{"1": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3302", "width": "2111", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0003.jp2"}, "2": {"fulltext": "Class _ZE^\\nCopiglit}!?\\nCOPYRIGHT DEPOSm", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0004.jp2"}, "3": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0005.jp2"}, "4": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0006.jp2"}, "5": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0007.jp2"}, "6": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0008.jp2"}, "7": {"fulltext": "ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\nr\\ni\\nBY\\nW. C. PRIME, LL.D.\\nAUTHOR OF I GO A-FISHING ETC.\\nNOV g 1892\\nNEW YORK\\nHARPER BROTHERS, FRANKLIN SQUARE\\n1892", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0009.jp2"}, "8": {"fulltext": "Copyright, 1892, by Harper Brothers.\\nAll rights reserved.\\nO^^", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0010.jp2"}, "9": {"fulltext": "TO\\nMY FRIEND\\nWILLIAM F. BRIDGE", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0011.jp2"}, "10": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0012.jp2"}, "11": {"fulltext": "PREFACE\\nPROBABLY no one ever made a book for the reason\\nwhich induces the making of this. The papers here\\ngathered were written, as letters, to a daily newspaper,\\nthe New York Journal of Commerce, in the course of a cor-\\nrespondence which has extended over more than forty\\nyears. Although often asked to gather them in a book,\\nmy judgment has been that such letters, however read-\\nable or unreadable when occasionally appearing in one s\\nmorning newspaper, are not good material for continuous\\nreading in a solid book. They were written for the pur-\\npose of a day, served their purpose, disappeared, and 1\\nhad no wish to recall them. But they had been cut out\\nand preserved by more than one person, strangers to me,\\nwho have severally written me that if I do not make a\\nbook of them they will Should such a book be made\\nby another person, it would perpetuate many sad errors\\nof type, such as occur in rapid newspaper work, and be\\na misfortune to the papers and to me. There was but\\none way to protect the dead and long-buried sketches\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nnamely, to select some of them, revise, correct, and edit\\nthem, and make a book, which 1 have done only because\\n1 did not want it made.", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0013.jp2"}, "12": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0014.jp2"}, "13": {"fulltext": "CONTENTS\\nCHAPTER PAGE\\nI. ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS I\\nII. IN SOUTHERN VERMONT 17\\nIII. A VILLAGE DISCUSSION 34\\nIV. UPHILL IN FOG 41\\nV, SWEET-SCENTED FERN 45\\nVI. AN angler s AUGUST DAY 54\\nVII. VIEWS FROM A HILL-TOP 63\\nVIII. HIGHLANDS OF WESTERN NEW HAMPSHIRE 70\\nIX. THE TRIUMPHANT CHARIOT 77\\nX. A DEAD LETTER 85\\nXI. EPITAPHS AND NAMES 97\\nXII. FINDING NEW COUNTRY I24\\nXIII. BOYS WITH STAND-UP COLLARS I36\\nXIV. PILGRIMAGE ENDED 143\\nXV. NON-RESISTANCE 152\\nXVI. SONGS OF THE AGES 160\\nXVII. IGNOTUS 167\\nXVIII. SEEKING A BETTER COUNTRY 175\\nXIX. A WINTER night s ERRAND 183\\nXX. HINTS FOR CARRIAGE TRAVEL IQO", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0015.jp2"}, "14": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0016.jp2"}, "15": {"fulltext": "ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\nThe carriage was standing at the door, and I\\nhad finished my morning inspection of horses,\\nharness, bolts, and gearing. We were on one of\\nour favorite journeys, wandering over the hills and\\nthrough the valleys of New Hampshire and Ver-\\nmont. We had driven already two or three hun-\\ndred miles, seeking only that which we found daily,\\nscenery, sunshine, birds, flowers, whatever of nat-\\nure and whatever of humanity might be seen as\\nwe wandered along New England roads.\\nA gentleman who was standing in the hotel door-\\nway said I am told you travel a great deal with\\nhorses and carriage. It puzzles me to know what\\npleasure you find in it. I have travelled in that\\nway in Europe, but I don t understand what at-\\ntractions you find in New England.\\nHe expressed the idea which is in many minds.\\nI could not afford to waste the morning in recount-\\ning to him the delights of carriage journeying. I\\ngave him but a brief summary of these, told him", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0017.jp2"}, "16": {"fulltext": "2 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\nthere was no country in the world which was so\\ncharming to the traveller as this country, nor one\\nin which scenery was more varied and beautiful,\\nnor one in which country inns were so good, country\\npeople so hospitable, and finished by saying: Try\\nit for yourself, and if you don t enjuy it don t do it\\nagain.\\nThe road was in that charming country which\\nlies south of the White Mountain range. We had\\nfollowed the Pemigewasset River from its source\\nin Profile Lake, under the Old Man of the Mount-\\nain, day after day, until we had left it at Franklin\\nFalls, and were now following our varying whims\\nfrom valley to valley, over highlands and hills,\\nthrough the very heart of the Granite State.\\nIt was in May. The forests farther north had\\nbeen just tinged with that delicious mauve color\\nwhich is caused by the swelling buds of the ma-\\nples, and which from day to day changes into pink\\nand hazy sky blue and at length, when the buds\\nburst, into green. But here the green had won the\\nday, and the view in all directions, as I drove\\nalong, was fresh and full of promise. When the\\nroad led through forest both sides were luxuriant\\nwith the close -packed masses of ferns just com-\\nmencing summer life, and in the woods were hosts\\nof purple and striped blossoms of the trilium, the\\nglory of our northern forests in the early season.\\nI came out from a piece of woods on a plain where", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0018.jp2"}, "17": {"fulltext": "ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS 3\\nthe road went straight ahead in full view for a\\nhalf-mile. Nearly that distance ahead stood a\\nfarm-house, with its barns and out-buildnigs. The\\nhouse stood back from the road among fruit-trees,\\nsome of which were in blossom. But what espe-\\ncially attracted attention was a large number of\\nhorses and wagons, vehicles of various descriptions,\\nwhich made the front yard and the road near the\\nhouse look black.\\nOnly two events in the country life are likely to\\ncause such a gathering around a house. When\\nyou see it you are quite safe in thinking that there\\nis a funeral or an auction sale. Either is sure to\\nbring together all the wagons of a very wide-spread\\npopulation. There is this difference, however, that\\nto the funeral men and women and children come,\\nbut to the vandue only men.\\nAs I approached the house I began to pass\\nhorses tied to fences and small trees. Everything\\nin the shape of a hitching- post, everything to\\nwhich a halter could be tied, was in use, and when\\nI reached the front gate there were groups of men\\nso occupied here and there that no doubt could\\nexist that this was an auction sale. It v/as un-\\ndoubtedly a funeral in one sense, not of any one\\ndead, but of a home. It was the extinguishment\\nof a fire that had been burning on a hearth a great\\nmany years. It took but a little while to learn\\nfrom those who were grouped near the gate the rea-", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0019.jp2"}, "18": {"fulltext": "4 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\nsons for the auction. This group consisted of men\\nwho had come only because it was an occasion for\\nmeeting people, a chance for general talk and ex-\\nchange of little news, a break in the monotony\\nof country life. Near the barn was another group,\\ninspecting cows. They had no interest in the sale\\nof furniture in the house. On the front lawn was\\nanother group. I fancied they were discussing the\\nvalue of the farm, whether it was worth the mort-\\ngage on it, whether any one was likely to bid on\\nit. As I walked in towards the door I saw that\\nthere were people in all parts of the house, most\\nof them in the large kitchen whence the voice of\\nthe auctioneer was audible. As I entered he was\\nselling cooking utensils, getting from a cent to six\\ncents apiece, rarely as much as ten cents for any\\narticle.\\nI confess that, as I looked around this kitchen\\non this scene, I felt very much as if it were a fu-\\nneral, and began to think that I had an interest in,\\na personal acquaintance with the departed. It\\nhad been for a long lifetime the home of an honest,\\nrespected farmer, who had recently died an old\\nman whose work was ended. His children, all but\\none daughter, had gone to distant parts of the\\ncountry. His wife had died a year before. The\\nproperty must be sold to settle his small estate,\\npay his funeral expenses and perhaps other claims.\\nThere was to be also an attempt to find a pur-", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0020.jp2"}, "19": {"fulltext": "ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS 5\\nchaser for the farm, but it was thought the holder\\nof a mortgage on it would be the only possible\\nbidder.\\nThat life was to be closed out forever. Where-\\nin much of it had consisted was here visible. It\\nwas displayed for public view, and any stranger was\\nfree to rove from room to room and see the record,\\nfor nothing was reserved; not even the clothing,\\nor the old man s silver watch, or his wife s work-\\nbasket with knitting needles and scissors, and a\\nknife with a broken blade, and a ball of blue yarn\\nand a half-knit woollen stocking.\\nHere was a summing up of the total reward in\\nthis world s valuables which a long, laborious life\\nhad earned. I can never cease to feel indignation\\nat the preachers about labor and its rewards who\\nimagine that workmen in the trades are the only\\nlaborers to be considered; who are deceived by\\nthe idea that the various societies of working-\\nmen represent one- tenth of the hard-working\\nmen of our country who imagine that the labor\\nquestion relates only to that small number of per-\\nsons who work for fixed pay, eight or ten hours a\\nday.\\nThe life of this man from his childhood had been\\none of incessant labor, hard work, beginning daily\\nlong before daylight, ending so wearily after dark\\nthat he welcomed sleep as the only rest he knew.\\nYour ten -hour city laborer does not know what", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0021.jp2"}, "20": {"fulltext": "6 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\nwork means, and never will know till he acquires a\\nfarm and has to support life by digging for himself,\\npaying himself for his work, and finding that to\\nthe vast body of American farmers fourteen hours\\na day labor earns bare subsistence.\\nThe life labor in this house and on this farm\\nshowed in the end, as the laborer s pay when all\\nwork was done, just nothing beyond the bare sup-\\nport of the life. Less, indeed, than that, for there\\nwas a mortgage on the farm, which represented a\\ndemand of some pressing need, or a steady, slow\\nfalling behind from year to year\\nThe home furniture was not luxurious far oth-\\nerwise. But it was not altogether without interest.\\nThere was an old chest of drawers in one room\\nwhich probably belonged to the mother, possibly\\ncame from her mother when she was married. It\\nwas made of solid cherry-wood, and the old brass\\nmountings were, for a wonder, brilliant as if new.\\nThere was a small looking-glass hanging on a wall,\\nin a frame once of great beauty, the relief orna-\\nments on it being ears of golden grain. Jliere\\nwere some pictures in black-pine frames, without\\nglass. None had any money value, but each had\\nhigher than money value, because they had been\\nthe delights of that family life. Children had\\ngrown up looking at them daily, their young imag-\\ninations wandering far away under the guiding in-\\nfluence of art. Mark you, my friend, art brings its", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0022.jp2"}, "21": {"fulltext": "ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS 7\\nblessings not alone by the power of renowned art-\\nists, b}^ the works of great masters. There are very\\nrude pictures, pictures which provoke the derision\\nof ignorant critics, pictures which have had mighty\\ninfluence in swaying human minds. There was a\\nfifteenth -century artist in Cologne whose Bible\\npictures in rough hard outlines were the educators\\nof millions of people for a century and more after\\nhe was dead. It is the thought written in the pict-\\nure which is its power, not the execution, which is\\nof account to very few who see it. There is no\\npossible doubt that that old painted print of Ruth\\ngleaning, and that other of the raising of the wid-\\now s son of Nain, had impressed lessons on young\\nminds not to be effaced in this world s experiences,\\nperhaps not in any other world.\\nThe old kitchen seemed to be the place wherein\\nthe life had left its strongest marks And yet they\\nwere not many. There was a little printed calen-\\ndar of a year long ago pasted on the side of the\\nchimney. There was a clock (not worth your pur-\\nchasing, my friend) standing high up on a wooden\\nshelf. There was a dresser whereon the family\\ncrockery was piled for sale. Having in mind\\nfriends who want old crockery, I looked over the\\npieces, one by one, but found nothing worth a\\nstranger s purchasing, except, perhaps, one English\\nplate with a blue print, the rich dark blue wherein\\nthe cheap Staffordshire wares surpassed all other,", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0023.jp2"}, "22": {"fulltext": "8 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\nOriental or Occidental, potteries or porcelains. But\\nthe table was there, a very old square table, made\\nof black-ash, with four solid legs. It had no claim\\nto notice for any beauty about it. But around it\\nthe family had been gathered morning, noon, and\\nevening. First the young man and his young wife\\nhad sat there alone, happy, hopeful. Years had\\nfulfilled all they had hoped for, had brought little\\nheads to the sides of the table, and years had\\nchanged them into older and perhaps wiser heads.\\nAll the troubles and all the happiness of every one\\nof them had been brought to the assemblies at that\\nkitchen table. Christmases, Thanksgiving days,\\nwedding-days of daughters, days when the minister\\nwas to made his annual visit, all the gala-days of\\nlife had loaded the table with unusual feasts. And\\nalways, with unfailing humility and gratitude, the\\nvoice of the father had been heard at the head of\\nthe board thanking God as sincerely as if the farm\\nhad been a gold-mine instead of slow -yielding\\nsoil.\\nI was in the house but a few minutes. As I\\ndrove rapidly down the road I overtook a man,\\ngoing home from the sale. I am not fond of buy-\\ning bargains in such cases. If there had been\\nanything to tempt me I could not comfortably own\\na purchase out of that household at the poor prices\\nthings were bringing. But this man was carrying\\nhome something. As I turned out and drove by", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0024.jp2"}, "23": {"fulltext": "ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS 9\\nhim he held it up for me to see. We went along\\nside by side.\\nWhat have you got there\\nI don t know. I think it s an old pitcher they\\nused in a church.\\nWhat did you buy it for?\\nI don t know. I s pose I can sell it to some\\none.\\nHow much do you want for it\\nI don t know what it s worth.\\nWell, speak quick, if you want to sell, and my\\nhorses were pulling ahead hard.\\nI don t know as I care to sell it.\\nAll right, and I went ahead rapidly.\\nWill you give two dollars came in a shout\\nafter me.\\nWill you take it\\nYes.\\nHe came up alongside of me and I took my pur-\\nchase. It was never church property quite other-\\nwise. It was a fine, tall, old two-quart pewter mug\\nwith cover. It had done duty in times when men\\nsat together while the pewter, filled with foaming\\nbeer, went around from hand to hand and lip to\\nlip. It was in perfect order, but there was nothing\\nabout it which seemed in keeping with the old\\nfarm-house. When, four miles on, I stopped to\\nfeed my horses, the landlord, looking in my car-\\nriage, exclaimed, Hello, did you buy Jake s pewter", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0025.jp2"}, "24": {"fulltext": "10 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\npitcher and then said Jake had bought it at an-\\nother sale years ago, on specuhition, and had car-\\nried it afterwards to every vandue, trying to find\\n(I purchaser.\\nIn the autumn of that year I drove again through\\nthe same country, sometimes on the same, mostly\\non other roads. The aspect of the hills and val-\\nleys was now very different. October is a golden\\nmonth for carriage travel, on some accounts more\\npleasant than any other month in the year, both\\nfor horses and travellers.\\nThe road passed through a forest, unbroken for\\nhalf a mile. On the right a stream wandered over\\nrocks, and under little bluffs of moss, bright green\\nminiature copies of mountain bluffs along the\\ncourses of mighty rivers. Now and then, where\\nthe stream fell into a pool, the lower end of the\\npool was dammed with autumn leaves, yellow and\\nred and brown, and in the whirl of the pool you\\ncould see the same colored leaves going around\\nand around, and the water looked as if it were\\nclearer and colder for their presence. The road\\nwas covered over with leaves, a yellow carpet, and\\nevery few minutes the light breeze would freshen\\nup a little and shake the higher branches of the\\ntrees, and send down a shower of leaves, which\\nflitted and darted to and fro, flashing in the sun-\\nshine, and falling on our laps and all around us.\\nAt length the road, which going up a gentle as-", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0026.jp2"}, "25": {"fulltext": "ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS II\\ncent left the brook away in the woods, emerged\\ninto open country, and we found ourselves on the\\ntop of a hill. Before us spread one of those beau-\\ntiful landscapes in which New England is richer\\nthan any other part of the world that I know of.\\nThe road descended into an oval basin, some three\\nmiles long and a mile broad, the bottom and sides\\nof which were, or had been, cultivated farm lands,\\nexcept where a small lake slept motionless. It was\\nsurrounded by low hills, up the sides of which the\\nfields extended, here and there one of them glow-\\nin with the buff and Sfold of corn stubble and\\nscattered pumpkins. Along the ridges, where the\\nfields did not go over them, were groves of maple\\nand birch whose autumn colors were intensely\\nbright, while down the slopes lay many abandoned\\nfields gone to brush, mauve, maroon, crimson, and\\npurple-colored with their dense growth of bushes,\\nscarlet-lined along the fences by rows of sumac.\\nIf you can show me anywhere in the world land-\\nscapes which are as rich and varied in color as our\\nnorthern landscapes in America, or which are more\\nbeautiful in the form and contrast of valley and\\nhill, I will go far with you to see them. Autumnal\\nfoliage with many is thought to be the changed\\ncolor of the forest leaves, and few have observed\\nthe wonderful painting of landscapes in the autum-\\nnal colors of the low bushes. Many of our New\\nEngland rivers in October flow between banks", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0027.jp2"}, "26": {"fulltext": "12 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\nand around low gravel islands which are un-\\nbroken masses of crimson from a plant not a\\nfoot high, covering every inch for acres. And\\nthe shades are even more beautiful than the in-\\ntense colors, soft, rich, and delicate as old em-\\nbroideries.\\nThere was no village in the valley. As I drove\\nalong the road which led nearly through the mid-\\ndle of it I came, at a cross-road, to a graveyard\\nand an old church. That it was once a church the\\nremains of a tower or spire indicated, and its lo-\\ncation, a hundred feet from both roads, in the\\ngraveyard, demonstrated. There had never been\\nany fence around the lot except the rough -laid\\nloose stone-wall which serves for fence in all parts\\nof our country where stone is plenty. And no\\nbetter or more picturesque fencing can be, espe-\\ncially if people will plant along such walls any of\\nthe many beautiful vines which abound everywhere,\\nand thrive luxuriantly in just such places. But no\\nvines had ever been planted here. Not a solitary\\nbush or tree grew in the graveyard. Even grass\\nseemed to have run out from lonesomeness and\\nneglect, so that the ground looked like an old\\nworn-out pasture lot, the only break in the desolate\\naspect being a stunted sprig of golden-rod which\\ngleamed in front of the church door.\\nI passed it, careful not to tread on it, and tried\\nthe door, found it open, and went in. The interior", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0028.jp2"}, "27": {"fulltext": "ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS 13\\nwas a sad ruin, through which the breeze was free\\nto blow, for there was no glass in any window, nor,\\nindeed, now any need of glass, since it was plain\\nenough that there had not been for long time any\\nassembling of people here to worship. The pul-\\npit, nearly round and high up, backed by a large\\nwindow, had once been reached by a winding stair-\\nway, now broken down. The pews, which were\\nbuilt of pine, without paint, were in fair preserva-\\ntion. The plaster on the walls and flat ceiling had\\nmostly fallen off, and lay in the pews and on the\\nfloor of the aisles. I could see the blue sky\\nthrough one great rift overhead where the roof\\ntimber had fallen in and crushed down the ceil-\\ning.\\nNo places are filled with such profound interest\\nto thoughtful men as those spots in which their\\nfellow-men of former generations were accustomed\\nto assemble for the worship of God. And places\\nof Christian worship are more deeply interesting\\nbecause of the characteristics of that worship\\nwhich distinguish it from all others. In no other\\nhave men approached Deity with the sense of per-\\nsonal unworthiness which only their God can re-\\nmove, and with faith in His fatherhood and broth-\\nerhood. His personal presence among them, and\\nHis love for them. From the early ages of the\\nChristian Church this immediate and close rela-\\ntionship between God and man has been a distin-", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0029.jp2"}, "28": {"fulltext": "14 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\nguishing characteristic of old Christian art, whose\\nearliest representations of His personality are as\\nthe Good Shepherd, carrying home a lost and\\nfound lamb of His flock. If that faith which di-\\nrects their prayers be indeed the substance of the\\nthings hoped for, then the place where men meet\\ntheir God is so truly the House of God that one is\\na-t a loss to understand those who deny any special\\nsanctity in it. But however irreverent be their re-\\ngard for the church which they themselves fre-\\nquent, I think there are very few who can without\\nsome serious emotion enter an old church in which\\ngenerations of men and women and children have\\nworshipped, who are now lying in silent graves\\naround it.\\nI don t think you, my friend, whatever your creed\\nor your sympathies, could have sat with me in one\\nof those plain pine pews, seeing the sunshine of\\nthat autumn falling through the shattered building\\non the ruined interior, and have failed to appreci-\\nate something of the sanctity of the old place of\\nprayer. It was nearly noon. Through the broken\\nroof one broad stream of golden light fell on the\\nopen place between the front pew and the pulpit.