hem junction, he found a railway to the Profile House, and another
to Bethlehem. In the interval of waiting for his train he visited
Bethlehem Street, with its mile of caravansaries, big boarding-houses,
shops, and city veneer, and although he was delighted, as an American,
with the "improvements" and with the air of refinement, he felt that if
he wanted retirement and rural life, he might as well be with the hordes
in the depths of the Adirondack wilderness. But in his impatience to
reach his destination he was not sorry to avail himself of the railway
to the Profile House. And he admired the ingenuity which had carried
this road through nine miles of shabby firs and balsams, in a way
absolutely devoid of interest, in order to heighten the effect of the
surprise at the end in the sudden arrival at the Franconia Notch. From
whichever way this vast white hotel establishment is approached, it is
always a surprise. Midway between Echo Lake and Profile Lake, standing
in the very jaws of the Notch, overhung on the one side by Cannon
Mountain and on the other by a bold spur of Lafayette, it makes
a contrast between the elegance and order of civilization and the
untouched ruggedness and sublimity of nature scarcely anywhere else to
be seen.

The hotel was still full, and when King entered the great lobby and
office in the evening a very animated scene met his eye. A big fire of
logs was blazing in the ample chimney-place; groups were seated about
at ease, chatting, reading, smoking; couples promenaded up and down; and
from the distant parlor, through the long passage, came the sound of
the band. It was easy to see at a glance that the place had a distinct
character, freedom from conventionality, and an air of reposeful
enjoyment. A large proportion of the assembly being residents for the
summer, there was so much of the family content that the transient
tourists could little disturb it by the introduction of their element of
worry and haste.

King found here many acquaintances, for fashion follows a certain
routine, and there is a hidden law by which the White Mountains break
the transition from the sea-coast to Lenox. He was therefore not
surprised to be greeted by Mrs. Cortlandt, who had arrived the day
before with her usual train.

"At the end of the season," she said, "and alone?"

"I expect to meet friends here."

"So did I; but they have gone, or some of them have."

"But mine are coming tomorrow. Who has gone?"