s, in reporters' language, were "on
private view;" and despite the ignorance of railway officials, I was one
of the elect. In plainer phrase, I had in my pocket a letter from the
manager of the famous inn before mentioned, in which he promised to do
what he could for my entertainment, even though he was not yet, as he
said, keeping a hotel.

Possibly I made too much of a small matter; but it pleased me to feel
that this visit of mine was to be of a peculiarly intimate
character,--almost, indeed, as if Mount Washington himself had bidden me
to private audience.

Compelled to wait three or four hours in North Conway, I improved the
opportunity to stroll once more down into the lovely Saco meadows, whose
"green felicity" was just now at its height. Here, perched upon a
fence-rail, in the shadow of an elm, I gazed at the snow-crowned Mount
Washington range, while the bobolinks and savanna sparrows made music on
every side. The song of the bobolinks dropped from above, and the
microphonic tune of the sparrows came up from the grass,--sky and earth
keeping holiday together. Almost I could have believed myself in Eden.
But, alas, even the birds themselves were long since shut out of that
garden of innocence, and as I started back toward the village a crow
went hurrying past me, with a kingbird in hot pursuit. The latter was
more fortunate than usual, or more plucky; actually alighting on the
crow's back and riding for some distance. I could not distinguish his
motions,--he was too far away for that,--but I wished him joy of his
victory, and grace to improve it to the full. For it is scandalous that
a bird of the crow's cloth should be a thief; and so, although I reckon
him among my friends,--in truth, _because_ I do so,--I am always able to
take it patiently when I see him chastised for his fault. Imperfect as
we all know each other to be, it is a comfort to feel that few of us are
so altogether bad as not to take more or less pleasure in seeing a
neighbor's character improved under a course of moderately painful
discipline.

At Bartlett word came that the passenger car would go no further, but
that a freight train would soon start, on which, if I chose, I could
continue my journey. Accordingly, I rode up through the Notch on a
platform car,--a mode of conveyance which I can heartily and in all good
conscience recommend. There is no crowd of exclaiming tourists, the
train of necessity moves slowly, and the open platform off