\\nThere the table used to stand which they called\\ntheir Lord s table, and from which they received,\\nas their catechism expressed it, by faith, that is,\\nby the highest assurance men can have, unhesitat-\\ning belief, the body and blood of Him they wor-", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0030.jp2"}, "29": {"fulltext": "ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS 1 5\\nshipped. There, one by one, when the work and\\nworry, the sorrow and sin of this Ufe were ended,\\nthey were laid with closed eyes and calm faces,\\nand thence carried out to the gathering place of\\nthe dead. Where are they now, strong men and\\nmatrons, young men and maidens, little children\\nand patriarchs As I asked myself the question\\nI walked across the floor to a window and looked\\nout. Yes, they were all lying there, as so many\\nmillions of the Christian dead all over the world\\nlie, in circles that sweep over the surface of the\\nglobe, ever-widening circles as their faith has ex-\\ntended among men, all with their faces heavenward\\nand their feet towards Jerusalem.\\nWe spent more than a half-hour in the old church.\\nI climbed by the wrecked stairway into the pulpit.\\nIts interior casing was falling to pieces, and in a\\nrecess within were some scraps of paper, which had\\nslipped between the boards from the shelf under\\nthe desk. On one was a memorandum of the min-\\nister for notices to be given of the weekly prayer\\nmeeting at Mr. s house, and a Thursday night\\nlecture at the school-house on the mountain. On\\nanother was a funeral notice. There was nothing\\nelse legible, except a torn scrap, the lower part of a\\nleaf of a hymn-book, and on this was a stanza not\\nunfitting the associations of the place. So for the\\nmoment I assumed the position of the erstwhile\\nminister and said, from the pulpit, Let us sing", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0031.jp2"}, "30": {"fulltext": "1 6 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\nOh what amazing joys they feel\\nWhile to their golden harps they sing,\\nAnd sit on every heavenly hill\\nAnd spread the triumphs of their King\\nThere were only three of us, but one was leader\\nof a choir in an up-country church and we sang a\\ngood old tune, which, perhaps, they who were now\\nsilent around the church used to sing to the same\\nwords and perhaps will some day sing again.\\nAnd while we were singing I saw a vision not\\nsupernatural, but as lovely for the moment as any\\nimagination. In the open doorway at the other\\nend of the church was standing a little child, a girl\\nof five years old, dressed in white, with masses of\\nred-gold hair which the wind, coming in from be-\\nhind her, was waving and shaking. Her great blue\\neyes were looking with wonderment while she lis-\\ntened. As the sound ceased she vanished. We\\nmight have thought it an apparition, but that, going\\nto the door, we saw her running down the road as\\nfast as her little feet would carry her, towards a\\nlarge farm-house, nearly a half-mile off. Her story\\ntold at the house might have been the foundation\\nof a mid-day ghost story for the neighborhood, the\\ncoming back of old-time people to sing an old hymn\\nin the ruined church. But they could hardly sup-\\npose that ghosts would come in a travelling car-\\nriage drawn by a very solid pair of gray horses.", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0032.jp2"}, "31": {"fulltext": "IN SOUTHERN VERMONT 1 7\\nII\\nIN SOUTHERN VERMONT\\nIt matters little which way you drive in Vermont\\nto seek beautiful scenery. Every road furnishes it.\\nThe question each morning, which way we shall go,\\nis not a very serious one. Ordinarily we ask about\\nthe roads in all directions, but not for the sake of\\ngetting information. That is hopeless. Few now\\nhave knowledge of a road to any place except the\\nnearest railway station. At the station no one\\nknows a road more than two or three miles away.\\nThis is not exaggeration. It is simply the result\\nof the abandonment of carriage travel and the uni-\\nversal use of the rail. Intercommunication between\\noutlying farms and villages is nearly at an end.\\nThe old social intercourse and mutual dependence\\nof the country folk is mostly gone. The fathers\\nand mothers knew every family within a circuit of\\nten or twenty miles. There are not so many fami-\\nlies in the circuit now, but many have ceased, in\\nthis generation, to be even acquaintances one with\\nanother.\\nNight after night, sitting by the fire in the tavern", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0033.jp2"}, "32": {"fulltext": "15 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\npublic-room, with ten or fifteen of the neighbors\\ngathered for the evening talk, we have inquired\\nabout adjoining towns and roads thither, whether\\nthere are inns, whether the roads cross mountains,\\nwhether there are streams, ponds, lakes, which way\\nand whither the watercourses run, but all in vain.\\nAnd at the same time these men discuss with ample\\nintelligence the Irish land question, the position of\\nthe French in Africa, the last news from Ethiopian\\nexplorers, and the politics of the United States.\\nWe seldom hear home politics talked about.\\nFrom all this you may infer that a ride through\\nVermont and New Hampshire is a journey of dis-\\ncovery. We go by inquiring almost from mile to\\nmile. A good map, already marked over and over\\nwith the lines of our old routes, lies on the carriage\\nseat. We start like a ship and lay our course by\\ncompass, or rather by the sun, for some place which\\non the scale seems to be at a reasonable distance,\\nand ask from time to time whether we are on the\\nright road. Occasionally we go wrong. It is of\\nno account. We keep on, and arrive somewhere.\\nIn the spring a trout rod lies ready for use in\\nthe carriage. In the autumn, a heavier rod and a\\ngun. Here and there along the road are tempting\\nspots for the angler, and I stop the horses awhile.\\nIn the forest roads, covered with fallen leaves and\\nnuts in autumn, partridges are often to be seen,\\nsometimes to be shot. Always the scenery is at-", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0034.jp2"}, "33": {"fulltext": "IN SOUTHERN VERMONT 19\\ntractive. Comparisons of scenery are usually ab-\\nsurd. No two landscapes possess all of the same\\ncharacteristics. One lake is unlike another, and it\\nis impossible to compare one with another, except\\nwhen the characteristics are so diverse that it may\\nbe fairly said of one or the other that it possesses\\nlittle or no beauty. Mountains have their peculi-\\narities, and one can seldom be intelligently placed\\nin comparison with another as to the general quality\\nof its scenery. One is bolder, grander, another is\\nricher in lofty masses of color, and another has\\nwonderful outlines of form against the sky. But,\\nwith some experience, I know no country which, as\\nyou drive through it, presents more variety of\\nbeauty, more rapid changes in the character of the\\nbeauty, more alternations of grandeur and pastoral\\ncalmness, more wild ravines, and more far -distant\\nviews, than Northern New England.\\nProposing a wandering drive along the Green\\nMountains, I sent my horses to Brattleboro as a\\nstarting-point. While waiting there for a friend I\\ndrove in various directions around the town. One\\ncould pass a month in Brattleboro and drive every\\nday a new road, and a good road, every rod of\\nwhich is beautiful, whether in Vermont or across\\nthe river in New Hampshire. Streams pour down\\na dozen valleys between high hills, some cultivated\\nto the summits, some forest-covered. Wild-flowers\\nwere out that spring in an abundance that seemed", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0035.jp2"}, "34": {"fulltext": "20 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\nto surpass all former springs. The forests along\\nthe road- sides were luxuriant with thousands of\\nflowers of a hundred varieties. The lateness of\\nthe spring had kept back the usual growth of early\\nMay, and the sudden coming of a succession of\\nwarm days had brought out the later and the earlier\\nflora together. A mile out of the village there was\\na spot which was superb. Masses of violets grew\\nas thick as pansies in garden beds, the large tall\\nw^hite and pale pink in clumps with the equally tall\\nand large yellow, the small white and small yellow,\\nand two varieties of blue, all intermingling and\\ncovering the ground at the edge of the forest,\\nformed a continuous bed of color stretching a hun-\\ndred rods with scarcely a break. Trilium, purple\\nand painted, nodded over this bed in the deeper\\nshadow of the woods now just leafing out. Anem-\\none, tiarella, mitre-wort, were abundant.\\nComing recently from watching the advance of\\nspring in the South, the contrast was vast and strik-\\nino^. The luxuriant g^reen over the whole surface\\nof the country, ground and tree alike bursting out\\nin splendid color, had not been a feature of spring\\nin Florida and South Georgia. Last year s vege-\\ntation does not stand up here, dry and yellow, to\\nbe slowly hidden by the growth of this year, as in\\nsouthern countries. Snow is a wonderful beauti-\\nfier. It packs down the dead growth of the past, so\\nthat the first show of the new growth is visible and", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0036.jp2"}, "35": {"fulltext": "IN SOUTHERN VERMONT 21\\ncolors the earth and the landscape. There is a\\nday when all the country looks wintry the next\\nday soft green tints show in the damp hollows or\\non the southern slopes; then in one or two or three\\ndays the whole landscape has become brilliantly\\ngreen. The forests have begun to color. We ail\\nknow the gorgeous autumnal colors, but little has\\nbeen written of the exquisite tints of the spring\\nforests in New England. They are often quite as\\nbeautiful as the autumn glories. They are softer\\ntints, but more varied pink, mauve, purple, and\\ngray, in broad and gentle gradations, broken now\\nand then by deep tints where the maple is budding.\\nSometimes in valleys, where willows are plenty and\\nwhen sunlight falls richly after a shower, there are\\npatches of golden yellow stretching across green\\nfields which are as beautiful as one s golden dreams.\\nDid you ever meet with one of those modern aesthet-\\nic maniacs who suggest improvements for Nature\\nand criticise her minglings of color One such\\ncondemns, as in bad taste, the mingUng of green\\nwith yellow in a field where thousands of yellow but-\\ntercups bloom. Pie suggests, as much more cor-\\nrect and pleasant to the eye, the contrast afforded\\nby a midsummer field vv^here the white daisies are\\nabundant. There is no disputing about tastes.\\nNature offers something for every one but that is\\na faulty education which has brought any one to\\napply to the works of the great Artist the arbitrary", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0037.jp2"}, "36": {"fulltext": "2 2 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\nnotions of what we call art criticism. Nature en-\\ncourages no ideas of harmony in color. She min-\\ngles with a free hand all colors, and puts to shame\\nthe temporary and changing tastes of humanity,\\nwhich trammel and harness artists and drive them\\non railway tracks of art production. Old nations\\nof men are free from the foolish rules of so-called\\ncivilization in this matter of color. The gorgeous\\nproducts and minglings of color which characterize\\nthe Chinese porcelains are doing a great deal to\\neducate the dim and doubtful tastes of western Eu-\\nrope and America. The Saracens understood bet-\\nter than any race of men in any age the value of\\nfree and unrestrained use of color, and contrasted\\ncolors without regard to any ideas of what is called\\nharmony. They decorated houses and temples as\\nNature decorates the earth, and kept prominent al-\\nways the great lesson of the visible world, that with\\na blue sky and a green landscape every one of the\\ninfinite variety of hues of flowers is perfectly har-\\nmonious.\\nTaking Brattleboro as a starting-point, we could\\ncross the Connecticut into New Hampshire or strike\\nout westward into Vermont. Choosing the latter\\ncourse, we could continue the route northward on\\nthe eastern side of the Green Mountains, wander-\\ning hither and thither on the way, or take one of\\nthe roads west\\\\vard and cross the mountains. What\\nmatters it which road you take It is always easy", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0038.jp2"}, "37": {"fulltext": "IN SOUTHERN VERMONT 23\\nto turn your own carriage, change your direction,\\nfollow the new wish of the moment. We could go\\nout to Wilmington, and over the Green Mountains\\nto Bennington we could turn northward from Wil-\\nmington and ascend and descend the hills of Dover,\\nnow getting far-off views over New Hampshire, now\\nseeing to the west the Vermont mountains over-\\nhanging lovely valleys. The country directly west\\nof Brattleboro although hilly, abounds in fine sce-\\nnery, and the valley at Wilmington is as lovely as\\nany Swiss valley. AYe chose a route to the north-\\nwest. We drove out on the right bank of West\\nRiver, following up the stream, with intent to spend\\nthe night at Fayetteville, but loitered along the way,\\nand after sunset pulled up at a little inn in Will-\\niamsville.\\nThere is seldom any trouble in finding employ-\\nment for the evening at a country inn or in the vil-\\nlage. Sometimes the church-bell announces even-\\ning meeting, and one may do worse than to attend\\nit, if only for the sake of seeing people and study-\\ning character. Almost always the inn is the place\\nof gathering for some of the natives, who discuss\\nall kinds of subjects with abundant intelligence,\\nand generally with striking clearness and simplicity\\nof thought and diction.\\nIt is not difficult for a stranger to lead the con-\\nversation towards local incident and history. There\\nis no country village in the land which cannot fur-", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0039.jp2"}, "38": {"fulltext": "24 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\nnish personal histories of sufficient interest to make\\nvolumes of very instructive bio^^raphy. You err\\nif you imagine that only those lives are romantic\\nwhich are passed among crowds in cities. The\\ncountry life abounds in mysteries, romances. The\\nclergyman or the doctor either could furnish the\\nnovelist Vv ith a great deal of material.\\nIf you don t care to talk, you can always find on\\nthe table of the parlor, or on a shelf somewhere, a\\nsmall stock of books and if you are a reading\\nman from a city you will be very sure to find these\\nbooks mostly new to you books you never saw or\\nheard of. There are very few book-stores in New\\nEngland outside the large cities. The New York\\nor Boston publishers who sell books through retail\\nstores have no means of reaching the inhabitants\\nof Vermont and New Hampshire, except in two or\\nthree cities. The American people have not learned\\nto any great extent to order books by mail. In the\\ncountry few books are bought except such as are\\nbrought to the door by agents. For this trade a\\ngreat many books are made of which no one in the\\ncities ever hears. They are of various classes of\\nliterature, some of them good, instructive compila-\\ntions of history, travel, scientific information, some\\nonly trash, catchpenny books. It is always good-\\nfortune if one finds that the local history of the\\ntown or county in which he is resting has been\\ngathered and published. Many such histories have", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0040.jp2"}, "39": {"fulltext": "IN SOUTHERN VERMONT 25\\nbeen made in the north country. They are gen-\\nerally subscription -books, and special attention is\\ngiven to the personal and family histories of sub-\\nscribers. Portraits adorn them. Now and then an-\\ncestral portraits are reproduced in wood or litho-\\ngraphic prints. They are always readable books,\\nespecially readable for the traveller.\\nWilliamsville is in the town of Newfane, a very\\nold Vermont township. An excellent history of this\\ntown has been published abounding in material of\\nmuch more than local interest.\\nIn 1789, at the old Field mansion on the 2 2d of\\nFebruary, Major Moses Joy was married to Mrs.\\nHannah Ward, widow of William Ward. This\\nWilliam Ward had died insolvent, leaving debts of\\nconsiderable amount. At the second marriage\\nMrs. Ward stood in a closet with no clothing on,\\nand held out her hand to Major Joy through a hole,\\nand the ceremony was thus performed.\\nThis is the only instance I have ever met with in\\nAmerican history of what in England has been vari-\\nously called a smock marriage, or a marriage en\\ncheinise. The idea was, and in parts of England\\nstill is prevalent, that if a husband takes a wife\\nwith nothing on her he avoids a legal liability to\\npay her debts, or the debts of a former husband,\\nsome of whose property she might possibly bring\\nwith her to her new alliance. This vulgar error\\nhas led to many curious marriages. One is re-", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0041.jp2"}, "40": {"fulltext": "26 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\ncorded in which the woman left her room in the\\nnight, naked, by the window, standing on the top\\nround of a high ladder, where she put on new\\nclothes, and came down feeling satisfied that she\\nhad left all old obligations in the house, and come\\nout scot-free. I think I remember in Notes and\\nQueries an account of the surprise of a clergyman\\nin an English church, when a bride appeared for\\nan appointed marriage, wrapped only in a white\\nsheet, and this within a very recent period. The\\nold error, it seems, prev^ailed in Vermont so late as\\n1789, and Major Joy took what he thought the safe\\nway of avoiding the responsibilities of the departed\\nand now not lamented Mr. Ward.\\nThere was another old error which also lingered\\nin Vermont, according to the Newfane historian.\\nInasmuch as a writ was directed in words com-\\nmanding the sheriff to take the body of the debtor,\\na common notion was held that the writ ran against\\nthat body living or dead. At a funeral in Dum-\\nmerston, the adjoining town (no date is given), the\\nofficers arrested the body on its way to the grave.\\nThe procession stopped, the bearers gave bail for\\nthe appearance of the debtor, buried him, and paid\\nthe debt. In 1820, one Lee, in prison on a bail\\nbond, died. The sheriff would not deliver his\\nbody to his family, fearing it would amount to an\\nescape, and himself become liable. The consent\\nof the creditors was obtained, and the sheriff, thus", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0042.jp2"}, "41": {"fulltext": "IN SOUTHERN VERMONT 27\\nrelieved from his apprehended responsibihty, re-\\nleased his prisoner. This strange error was not\\nconfined to Vermont. Similar instances of arrest-\\ning the body have been recorded in other parts of\\nthe country.\\nIn the morning we changed our minds and turned\\nsouth-westward. The drive from Williamsville to\\nWilmington is one to be remembered, A good\\nroad with a slight upward grade for four miles,\\nthen up a hill, through a small village, on for a\\nmile cross a bridge, up a steep hill, through Rock\\nRiver village still uphill through forest, the air\\npure and life-giving uphill, uphill, a long steady\\npull to a church on a hill which is Dover Centre,\\nand now behind us to the eastward there is no\\nlimit to our vision in the clear atmosphere which\\nlies over New Hampshire. The blue horizon line\\naway yonder must be almost where the sky and\\nocean meet. As we go on higher, the view seems\\nto stretch yet farther into distance, east and north-\\neast, and north, while close below us farms and\\nvalleys, hills and ravines lie as on a map. A half-\\nmile beyond the church we cross the summit, and\\nthe western view of the Green Mountains bursts on\\nus. And now we descend into a charming valley,\\nand following a meadow brook which grows to\\nbe a river, and is the east branch of the Deerfield\\nRiver, we reach Wilmington at noon.\\nIt is a pretty village in a pretty valley. Hence", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0043.jp2"}, "42": {"fulltext": "28 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\nit is twenty miles to all sorts of places\u00e2\u0080\u0094 twenty to\\nBrattleboro, twenty to Bennington, the same to\\nHoosac Tunnel and to Coleraine.\\nIt may serve to show the freedom of carriage trav-\\nel if I rapidly indicate the ways we went after this\\nfrom day to day. From Wilmington we drove on\\nsouthward and westward to Readsboro City, a busy\\nvillage among the mountains, at the junction of the\\neast and west branches of the Deerfield River.\\nThence our route lay up the West Branch, a wild\\nroad of much beauty, to Hartwellville then by a\\nwinding valley road to Stamford, and down to\\nNorth Adams in Massachusetts through the un-\\nrivalled scenery in which Williamstown is situated\\ndown the Hoosac valley, and around a shoulder\\nof the mountain to Bennington in Vermont thence\\nup the western side of the Green Mountains to\\nManchester. Northward now from Manchester,\\nwe drove up the beautiful valley between the high\\nmountains on the east and Equinox and the Dorset\\nmountains on the west, to Wallingford. There we\\nturned the horses eastward again. From Man-\\nchester we might have taken a route west of the\\nDorset Mountain, by which we would have gone\\nto Lake St. Catharine, a very lovely lake, whereon\\nis a large hotel in a grove of pines. Thence the\\nroute is pleasant and generally level, with good\\nroads, to Rutland, or to Castleton and on north-\\nward. I have often driven in this direction. But", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0044.jp2"}, "43": {"fulltext": "IN SOUTHERN VERMONT 29\\nnow, without any special reason, we recrossed the\\nGreen Mountain range.\\nThe little highland village called Mechanicsville\\nis in the town of Mount Holly, which includes the\\nGreen Mountain country east of VVallingford, where\\nthe hills run lower than to the northward and south-\\nward of it. The Central Vermont Railway line finds\\nits way from Bellows Falls to Rutland across these\\nlower hills in a north-westerly direction. The wagon\\nroad from Wallingford wanders in various beautiful\\nways. The pass across is one of the easiest and\\nmost practicable between the Massachusetts line\\nand the gorge of the Winooski south of Mount\\nMansfield.\\nThe carriage traveller may do well to make a note\\nof these passes. If you drive northward from Troy\\nor elsewhere on the west side of the mountains, you\\ncan cross them to the east side and the Connecticut\\nvalley only by one or another of these mountain\\nroads.\\nFrom Bennington you can go over to Wilming-\\nton and Brattleboro by a road which I have never\\nhappened to find in good order. From Manchester\\nyou can cross through Peru to Chester by a turn-\\npike road, usually in fair condition. From Walling-\\nford you can cross by the road I was now driving,\\nto Ludlow. From Rutland you can cross by a road\\nwhich I have found so wretched that the least said\\nabout it the better. From Brandon or Middlebury", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0045.jp2"}, "44": {"fulltext": "30 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\nyou can cross by good roads, that one which goes\\nthrough Ripton passing the Bread Loaf Inn, and\\n\u00e2\u0080\u00a2descending eastward to the hilly country south of\\nMontpelier. North of this you can go through the\\nmountains by a good road, with no serious hills,\\nalong the bank of the Winooski, to Waterbury and\\nMontpelier. Still north of this you can drive over\\nthe rolling country around the north end of the\\nmountains from Burlington to Hyde Park. There\\nare other roads through and over the Green Mount-\\nains, but none of them can be recommended with\\ncertainty from year to year as practicable for pleas-\\nure carriages.