After passing four months in New York and on Staten Island, in order that his eldest daughter might be under the care of an oculist, he writes to Mr. Daveis: ‘We came home about August 12. But it was too hot to remain in Boston. We—meaning my wife and myself—therefore took the cars to Concord, New Hampshire, as soon as we could, and there hired a buggy, with which—in the true Darby and Joan style—we jogged round the White Hills, stopping wherever we fancied, and enjoying about a hundred miles of the drive very much. We never were there before, either of us.’
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