"The eye is not
satisfied with seeing, and the ear with hearing," and one can never tire
of the vision of mountain landscapes, and the quiet song of summer rivers.
Every day since I have been here in this beautiful village of Campton, I have
driven through some new region; sometimes into the very heart of the hills,
where nothing is to be seen but swelling slopes on every side, hills which
have not quite attained mountainhood, but which would be mountains anywhere but
in the "Granite State;" and sometimes out into the interval openings
of the river; with new views of "Alps on Alps" on the northern
horizon, the gate of the Franconia Notch opening dimly afar with its mountain
haystacks piled beside it. It is rest to soul and body to be among these
mountains; one thing only is lacking; the friends I had hoped to see here are
not with me. But too much joy is not to be looked for; let me hope that they
are among scenes more beautiful, and with dearer friends than I. Yet how
delightful it would have been, to be with the best friends, among the most
beautiful scenes.
SOURCE: Daniel
Dulany Addison, Lucy Larcom: Life,
Letters, and Diary, pp. 99-100
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