\\nThe morning was dark. We had had showers\\nin the night, and the clouds still lay low in the\\nvalley at Wallingford. But a breath of air from\\nthe westward, slowly increasing, and beginning to\\nmove first the mists and then the leaves of the trees,\\ngave promise of a clearing off. We did not start\\ntill late in the forenoon, and then the horses had\\nfour miles of pretty steady uphill work before them.\\nA clear stream, swollen with last night s rain, roared\\ndown by the side of the road as we slowly ascended.\\nThere are doubtless trout in that stream, for along\\nit now and then we saw boys fishing. None of\\nthem had any trout. All agreed that the water\\nwas too high, but all asserted the presence of trout.\\nThe faith of an angler is worthy the study of phi-\\nlosophers. If a boy knows that one trout has been", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0046.jp2"}, "45": {"fulltext": "IN SOUTHERN VERMONT 3 1\\ntaken in a stream, he will fish contentedly all day for\\nanother; and though he may take innumerable chubs\\nand dace and minnows, without sight of the trout he\\nseeks, he nevertheless throws in his bait a thousand\\ntimes, and every time with perfect assurance that\\nthe next fish that takes it will have spotted skin\\nand golden sheen below. So with all of us. They\\nwho know nothing about angling have few if any\\nparallels in life to this faith, which is the underlying\\ncharm of going a-fishing. One cannot fish for long\\nwithout success in a stream or lake in which he\\ndoes not believe there are any fish. A few casts\\nof the flies, a few minutes waiting for a bite at bait\\nin this or that hole, and he abandons the place.\\nBut if he has seen a trout rise to a fly, or dash\\nalong the clear brook, it is enough. Thereafter\\nfaith takes hold of him, and the day goes on joy-\\nously to the end, even through he takes nothing.\\nFor the taking of fish is but a small part of the\\nenjoyment of going a-fishing. The innumerable\\nsounds and sights of nature, the luxury of open air,\\nthe clouds, the winds, the sunshine, the rain, the\\ncutting off of thought of business, worry, care (which\\nis cut off most effectually by the presence of the\\nangler s faith in his rod and skill), these can be\\nappreciated only by those who love to use rod and\\nline.\\nWe drove through East Wallingford and then\\nwandered over hills, with many far and many lovely", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0047.jp2"}, "46": {"fulltext": "32 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\nviews until, on a hill-top, we entered the little village\\nof Mechanicsville, consisting of a large factory, two\\nchurches, and a group of white houses under trees.\\nThe factory makes children s toys. It was startling,\\naway up on the top of the Green Mountains, on the\\noutlet of a small lake, to find a village supported by\\nan employment so closely related to the home life\\nof all the country. The forests of the neighbor-\\nhood grow the wood, the mountain streams drive\\nthe saw-mills which rough-shape it, a steam-engine\\nwhirls the turning lathes and the various machines\\nwhich give form to the objects. Here is another\\nsubject of thought for the philosopher. The angling\\nboys were the morning illustrations of faith. The\\nnoon resting-place is a village where the inhabitants\\nlive by play. Nothing but play. The waters of a\\nbeautiful lake flow out over the factory wheels, work-\\ning for play. Play clothes and feeds these families,\\nenriches the manufacturers, supports perhaps these\\ntwo churches whose spires rise side by side. It is\\na bright, cleanly, thriving-looking little village the\\nhouses are neatly painted; the gardens are brilliant\\nwith flowers.\\nThe frivolities of life have their uses. Children\\nmust play, ought to play; and grown men and\\nwomen owe it to themselves to play sometimes. If\\nyou find any one who doubts the usefulness of play,\\ntell him that it has its utility in this at least, that it\\nruns a prosperous village in the Green Mountains,", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0048.jp2"}, "47": {"fulltext": "IN SOUTHERN VERMONT\\nand employs a happy population with remunerative\\nwork.\\nIn the afternoon our road led down the eastern\\nslopes of the hills to the valley where Black River\\ncomes out from the succession of lakes at Plymouth\\nand Tyson. We drove through Ludlow, and spent\\nthe night at Proctorsville. Next day we crossed\\nthe Connecticut into New Hampshire.\\n3", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0049.jp2"}, "48": {"fulltext": "34 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\nIII\\nA VILLAGE DISCUSSION\\nI HAD pulled up at the door of a village store\\nand gone in to make a purchase. I was standing\\nat the counter. It was a cold day, and there were\\na half dozen men sitting around the stove. All\\n\u00e2\u0080\u00a2were strangers to me, for the village was out of my\\nregular course of driving. I would have gone out\\nimmediately after making my little purchase, but\\nthat a remark from one of the men to the surround-\\ning group interested me. It was made by a man\\nwhose face was bright and intelligent, but whose\\ntone and style of talking marked him at once as\\nsomewhat dogmatic and given to laying down the\\nlaw among his neighbors. I found afterwards that\\nhe was a young medical man, who had been but\\ntwo or three years in the village, studious in his\\nprofession and remarkably successful, but fond of\\ncolhsions with the Freewill Baptist minister, whose\\nchurch was the only one in the neighborhood. The\\nDoctor was an educated man that is, he was a\\ncollege graduate, and a man of some reading. The\\nMinister was not an educated man, and the Doctor", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0050.jp2"}, "49": {"fulltext": "A VILLAGE DISCUSSION 35\\nwas a thorn in his side. Many locaHties in the\\ncountry are situated much as this was. But, on\\nthe whole, the good -sense of the average man is\\nsuperior to illogical reasoning, however specious,\\nin or out of the pulpit, and sound orthodox belief\\nholds its own against unsound reason and imagi-\\nnary theology.\\nThey were talking about miracles, and the young\\nDoctor said You know as well as I do, Stephen,\\nthat everything in this world moves in regular\\norder. The laws of nature are what we all have\\nto depend on, and they never change. It s certain\\nthat if you plant potatoes they won t come up\\npumpkins. Neither you nor any man here ever\\nsaw a miracle. You never heard of one in your\\nlife in these parts. You never heard of pumpkin\\nvines growing from potatoes. It stands to reason\\nand common-sense that when no man in this town\\never saw anything happen that wasn t in the regu-\\nlar course of natural law, anything supernatural, it\\nisn t likely such things are going to happen here.\\nI looked at Stephen, as the Doctor called him.\\nHe was an elderly man, hard featured and sun-\\nburned. There was a shrewd twinkle in his eye,\\nbut he looked at the stove and not at the Doctor,\\nand there was silence for a moment while he pon-\\ndered. Then he spoke in a mild, inquiring sort of\\nway, which contrasted with the Doctor s somewhat\\nself-opinionated tone.", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0051.jp2"}, "50": {"fulltext": "36 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\nI don t know much about the laws of natur\\nbut I suppose you mean something Uke this that\\nwhen I let go that jack-knife it 11 fall on the floor\\nand he stretched out a long arm holding an open\\nknife by the blade between his thumb and finger.\\nExactly, said the Doctor that s the law of\\ngravitation.\\nAnd it s sure to fall, and I can bet my money\\non it, and I needn t be afraid of a miracle Look\\nhere, Doctor, where did the law that binds it to fall\\ncome from What made that particular law\\nThe Doctor was honest; that was evident from\\nhis reply. The learned men who have investi-\\ngated the laws of nature have not found the origin\\nof the laws. They will in time. It s only in recent\\nyears that science has made its great discoveries\\nin the laws themselves. Heat, light, color, electric-\\nity, all the great characteristics of the changing\\nworld and of matter itself, have never been under-\\nstood as they are now.\\nAnd you can t tell me what made the law that\\nbinds that jack-knife to fall down\\nNo, I can t. It s enough to know as certain\\nthat it will fall. Just let go, and you ll see the cer-\\ntainty.\\nNo chance of anything supernat ral any mira-\\ncle\\nMiracle be hanged. Let go the blade.\\nStephen s thumb and finger separated and stood", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0052.jp2"}, "51": {"fulltext": "A VILLAGE DISCUSSION 37\\nStretched out wide apart. The jack-knife was not\\non the floor. It was hanging to the wooden ceiling\\noverhead, its blade buried a half-inch in the soft\\npine. For about ten seconds no one spoke.\\nStephen was looking at the Doctor.\\nSuthin supernat ral happened, didn t it said\\nStephen.\\nYou jerked the knife up yourself.\\nWell, that warn t nat ral, war it\\nThe Doctor hesitated. Now see here, Doctor,\\nsaid the old man, just tell me how old is your law\\nthat the jack-knife s got to fall down.\\nMillions of years old. Just as old as there has\\nbeen anything to fall.\\nAnd how old was the law that said that jack-\\nknife must go up there and stick its blade in that\\n\\\\vhite-pine ceiling. Just three minutes and a half\\nold by the clock. Now what I want to know is\\nwhere did your law that it must go down come\\nfrom. You say you don t know. Well, it stands\\nto sense, then, and you can t deny that it may come\\nfrom some one that makes it go down just as I\\nmade it go up. If your science is worth a sneeze\\nit oughtn t to deny what it don t know nothing\\nabout. And if that s so, it s always just as like as\\nnot whoever made the thing go down will make it\\ngo up, without you or I or any one else knowing\\nwhat made it go, any more than you know what\\nmade me jerk that knife up yonder. You tell me", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0053.jp2"}, "52": {"fulltext": "38 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\nthat if I plant potatoes they won t come up squash-\\nes, but you just tell me what plants potatoes, or\\nwhat makes me plant em, anyhow. If I don t plant\\nem there ain t going to be any potatoes nor squash-\\nes. It s according to reason that if potatoes come\\nup because I planted potatoes, squashes don t come\\nup from them, because some one else takes care of\\nthat part of the business. I don t believe in your\\nargiments that laws always may be depended on,\\nwhen you tell me yourself that you don t know\\nwhere the laws come from and how long they re\\ngoin to last. Your science is all right. Doctor,\\njust as long as it talks about what it knows about.\\nBut when your science says a knife s bound to fall\\ndown, and don t take into account that something\\nsupernat ral may interfere that science don t know\\nnothing about, sich as my sudden making up my\\nmind to jerk it up, why your science ain t wuth any\\nmore than a last year s almanac to tell a fellow\\nwhat the weather s goin to be.\\nBy this time Stephen s tone and style had changed.\\nHe was no longer humble and inquiring, but de-\\ncidedly aggressive. There were some strong words,\\nnot exactly profane, adjectively applied to science\\nin the last sentence, which I have omitted. He\\ntalked rapidly and vehemently and with pointed\\nlogic. Is logic one of the distinguishing character-\\nistics of humanity? There are men, exceptions,\\nsometimes men of eminence, who do not seem to", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0054.jp2"}, "53": {"fulltext": "A VILLAGE DISCUSSION 39\\nhave any idea of logic, but by the vast majority of\\nmen, however uneducated, logical sequence seems\\ninstinctively appreciated, and the most illiterate are\\nvery sure to detect failure in argument.\\nAs he talked he rose and stood up, six feet two\\na mighty frame, fit for tremendous work and he\\npoured out a storm of plain and unanswerable phil-\\nosophic truth, ending up in this wise No mira-\\ncles, but only jest steady laws Well, accordin to\\nlaw that jack-knife will stick there till the wood\\nrots or the steel rusts. Make your prophe-cy if\\nyou dare. Say what it 11 do. Is there any law\\nthat ^11 tell you what 11 come of it or whether\\nSam or Timmy won t have it down and pocket it\\nas soon as I m gone? You don t know. Well, I\\ndo. There s just such a law, and I made it and\\nso saying he reached up his long arm, seized the\\nknife, and strode out of the door, growling as he\\nwent.\\nHe s a cantankerous old cuss, but he s got a\\nlot o brains, remarked one of the group. The\\nothers signified assent. The Doctor said nothing,\\nbut stood looking at the spot in the ceiling where\\nthe knife had been. I followed the philosopher.\\nAs I drove up the road I overtook him and offered\\nhim a ride. He had not noticed me at the store.\\nHe discussed my horses, the merits of various styles\\nof buck-board, the weather, the crops, and it was\\nnot until we approached a farm which he pointed", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0055.jp2"}, "54": {"fulltext": "40 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\nout as his own that any allusion was made to the\\ndiscussion. There was a field golden with huge\\npumpkins, which I think form the richest and most\\ngorgeous-looking crop that is ever seen in the fields.\\nYou didn t plant potatoes for that crop, I said.\\nHe looked puzzled, then broke into a hearty laugh.\\nYou see the Doctor riled me a little, and I got\\nmad. I tell you what it is. Mister, I never had an\\nedication, and the Doctor had and it makes me\\nmad when a man like him talks to a store full o\\npeople as if he knew all he s a-talking about, when\\nhe don t. He s been going on about miracles for\\nthe last three weeks, because the elder preached a\\nsermon on em. I don t belong to the meetin but\\nmy old mother did. Do you see that bunch o\\nspruces over yonder She s there. She believed\\nin miracles. And she knew a heap more than I\\ndo. Now I just ask you this which is best wuth\\nbelievin my old mother when she told me the\\nmiracles was true because there s a God over the\\nairth, or these consarned edicated fools that go\\naround saying there never could a-been no miracles\\nbecause they don t know how to work em.", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0056.jp2"}, "55": {"fulltext": "UPHILL IN FOG 41\\nIV\\nUPHILL IN FOG\\nMaps give little idea of the elevations or depres-\\nsions in the surface of a country, except as the run\\nof the watercourses indicates the slopes. The high\\nmountains of Northern New Hampshire are gen-\\nerally laid down on all maps, but few persons have\\nany idea that in the lower part of the State there\\nis very high land, and that to reach it from the\\nConnecticut on the west, or the Merrimac on the\\neast, an ascent of more than 1000, perhaps more\\nthan 1500 feet, must be accomplished. I have no\\nmeans at present of ascertaining the elevation of\\nthe highest farms in such towns as Lempster, Wash-\\nington, and Stoddard. Some years ago, driving\\nover the high farm country in Stoddard, I was told\\nthat this was the highest cultivated land in the\\nState. This may be doubtful, but it is very high,\\nand these towns ought to be above the hay-fever\\nline. Judging from the experience of the direct\\npull up from Charlestown to Lempster, we should\\nbe inclined to think the latter village several thou-\\nsand feet above the Connecticut. It was a mag-\\nnificent ride.", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0057.jp2"}, "56": {"fulltext": "42 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\nThe morning was foggy. October frequently fills\\nthe Connecticut valley with fogs. This was very\\ndense and dark. As we went out from Charles-\\ntown and began the uphill journey, we came slow-\\nly into thinner mist, and after awhile into that most\\nweird and solemn of all lights, the golden atmos-\\nphere of the October sun in fog among autumn\\nforests. Stopping the horses on a water-bar for a\\nlittle breath, we listened to the silence. Do you\\nknow what that means It is not listening to noth-\\ning. There are sounds and many of them but in\\nthe stillness of a foggy morning these sounds seem\\nto cut sharply into the silence, and thus make you\\naware of the excessive stillness and calm which\\nreign around you. The fall of a single leaf, broken\\noff by the weight of moisture on it, is distinctly au-\\ndible as it flutters to the ground. The voice of a\\ncrow, far away in the fog, comes through the yellow\\nair with a metallic ring. You start along, and the\\ncrush of the wheels in the gravel is echoed from\\nthe side of the woods across a hollow, so that you\\nthink there is a water-fall over there. You stop\\nagain, and the echo dies away with a low murmur-\\ning along the trees, and the stillness is wonderful.\\nUphill and downhill, but more and more uphill,\\nthe road mounts the high land. Ahead of us there\\nare long views between the maples and birches, the\\nview ending in yellow mist. We think that point\\nmust be the top, but when we reach it the road", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0058.jp2"}, "57": {"fulltext": "UPHILL IN FOG 43\\nswings around the side of the hill and stretches on\\nup. We descend at length, but it is into a hollow,\\nand it grows dark and darker in the fog as we go\\ndown, till at the bottom, where a stream crosses\\nthe road, we think it will rain in five minutes, so\\ndeep is the gloom but we go up again into the\\nsunny mists, and at length, on a summit, feel for\\nthe first time a breath of air coming from the south-\\nward. When the air begins to move the fog will\\nvanish. Its vanishing now is almost instantaneous.\\nWe have scarcely time to exclaim, See that hill-\\ntop over yonder, and that one beyond, and this one,\\nand far as the eye can reach, rolling away un-\\nder the rich sunlight, lie the red-and-gold hills and\\nthe highland farms of New Hampshire. Patches\\nof fog remain here and there and in hollows under\\nthe sides of hills, but they disappear in a few min-\\nutes. The view is so sudden and so vast that even\\nmy horses stop short and look at it.\\nBut Lempster is still ahead of us, and we have\\nyet higher heights to overcome. It was nearly\\ntwelve o clock when we reached this little village\\nonly four or five houses, with a new church and an\\nabandoned old church. We had dinner, and then\\nwent over other heights to Washington. I do not\\nknow which stands the higher, Lempster or Wash-\\nington. Both are attractive places, on account not\\nonly of their elevation, but also of their splendid\\nsurroundings of scenery.", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0059.jp2"}, "58": {"fulltext": "44 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\nLovel Mountain is prominent near Washington.\\nA farmer told me the legend of the origin of the\\nname. I heard the story fifty years ago, and then\\nbelieved it, as children believe, with ready faith.\\nWe grow sceptical as we grow older. But the farm-\\ner told it as a historic verity, and it is probably\\nabout as true as nine-tenths of what we call history.\\nHe believed it, and I don t know why you should\\nnot. A settler near this mountain in early times,\\nnamed Lovel, was splitting rails, when six Indians\\nsurrounded him and made him their prisoner. My\\ninformant was sure of the number there were six.\\nThe settler agreed to go quietly with them if they\\nwould wait till he finished splitting the log he was\\nat work on. They consented. He adjusted his\\nwedge in the long split, and induced them to take\\nhold of the two sides to hasten matters by pulling\\nthe log apart. Then knocking out his wedge, he\\ncaught their twelve hands tight and fast in the\\nspring of the closing split, and applied his axe, se-\\nriatim, to the six heads. The result was six dead\\nIndians, and the later result the name Lovel\\nMountain.", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0060.jp2"}, "59": {"fulltext": "SWEET-SCENTED FERN 45\\nSWEET-SCENTED FERN\\nThere can be no reasonable doubt that the sense\\nwhich is most closely linked with our powers of\\nmemory is the sense of smell. We are greatly\\npuzzled sometimes to know what has suddenly\\nbrought to mind an event of long ago, a person\\nwhom we have not thought of for years, a scene\\nthat has been forgotten since childhood. V^ry\\noften this sudden memory has been roused by a\\npassing odor, the never-lost perfume of a flower, a\\nhandkerchief, a meadow. So subtle are the opera-\\ntions of the mind that we know little about them,\\nand least of all about that stow-away place which\\nwe call memory. Neither you nor I know a hun-\\ndred thousandth part of what we really do know,\\nwhat we have learned, treasured, and now keep\\nstored up only it is like some things we have so\\ncarefully laid away that we can t find them when\\nwe want them, or have ceased to know that we\\npossess them.\\nThere was once a boy. It was a great while ago\\nthat is, it seemed to him a long while to come,", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0061.jp2"}, "60": {"fulltext": "46 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\nwhen he, a boy, looked forward to the old age he\\nafterwards reached. But when he was an old man\\nit did not seem such a great while ago that he was\\na boy, living in a small house, half log half clap-\\nboard, on the edge of a clearing in New Hampshire.\\nThis boy lived there very much alone for though\\nhe had a father and a mother, it goes without say-\\ning that a small boy on a new farm leads a lone-\\nsome life when father and mother are at work all\\nthe waking hours. When he was ten years old he\\nwas a hard-working boy too. He had never been\\nto school, never even learned to read. There was\\nnot a book, not so much as a Testament, in the\\nhouse and so far as he had ever heard, there were\\nno books in the world, nor any God in it or over it.\\nI wonder if you know, what is the solemn fact, that\\nthere are families, American families, with one, two,\\nand many children, in New England States, of ex-\\nactly this description.\\nAnother family came into that part of the coun-\\ntry, and another small house went up on the oppo-\\nsite bank of the lake for the houses stood on a\\npond, or lake, which was a half-mile broad and two\\nor three miles long, and the old forest was all\\naround it except for the two clearings. Now came\\ninto that boy s life a new light, and he began to\\nknow the world for there was a daughter in the\\nother family, besides two sons and what cannot a\\nboy learn of the world from two other boys and", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0062.jp2"}, "61": {"fulltext": "SWEET-SCENTED FERN 47\\none happy little girL He learned more from her\\nthan from them. For somehow he learned from\\nher to look into himself, and think about himself\\nand what he was. That is a long step towards\\nknowledge of the world when a boy gets into the\\nway of studying himself thoughtfully. For ahnost\\nall the joys, ambitions, and enjoyments almost all\\nthe sins, labors, and sorrows of mature life are min-\\niatured in the boy life. The little pleasures of the\\nchild are like in character to the great pleasures\\nof the man. The triumph of a successful attack\\non a woodchuck s hole is the far-away antetype of\\na great operation in stocks or the brilliant capture\\nof a large corporation.\\nMany a summer evening when his work was\\ndone he paddled his dug-out across the pond, and\\nhe and she drifted along the shore, and he sat si-\\nlent while she told him stories of the town in which\\nshe had lived, and the people in that (to her) great\\nassemblage of humanity. Many a Sunday they\\nwandered together in the woods and out in the\\nclearing along the bank of the lake, brushing\\nthrough thick masses of fern that filled the sunny\\natmosphere with delicious odor.