"One day late in the autumn of 1860, while the rain poured in torrents,
and the wind howled fearfully along the hills of old Plymouth, I was
obliged to drive to Watertown. The 'Branch' was swollen to the river's
size, and foamed madly down over the sombre rocks, while above my head, on
the other side of the road, the trees rocked and swayed, as though about
to fall into the seething, roaring waters below.
"Above, or mingled with the clashing of the elements, I heard some voice,
as if singing. It struck me with wonder. I stopped to listen. It became
more distinct, as if approaching. What was it? Who could it be, singing
amid the fearful tempest?
"In the midst of my surmising, the object of my wonder came in sight,
around a turn in the road just ahead of me.
"It was the Singing Doctor, whom I instantly recognized by his little old
white horse, as well as by his own voice, to which I had before listened.
The little animal was drenched like a 'drowned rat.' The doctor, in his
open buggy, with no umbrella,--for the sweeping wind precluded the
possibility of holding one,--and the driving rain pelting mercilessly
upon his face and head, was singing.
"'You must be a happy man,' I exclaimed, 'to be singing amid this awful
storm.'
"'Why not?' he replied. 'It is always better to be singing than sighing;'
and we passed on through the dangerous defile, and separated....
"Last summer, as I journeyed through the Green Mountain State on a
pleasure excursion, I met, on a romantic mountain pass, a magnificent
turnout,--a splendid top carriage, drawn by four beautiful, jet black
Morgan mares,--which did not attract my attention so much, however, as the
music within the carriage. It was the Singing Doctor again, with his two
little daughters, singing.
"The handsome and good-natured driver offered me the best half of the
road; but still I lingered till the last notes of the song died away, when
I drove past the 'Sanatorian,' wondering to myself what singing had to do
with his increasing prosperity."