficiently to provide every comfort, including a fire in our room, and after another contribution to the mail, refreshing sleep and a good breakfast, we were ready for our morning drive to Dublin, where we found our friends delightfully located in the suburbs, close by the lovely Monadnock Lake, with the grand old mountain looming up on the opposite shore. We lost no time, but proceeded to “do” Dublin, inspired by the cool, bracing atmosphere. We walked and talked, rode and rowed, and verified all the glowing descriptions, even to sifting the sand on the lake shore for garnets.
It now became necessary to decide in which direction to journey. As we drove towards the village next morning, it occurred to us that we had made a great omission in “doing” Dublin, not having called on the postmaster; in the words of another, “Our genial, ubiquitous postmaster, whose talents are so universal, whose resources so unlimited that he will build you a house, match your worsted, stock your larder, buy a horse, put up your stove, doctor your hens or cash a check with equal promptness, skill and courtesy.” Surely, he could help us. We took our maps to him, and asked a few questions, but, strange to say, he did not seem to get any definite idea of what we wanted, and, after a little hesitation, politely inquired, “Where do you wish to go?” We then hesitated, and as politely replied, “We do not know; we are driving, and would like to go where we have never been, and return by a different route.” Immediately his face brightened, he pointed out various places of interest, to which we could only say, “Yes, very delightful; but we have been there.”
Finally, he produced a map of his own, and soon started us off somewhere, I forget where, and, perhaps, we did not go there at all. Suffice it to say, we now felt Dublin was “done,” and turned our horse north, as we always do, when at a loss.
On we drove through Hancock, Bennington, Antrim and Hillsborough, wondering where we should find ourselves at night. We referred to our map and decided to go to ——, but on making inquiries at a farmhouse, the woman consulted her goodman and advised us not to go there, for a passing stranger had told them the hotel was filled to overflowing, and the dancing hall, dining-room and neighbors’ houses were occupied. She was much interested, and said, “If you do not wish to drive much farther, there is a little village two miles on, and widow —— sometimes puts up people.” We had driven far enough, and thought it best to make a trial of private hospitality. It was a new experience, we had never been “put up,” and felt as if we were imposing upon the good old lady as we lifted the knocker and asked if we could stay there over night. She looked at us over her glasses, then sent her one boarder to take care of our horse, while she helped us deposit our innumerable things in the “spare room.” We quietly put the revolver in a safe place, and glanced at each other as we thought, “What would she say?”
Widow —— and her boarder had supped, but soon a supper was prepared for us in the sitting-room, which we lazily enjoyed seated in old-fashioned rocking-chairs. After our cosy repast we went to the barn to see how Charlie was faring. He looked at us as if he thought meal a poor return for his day’s service, and we went to the “store” for oats. Several bystanders assured us it was a bad season for oats, and advised corn; but an old gentleman enlisted himself in our behalf, and said we should have some oats in the morning if he had to go to ——, two miles away, for them.