\\nAfter the first few months of their acquaintance,\\nwhen he was tweU^e and she was ten years old, he\\nhad begun to regard her as the dependence of his\\nlife, and so to look to her for help. It was hard\\nwork to bring himself to confess to her that he did", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0063.jp2"}, "62": {"fulltext": "48 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\nnot know how to read but he did it, and asked\\nher to teach him. There was a rock among the\\nsweet-scented fern by the shore, where in the pleas-\\nant Sunday mornings she gave him regularly a four-\\nhours lesson. She was not long in teaching him\\nall she knew, and after that they progressed to-\\ngether.\\nThey talked much and thought much. She told\\nhim Bible stories, and they were about the only\\nstories she knew except two or three wonderful\\nfairy stories which he and she mixed up with the\\nBible stories, until they grew wiser, as new settlers\\ncame and brought books, which they borrowed.\\nMuch they learned out of their own heads, reading\\ntogether and giving each to the other, in childish\\nwise ways, their deductions and reasonings about\\nthings visible and invisible, things of earth and\\nthings unearthly if not truly heavenly. Do you\\nimagine their deductions were worthless.? Nay,\\nthe ratiocinations of a boy and a girl about the in-\\nfinite and invisible are about as valuable in result\\nas are those of many of the philosophers which fill\\nthe thousand pages of modern books. They learned\\nas much of final truth as you can learn from all the\\nmetaphysicians.\\nIt needs not to say that he learned the old les-\\nson of love at the same time, or even before he\\nlearned his letters among the ferns. So began his\\nlife. At seventeen he came out from his wild", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0064.jp2"}, "63": {"fulltext": "SWEET-SCENTED FERN 49\\nhome into the crowded world. There is no space\\nto tell of his method of farming his new farm. He\\nwent at it with the experience of the boy who had\\ncleared a forest and rolled rocks out of the meadow\\nland. It w^as a terrible piece of work, begun with\\nsemi-starvation, carried on with slow, steady deter-\\nmination. Starting as a day-laborer, he achieved\\nin six years or so a superintendent s position with\\na living salary. Then he went back to the old\\nfarm and married Harriet, who had waited for him,\\nand brought her to the city.\\nFifty years went along, and neither he nor she\\never again saw the north country. He accumulated\\nproperty, and they were good members of their so-\\ncial circle, regular in daily life and Sunday church-\\ngoing. They had changed, and yet had not changed.\\nTheir young lives had been devoid of romance,\\nand there was no romance or sentiment in growing\\nrich or growing old. Practically they had forgot-\\nten their youth. Certainly they never thought or\\ntalked of it. I said their youth was without ro-\\nmance. Yet beyond doubt the forming period in\\ntheir lives had been when the unspeakable beauty\\nof a boy s and a girl s love hallowed those sunshiny\\ndays. They did not know that there was any ro-\\nmance in young love on the silver lake in the\\nmountain moonlight. They did not know there\\nwas any romance when he lay in the ferns at her\\nfeet and listened while she taught him that b-o-y\\n4", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0065.jp2"}, "64": {"fulltext": "50 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\nspells boy and g-i-r-1 spells girl and 1-o-v-e spells\\nlove. Therefore there was no romance about it.\\nIt was simple matter of fact. They lived matter-\\nof-fact lives when poor, and the same when rich\\nand when surrounded with all the luxuries and\\nelegancies which great wealth commands. They\\nlived, in short, very much as many rich people live\\nwho have few resources for mental occupation,\\nwho are not given to much reading or much think-\\ning in fact, just living along, and keeping at the\\nold daily routine of employments. There are\\nmany who live in this way, having neither past to\\nenjoy in retrospect nor future to enjoy in prospect,\\nonly comfortable in the monotonous present.\\nHe was growing feeble. His brain was weary\\nor worn. It hurts the brain to use it forever on\\none line of employment. His had been used for\\nnothing but business work now a half-century, and\\nwhether in memory, judgment, or looking to the\\nfuture, no thought had occupied it except thought\\nof property, buying and selling and getting gain.\\nHe had not for years been at three minutes dis-\\ntance from a telegraph-station. His idea of a sum-\\nmer vacation was to go to a hotel where stock bul-\\nletins were always kept up, and stock operations\\nwere the day and evening subjects of discussion.\\nNo wonder that there came a time when he began\\nto grow strangely silent, sometimes as if drowsy,\\nsometimes morose. Then he suddenly seemed to", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0066.jp2"}, "65": {"fulltext": "SWEET-SCENTED FERN 5 1\\nforget everything, and neither spoke nor wrote,\\nnor went to his private telegraphic instrument for\\nhe had made his house an annex to his office and\\nthe Exchange, and had hved practically day and\\nnight in the street.\\nThey said his brain was done with work, and his\\nend was near. Still he walked and rode around,\\nbut never alone. One day he was riding with his\\nwife in the carriage along an up-town road, silent,\\nunobservant, apparently in a stupor, when sudden-\\nly he exclaimed, How sweet the ferns smell in\\nthis sunshine, Harriet. She turned to him, and\\nsaw that his eyes were closed. She took him\\nhome, and after that he lay, week after week, quiet,\\nbut apparently without knowing or noticing any-\\nthing or any one. But sometimes they saw a\\nsmile spread over his pale face, as if pleasant\\nthoughts were in the old brain. After months of\\nthis, one evening in the twilight he reached out his\\nhand to her and said, How sweet the ferns are,\\nHattie. Then he seemed perplexed about it, and\\nsaid, How sweet the ferns were, Hattie, and\\nthen after a little he came into his right mind.\\nIf in the other life, which is alongside of this our\\nlife, close to us, but invisible to us, there are, as we\\nare taught by some serious teachers, angels ap-\\npointed to each of us, who are sometimes able to\\ninfluence our thoughts, it would seem sometimes\\nas if those angels held in their hands the ghosts of", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0067.jp2"}, "66": {"fulltext": "52\\nALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\nthings that are gone, the shades of our lost objects\\nof delidit, and somehow made us sensible of their\\nnearness. Did his angel and her angel hold in\\ntheir hands fragrant ghostly ferns gathered long\\nao-o, with subtle odors, sensible not to the actual\\nsense, but quite so to the mental sense Or did\\nthey bring fronds that grow in elysian fields, which\\nbear odors Uke those that are here associated with\\nour purest recollections? Why not? There are\\nrivers there, and why not golden-rod on their banks,\\nand fragrant mints and ferns It must have been\\nfrom heaven, with attendant benediction, that the\\nodor of the ferns came often to him. For now\\nthey two, old man and old wife, lived again togeth-\\ner for many weeks and even months the young life.\\nAll its old unrecognized romance and all its ample\\ndelight and happy peace of mind came back to\\nthem. They talked now of every tree and rock\\nand flower-bed, of every odor of field and forest.\\nYou know we cannot describe an odor; we can\\nonly say how sweet or disagreeable it was but al-\\nways their saying was, Do you remember how the\\nair was full of the fragrant everlasting that Sep-\\ntember day when we did so and so and they\\ntalked over the old stories; and now she found\\nthem in books and read them to him, and the truth\\nthat was in them seemed very true. For were they\\nnot both rapidly n earing the world whereof they\\nhad talked so much and thought so much, and were", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0068.jp2"}, "67": {"fulltext": "SWEET-SCENTED FERN 53\\nthey not soon to see Moses and David and Zac-\\ncheus and Bartimeus For a year or more they\\nwere as happy as two children, happy as they had\\nbeen when children happier, I think, for their\\nold hearts went rioting around in the memories of\\nthose days, and all the pains of them were gone.\\nOnce in the summer-time he said he wished when\\nhe should be dead she would send and get a great\\ndeal of sweet-scented fern and cover him with it.\\nAnd she did so. And two or three years after\\nthat she died. Do you believe there will be ferns\\nin heaven, sweet ferns, whose odors fill the air and\\nhelp to memories of young life here The old\\nsong of the Church says, There cinnamon and\\nsugar grow, there nard and balm abound. If they\\nreach heaven, and ferns grow there, they two will\\nbe found often on some fern-bank. To them that\\nwould add much to what Gregory called the\\nsweet solemnity of those who are come home from\\nthe sad labor of this wandering.", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0069.jp2"}, "68": {"fulltext": "54 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\nVI\\nAN ANGLER S AUGUST DAY\\nIt was late in the afternoon of a superb August\\nday, and I had yet some fifteen miles to drive, all\\nthe way over hills, and the last three miles up the\\nmountain. I was driving the black horses, heavy\\nanimals, but swift devourers of mountain roads,\\nrushing up hills and going down them with sure\\nsteps.\\nI had been far down the western valley, fishing a\\nmagnificent stream which is seldom visited by an-\\nglers, and has in it a goodly stock of trout. It is\\nnot to be supposed that in this hot month one can\\ntake a large basket of fish in any lake or stream,\\nunless the weather be exceptionally favorable. And\\nthis day had been by much too bright. Neverthe-\\nless I had accomplished all that could be desired,\\nall that any sensible angler has right to desire. I\\nhad strolled a mile or more, sometimes in, some-\\ntimes alongside of a glorious torrent, wandering its\\nancient way through primeval forest, down the last\\nslope of a mountain ravine. J\\\\Iy basket was not\\nfull, but there were a couple of dozen of fair-sized", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0070.jp2"}, "69": {"fulltext": "AN angler s august DAY 55\\nfish in it, and some dozens of smaller and more\\ntoothsome trout for to my taste the only trout\\nwhich equal fresh sardines in delicacy and flavor\\nare the little fellows, from clear cold waters, which,\\nfried brown and crisp with good salt pork, you take\\nby their tails in your fingers and eat bodily, to your\\ngastronomic satisfaction.\\nThe road now led along a flat stretch of wooded\\ncountry and came out in a clearing, where has been\\nfor more than thirty years a small saw -mill. A\\nstream, rising in a swamp a mile or two above the\\nmill, is dammed at the road-crossing, and sets back\\na small pond of two or three acres, mostly shallow,\\nexcept where the old bed of the brook winds\\nthrough it. The pond was a mirror in the now\\nreddening light of the sun which just rested on the\\nridge of a tree -fringed hill to the westward. A\\nsmall boy was standing at the road-side, looking at\\nthe water. Oddly enough he recognized me, as\\nhaving more than once met me on streams in the\\nneighborhood. Oh, mister he shouted, as he saw\\nme, and ran towards the buck-board. Of course I\\npulled up.\\nThere s a buster of a trout in the pond this\\nyear. You can see him walloping around every\\nday just about this time. There he goes now. Isn t\\nhe a slosher\\nUp at the head of the pond, where the stream\\ncame in, there was a great swash in the water, and", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0071.jp2"}, "70": {"fulltext": "56 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\nthe waves which rolled away in a circle indicated a\\nheavy animal of some sort.\\nIsn t it a musk-rat\\nNo, sir, with emphasis on the last word. I ve\\nseen him go two feet up into the air more times nor\\nyou can count. He mostly stays up there. But he\\nwon t take no worm nor grasshopper. Last June\\nfather tried him with a white grub, but you see its\\nshaller water up there, and we can t get nowhere\\nnear him with the raft without scaring him.\\nWhere is your raft\\nDown there by them willers.\\nI handed over the reins to my driv^er and took\\nmy rod. It was ready for instant use. I never\\ndrive in this country without a rod in the wagon,\\nand when actually off for a day s fishing I do not\\ntake the rod apart until I have left the last possible\\nangling places behind me for the day. There were\\ntwo flies on the leader, which was stout, for fishing\\na rough river. They were not flies likely to be of\\nany use on a still pond so I put on a gossamer\\nleader, with two small gnats for bobbers and a\\nsmall white moth for the tail. It was early for the\\nmoth, but as it was already on the leader in my fly-\\nbook I did not change it.\\nThe raft was a boy s, built for some seventy-five\\npounds of humanity to float on. Two hundred\\nweight was almost too much for it, and it sunk one\\nor the other end as I balanced myself on it, stand-", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0072.jp2"}, "71": {"fulltext": "AN ANGLER S AUGUST DAY 57\\ning in my rubber boots with a varying depth of\\nwater swashing over my feet. I poled out into and\\nacross the pond towards the inlet. The boy was\\nright as to the swirl being that of a trout. As I\\npushed along carefully and looked ahead I saw two\\nsimilar swirls three rods apart. There were two of\\nthem then, at least, and possibly more for now I\\nbegan to recall the fact that years ago the owner\\nof the saw-mill told me there were large trout in his\\npond which he could not take but I then thought,\\nfrom its shallow character, with muddy bottom, that\\nhe probably saw pickerel or some other fish, espe-\\ncially as the next owner a few years afterwards had\\ntold me there were no trout in the pond and no\\nsmall trout in the swamp brook above it.\\nDid you ever pole a raft over a pond with soft\\nmud bottom No Then you have never enjoyed\\nthe finest possible illustration of many scientific\\nprinciples, action and reaction, the correlation and\\nconservation of forces, the attraction of cohesion,\\ninnumerable interesting subjects of consideration,\\nall of which would be pleasant to study if you were\\nnot occupied with your immediate purpose of get-\\nting across the water. There is a pleasant assur-\\nance of advance as you drop the end of the pole,\\npush gently downward and backward, looking for-\\nward, and the pole passes through your grasp,\\nrenewed again and again, till the end is in your\\nhand and you hold on to draw forward for another", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0073.jp2"}, "72": {"fulltext": "58 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\nshove. But you can t draw it forward. It draws\\nyou backward, and the heavy raft, moving ahnost\\nimperceptibly, has yet, with your added weight,\\nsufficient momentum to go forward with your feet\\nwhile your hands remain stationary, and you turn\\naround, desperately grasping one end of the pole\\nwhose other end has gone down deep into the tena-\\ncious bottom mud. It went down so easily, gently,\\nsoftly, that while you thought you had pushed your\\nraft ten feet forward, you had only pushed your\\npole nine feet into the mud and yet, lovingly as it\\nwent into the soft bottom, it refuses to return. Look\\nout for yourself now. Hold on to the pole, or you\\nwill be adrift on the pond with no means of reach-\\ning shore. Hold on with your toes, with the soles\\nof your boots, with your knees, anyhow you can,\\nhold on to the raft. I have seen many an inex-\\nperienced man push his raft out from under his\\nfeet. I have done it myself in days of juvenile in-\\nexperience.\\nMy raft was not a very heavy one, and the rule\\nis to use your pole without deep pushing on such\\nponds, rather dragging, with the end only a little\\nway in the mud.\\nI had followed the edge of the old bed of the\\nbrook, and with patience and perseverance came\\nwithin a hundred feet of the place where the last\\ntrout had risen. There was no perceptible motion\\nin the air, but there was a motion, nevertheless,", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0074.jp2"}, "73": {"fulltext": "AN ANGLER S AUGUST DAY 59\\nsuch as anglers are familiar with, indicated by the\\nfact that your cast goes out more easily with than\\nagainst it. My rod was good for long casting, and\\nI could lay the white moth-tail fly down within a\\nfew feet of the spot I desired to reach. I laid it\\ndown there a dozen times, and nothing else dis-\\nturbed the surface, which now reflected a rosy\\ncloud in the south-west. The sun had gone down.\\nThe original impetus given the raft and the exist-\\ning movement of the atmosphere were carrying me\\nslowly towards the mouth of the brook, which came\\nout, a rod wide, between high banks covered with\\ndense sedges. Up in the stream I saw three or\\nfour times the lift of a trout s head as he rose\\ngently to the surface and took in some floating in-\\nsect. He was feeding, August fashion, on some\\nvery small gnat, too small for imitation. So I tried\\napproximation, changing the tail -fly, and for the\\nwhite moth substituting a minute black object, the\\nsmallest lure known to my book, or any one s book,\\nbeing a tiny hook, smaller than any regular number,\\ntied with a yellow body and a delicate sparse black\\nhackle, not an eighth of an inch long. I had drifted\\nto the very mouth of the brook by the time this was\\nready, and the first cast sent it far up the canal-like\\nstream. As it struck the water there was a mag-\\nnificent roll of the glassy surface, a flash of reflected\\nblue and crimson and pink and white in the wa-\\nter. It was as if some gorgeous piece of fireworks", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0075.jp2"}, "74": {"fulltext": "6o ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\nhad burst on the dark surface between the sedge\\nbanks.\\nHow many pounds of trout flesh and force were\\nnow on the end of that gossamer leader I shall\\nnever be able to tell you, for when he felt the\\nslight stroke which fixed the tiny hook in his\\nmouth, he made one swift, short rush, and I found\\nthat the leader was fastened on something heavier\\nthan a trout. There was nothing to do but break\\nit loose or pole up the stream and try to unfasten\\nit. I broke it, for I wanted another cast over that\\nwater. Half of the leader came home, with one fly\\nyet on. I looped the end, put on another of the\\nsame small black hackles, cast three times at the\\nthird cast again saw the brilliant explosion of the\\nwater-surface, again struck a heavy fish, and was\\nagain fast to something immovable.\\nThis time I poled up to the spot. I might have\\nhooked a hundred fish there and should never have\\ngotten one. For my tail-fly had fallen each time\\njust about ten feet beyond a great tree-trunk a\\nsmooth, round log, two feet thick of which the\\ntwo ends were embedded in the banks on either\\nside, while the log itself stretched across the stream\\nabout six inches below the surface. Under it the\\nwater was ten feet deep, and the fish had risen from\\nthis hole and plunged back into it, catching the up-\\nper flies in the log.\\nTwilight was established by the time I had put", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0076.jp2"}, "75": {"fulltext": "AN angler s august DAY 6 1\\non the small white moth which I proposed to use\\nfor the last few casts. You will observe that my\\nraft would not go over the log, and I could go no\\nfarther up-stream. So I sent the flies up again\\nand again and again, while the night gathered rap-\\nidly. Our twilights grow short up here in August.\\nThe air was ringing with the voices of frogs, with\\nindescribable variety of tone and annunciation.\\nThe sharp cry of a night-bird in the air overhead\\npierced my ears. I saw a great Cecropia moth\\ncrossing the stream just beyond my cast, and a\\ndozen smaller moths flitting over the sedges. Sud-\\ndenly, behind me, a trout rose in the old place. I\\nfixed the pole against the log, pushed the raft\\nback, and dropped the tail-fly in the centre of the\\ncircle of waves. This time I struck my fish firmly,\\nand he went for open water it was an easy matter\\nto bring him in he was only a two-pounder. A\\ntwo-pound trout is a small affair to the angler who\\nhas lost a four-pounder. And those two fish I lost\\nwere, of course, four-pounders five-pounders; who\\ncan prove to me that they were not\\nWhatever their weight, I was fully as content as\\nif they were in my basket, w-liich hung on my\\nshoulder, or on the dry end of my raft if they were\\ntoo large for the basket. I see your smile of in-\\ncredulity, my friend; but you are one of the mis-\\nerably uneducated community who will never ap-\\npreciate the fact that the joy of the angler s day is", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0077.jp2"}, "76": {"fulltext": "62 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\nin the surroundings of his sport. The very regrets\\nhe may have for lost fish are pleasant, not painful,\\nif the day has been bountiful in the ordinary de-\\nlights which attend the fisherman. My day had\\nbeen exceedingly rich. As the horses came up the\\ndark mountain road, guiding their own steps since\\nI could not see to guide them, I recalled a score of\\nbeautiful scenes along the course of the mountain\\ntorrent, great bowlders lying in the foam, fern-cov-\\nered cliffs, under which the river ran swift and\\nsmooth, giant white birch -trees on the bank, the\\noutposts of armies of mighty trees behind them,\\nrank on rank as far as eye could penetrate their\\narray. And the dark lagoon-like stream, on which\\nthe twilight came down till the stars were reflected\\nin it the swoop of the nighthawks overhead the\\ncall of the whippoorwill sitting on the saw-mill roof\\nand the answer of his kin on the hill-side beyond\\nwhere can one close the catalogue of sights and\\nsounds and thoughts, which made the hour s delay\\nat the mill-pond a charming episode at the close\\nof an angler s August day", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0078.jp2"}, "77": {"fulltext": "VIEWS FROM A HILL-TOP 63\\nVII\\nVIEWS FROM A HILL-TOP\\nHe was a very old man, said the landlord.\\nHow old I asked what do you mean by\\nvery old?\\nWell, close on to ninety, I should say. No one\\nexactly knew, and he didn t know himself. At\\nleast he said he didn t.\\nHe ought to have known a great deal.\\nWell, it ain t always the man that lives the\\nlongest that learns the most. But Uncle Zekel did\\nknow a considerable deal. There wasn t a tree or\\na plant around here he couldn t tell you something\\nabout. There wasn t a square foot of land within\\nten miles that he didn t know everything that would\\nor wouldn t grow on it. Then he understood the\\nweather better than the newspapers nowadays,\\nand he knew human natur through and through.\\nHe never made a mistake in judgin a man. He\\nwas sharp as a steel-trap when any one tried to\\ncome it over him. But he was so kind o simple in\\nhis ways and his talk that strangers never thought\\nmuch of him. Yes, he knew a great deal more", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0079.jp2"}, "78": {"fulltext": "64 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\nthan any of the rest of us hereabouts. Somehow\\neverybody believed that he could see farther into a\\nstone than any other man.\\nWe were talking of an old man recently dead.\\nIt was at a way-side inn in ermont, where I had\\nstopped for the horses to feed and rest, and I was\\ntalking with the farmer-landlord, seated under a tree\\nthat shaded the front of the cottage-inn. Across\\nthe road, a little way below, there was a gathering\\nat the door of a small house, which had led to the\\ntalk. The village people were coming together to\\ncarry to his grave the oldest resident, and while\\nthey were gathering the landlord told me about\\nhim.