While the swallows that built their nests beneath the eaves of
the Crawford House were busy many hours with their family cares,
the card-crazed players and the dancers of the night before were
sleeping the troubled sleep of the idlers.
CHAPTER VIII
WHITE MOUNTAINS
The traveler who comes to the White Mountains should not fail to
see Chocorua. "Chocorua," how rich and sonorous is that word. It
has in it something expressing the wildness and loneliness of
these lovely hills. Its rhythm suggests the sigh of the wind
among mountain pines or the continuous and far-heard melody of
distant waterfalls. This famous peak is everything that a New
Hampshire mountain should be. It bears the name of an Indian
chief. It is invested with traditional and poetic interest. In
form it is massive and symmetrical. The forests of its lower
slopes are crowned with rock that is sculptured into a peak with
lines full of haughty energy in whose gorges huge shadows are
entrapped and whose cliffs blaze with morning gold, and it has
the fortune to be set in connection with lovely water scenery,
with squam and Winnepesaukee, and the little lake directly at
its base.
"On one side of its jagged peak a charming lowland prospect
stretches east and south of the Sandwich range, indented by the
emerald shores of Winnepesaukee, which lies in queenly beauty
upon the soft, far-stretching landscape.
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