"American
girl." The notion spread that it was the finest sanitarium on the
continent for flirtations; and as trade is said to follow the flag, so in
this case real-estate speculation rioted in the wake of beauty and
fashion.

There is no doubt that the "American girl" is there, as she is at divers
other sea-and-land resorts; but the present peculiarity of this
watering-place is that the American young man is there also. Some
philosophers have tried to account for this coincidence by assuming that
the American girl is the attraction to the young man. But this seems to
me a misunderstanding of the spirit of this generation. Why are young
men quoted as "scarce" in other resorts swarming with sweet girls,
maidens who have learned the art of being agreeable, and interesting
widows in the vanishing shades of an attractive and consolable grief?
No. Is it not rather the cold, luminous truth that the American girl
found out that Bar Harbor, without her presence, was for certain reasons,
such as unconventionality, a bracing air, opportunity for boating, etc.,
agreeable 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