\\nNo one now living remembered when he came to\\nthis part of the country. He was a Scotchman by\\nbirth, and though long practice had modified his\\nvoice and accent, there always remained in it some\\nof the peculiarity which is musical to all who are\\nfamiliar with Highland voices. He had been mar-\\nried in his early life, had children, and a household\\nwhose memories he sometimes, but rarely, referred\\nto. All were gone. Wife and children had now\\nlain side by side in the village graveyard for more\\nthan a half-century. All his friends of early life\\nwere gone as well. Most of them rested in the\\nsame safe enclosure.\\nNow this man s life was not, you will say, remark-\\nable in anything. It was but the common life of", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0080.jp2"}, "79": {"fulltext": "VIEWS FROM A HILL-TOP 65\\nman in the country, only a little longer than the\\naverage. You are right in this, tliat it was only an\\nordinary human life, but every life is remarkable,\\nand worth studying. I had small opportunity for\\nstudy of this. But I went across the road and\\njoined the increasing assembly. He was lying in\\nthe middle of the small room into which the door\\nopened. There was no fire on the broad hearth.\\nIt s the first time that hearth has been cold for\\nfifty years that I remember, said the landlord.\\nIn the room were many evidences of the life he\\nhad led, memorials which no one now lived to\\ncherish. An old musket and a muzzle-loading gun\\nhung: on one side of the room. The antlers of a\\nmoose and several of red deer were disposed as\\nconveniences for hanging household utensils. Sev-\\neral strangely worn stones from rivers, curiously\\ntwisted and involved growths of trees, brilliant bits\\nof mica and other minerals, were on the mantel-\\nshelf over tlie fireplace. There was no ceiling to\\nthe room. The rafters were bare, and the sheath-\\ning on the sides was nearly black with smoke and\\ntime.\\nIt was not the hour or place in which to indulge\\ncuriosity, but I could not shut my eyes to the sur-\\nroundings out of which this life had gone. And\\nwhen some one gave me a chair I found myself\\nseated by a small solid table, on which lay one\\nbook, a copy of the Breeches Bible. It was verily\\n5", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0081.jp2"}, "80": {"fulltext": "66 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\na family Bible. It was an edition, if I remember\\naright, of 1595. And on the margins and blank\\nreverses of leaves, in old and faded ink, there were\\npithy sentences written by generations of Scotch\\nPresbyterians, of whom this man lying dead here\\nwas last. He, too, had gone to join the numerous\\ncompany, among whom are martyrs and saints, and\\nalong his path, as he had travelled here almost a\\ncentury, he had the same old guide-book they had\\nused. It is a wonderful guide-book good for men\\nin the rush and crush of cities, as for men in the\\nquiet, lonesome places of the up-country.\\nAs he lay there men talked freely about him, and\\nit was wonderful to hear the affection and respect\\nwhich were universally expressed for him. Every\\none had loved him, and all alike felt the loss of a\\nfriend. On his farm, a hundred rods from the\\nhouse, was a knoll which rose gently on one side\\nsome seventy or eighty feet, and from its summit\\nfell off precipitously to the river which ran with\\nloud voice over rocks below. It had been a fa-\\nvorite resting-place with the old man, and the young\\nman when he was growing old. There were stones\\nso arranged by accident that they made a seat, not\\nvery comfortable, but men do not seek cushioned\\nresting-places in the up-country. He had seen suns\\nrise and suns set many times, sitting there. ]\\\\Iuch\\nof the gentleness of his nature had come from the\\nlong habit of sitting there a little while now and", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0082.jp2"}, "81": {"fulltext": "VIEWS FROM A HILL-TOP 67\\nthen and thinking. More had come from that old\\nBible and the two the holy book and the calm\\ncontemplation had worked together in his soul.\\nHe had some favorite subjects of thought which\\nhe occasionally talked about. The marvel of the\\nuniverse, which bothers philosophic theorists, was no\\nmarvel to him, but one grand fact which he realized.\\nI can never forget, said the village pastor, how\\nhe impressed me with a sudden exclamation when\\nv/e were talking about the discoveries of science\\nand the laws of nature. He said, What idea can\\nany man have of God who thinks, with his poor\\neyes and inventions of glass and brass, he can see\\ninto and across the whole province which his God\\ngoverns. Another time he said, I m a Democrat\\nwith men, but with God there is no democracy, to\\nmy notion. Men get to preaching equality so\\nmuch that they don t believe themselves any lower\\nthan the angels, and imagine that the universe is\\nruled by a Master who will exist or not, just as his\\nsubjects think best.\\nStar-gazing you call it, do ye, he said to one\\nwho saw him sitting on his porch one night. Yes,\\nbut I m not looking at the stars I m looking be-\\ntween and beyond them, and I see a country out\\nyonder in which there s no law of nature, no attrac-\\ntion, no force, nothing that I read about in men s\\nbooks, only the will of God, which is light and force\\nand law and all.", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0083.jp2"}, "82": {"fulltext": "68 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\nSuch expressions indicate the effect on his mind\\nof his habit of thought on the hill-top. In all times\\nmen have gone up into high places to think and to\\npray. There is no place so lonesome as the sum-\\nmit of a hill. It lifts a man out of the world. I\\nhave known many men, of utterly irreverent and\\nthoughtless character of mind, awed and terrified\\nat finding themselves on high mountain peaks, and\\nafraid to stay there. I remember once, many years\\nago, when there was no hotel on Mount Washing-\\nton, and I had gone up there intending to stay all\\nnight and see the sun rise, a sense of awe and lone-\\nsomeness overtook me which I vainly strove to re-\\nsist. I had passed nights alone in forests, on the\\nsea in an open boat, but this was intolerable.\\nThere was a feeling, indeed, of lonesomeness, but\\nat the same time of being surrounded by an unseen\\ncrowd of witnesses. So I was driven down, and\\nmade my dangerous way into lower regions more\\nassociated with my young humanity.\\nBut the old man was never alone on his hill-top,\\nhaving in long years learned to talk much with the\\nunseen who met him there, and look earnestly into\\nspace if perchance he might see there a vision of\\nsuperhuman beauty. And one day he saw what he\\nhad waited for. It was a clear, cool summer day,\\nwith a north-west wind drifting clouds across an in-\\ntensely blue sky. A neighbor who had occasion to\\nsee him, not finding him at home, walked out and", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0084.jp2"}, "83": {"fulltext": "VIEWS FROM A HILL-TOP 69\\nup the hill just after sunset. The old man was sit-\\nting on the rock seat, reclining on another rock\\nwhich supported his back and head. He had been\\nlooking into the depths of the clear atmosphere, and\\nas he lay there looking, there came suddenly into\\nhis vision that which eye hath not seen from earthly\\nmountain peak ear hath not heard from voice, how-\\nsoever eloquent and musical heart of man, even\\nhis gentle, thoughtful heart, had not conceived.\\nWho shall attempt to say with what serene and\\nsolemn joy the old man had seen the blue heavens\\nopened, and the glory that is not of sun or stars, and\\nhad entered into it", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0085.jp2"}, "84": {"fulltext": "70 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\nVIII\\nOVER THE HIGHLANDS OF WESTERN NEW\\nHAMPSHIRE\\nIt was a fresh autumn morning when we left the\\nvillage of New London, high up on the hills of cen-\\ntral New Hampshire, and drove westward, without\\nany definite idea of our destination.\\nNew Hampshire possesses all kinds of scenery\\nand soil. The northern mountain country falls off\\ninto a valley which crosses the western half of the\\nState, in no very direct line, from the valley of the\\nConnecticut near Hanover to the valley of the Mer-\\nrimac near Franklin Falls. South of this valley\\nthe west half of the State running north and south,\\nis a range of highlands, mostly now or formerly un-\\nder cultivation, rising in farm-lands at times to a\\nheight which I believe is considerably more than\\nI GOG feet above the sea. You know Mount Kear-\\nsarge, near North Conway. But few persons seem\\nto know that there is another Mount Kearsarge in\\nthe State. This lies at the northern or north-east-\\nern end of the range of highlands of which I speak,\\nand is, in part, in the town of New London, or di-\\nrectly east of it in Warn, the next town. It is a", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0086.jp2"}, "85": {"fulltext": "HIGHLANDS OF WESTERN NEW HAMPSHIRE 7 1\\nnoble hill, rising alone out of the cultivated rolling\\nlands. Away down in the south-western part of the\\nState a similar mountain rises in stately grandeur,\\nMonadnock by name, and thence the highlands\\nof New Hampshire fall off gently towards Massa-\\nchusetts.\\nThis topographical account is not interesting, but\\nit is necessary to understand it if you would under-\\nstand carriage travel to the southward in the State,\\nwest of the Merrimac River. You can drive from\\nthe Profile House or the Crawford House to Hart-\\nford, following the valleys of the Amonoosuck and\\nthe Connecticut, without a hill of any account\\n.on the road. The scenery along the entire route\\nis lovely bej-ond all praise, its variety infinite, its\\nbeauty equal in spring, summer, and autumn. The\\nroads are, however, somewhat sandy and heavy, es-\\npecially in dry weather.\\nYou can also drive from either notch, Franconia\\nor the Crawford, through the eastern part of New\\nHampshire southward to Massachusetts, over roads\\nwithout severe hills and with varying scenery, most\\nof it very beautiful.\\nBut I prefer the hill roads through the highland\\ncountry between the Merrimac and the Connecti-\\ncut. These roads are in general good, the road-\\nbeds hard, and the many fine views repay the la-\\nbor of climbing hills. Withal, horses do better, if\\ncarefully driven, on rolling than on level roads.", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0087.jp2"}, "86": {"fulltext": "72 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\nI had come from the Profile House down the\\nPemigewasset Valley through Plymouth to Bristol,\\nthence across to New London, via Danbury, Wil-\\nmot, and Scytheville. At this last place I had\\nreached the bottom of the cross-valley which I have\\nmentioned, and thence the road to New London\\nwas uphill all the way, with Kearsarge on the left\\nand behind us. New London is one of the high\\nhill-towns, and every house in the village looks off\\nmany miles over fields and forests.\\nTurning the horses heads to the southward, I\\ncould have gone down through Sutton and Brad-\\nford, and thence over tremendous hills to Washing-\\nton. Turning them to the west, I should have a\\nshort drive to Lake Sunapee, which lies on the up-\\nland, surrounded by low wooded hills. I had driv-\\nen both roads repeatedly. I am never tired of\\ndriving the last named, for it is exceedingly beau-\\ntiful, and we chose it now.\\nIn half an hour we were going through the dense\\nwoods which skirt Little Sunapee, the upper of a\\nchain of three lakes, and of which you see only\\nglimpses as you pass along by it, until you reach\\nits outlet, which goes down into Otter Pond. Here\\nthe road strikes the upper end of Otter Pond, and\\nsweeps around on its open shore for a quarter-\\nmile. The pond is charming, a mile or two long\\nand nearly as wide. The shore is clean sand and\\nthe water pellucid. I have waded off on this hard,", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0088.jp2"}, "87": {"fulltext": "HIGHLANDS OF WESTERN NEW HAMPSHIRE 73\\nsandy bottom and taken black bass with the fly,\\ncasting out to right and left, while my horses stood\\nwaiting on the road.\\nFish Commissioners in some of our States have\\nlaboriously spoiled the fishing in a great many wa-\\nters by introducing these black bass. Pickerel or\\nperch or pumpkin-seeds are a more valuable food-\\nfish to the farming population than black bass, and\\nblack bass when placed in a pond will destroy all\\nother fish. It is only a question of time, and the\\ndestruction is sure to be complete, except in large\\nbodies of water. The bass are protected by law\\ntill June 15th, and in some States till July ist. In\\nJuly and August they can be taken only with prop-\\ner tackle and strong tackle, such as the farmer s\\nboy does not possess. As soon as the weather\\nand the water begin to grow cold, these fish begin\\nto find places where they hibernate. After the\\nmiddle of September they cannot be taken at all\\nby any one with any tackle except in large lakes,\\nand in those not after October. Here, then, is a\\nfish of very small value to a population. It is time\\nthat all laws protecting them in the spring were re-\\npealed. Let the farmer get them whenever he can.\\nThere is no danger of their extermination I wish\\nthere were but if their increase can be kept down\\nin the smaller lakes and ponds, it may happen that\\nsome other fish will survive.\\nWe drove slowly around the head of Otter Pond,", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0089.jp2"}, "88": {"fulltext": "74 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\nthen through the forest road along its rocky shore,\\nwith the water lapsing over the stones and making\\npleasant music in the sunshine. Then we came\\nout of the woods at the little village of George s\\nMills. Here is the outlet of the pond, which falls\\nover two or three saw-mill dams in its short course\\ninto Lake Sunapee. Sunapee is a large, wandering\\nlake, presenting wherever you strike it abundant\\nbeauty of scenery. Bold, rocky headlands, covered\\nwith timber, jut out into it, and deep shadowy bays\\nlie between them. I never yet have gotten to know-\\ning which way is up and which way is down the\\nlake or how it stretches its chief length. Properly\\nspeaking, this principal inlet, the only one of any\\naccount at George s Mills, ought to mark the head\\nof the lake but a long, narrow arm which goes far\\naway to the eastward, along whose shores are villas\\nand cottages, and which heads at Newbury, on the\\nConcord and Claremont Railroad, always tempts\\nme to consider that the upper end of the lake.\\nHowever, there is no mistaking the outlet at Suna-\\npee Harbor, into which I drove before dinner.\\nHere Sugar River, a roaring torrent (depending on\\nhow high they lift the gate-way of the dam which\\nholds back the lake), plunges down a steep decliv-\\nity and finds the valley, through which it winds\\nwith clear and swift flow to Newport, and thence to\\nClaremont and the Connecticut.\\nWe dined, and then decided to linger for the day.", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0090.jp2"}, "89": {"fulltext": "HIGHLANDS OF WESTERN NEW HAMPSHIRE 75\\nI took a boat and rowed miles and miles along the\\nshores landed here and there in golden forests or\\ndark pine groves cast flies where bass, if not yet\\ngone to their winter sleep, ought to be found took\\nseveral that were not eight inches long, and were\\nput back to go to bed and grow next year and so\\nidled away the afternoon. The night came on cold.\\nNext day we rode with the carriage-cover thrown\\nback, to give us what warmth we might get from the\\nsun shining through the still dense smoke. The\\nroad follows the river down to Newport but we did\\nnot stop in that thriving town, except to post letters\\nand send some telegrams. Driving through it, we\\ncrossed the valley and took the hill road to Unity\\nor Unitoga Springs. This is a lonesome but very\\ncharming country-place, where are mineral springs\\nand an old hotel. We had the house to ourselves;\\nand again the loveliness of the atmosphere, the rich\\nfoliage on the near hills, and the dust of gold smoke\\nthat made a canopy over us and hid the far views,\\nall tempted us to stay. I spent the afternoon in\\nthe woods on the shore of a small lake a mile from\\nthe hotel. I went there to fish; but the only boats\\non the lake were full of water, and there was no\\nspot on shore where I could get out a cast of more\\nthan twenty feet. At that I took some perch and\\nsmall pickerel with the fly, but gave it up soon and\\nwandered in the woods, rich in ferns and mosses.\\nThe next morning I sought and found a road,", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0091.jp2"}, "90": {"fulltext": "76 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\nbefore unknown to me, by which to reach the Con-\\nnecticut Valley for it was Saturday, and I pro-\\nposed that my horses and I should rest over Sun-\\nday in the fine old village of Charlestown. It was\\nonly nineteen miles from Unity Springs, but in\\ncarriage travel we never, unless from some peculiar\\npressure, seek to accomplish great distances. The\\npurpose is the enjoyment of the passing hours. I\\noften linger along the road and cover only two or\\nthree or a half-dozen miles in a forenoon. So it was\\nalong this charming road. When I reached Charles-\\ntown I had driven only 108 miles from the Profile\\nHouse in six days. Sometimes I drive 180 in the\\nsame time, taking the road leisurely and keeping the\\nhorses unwearied. I have known of gentlemen mak-\\ning 230 and 250 miles between Sunday and Sunday,\\nwith travelling carriages. But I have not known\\nan instance of that kind which was not followed by\\nthe sickness of one or more of the horses that did it.\\nThe traveller by carriage must keep in mind that he\\nis dependent on the good condition of his horses\\nfor continuous journeying, and must therefore care\\nfor them with unfailing watchfulness. It is more\\nimportant that they should find a good stable than\\nthat he should find a good inn at night. He can\\nput up with poor lodgings and food, and feel none\\nthe worse for it, whereas the dumb horse must suffer\\nin a cold draughty stable, and may come out of it\\nto sicken and fail along the road.", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0092.jp2"}, "91": {"fulltext": "THE TRIUMPHANT CHARIOT 77\\nIX\\nTHE TRIUMPHANT CHARIOT\\nThe rector told me the story as we stood in\\nfront of the church after morning service.\\nThe church was almost hidden in a grove of\\nmaple-trees. It stood on the brow of a hill which\\noverlooked one of the most lovely valleys on the\\nsides of the Green Mountains. The road ran\\nalong the curve of the hill, in front of the church.\\nThe projection on which the church stood com-\\nmanded a view both up and down as well as across\\nthe valley, which lay two or three hundred feet be-\\nlow. The mountain sloped upward, mostly forest-\\ncovered, behind the church. Across the valley was\\na similar mountain. The pasture lots went up, here\\nand there, almost to the summit ridges. The head\\nof the valley was only a half-mile above. Down\\nfrom a ravine came a noble stream of water, and\\nbefore it fairly reached the sloping valley-land it\\nreceived two similar streams, the three alike falling\\nover rocky beds with much noise and white confu-\\nsion of waters before they came together into the\\ncomparatively peaceful river which flowed down", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0093.jp2"}, "92": {"fulltext": "78 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\nthrough rich meadow-lands and away oceanward.\\nFor howsoever wild and vexed and unrestrained be\\nthe youthful flow of these our mountain streams,\\none and all alike are sure in time to reach the deep\\nand solemn rest of the great sea.\\nSearch the world over and you will find no land-\\nscape scenery to surpass these valleys which open\\naway eastward and westward from the Green Mount-\\nains. The one we were in was like many others I\\nhad seen that spring, only these three grand cas-\\ncades at the head gave it an individuality of its\\nown.\\nOn the lowland near the junction of the streams\\nwere a substantial stone house and a group of large\\nand comfortable-looking barns and smaller build-\\nings. This was the old home of a man whom the\\nclergyman described as a noble specimen of that\\nhumanity of which, in country as in city, noble\\nspecimens are rare enough to be conspicuous.\\nHe feared God, but feared no man, was the\\nsumming-up sentence of the description. He was\\na man of wide influence, honored, respected, and\\nloved, to whom for a half-century the old, and the\\nyoung, too, had gone confidently for advice and\\nhelp in joy and in trouble. For men and women\\nneed advice as often in one as in the other. It\\nsometimes happens, in a community like this, that\\none man holds a commanding position. If he holds\\nit steadily for a long time, so that he becomes the", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0094.jp2"}, "93": {"fulltext": "THE TRIUMPHANT CHARIOT 79\\ntrusted counsellor and confidential friend of his\\nneighbors, of all kinds, rich and poor, it is always\\ncertain that that man s life is governed by devout\\nChristian principle. Others may be envied, imi-\\ntated others may win respect and admiration but\\nto become the confidential counsellor of all classes\\nand ages, to be trusted with the troubles and in-\\nvited into the happinesses of one s neighbors, it is\\nessential to be loved as well as admired. And to\\nbe loved by all one must love all, not the good only,\\nbut the bad as well. And there never was, and\\nnever will be, a man who can love all classes of his\\nneighbors and win their love in return, except that\\nman have taken God for his example, whose spirit\\nhe has to some extent made part of his own. Rea-\\nson, philosophy, experience, all affirm this. The\\nidea that purity and peace, gentleness and affection,\\nbelong to what is called the religion of humanity,\\nis disproved in the history of every nation, every\\ncity, every village and country community, among\\nall peoples, civilized or savage, ancient or modern.\\nThere is no more exalted position among men\\nthan that which was held by this man, growing old\\namong the people who loved and respected him,\\ndoing good and getting good in every year of his\\nlong life. The world in which he lived was small,\\nbut it was large enough to occupy the energies of\\nany mind, however able. The patriarchal system\\nhas never been improved on by organizing men", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0095.jp2"}, "94": {"fulltext": "8o ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\ninto nations. One man in a country town can be\\nworth as much to his age and to future ages, work-\\ning at home, as he could be in a statesman s chair.\\nThis man had been the friend and counsellor of\\nstatesmen. No one can measure the extent of his\\ninfluence for good. Its limit was not geographical,\\nfor it extended far beyond the boundaries of this\\nsmall globe.\\nMuch the clergyman told me of the personal and\\ndirect influence his old parishioner had exerted in\\nthe town, county, and State. But mostly he dwelt\\non the extreme beauty of his personal character and\\nlife, the delight with which the young people met\\nhim, his great grace of manner and voice, his devout\\nand always cheerful bearing, his love of nature, his\\nkeen insight into character, his marvellous breadth\\nof information and reading and lastly, for all else\\nwas prefatory to this, he told me of the picturesque\\ndeath of his old parishioner, counsellor, father, and\\nfriend.