ightvelvetycrimsonhue,andbytheirweightagainbentdownandbrokethetenderlimbs.
AsIsitatmywindowthissummerafternoon,hawksarecirclingaboutmyclearingthetantivyofwildpigeons,flyingbytwosandthreesathwartmyview,orperchingrestlessonthewhite-pineboughsbehindmyhouse,givesavoicetotheairafishhawkdimplestheglassysurfaceofthepondandbringsupafishaminkstealsoutofthemarshbeforemydoorandseizesafrogbytheshorethesedgeisbendingundertheweightofthereed-birdsflittinghitherandthitherandforthelasthalfhourIhaveheardtherattleofrailroadcars,nowdyingawayandthenrevivinglikethebeatofapartridge,conveyingtravellersfromBostontothecountry.ForIdidnotlivesooutoftheworldasthatboywho,asIhear,wasputouttoafarmerintheeastpartofthetown,buterelongranawayandcamehomeagain,quitedownattheheelandhomesick.Hehadneverseensuchadullandout-of-the-wayplacethefolkswereallgoneoffwhy,youcouldn’tevenhearthewhistle!IdoubtifthereissuchaplaceinMassachusettsnow:—
“Intruth,ourvillagehasbecomeabutt
Foroneofthosefleetrailroadshafts,ando’er
Ourpeacefulplainitssoothingsoundis—Concord.”
TheFitchburgRailroadtouchesthepondaboutahundredrodssouthofwhereIdwell.Iusuallygotothevillagealongitscauseway,andam,asitwere,relatedtosocietybythislink.Themenonthefreighttrains,whogooverthewholelengthoftheroad,bowtomeastoanoldacquaintance,theypassmesooften,andapparentlytheytakemeforanemployeeandsoIam.Itoowouldfainbeatrack-repairersomewhereintheorbitoftheearth.
Thewhistleofthelocomotivepenetratesmywoodssummerandwinter,soundinglikethescreamofahawksailingoversomefarmer’syard,informingmethatmanyrestlesscitymerchantsarearrivingwithinthecircleofthetown,oradventurouscountrytradersfromtheotherside.Astheycomeunderonehorizon,theyshouttheirwarningtogetoffthetracktotheother,heardsometimesthroughthecirclesoftwotowns.Herecomeyourgroceries,countryyourrations,countrymen!Noristhereanymansoindependentonhisfarmthathecansaythemnay.Andhere’syourpayforthem!screamsthecountryman’swhistletimberlikelongbatteringramsgoingtwentymilesanhouragainstthecity’swalls,andchairsenoughtoseatallthewearyandheavyladenthatdwellwithinthem.Withsuchhugeandlumberingcivilitythecountryhandsachairtothecity.AlltheIndianhuckleberryhillsarestripped,allthecranberrymeadowsarerakedintothecity.Upcomesthecotton,downgoesthewovenclothupcomesthesilk,downgoesthewoollenupcomethebooks,butdowngoesthewitthatwritesthem.
WhenImeettheenginewithitstrainofcarsmovingoffwithplanetarymotion,—or,rather,likeacomet,forthebeholderknowsnotifwiththatvelocityandwiththatdirectionitwilleverrevisitthissystem,sinceitsorbitdoesnotlooklikeareturningcurve,—withitssteamcloudlikeabannerstreamingbehindingoldenandsilverwreat