greeable to the young man? But why do elderly people
go there? This question must have been suggested by a foreigner, who is
ignorant that in a republic it is the young ones who know what is best
for the elders.

Our tourists passed a weary, hot day on the coast railway of Maine.
Notwithstanding the high temperature, the country seemed cheerless,
the sunlight to fall less genially than in more fertile regions to
the south, upon a landscape stripped of its forests, naked, and
unpicturesque. Why should the little white houses of the prosperous
little villages on the line of the rail seem cold and suggest winter,
and the land seem scrimped and without an atmosphere? It chanced so, for
everybody knows that it is a lovely coast. The artist said it was the
Maine Law. But that could not be, for the only drunken man encountered
on their tour they saw at the Bangor Station, where beer was furtively
sold.

They were plunged into a cold bath on the steamer in the half-hour's
sail from the end of the rail to Bar Harbor. The wind was fresh,
white-caps enlivened the scene, the spray dashed over the huge pile of
baggage on the bow, the passengers shivered, and could little enjoy
the islands and the picturesque shore, but fixed eyes of hope upon the
electric lights which showed above the headlands, and marked the site
of the hotels and the town in the hidden harbor. Spits of rain dashed
in their faces, and in some discomfort they came to the wharf, which
was alive with vehicles and tooters for the hotels. In short, with its
lights and noise, it had every appearance of being an important place,
and when our party, holding on to their seats in a buckboard, were
whirled at a gallop up to Rodick's, and ushered into a spacious office
swarming with people, they realized that they were entering upon a
lively if somewhat haphazard life. The first confused impression was of
a bewildering number of slim, pretty girls, nonchalant young fellows in
lawn-tennis suits, and indefinite opportunities in the halls and parlors
and wide piazzas for promenade and flirtations.

Rodick's is a sort of big boarding-house, hesitating whether to be a
hotel or not, no bells in the rooms, no bills of fare (or rarely one),
no wine-list, a go-as-you-please, help-yourself sort of place, which is
popular because it has its own character, and everybody drifts into it
first or last. Some say it is an acquired taste; that people do not take
to it at first. The big offi