\\nAll Friday and Saturday a north-east storm had\\nraged among the hills; but Sunday morning the\\nclouds went away before a stiif westerly breeze and\\nthe sun poured gold into the valley. The church\\nwas far away from any house one of the old sites\\nchosen in early days for people to come to from\\nvarious valleys and hill-sides.\\nThe man who had charge of the church had made\\na fire early in the morning before he recognized", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0096.jp2"}, "95": {"fulltext": "to\\nTHE TRIUMPHANT CHARIOT 8l\\nthe fact that the cold storm was over. Heavy mists\\nhad rushed through the maples until nine or ten\\no clock, and then the warm fresh, May air took their\\nplace. The interior of the church was not pleasant.\\nThe air was close. Perhaps for the first time in\\nhis eighty years of living, the Squire (as he was\\ncalled, though he had never held an office) became\\nsensible of physical suffering. So at least they\\nsupposed who saw him several times lift his hand\\nto his head, and at length go to the side door and\\nopen it a little way and sit down near it. After a\\nwhile, to the surprise of all, he noiselessly slipped\\nout of the door and did not come back.\\nAnd now for the rest of the clergyman s story you\\nwill have to depend on imagination, or what we\\nmay intelligently believe who know and share the\\nfaith of the old man for there was no one out-\\nside of the church to see him until all the people\\ncame out and saw him.\\nHe sought the fresh air of the May morning.\\nThere was not enough of it among the maples and\\nperhaps he sought the sunshine with it. So he\\nwalked out of the grove towards the road side,\\nwhere his son in law, coming late and after the\\nsheds were all occupied, had left his low carriage\\nstanding while he unhitched the traces and tied the\\nhorses in the grove. The empty carriage faced\\nthe south it was on the open green, and sitting\\nin it one could see a vast prospect up and down\\n6", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0097.jp2"}, "96": {"fulltext": "82 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\nand across the valley. The sun shone in it and\\nthe wind blew over it. The old man took a seat\\nin it, and before him lay the country in which he\\nhad lived and been loved, and far away yonder\\ndown the valley was a range of blue hills, beyond\\nwhich was all the world and all the universe.\\nThus far all this was a very simple and common-\\nplace incident. Yes, but what seems the simple\\nand commonplace may, by reason of what shall\\ncome next, be in reality the unintelligible and sub-\\nlime. The old man had always lived close to an-\\nother world. Many very dear ones had gone to it,\\nand he had never ceased to regard them as living\\nnear him, nearer than if they lived in the flesh be-\\nyond those blue mountains. He never thought of\\ndoubting the reality of their life. He never argued\\nabout it, for his faith was above reason. Out of\\nthe church came the sound of the people s voices\\nsinging, and to him it seemed as if the people who\\nwere under the grass behind the church as well as\\nthey who were in the church were together prais-\\ning God for he was, whether he knew it or not,\\nvery near if not indeed on the ground where one\\nmay hear the voices of both worlds. So he leaned\\nback and looked off and listened, and the wind\\nplayed with his white hair for he had left his hat\\nin the church and sat bareheaded in the breeze\\nand sunshine. Around him and above and in the\\nvalley and across on the other mountain-side be-", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0098.jp2"}, "97": {"fulltext": "THE TRIUMPHANT CHARIOT 83\\ngan to gather appearances, if they were not reali-\\nties. And who can say they were not realities\\nThe white mists that were passing here and there\\namong the trees near the summits, the snowy cata-\\nracts descending and shouting as they descended\\nwere they water-falls and mountain-mists, or were\\nthey white garments To your eye or mine they\\nwere the remains of last night s gloom and tempest\\nbut what were they to his eyes, looking now through\\nall things which stop our vision into the fathomless\\ndepths which lie beyond To you or to me that\\ntumultuous roar of the torrent was only the sound\\nof many waters, the roar of streams filled full with\\nheavy rains. So, perhaps, it was to him when he\\ncame out and climbed feebly into the carriage but\\nafter a little there is small doubt that he heard the\\nsounds of other waters falling from other hills into\\nother valleys, the rivers with whose cadences our\\nrivers keep some though faint and stammering\\nharmonies. For all voices of winds and water-falls\\non earth howsoever profane be the voices of men\\nall musical and melodious sounds of nature are\\npart of the eternal song, and we should recognize\\nit if we understood that music, as, perhaps, some\\ntime we may. Doubtless he heard, and though yet\\na man old and very feeble, began to understand\\nthe language in which the universe sounds its joy\\nand praise. For the bright look that rested on his\\nhuman face bore witness that before it became", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0099.jp2"}, "98": {"fulltext": "84 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\nmere dead dust it had heard the sounds and seen\\nthe forms of another world. How long he sat there\\nand looked and listened from the hill-side no one\\nknows. Perhaps it was to the close of the service\\nin the church. And when he heard the sound of\\nthe organ, and the voices of the people singing\\nHoly, holy, holy, the voices of the wind in the\\ntrees, and the voices of the waters thundering down\\nthe mountain, and the voices of the innumerable\\nhost whom we never hear except when, like him, we\\ncome to the entrance of the other existence, all\\ntogether sounded through earth and heaven, and\\nhe heard them all; and hearing, joined in the an-\\nthem with them.\\nWhen the people came out of church they saw\\nhim sitting on the back seat of the carriage, his\\nwhite hair fluttering in the wind, his hands folded\\non his lap, his eyes apparently looking across the\\nvalley at the opposite hill-side. A half-dozen peo-\\nple went to ask him if he was sick. They found\\nhim quite well better than he had ever been. It\\nwas not a triumphal car, nor a chariot of fire but\\nhe had gotten into it to go a short journey, and had\\ngone, safely, happily.", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0100.jp2"}, "99": {"fulltext": "A DEAD LETTER 85\\nX\\nA DEAD LETTER\\nOne evening in May, many years ago, a man of\\nan uncertain age, forty or fifty years old, perhaps,\\nwalked with a steady purposeful stride on this long\\nroad which leads winding through the primeval for-\\nests up the valley to a little settlement by a lake\\namong the mountains. He carried nothing. He\\nwas a stranger. As now and then he passed a house\\nthe people wondered, and asked one another who\\nhe was. He reached the old church which stood\\nat a crossing of the roads, the one going on up the\\nvalley, the other leading to right and to left over\\nthe hills. The minister s house was on the corner\\nopposite to the church. The minister, a man in\\nthe prime of life, stood on the green in front of the\\nchurch, looking over the stone-wall into the grave-\\nyard. He was thinking how many joys and pains,\\nvirtues and sins, were hidden there. He turned and\\nsaw the stranger striding towards him, and greeted\\nhim with a pleasant Good-evening. The reply\\nwas not gruff, but short in tone, Good -evening,\\nand the man walked on but his eye caught the", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0101.jp2"}, "100": {"fulltext": "86 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\nhorse -sheds in the rear of the church, and he\\nstopped short, then sat down on the door-step.\\nThe minister strolled towards him and asked him\\nif he was going to the village. Not to-night, was\\nthe curt, trisyllabic answer. The minister was a\\nman of much experience. He saw that there was\\nhere something out of the common run of human-\\nity in that neighborhood. If you are not going\\nfarther you will want a night s shelter, unless you\\nare going back again.\\nI s pose there s no objection to my sleepin in\\none of them sheds.\\nMy house, over there, is more comfortable\\ncome over with me and get your supper, and I ll\\ngive you a bed.\\nI m grateful for your offer, but I d ruther sleep\\nin the shed, and I don t need supper.\\nThe minister urged his invitation, but could get\\nno reply. The stranger sat silent, not even looking\\nup or answering with his eyes. At last the minis-\\nter gave him up and went home. He looked out in\\nthe twilight frequently, and saw the man sitting on\\nthe door-step. He went over and tried him again\\nwith pressure, but received no response. He some-\\nhow conceived the idea that the language used by\\nthe queer man was affected, and not natural that\\nhe assumed to be what he was not, an uneducated\\nman. Perhaps it was so, perhaps not no one ever\\nknew. For many years after that the stranger", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0102.jp2"}, "101": {"fulltext": "A DEAD LETTER 87\\nlived in the valley, became one of the valley people,\\nwas known to every one, spoke to few, and used\\nvery brief sentences in such conversation as was\\nnecessary. He bought a tract of land, it could not\\nbe called a farm, lying on the side of the mountain\\nand including a few acres of bottom land on the\\nriver. There were 100 acres in the tract, and he\\np.iid cash in bank notes, $80, for it. When the\\ndeed was made out, the village justice, who was a\\nland-agent, asked him his name. He gave it\\npromptly Ben Layton. He built a log-house on\\nhis land. The people, not an aesthetic community,\\nlaughed at his selection of a site. It was up the\\nmountain-side, on a projecting knoll, the front of\\nwhich was a rocky precipice. The cabin stood in\\nthe edge of the forest. In front of it the ridge of\\nthe knoll was covered with low brush, mostly huckle-\\nberry bushes. A mountain stream came down a\\nravine behind the cabin and descended swiftly at\\none side of the knoll. A rough pathway, in time\\nworn by his use, led from the cabin across the\\nbrook and down by the watercourse to the few\\nacres of meadow-land on the river bottom. A for-\\nest road, little else than a logging road, among\\nrocks and stumps, went from the meadow down\\ntwo miles to the main road up the valley. From\\nbelow you could see the cliff, and the low bushes\\ncovering the ridge, and the dark forest from which\\nit projected, but you could not see the little cabin", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0103.jp2"}, "102": {"fulltext": "88 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\nwhich stood under the trees. From the cabin door\\nthe view was one of unsurpassed beauty. The val-\\nley beneath, widening to hold a lovely lake two\\nmiles long, closing again where the mill and the\\nstore and the post-office and the half-dozen houses\\nformed the village, widened again beyond to the\\nlevel where the church stood, and then went down-\\nward into immeasurable distance. The door opened\\nto the west. When the sun was setting in June\\nand July it went down in 4hat remote distance, and\\nthe glory that filled the valley was like the light\\ncoming earthward from the celestial city.\\nYears went on. At first there was much curios-\\nity about this strange arrival but it passed. He\\nbecame a recognized inhabitant. His strange char-\\nacter was more a matter of imagination than of\\nknown fact for he seldom spoke to any one, and\\nin those brief sentences which were necessary to\\nhis procuring the means of life he spoke as sensibly\\nas any man in the valley. Oddly enough, he would\\nsometimes exchange some little talk about the\\nweather, or his health, or other commonplace sub-\\nject, with the minister, but with no one else. And\\nthe minister was the only man who ever went twice\\nto the cabin on the cliff. He had a settled convic-\\ntion that this man had a soul, not disturbed by any\\nerrancy of faculty, which was worth looking after.\\nAnd he looked after it for thirty or more years, but\\nconfessed in the end that he had never found it.", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0104.jp2"}, "103": {"fulltext": "A DEAD LETTER 89\\nTo the people the cabin was simply Ben s cab-\\nin, and as years went along and young people came\\nto exist who had not been there when he arrived,\\na stranger, he became Old Ben, a harmless semi-\\nlunatic, w^ho raised potatoes on his bottom-land,\\nkilled and ate woodchucks and all kinds of beasts\\nof the field and forest, fished a great deal, but most-\\nly wandered around in the woods and along the\\nstreams, silent and thoughtless.\\nWas he without tliought? Who knows Some-\\nwhere in the world perhaps there was one, perhaps\\nthere were many, who could have told what Ben\\nhad to think about. No one in the valley knew.\\nHe never read a newspaper or a book, never went\\nto a public gathering, never voted, never was seen\\nat church. He grew old. The minister grew old.\\nAll the people were growing older, many very old,\\nas is the custom in city and country with all our\\nfamily of man.\\nIt was six o clock of a July evening. A group of\\na dozen or more men stood on the porch of the\\nstore wherein was the post-office. The semi-weekly\\nmail had arrived, and this group was regular at that\\nhour. The minister sat in his low buggy under the\\nshadow of a great Balm of Gilead-tree. The doctor\\ndrove up in his buckboard and stopped by the side\\nof the minister. This was the time when the group\\nat the post-office exchanged the news of the neigh-\\nborhood, which meant a section of country three", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0105.jp2"}, "104": {"fulltext": "90 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\nmiles down and five miles up the valley, and includ-\\ned scattered clearings on the lulls. The doctor,\\nwhen he happened to be there, answered questions\\nabout the sick, and the intelligence he gave was\\ncarried in various directions, radiating to outlying\\nhomes, where all were sincerely interested in it.\\nDoctor, said a man whose home was three\\nmiles away, I shouldn t wonder if somethin s the\\nmatter o Old Ben. I ain t seen him now it s a\\nweek or more, and I ain t seen smoke coming out\\nof his chimeney for two days.\\nWhy haven t you gone up to see him\\nWall, it s somethin of a climb, and a long way\\naround, and Ben don t like company, and I ve been\\npurty busy hoein potatoes, and I thought o goin\\nup to-morrow.\\nYou might better have gone up to-night instead\\nof coming down here. Does any one know whether\\nBen has been down the valley lately\\nI seen him, lemme see it was Monday a week\\nago he was fishin on the big rock. Hain t any of\\nyou fellows seen him sence then While they\\nwere, one and another, saying No to this query,\\nthe postmaster came to the door with a letter in\\nhis hand.\\nHere s a letter for Old Ben. What had I better\\ndo with it The people closed around the post-\\nmaster. Here was an incident. A letter to any\\none of them would have been a matter of general", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0106.jp2"}, "105": {"fulltext": "A DEAD LETTER 9 1\\ninterest, but a letter to Old Ben was a startling\\nfact.\\nIt s come at last, said one.\\nYes, it s come at last, said another and an-\\nother.\\nAs long as I ve been postmaster and that s\\nbeen how many years, boys as long as I can re-\\nmember, Ben has come every Saturday and asked\\nif there was a letter for him. Sometimes he came\\ntwice a week, sometimes every day for a while.\\nThere ought to be something important in it, and\\nhe hasn t been here now for more than a week.\\nHe s been waiting more than twenty years for that\\nletter, and it s come at last.\\nThis constant application of Old Ben for a letter,\\npersistent, though vain, for months and years, was\\na known fact to all the people but it had long been\\nset down as only another indication of his lunacy.\\nBefore sunset pretty much every family in the valley\\nwas talking about it, and saying, Old Ben s letter\\nhas come at last.\\nThe letter passed from hand to hand one and\\nanother wondered who had written it. The minis-\\nter and the doctor were conversing and had not\\nheard the postmaster s questions. But they were\\ntalking about Ben. When the postmaster repeated\\nhis inquiry, the minister said\\nGive me the letter. I will take it to him. I am\\ngoing out to see him.", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0107.jp2"}, "106": {"fulltext": "92 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\nThe sun was just above the far horizon when\\nthe minister reached the end of the narrow rocky\\nroad on the bottom-land, and tied his horse under\\na rude cow-shed near the bars of the pasture lot.\\nIt was a good half-mile from this point, by the wild\\npath up the side of a brawling stream, through\\nprimeval forest, to the level of Ben s cabin. The\\nminister knew his way. He had been at Ben s\\ncabin not a few times. There was no house or\\ncabin or habitation of man within many miles that\\nhe had not visited often. But he had never been\\nhere at this hour. The sun had gone. A mass\\nof clouds hung across the valley from mountain to\\nmountain, and all were aglow with crimson light.\\nThe country below the arch of fire was lit with a\\ngolden lustre which came flooding up the valley\\nfrom the clear sky on the horizon. Above all was\\ncrimson, below all was gold. Turning his back to\\nthe miraculous view, the minister struck the cabin\\ndoor with his knuckles two or three times and\\nwaited. A robin in a tree near by sang out boldly.\\nA thrush poured forth a flood of melody, and an-\\nother lower down the hill answered him. No sound\\ncame from within the cabin. The minister knocked\\nagain and waited. While he was waiting he heard\\na step, and turning saw the doctor coming along\\nthe path around the corner of the cabin. He was\\nnot surprised. They two were in the habit of meet-\\ning on such errands at all hours of the day and night.", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0108.jp2"}, "107": {"fulltext": "A DEAD LETTER 93\\nThey went into the cabin. It was only one room,\\neighteen or twenty feet long and fifteen wide. All\\nof one end was occupied by the heap of rough\\nstone which formed the chimney. Along the side\\nwas a low, broad bench, which did duty for a bed.\\nThere was little furniture, but everything in the\\nroom was clean and neat. In, or on, the bed lay\\nthe tall form of a man, motionless. As the two\\napproached him he made no sign. His eyes were\\nopen.\\nIs he dead asked the minister. The doctor\\nlaid his hand on the man s forehead, and answered\\nNo, he is living yet but, he added, after a\\nlittle, he is near the end.\\nThe same thought was in the minds of the two\\nwho sat by the side of the bed Who is this man\\nthat lies here dying alone in the forest? They\\nhad time to think, for the twilight passed into\\nnight, and dark night, with clouds and rising wind,\\nand the trees began to utter strange sounds, but\\nthere was no sound from the lips of Old Ben. A\\nwhippoorwill suddenly called with his clear, rich\\nvoice from the peak of the cabin, and a dozen or\\nmore answered from the woods below. The sounds\\nof nature are innumerable in the night-time in still\\nweather, and when the wind blows the forest is\\nfilled with voices in a thousand tones. Some are syl-\\nlabic utterances, shouts, calls, and answers others,\\nlong notes of delight or of pain. It made the si-", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0109.jp2"}, "108": {"fulltext": "94- ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\nlence of the cabin most solemn and impressive to\\nhear the turmoil and tmnult in the outer world.\\nAnd it was the more oppressive to the two watchers\\nin that he who lay there dying held a secret on\\nwhich the silence seemed to be placing a great\\nblack seal for, to say truth, they had within the\\npast thirty years asked each other countless times,\\nWho is Old Ben To the people not given to\\nmuch thought the question had long since lost in-\\nterest. To them, reading, scholarly men, it had\\ncontinuous and increasing attraction as an unsolved\\nproblem. They asked it now, one of the other,\\nwith their eyes.\\nHe will never get his letter after all, said the\\ndoctor, in a low voice.\\nWhat letter The words came from the lips\\nof the motionless man. Then a sudden flash of\\nlight illumined his face. They bent over him.\\nWhat letter.? he said again. Is there a letter\\nfor me V\\nGive it to him, said the doctor.\\nYes, Ben, I have a letter for you. It came by\\nthe mail to-night.\\nGive it to me, quick, quick, dominie, for she\\nsaid she said he tried to lift his hand, but\\nfailed. The light on his face became white, cold.\\nAfter a while the light reappeared in his eyes.\\nThe letter she said he was murmuring rather\\nthan speaking, and they could hear no more, for the", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0110.jp2"}, "109": {"fulltext": "A DEAD LETTER 95\\nwind thundered and the trees wailed and sobbed\\nand shrieked. For one instant his eyes seized and\\ndevoured the letter which the minister held in his\\nhand, but he was powerless to take it and a few\\nmoments later the end came, and he was dead.\\nTheir work was done. They lit their lanterns\\nand went out, leaving the mystery behind them.\\nThe forest was never so black as in the contrast\\nwith their lights. The brook was a torrent, for\\nheavy showers had been passing over. Even now,\\nas they went cautiously down the narrow footway,\\nthey paused several times to listen to the reverber-\\nation of heavy thunder, or to recover eyesight lost\\nin the dazzling brilliance of lightning.\\nHe never got the letter after all, said the min-\\nister, as they reached the low cow-shed under which\\nthey had left their horses. What shall we do with\\nit?\\nIn that part of the country in those days there\\nwas small thought or knowledge of the laws of in-\\nheritance. The public administrator was unknown.\\nThe people buried Ben. When they brought him\\nout of the cabin they left the door open. There\\nwas nothing in it which any one wanted to steal,\\nand there was no one who had any interest in pre-\\nserving it.\\nThe minister carried the letter back to the post-\\nmaster. It lay a long time in his office, and again\\nand again was brought out and handed around", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0111.jp2"}, "110": {"fulltext": "96 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\namong the people. It was the central point of in-\\nterest in that valley for months a small folded bit\\nof paper, concerning which every man and woman\\nwithin five miles of the place of its deposit thought\\nand talked and guessed and wondered. Then it\\nwent the way of dead letters.", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0112.jp2"}, "111": {"fulltext": "EPITAPHS AND NAMES 97\\nXI\\nEriTAPHS AND NAMES\\nThe frequency and the various conditions of\\ncountry graveyards form a feature of New England\\nlandscape scenery peculiar to this country. You\\nnever see anything like it in any other country. It\\nis, of course, common enough in Europe to find the\\nold church surrounded by the church-yard. But\\nour graveyards are very much more frequent with-\\nout than with churches, or any buildings, in them\\nand churches are far more numerous without than\\nwith graveyards near them.