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Hoar, George Frisbie, 1826-1904

"Autobiography of Seventy Years, Vol. 1-2"


It is not so much the girth of the tree as its whole bearing
that impresses a beholder; and I do not think either of us
will forget its effect in the gloom and silence and mystery
of the gathering night.
Resisting a kindly pressure to stay the night at Whitemead,
that we might keep to our programme of sleeping at the Speech
House, we started on the last portion of the long day's drive.
The road from Parkend, after we have climbed a considerable
hill, keeps mostly to the level of a high ridge. It is broad
and smooth; and the moonlight and its accompanying black shadows
on the trees made the journey one of great beauty; while the
mountain air lessened the sense of fatigue that would otherwise
have pressed heavily on us after so long a day amid such novel
surroundings. The only thing to disturb the solitude is
the clank of machinery; and the lurid lights, as we pass a
colliery; and then a mile of two more with but the sound
of our own wheels and the rhythm of the horses' feet, and
we suddenly draw up at an hotel in the midst of the Forest,
its quiet well-lighted interior inviting us through the doorway,
left open to the cool summer night air.


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