\\nMost of the country graveyards are lonesome and\\nmournful-looking places, often far away from any\\nhouses, frequently showing no indications of care\\nnor any footprints of visitors. In and near the\\nlarge villages one finds very beautiful cemeteries,\\ndemonstrating the existence of reverence for the\\nplace of final rest. But the lonesome burial-places\\nthat I pass along the road are for the most part\\nopen fields, with waving grass and golden-rod, and\\noften thickets of brush, but without trees. This\\nmust not, however, be taken as evidence of forget-\\n7", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0113.jp2"}, "112": {"fulltext": "98 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\nfulness of the dead, or intentional neglect of their\\ngraves. It proceeds simply from the fact that no\\none has suggested to the people the idea of com-\\nbining effort to make the graveyard a place of\\nbeauty as well as of repose. It is in fact part of\\nthat lack of education in love of beauty which pre-\\nvails among laborious communities, with whom life\\nis a very constant struggle, whose days are none\\ntoo long for the earning of a livelihood. True, it\\nneeds but an instructor to teach such communities\\nthe utility and money value of beauty, and show\\nhow the labor of the farm may produce beauty with\\nprofit. Doubtless after some more generations the\\neducation will come.\\nMeantime these desolate -looking burial-places\\ncontain abundant evidence of the refinement of\\nmind which characterizes the country population;\\nthe deep sentiment which in human history accom-\\npanies the highest civilization. For if you desire\\nto find communities in the largest measure com-\\nposed of true gentlemen and gentlewomen, you are\\nnot to seek them in cities, nor in that section of\\ncity population sometimes called society, but\\namong the hills, in the up-country, where lives have\\ngrown old and generations have succeeded genera-\\ntions, far removed from the ambitions, the rivalries,\\nthe passionate collisions of the cities. Here are\\nvery kindly hearts, rejoicing in one another s pros-\\nperities, sympathetic one with another s troubles.", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0114.jp2"}, "113": {"fulltext": "EPITAPHS AND NAMES 99\\nHere slander finds no encouragement and gossip\\nhas no life. Here no one tells lies about another,\\nman or woman, and when men or women sin, as\\nalas they sometimes do everywhere, others do not\\nenjoy talking about it, but are sorry and silent.\\nDoubtless there are evil-minded people in the\\ncountry. Their number is increasing as railways\\nbring the population into closer contact with crowd-\\ned communities. But there remain, here and there,\\nisolated tracts of country in which a great deal of\\nthe old purity of life and whole-souled love of neigh-\\nbors yet prevails. If you know what that means,\\nwhat it was a few years ago all over the north\\ncountry, you cannot look at one of these road-side\\ngraveyards without recalling the scene which has\\nbeen visible here, as each one of these mounds was\\nheaped up. Then all the people from miles around\\ncame to the funeral, and whether it were old man\\nor boy, babe girl or matron, no king had ever more\\nroyal burial, for none was ever laid in vault or\\nground with more solemn, loving, lamenting attend-\\nance.\\nI have often copied and printed epitaphs from\\nthese graveyards, which however rude or uncouth in\\nexpression, are nevertheless honest epitaphs. There\\nis no introduction of the rivalries of society into\\nthese cemeteries. Simple, unpretentious headstones\\nare here, only intended as marks of the separate\\ngraves, and the inscriptions are in plain letters,", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0115.jp2"}, "114": {"fulltext": "lOO ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\naffectionate memorials. It is often interesting to\\nsee how frequently in the same graveyard the same\\nepitaph is repeated. When first put on a stone it\\nhas attracted the eye and pleased the mind, and one\\nand another has adopted it as just the expression\\nof his or her feeling, and so it has been used on\\nstone after stone. It is not uncommon to find\\nstones which may indicate either the lack of a\\nstone-cutter in the country, or the poverty which\\nforbade employing one. These are home-made\\nstones, and in their rude simplicity they are very\\neloquent, since you can but picture to yourself the\\nsurvivor, in a solitary home, working slowly and\\npatiently to carve the gravestone of the lamented\\ndead. Here is an example. I found it in a grave-\\nyard in the western part of the town of Putney in\\nVermont. Type will not reproduce the rudeness\\nof the lettering, but will exhibit the patience of\\nthe unskilled fingers which cut the characters deep\\nin red sandstone\\nH E R EL I E\\nS T H E R E\\nM E N S O F\\nM O S E SKE\\nRRWHODIE\\nDNOVEMBER\\nTHE5IN1813\\nAGED65", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0116.jp2"}, "115": {"fulltext": "EPITAPHS AND NAMES lOI\\nAside from the indications of human emotion\\nwhich these records furnish in ancient as in modern\\ncemeteries, they contain many curiosities of htera-\\nture.\\nMistakes in spelUng, which are frequent, are of\\ncourse the fault of the stone-cutter. It certainly\\nwas his fault in the case of a stone in the noble\\ncemetery at Charlestown, N. H., whereon the in-\\nscription was clearly not intended to suggest the\\npenance to which in old times some were occasion-\\nally addicted. The epitaph ends thus\\nHis wayes were wayes of pleasantness\\nAnd all his paths were pease.\\nThere is a common old epitaph, found frequently\\nin graveyards in England as well as in America, in\\none or another form. In that same graveyard at\\nPutney I found it in this form\\nBehold my grave as you pass by\\nAs you are liveing so once was I\\nDeath suddenly took hold on me\\nAnd so will be the case with thee.\\nIn a graveyard by the road-side in Charlemont,\\nMass., I found a variation, the first lines being:\\nCome all young people as you pass by,\\nAs you are now so, etc.\\nIn that Charlemont burial-place I copied from", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0117.jp2"}, "116": {"fulltext": "I02 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\nthe grave of Mr. Nathaniel Upton, who died in\\n1829, this short, sharp statement\\nHere lies my friend\\nTill time shall end.\\nManchester in Vermont, one of the most beauti-\\nful villages in the world, has a cemetery which,\\nlike the village, may claim superior beauty to almost\\nany other in the north country. Wandering through\\nit, I copied this inscription from a stone marking\\nthe graves of three children, who died in the years\\n1821, 1823, and 1824\\nHere in the dust 3 babes we\\nSleep by our Father here\\nour Mother Brothers\\nSisters dear have left us\\nalone to moulder\\nhere\\nAnd another, over a young wife, only eighteen\\nyears old, who died in 18 10.\\nMourn not for me\\nWipe of! the crystal tear\\nYour allotted portion be\\nLike mine upon a bier.\\nGo search the earth around\\nRegard well your behaveer\\nTo Jesus Christ you re bound\\nHe is your only Saviour.\\nAt Fayetteville in Vermont I strolled into the", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0118.jp2"}, "117": {"fulltext": "EPITAPHS AND NAMES IO3\\nold graveyard, and copied here and there an in-\\nscription.\\nOn one stone I found this\\nNow, little James has gone to rest\\nWith Eliza Ann among the blest.\\nAside by side their bodies lay.\\nTill the great resurrection day.\\nOn a stone by the side of the above\\nOh, little Lavina she has gone\\nTo James and Charles and Eliza Ann.\\nArm in arm they walk above,\\nSinging the Redeemer s love.\\nOn a somewhat large monument was a photo-\\ngraph, or perhaps it was a daguerreotype, set deep\\nin the stone, and under it the familiar old epitaph\\nbefore mentioned, with, however, a stanza added\\nwhich I do not remember to have seen elsewhere:\\nBehold my friends as you pass by, etc.\\nWhat thou art reading o er my bones\\nI ve often read on other stones.\\nAnd others soon shall read of thee\\nWhat thou art reading now of me.\\nThere is a quaint force in this, which is from an\\n1825 stone at Pittsfield, N. H.\\nAh soon we must persue\\nThis soul so lately fled\\nAnd soon of you tl;ey may say too\\nAh such an one is dead.", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0119.jp2"}, "118": {"fulltext": "I04 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\nAnd Oil another stone in the same yard I found\\nthis brief sentence\\nDeath is a debt to nature due\\nI ve paid the debt, and so must you.\\nSometimes I find hints of tragedies or romances\\nin the quiet up-country Uves which have found\\nfinal peace under the stones. As I drove by a\\nlittle cemetery in Goshen, I stopped the horses\\nand read from the carriage an inscription which\\nhas given me food for a thousand imaginings since.\\nI wondered what could have been the story of that\\nlife which was thus published on the road-side, mani-\\nfestly with intent that every passer-by should read.\\nI even had the curiosity to inquire, but found no\\none who remembered the events alluded to. It was\\nthe grave of a girl of seventeen, and the epitaph was\\nthis;\\nDearly beloved while on earth\\nDeeply lamented at death\\nBorne down by two cruel oppressors\\nDistracted and dead.\\nPeace be with the child, whoever she was and\\nwhatever her sorrow! It was a lonely graveyard,\\nfar away from any village, and not near any house,\\nbut there was a goodly company of the sleepers\\nnear her on the hill-side going up from the road,\\nand she is not alone in her rest, and will not be\\nalone in the morning.", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0120.jp2"}, "119": {"fulltext": "EPITAPHS AND NAMES 105\\nSometimes I have found very touching evidences\\nof the grief that comes to all human hearts alike,\\nin city and country, in Christian and pagan lands.\\nThere is an affectation of sorrow in some tombstone\\nliterature, but I don t think any one will imagine\\nthere was not the outburst of a mother s heart in\\nthe words that were on the tombstone of the child\\nnamed Coral. She was but fourteen years in this\\ncountry, and some one it could have been but one\\nwhen she went suddenly away, summed up her\\nagony in the words on the stone, My dearest love,\\nmy dearest love In a city cemetery we do not\\nfancy that the publication of one s private grief\\nseems in good taste even on a memorial stone. But\\nno one can find fault with any inscription which\\nbears evidence that it is uttered, not to the livins:\\nwho remain, but to the dead loved one who has\\ngone on. Such inscriptions properly dedicate me-\\nmorial stones.\\nSome graveyards, full of the graves of the old-\\ntime folks, are abandoned as if forgotten. At Fran-\\ncestown, N. H., I found such a place. The stones\\nwere lying or leaning down in all directions. It\\nwas difficult to read the inscriptions. Brush and\\nweeds concealed graves and stones. Here are some\\nlines from the headstone of Mr. Isaac Brewster, who\\ndied in 1782\\nHappy the company that s gone\\nFrom cross to crown, from thrall to throne", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0121.jp2"}, "120": {"fulltext": "I06 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\nHow loud they sing upon the shore\\nTo which they sailed in heart before.\\nDriving up the road from Keene, N. H., to Drews-\\nville, I readied a little road-side inn in the town of\\nSurry, at about the time to feed my horses. As I\\nsat on the front steps of the inn, the scene, in the\\nnoon of a bright October day, was not exhilarating.\\nThere was no village. Across the broad road was\\na church. The front platform was rotted, and the\\nbroken plank, some standing on end, made it un-\\nnecessary to ask if it was abandoned. There was\\na graveyard a little way from it, a blacksmith s shop,\\nand a building, half town-hall and half grocery-store,\\nstanding between. The graveyard, although appar-\\nently not in use, was evidently cared for. It was\\nneat and in good order. Perhaps the church is\\ndeserted because the population is less. Whatever\\nbe the reason, I have rarely found a country grave-\\nyard which was better worth visiting.\\nThere was a very large group of graves of one\\nfamily, the name varying, usually Darte, sometimes\\nDort, sometimes Dart, and among them Eli, Elihu,\\nand Eliphalet. One of the little girls was named\\nAzubah. Mr. Nathaniel Darte died long ago at 66.\\nThere was a blank on the stone where the year of\\nhis death should have been. His headstone said:\\nDear friends don t mourn for me nor weep;\\nI am not dead, but here do sleep.", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0122.jp2"}, "121": {"fulltext": "EPITAPHS AND NAMES I07\\nAnd here I must and shall remain\\nTill Christ does raise me up again.\\nDoubtless he was a resolute man, in death as in\\nlife. Mrs. Deborah Darte, his wife, died in 1773,\\nonly twenty-eight years old. She says\\nFriends retire; prepared be\\nWhen God shall call to follow me.\\nWhen Mrs. Darte died she left two little dauo;h-\\nters. Avis and Eunice. This we know from their\\ngraves, close by. They both grew up. Avis married\\nAsa Holmes, and in 1791, a young wife in her twen-\\nty-second year, fell a victim to death. The er-\\nrors in spelling on her tombstone must be charged\\nto the stone-cutter of the day. This is the epitaph\\nAltho I sleep in death awhile,\\nBeneath this barron sod,\\nEre long I hope to rise and smile.\\nTo meet my savour God.\\nLittle Avis and Eunice grew to womanhood dur-\\ning the trying times of the Revolutionary War, but\\ndid not live to see the good times of this nineteenth\\ncentury. For Eunice, who was only two years old\\nwhen her mother died. Avis being four, died unmar-\\nried a few months after her sister in 1 791, in her\\ntwentieth year. Mrs. Eunice the headstone calls her,\\nthat is. Mistress Eunice. I fancy she had received\\nthis title, given in those days to maiden ladies, but", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0123.jp2"}, "122": {"fulltext": "Io8 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\nnot often to those as young as she, because she had\\nbecome the head of her surviving father s house-\\nhold. She was doubtless a fair New England maid-\\nen, lovely and loved. Was it a lover who called her\\nfriend, in her epitaph? Or was it her father?\\nFor as we will see presently the word friend had\\nendearing associations in that locality, and a father\\nmight apply it to a daughter or a husband to a wife,\\naccording to modern French usage. Here is her\\nepitaph, literally\\nStop gentle youth and drop a tear,\\nFor my true friend lies buried here.\\nShe once was innacently gay,\\nBut now a lifeless lump of clay.\\nThen pity my sad overthrow.\\nNor set your heart on things below.\\nWhen Ruel Mack died in 1812 he left this assur-\\nance, as we find it carved over him\\nMourn not for me, nor thus reflect,\\nBut all your sighs and tears suppress,\\nSince God has promised to protect\\nThe widow and the fatherless.\\nMr. Woolston Brockway, who died in 1789, in the\\nseventy -eighth year of his age, was verily one of\\nthe New Hampshire fathers. The stone record\\nsays He left a widow and eighty-seven children,\\ngrand and great-grandchildren. Of John Brock-\\nway, who died in 1799,", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0124.jp2"}, "123": {"fulltext": "EPITAPHS AND NAMES 109\\nHe lived a friend to all mankind\\nAnd died in hopeful peace of mind.\\nOn the headstone of Mrs. Lucina Willcox, who\\ndied in 1800, is a version of a familiar old epitaph,\\nbefore mentioned, whose peculiarity I italicize\\nDeath is a debt by nature due,\\nI ve paid my shot and so must you.\\nTheodosha, wife of Edmund Wetherbee, died in\\n1806 at twenty-one years of age, and her husband\\nthus laments\\nWhy do I mourn beneath the cross?\\nWhy do I thus repine\\nIf God be pleased to take away\\nA lovely friend of mine.\\nIn 1802, when Benjamin Isham was laid in the\\nground, they carved this over him\\nPray don t lement when death is sent,\\nNor fill a w^atery eye\\nIt was decreed to Adam s seed\\nAll that are born must die.\\nJohn Marvin went away triumphantly in 1807, a\\nsoldier of the church militant who fell in the battle.\\nThere is the ring of a clarion in his epitaph. If you\\ndo not think so, go and read it as I read it in a\\ngolden October day, with a north-west wind rush-\\ning over the hills and sweeping the yellow maple-\\nleaves in wild and musical whirls around you in", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0125.jp2"}, "124": {"fulltext": "no ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\nthat otherwise silent burial-place, while above you\\nis the blue sky into which so many have looked\\nfrom these hills and valleys, and looking have gone\\nto meet their leader\\nDeath, thou hast conquered me\\nI, by thy darts, am slain\\nBut Christ has conquered thee,\\nAnd I shall rise again.\\nI lingered two hours in this lonesome burial-place,\\ncopying quaint epitaphs those of the Reverend\\nZebulon Streeter and Tabitha, his consort, who died\\nin the early part of the centur}^, of Abia Grain, of\\nColonel William Bond, of Simon Baxter, and a num-\\nber more which are in my note-book. Let it suffice\\nto add only that of Mr. John Redding, who died in\\n1814. It is very homely\\nThe widow mourns the loss of a husband near,\\nThe children of a parent dear\\nBut still one comfort does remain.\\nThe hopes that our loss is his infinite gain.\\nAs I was coming out of the ground I was startled\\nat sight of a tall, white stone, and the legend, Ich-\\nabod Grain died Oct. 14, 1866, se. 82 years and 10\\nmonths. The spelling was not that of Geoffrey\\nGrayon, but by the side of this stone was another,\\nwhereon I read Fanny, wife of Ichabod Grane,\\ndied March 22, 1842, ae. 53.", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0126.jp2"}, "125": {"fulltext": "EPITAPHS AND NAMES III\\nThere is an interesting old cemetery at Norwich\\nin Vermont, where I passed a rainy Sunday.\\nThe stones of a hundred and more years ago are\\ngoing rapidly to decay; many inscriptions are al-\\nready lost past all recovery parts of others are\\ngone. I hope there is a local historical or other\\nsociety which has preserved accurate copies of\\nthese old records. They will always be of inesti-\\nmable value, not alone to descendants of those who\\nlie here, but to local and general historians.\\nIt was raining, and the yellow grass was high\\nand wet but I forgot the dismal weather as I went\\non from one to another old stone, and kneeling in\\nthe grass studied out, sometimes copying, the in-\\nscriptions. I found several names of women, un-\\ncommon though none entirely new to me, such as\\nMindwell, Thankful, Salla, Alba, Candace.\\nHere is an inscription from an old stone\\nIn memory of Mr. Nathaniel Hatch who died with the\\nsmall pox at Charlestown N. H. July 3, 1776 aged (blank)\\nyears. His bones were accidentally found in 18 10 by men to\\nwork on a turnpike between Charlestown and Walpole and\\ndeposited at this place by the desire of his son Oliver Hatch\\nof this town.\\nLet not the dead forgotten lie\\nLest men forgit that they must die.\\nThat stone speaks of the terror which accompa-\\nnied the disease when it appeared at Number Four\\n(the ancient name of Charlestown), the hasty, un-", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0127.jp2"}, "126": {"fulltext": "112 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\nmarked burial, not in the general graveyard. It\\nmay suggest, too, that Americans had many sub-\\njects of personal thought and work and worry on\\nthe 4th of July, 1776.\\nThe small stone at the grave of Mariah Hatch,\\nwho died in 1802, after living five weeks, gave op-\\nportunity to some one to defy orthography and or-\\nthodoxy and the doctrine of original sin, in this epi-\\ntaph\\nBeneth a sleeping infant lies\\nTo earth her body s lent,\\nMore glorious she ll hereafter rise\\nThough not more inocent.\\nThe freedom of the country stone-cutter from all\\nlaws of calligraphy and orthography is exhibited in\\nan inscription which I copy line for line\\nIn memory of Mrs Susannah\\nwife of Ensign Elisha Burton\\nwho died in full assurance\\nof a Beter life April 27 1775\\nin ye 23d Year of her Age she\\nwas an Obliging wife a tender\\nMother a Sincear Christion\\nborn From above she paied\\nher viset here then Retorned\\nto Dwell with saints on high\\nwhere she is Ceased From\\nEvery ancious Care Joined ye\\nGeniral Chorus of ye Joy\\nEvidently the last word should have been sky.", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0128.jp2"}, "127": {"fulltext": "EPITAPHS AND NAMES I13\\nThere is something wortli your philosophic study-\\nin these graves, and in graves which you may find\\nscattered all over the world, which you may classify\\nas you classify birds and fish and mammals and\\nflowers, placing them together. All these people\\ndied in one faith all are of one family. It strikes\\nme always as very odd, very unscientific, for men\\nto neglect great moral facts, and great physical\\nfacts which seem to be consequences of moral facts.\\nThousands of people swarming together periodical-\\nly towards central points, called places of worship,\\nare as distinctly phenomena as any other physical\\noccurrences in this world. The impelling causes,\\nif natural, demand the highest attention of the phi-\\nlosopher. If they are not natural, then they are\\nsupernatural, and annihilate many of the specula-\\ntions of the small philosophers of our day.\\nWhat higher philosophy is there It is written,\\nin ill-spelled phrases but in words of wonder, all\\nover these rude stones in the up-country grave-\\nyards. You can t read it, do you say Come,\\nand I will show it to you in plain letters of modern\\ncutting. For as the rain fell steadily, and the\\nclouds dragged down lower on the valley, and it\\ngrew colder and colder, I was about to come away\\nfrom the old graveyard, when I saw the dense, dark\\nmass of a low spruce bending its branches heavy\\nwith wet down to the ground. Parting the branch-\\nes, I found a brown stone, surmounted by a cross,\\n8", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0129.jp2"}, "128": {"fulltext": "114\\nALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\nand read the summing up of that sublime faith\\nwhich makes an old New England graveyard to be\\nholy land. O Jesu qui mihi crucifixus es in\\nTE SPERAVI.\\nAn interesting subject of thought is found in the\\nChristian names which have been given to children,\\nborne through longer or shorter lives, and finally\\ncarved on gravestones. Whence came some of\\nthese names, especially as names given to female\\nchildren Here are a few out of many which I\\nhave copied in various burial-places along the\\nroads. Some are Scriptural, varied in spelling,\\nsome noteworthy only for the spelling\\nVesta,\\nSmilinda,\\nBezaleed,\\nMadona,\\nTheodate,\\nPhileena,\\nImagene,\\nMitty,\\nAsenath,\\nSabrisal,\\nRozill,\\nResolved,\\nAlanette,\\nLima,\\nComfort,\\nRocksena,\\nOrlo,\\nRomanzo,\\nOra,\\nElmon,\\nTheda,\\nPhene,\\nEde,\\nDiademia,\\nArozina,\\nIrena,\\nCoral.\\nWhile on this subject of names of the dead, here\\nis an illustration of names now in use by the living.\\nIn a village inn in New Hampshire I found the\\nprinted catalogue of a school located there, and\\ncopied in my note -book the following Christian\\nnames of young lady students", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0130.jp2"}, "129": {"fulltext": "EPITAPHS AND NAMES\\nMyrtie loline. Mary Etta.\\nUna Gertrude. Margaret Marilla.\\nMary Adella. Lora Eliza.\\nLois Ella. Franca Lydia.\\nCorrie Elbra. Fannie Mae.\\nDaisy Sarah. Minnie Etta.\\nHattie Rose Pearl. Lizzie Estelle.\\nMyrtie Kate. Mary Loraine.\\nFlorence Genevra. Bernette Samantha.\\nHere is an interesting study. Doubtless in each\\nfamily there was a satisfactory reason for the name\\ngiven to the child, however strange the names ap-\\npear when brought together in a catalogue. Fre-\\nquently a mother desires to perpetuate in her daugh-\\nter the name of the father, grandfather, or other\\nmale relative. In such cases names of men are\\nslightly transformed to become feminine in sound.\\nSeveral times I have been told by a mother that she\\nhad named her child from a character in a book\\nwhich she had read, and that not liking the name\\nas found, she had altered it a little. Often a young\\nmother, full of joy and love, gives her baby the name\\nof a flower. It is not often that parents, in naming\\nchildren, take into thought the possible maturity and\\nold age of the child, sent on in life v/ith a label that\\ncannot be well effaced. In a Vermont cemetery is\\nthe grave of a child who lived two years, till 1824,\\nweighted with the name Orsamealius Almeron.", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0131.jp2"}, "130": {"fulltext": "Il6 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\nTurning over an English publication recently, I\\nread a note concerning a person who died a long\\nwhile ago. The writer, to verify his accuracy as to\\nthe date of the person s death, stated that his coffin-\\nplate is preserved in the family residence. I do not\\nknow whether this indicates a custom to any extent\\nprevalent in England, of preserving coffin-plates in-\\nstead of burying them with the dead. It may be\\nonly an accidental preservation. But I am sure it\\nis not generally known that such a custom has long\\nprevailed in many parts of New England. In car-\\nriage travel I have frequently found the custom in\\npractice. I once stopped for dinner at a farm-house\\nand inn, in a village in Connecticut. We waited\\nawhile in the little parlor, which was filled with\\nfamily treasures in the way of curious and pretty\\nthings on shelves and pictures on the walls. Among\\nthe latter, framed separately under glass and hang-\\ning in different parts of the room, were three plain\\nsilver coffin-plates, engraved in the usual way with\\nthe names, ages, and dates of death of members of\\nthe family. This was the first instance in my ex-\\nperience of this custom, which, I learned, was com-\\nmon in the neighborhood. Afterwards I met with\\nthe same custom in various parts of other New\\nEngland States, and it is quite likely that it prevails\\nelsewhere in the country.\\nOpening a drawer in my library, I happened on\\nsome small wooden tablets which I found many", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0132.jp2"}, "131": {"fulltext": "EPITAPHS AND NAMES II7\\nyears ago in Egypt. One of them, for example, is\\nabout four and a half inches long by three and a\\nquarter inches wide. Notches are cut in the sides\\nnear one end, which is also perforated with a round\\nhole. This was for a string. On one side of the\\ntablet is carved in deep, rude letters, a Greek in-\\ninscription-. I ai)a7rodepog Krl KuXerog er fx Sara-\\npoderos Kti, son of Kales, aged 48.\\nThe same words are written in ink on the other\\nside of the wood. Here is the close counterpart,\\n1800 years ago, of the modern cofhn plate. For\\nthese wooden tags were attached to the mummied\\nbodies of the dead, as records to go with them to\\nthe burial.\\nEvery work of art is as much an embodiment of\\nthoughts as a written sentence or a book. To look\\nat works of art and express opinions as to their\\nmerit or demerit, to criticise them, is trifling work\\nof little value. To read works of art as historical\\nand personal records is the business of the art stu-\\ndent. Here is a remarkable series of works of art,\\nmade by men in remotely separated periods, which\\nevidently spring from one and the same motive.\\nWhile we say at once that here is an indication,\\nslight but noteworthy, of the sameness of ancient\\nand modern humanity, we are nevertheless some-\\nwhat in the dark as to this one common motive.\\nWhat is it We have similar, though not identical,\\nworks in gravestones and monumental inscriptions.", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0133.jp2"}, "132": {"fulltext": "Il8 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\nI do not speak of the marking by inscriptions of\\nthe resting-places of the dead. That is more easily\\naccounted for. But why this custom of the ages,\\npagan and Christian, of placing with the dead the\\nrecord of how many years he or she had lived\\nIn the vast numbers of ancient mortuary inscrip-\\ntions which we possess, this record is of constant\\noccurrence. Aurell\\\\ duldsswia filia quce de sceatlo\\nrecessit vixit ann. xv., m. iiil Antimio vixit annis\\nlxx. Julia Procilla vixit ann. xix. Innumerable\\nexamples like these occur, especially in early Chris-\\ntian times. The phrase, lived so many years, is\\nthe common, often the only, inscription accompany-\\ning the name. Often the length of the lifetime is\\nstated even to months and days. Why this custom\\nI do not attempt to answer the question. It is\\neasy to find reasons for epitaphs in general. They\\nare various, under various circumstances. Some,\\nmany, are importunate appeals to the living for\\nsympathy in sorrow. Some are designed to perpet-\\nuate loved or honored memories. Not a few which\\nspeak passionate grief are but sounding phrases,\\npublished to deceive the people into believing in a\\nsorrow which does not exist. Many are devised as\\nsermons to the active world, and many are placed\\nonly in obedience to existing custom. But I cannot\\nsee clearly what has been the constant motive of\\nsurvivors in burying their dead with the statement\\nthat he or she had lived so many years and months", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0134.jp2"}, "133": {"fulltext": "EPITAPHS AND NAMES IIQ\\nand days. Purposes of identification do not ac-\\ncount for it satisfactorily.\\nProfessor A. C. Merriam, in a monograph upon\\nthe Egyptian tags, says that of the small number\\nknown there are two classes, one class evidently\\nused to direct transportation of the body from the\\nplace of death or of embalmment to that of entomb-\\nment. He gives an example of this kind of tag,\\nwhich reminds us of the address of a modern ex-\\npress package To Diospolis Pamontis, son of\\nTapmontis from Pandaroi. The other class, to\\nwhich mine belong, went into the tomb attached to\\nthe body.\\nThese little wooden tags are objects of no small\\ninterest. They are probably not older than the be-\\nginning of the Christian Era\u00e2\u0080\u0094 perhaps belong to\\nthe second century. They speak a mystery, the\\nmystery I have already indicated. Whatever the\\nmotive be of recording the age of the dead, it is\\ncertain that there has always been a prevalent idea\\namong men which has led to the placing with the\\ndead sometimes records, sometimes personal ob-\\njects. In countless cases we know that this idea\\nhas been an avowed belief in the immortality of\\nthe soul, and the added faith in a resurrection.\\nHas a like faith, sometimes so faint as to be un-\\nconfessed, led to the custom in all cases Did\\nthose who buried the son of Kales follow him in\\nvague imagination to the world of spirit, and thus,", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0135.jp2"}, "134": {"fulltext": "I20 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\nalmost unconsciously, regard his life as continuous,\\nunbroken, while they thought of this life in the\\nbody as only a section off from the beginning of\\nthe endless continuity? Is there in all these in-\\nscriptions an eloquence which those who made\\nthem did not clearly recognize which would be\\nmade plain by adding the word here? Julia\\nProcilla lived here nineteen years. If that were\\nthe inscription, or if that be the sense in which it\\nwas carved, then it ceases to be a rnere statement\\nof fact, and rises to the highest rank as a simple\\nand powerful epitaph. And it is quite probable\\nthat on Christian graves this is the true intent in\\nthe use of the word vixit lived.\\nWas Saraj^oderos one of the Christians of the\\nChurch of St, Mark Was this tablet-tag intended\\nto tell the Arab of later ages who should rob his\\ngrave, and me and all others to whom the inscrip-\\ntion should come, that he passed the first forty-\\neight years of his existence here, in what men call\\nliving, and then went to the other living, where\\nhe now is and will be forever\\nThat common epitaph:\\nAs you are now, so once was I,\\nAs I am now so you must be\\nbrought to mind an ancient inscription said to be\\nfound on a Roman tablet at Naples, Ftii non sum\\nest is non eritis nemo immortalise", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0136.jp2"}, "135": {"fulltext": "EPITAPHS AND NAMES 121\\nThe similarity and the immeasurable difference\\nbetween the two epitaphs is manifest Hie phi-\\nlosophy is in comparing the human minds, 2000\\nyears apart, which inscribed them on the tomb of\\nthe dead. In both the idea is a message, a voice,\\nfrom the dead to the living. In both is the sad\\nring of human consciousness of brief existence,\\nuniversal certainty of the close of this life. But\\nwhile the ancient ended his words with the pro-\\nfoundly gloomy no one is immortal, the modern\\nclosed his with the assurance of another life and\\nthe words follow me.\\nIn no custom of men is there more evidence of\\nthe community of mind, the sameness of qualities\\nin the soul, than in the custom of placing epitaphs\\nover the dead. Nor can we, I think, find in any\\nliterature more interesting illustration of the iden\\ntity of the race in all ages.\\nThere are ancient epitaphs which are identical\\nin sentiment with hundreds to be found in New\\nEngland and Old England graveyards. My notes\\ncontain many such. It is common enough in our\\ntime for parents to record in stone their grief, as if\\ndemanding sympathy in their affliction from even\\nstrangers, and the passers-by of future times. My\\ndarling, my darling, were four words which I\\ncopied from a child s gravestone one day, Our\\ndear little one, from another; scores of like ex-\\npressions you are familiar with. How like the sen-", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0137.jp2"}, "136": {"fulltext": "122 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\ntiment to that of ancient parents. At Aquileia,\\nages ago, Aurelius and Prima, father and mother,\\nmade a tomb for their Uttle AureUa, named doubt-\\nless for her father, and wrote on it Aurelice, animce.\\ndukissimcB quce vixit hi pace anfi, IIII. men. VI.\\ndiebus XXIIir\\nThey loved that sweetest soul. She lived\\nin peace, for they had made home peaceful, and\\nshe had brought peace with her in the household.\\nThey counted in memory every short year of the\\nfour, every moon of the six, and they treasured\\nwith devout love each hour of the twenty -three\\ndays which were last in the short life of their joy.\\nMany a modern father and mother have knowl-\\nedge of the emotion which led them to carve this\\nepitaph.\\nAnd that custom of recording even the days of a\\nbeloved life, ancient and modern, on innumerable\\nstones, reminds me, in passing, of an inscription at\\nRome which went still further, thus Vix, Ann.\\nXIX., M. II., D. IX.: horas scit neino She lived\\nnineteen years, two months, nine days, hours no\\none knoweth.\\nNot alone parents to children, but husbands and\\nwives to one another, and children to parents, placed\\nin ancient as in modern times, memorials of affec-\\ntion and respect, carved on stone for perpetuation.\\nAt Naples Proculus and Procillanus made a monu-\\nment to Marcia, Matri Sanctissimcs their most", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0138.jp2"}, "137": {"fulltext": "EPITAPHS AND NAMES 1 23\\nholy mother. Somewhere, I forget where, a Ro-\\nman husband said of his wife, on her gravestone,\\nNil wiquavi peccavit, nisi quod inortiia est She\\nnever did a wrong, except that she died.\\nIt is very rare indeed to find on a modern tomb-\\nstone a doubt of immortahty. Once I copied an\\nepitaph in which occurred the distinct assertion\\nthat the man who lay there believed in no God.\\nWhether he ordered the record, or another placed\\nit there without direction, I know not. I have a\\nnote of a Roman epitaph, Vixi et ultra vitam nihil\\ncrediiW I have lived, and I believed in nothing\\nbeyond this life. Another of two most sad\\nparents over a loved child expressed despairing\\ngrief in terms of bitterness We are cheated in\\nour votive offerings; we are deceived by time, and\\ndeath laughs at all our carefulness Anxious life\\ncomes to nothing.", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0139.jp2"}, "138": {"fulltext": "124 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\nXII\\nFINDING NEW COUNTRY\\nLeaving Franconia one may drive north or south,\\nas he pleases, until well away from the high mount-\\nains, and then take such direction as may tempt\\nhim. A mao;niticent drive is through Bethlehem,\\nWhitefield, Groveton, North Stratford, to Cole-\\nbrook, which is on the upper Connecticut River;\\nthence eastward across the State through Dixville\\nNotch to Errol on the Androscoggin thence along\\nthe west side of Lake Umbagog to Upton, and\\ndown the Bear River Notch to Bethel m Maine.\\nThis drive, easily accomplished in a week, is full\\nof delights. It is in large part through wild coun-\\ntry, but the roads are in general better than in the\\nmore southern country.\\nSouthward from the Profile House the road fol-\\nlows the Pemigewasset River and valley to Plym-\\nouth, some thirty miles. The traveller going tow-\\nards home in Massachusetts or elsewhere in the\\nlower country, may follow the river road to Bris-\\ntol and Franklin Falls, and then go down the\\nbank of the Merrimac through Concord. Or he", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0140.jp2"}, "139": {"fulltext": "FINDING NEW COUNTRY 1 25\\nmay take a route through the middle of the State,\\nover highland country, or he may cross the State\\nto the Connecticut valley, and go southward along\\nthat river.\\nIf in leaving the mountain country he desires to\\ngo nowhere in particular, only to wander along the\\nroads, he can do no better than to drive into north-\\nern Vermont. The direct route from Franconia is\\nthrough Littleton, and, crossing the Connecticut at\\nWaterford, to St. Johnsbury.\\nBy way of finding new country, I drove from\\nFranconia to Lancaster in New Hampshire.\\nFrom Lancaster we drove across the Connecticut\\ninto Vermont, and down the river. We did not\\nstart until afternoon, thinking not to go beyond\\nLunenberg Heights. That little village stands on\\na hill, with a grand view of the Franconia and White\\nMountain ranges, the valley of the Connecticut ly-\\ning some four or six hundred feet below, in the\\nforeground of the landscape. The air was smoky,\\nand we could not get all the extent of this grand\\noutlook. As the afternoon was not far advanced,\\nI decided to go on westward.\\nIf you will look at a map you will see that Lunen-\\nberg lies about forty miles south of the Canada line,\\nand due east of St. Johnsbury. Going northward\\nin Vermont you can follow up the valley of the\\nConnecticut to the Canada line by a road along the\\nriver, or you can follow up the valley of the Pas-", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0141.jp2"}, "140": {"fulltext": "126 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\nsumpsic River, from St. Johnsbury, and diverging\\nat West Burke, go north along the eastern side of\\nMount Annanance (on Lake Willoughby) to Island\\nPond, and thence on to Canada. Between these\\ntwo routes there is no northward route through this\\nnorth-eastern part of Vermont. Nor is there any\\npracticable road from east to west across any part\\nof this section. The road I was driving that after-\\nnoon, from Lancaster to St. Johnsbury, is the most\\nnorthern road in Vermont, going west from the\\nConnecticut River, across this part of the State.\\nThere was a poor road once along the track of the\\nGrand Trunk rail from North Stratford to Island\\nPond, but it has not been kept up as a summer\\nroad, and is not safe. There is a mountain road\\nacross from Guildhall to Burke, but it is so rough\\nthat only necessity should lead any one over it\\nvi^ith a light wagon. I have only to add that I do\\nnot recommend this road from Lunenberg to St.\\nJohnsbury.\\nTwo miles out from Lunenberg the road became\\nnarrow, and deep mud holes and deeper dry holes\\nwere frequent. Then it became rough and rocky.\\nThis is not an untravelled road. It is in constant\\nuse. We met fifteen vehicles heavy farm wagons,\\ncovered buggies, and others and the meeting in\\nnarrow passes, among rocks or mud holes, was se-\\nrious business. I suppose the condition of this\\nroad is due to the system of road-making by town", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0142.jp2"}, "141": {"fulltext": "FINDING NEW COUNTRY 1 27\\ntax. Lunenberg is not a rich town, is sparsely set-\\ntled, and this road, the most northerly cross-road\\nfrom St. Johnsbury to the Connecticut, is used\\nmore by non-residents than residents. It presents\\na strong argument for a new system of public\\nroads used by the public. When the States utilize\\nState prison and county jail labor on road-making\\nthey will have better roads, no dispute with labor\\nsocieties about prison labor, increase the taxable\\nvalue of farm property, and add to the intelligence\\nand home -loving character of the population, as\\nwell as add to the population. Railroads have\\ncursed and depopulated Northern New England.\\nGood wagon roads are needed for the restoration\\nof the country. What is true of this part of the\\ncountry is true in many other States of the Union.\\nThree hours of the golden afternoon it took me\\nto accomplish five miles. Then we entered the\\ntown of Concord. But the sun was setting, and\\nSt. Johnsbury was yet sixteen miles away. If the\\nroad were to be of the same sort we should hardly\\nget through at all in the dark so we began to\\nthink of a stopping -place. Two miles on we\\ndrove into a little saw-mill village at the outlet of\\nMiles Pond, famous for pickerel, and we were told\\nthat there was no inn in the village, but that trav-\\nellers were sometimes accommodated at the\\nhouse of a hospitable family, to which I drove. It\\nwas the last house in the village, a small, unpaint-", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0143.jp2"}, "142": {"fulltext": "128 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\ned, one-Story house, on the bank of the pond, and\\nthe tired horses gladly stopped on the grass before\\nthe door. A lady was sitting on the stoop, sewing\\nby the last of the daylight. Could they take care\\nof us for the night? She could not say; her hus-\\nband would be at home from the field very soon\\nshe could take care of us, but he would have to\\nsay whether he could take care of the horses. We\\nmust await his coming. So we threw blankets over\\nthe horses and waited. The twilight came down.\\nMy rod, as always, was lying in the carriage, and I\\nput on a large white fly and went to the shore of\\nthe pond. Two or three casts to get out line, then\\na long back cast, and\u00e2\u0080\u0094 my fly was on a telegraph-\\nwire which was high overhead behind me and the\\nleader went into a mass of raspberry-bushes along\\nthe bank which overhung the water. Telegraph-\\nlines are among the abominations of anglers. They\\npenetrate the wildest woods, and arrest one s cast\\nin the most unexpected places. I have left flies on\\ntelegraph-wires all over the world. No amount of\\nexperience serves to make one careful. Three suc-\\ncessive casts I left on a wire between Saltzburg\\nand Ischl. Now I put on another fly, and threw\\nit out among the stars, which were plenty and sil-\\nvery in the calm depths under the lily-pads. No\\npickerel should have been out so late, but there\\nwas one half-pound fellow who was still abroad,\\nand he took the fly and while I was landing him", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0144.jp2"}, "143": {"fulltext": "FINDING NEW COUNTRY 1 29\\nour host arrived, and said he could take care of the\\nhorses. So we went in, and were most kindl}^ and\\nhospitably treated. The little house held us com-\\nfortably. We had a broiled bird, eggs on toast,\\nand abundant doughnuts, and cakes of various\\nkinds, and milk in plenty for supper.\\nThe road was good next day through West Con-\\ncord to St. Johnsbury, where we dined, and that\\nevening we rested at Danville Green.\\nDanville Green will assuredly be better known\\nin future years. It is a little village on a lofty\\npiece of upland farming country, commanding a\\nmajestic view. The most striking feature in this\\nview is the eastern horizon, which is formed by the\\nNew Hampshire and Franconia mountains. Of\\nthese there is scarcely a known peak which, seen\\nfrom this angle, is not brought out separately\\nagainst the sky. Thus the White Mountain or\\nPresidential Range, from Madison and Adams to\\nthe Crawford Notch, and the Franconia Range\\nfrom the Crawford Notch to Lafayette and Kins-\\nman, are laid out in a succession of elevations,\\nwhile Moosilauke, at the extreme right, ends the\\nserrated horizon line.\\nJoe s Pond lies a mile or two to the westward of\\nDanville Green, and Molly s Pond a few miles far-\\nther to the west, on the road we drove towards\\nMontpelier. The waters of the former flow into\\nthe Connecticut, while the latter pours out in a fine\\n9", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0145.jp2"}, "144": {"fulltext": "130 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\nStream which is one of the heads of the Winooski,\\nor Onion River, emptying into Lake Champlain.\\nOn this outlet of Mollie s Pond is one of the\\nfinest cascades in the country. The stream, which\\nhas been rushing and roaring along its rocky bed,\\nsuddenly plunges down the hill into the valley in\\na white torrent. The fall may be 150 feet in height,\\nnot perpendicular, but over a series of steep, rocky\\nsteps. The forest overhangs it on both sides. If\\nyou are driving down the valley from Cabot your\\nroad passes directly in front of this magnificent\\nwater-fall. Were it in Switzerland it would have\\nwide renown. On the direct road leading from\\nDanville to Marshfield the cascade is not visible,\\nthough its roar comes out of the forest on your\\nright as you pass near it. The cascade is known\\nhereabouts as Molly s Falls. Molly s Falls are on\\nMolly s Brook, and Molly s Brook flows from Molly s\\nPond.\\nJoe and Molly are historical characters in the\\nCoos country. Joe was a young Indian from Nova\\nScotia who, on the practical destruction of his tribe\\nafter the siege of Louisburg, drifted to the St.\\nFrancois tribe, and made his home on the Connect-\\nicut where Newbury now is. He was always on\\nkind terms with the early settlers, and lived to a\\ngood old age, enjoying a pension from Vermont\\nuntil his death in 18 19. In his early days he took\\na wife (known to the whites as Molly) who had by", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0146.jp2"}, "145": {"fulltext": "FINDING NEW COUNTRY 131\\na former husband two sons named Toomalek and\\nMuxawuxal. The latter died. The former Uved to\\nbe a grief to his mother. He is described as a\\nshort, broad, fiendish-looking, bad Indian. He de-\\nsired for his wife a young girl, Lewa, who preferred\\nand married another. Whereupon Toomalek, watch-\\ning for his opportunity to kill the favored lover, now\\nthe husband, saw the two sitting by their camp-fire\\nin the evening, shot at the man and killed the wife.\\nThe Indians tried him by their law. Old chief\\nJohn, a renowed warrior, presided, and laid down\\nthe law that as Toomalek had shot at the husband\\nand missed him, he had committed no crime as\\nagainst him that as he had not intended to shoot\\nthe woman in shooting at the man, the occurrence\\nwas accidental so far as she was concerned. So\\nthey discharged him. But John lived to repent his\\nsmall knowledge of the distinct crimes of murder\\nand manslaughter. Toomalek shortly after killed\\nthe husband in a fray, and again went free, it being\\nadjudged that he acted in self-defence. It was old\\nJohn who saved him again by his legal acumen.\\nOld John s eldest and favorite son, Pial, with\\nother young Indians, was walking across the fields\\nnow in North Haverhill, when an exchange of\\nwords sprang up between him and an Indian girl.\\nShe whispered in Toomalek s ear, and he, turning\\nshort, drove his knife through Pial, then and there\\nkilling him, contrary to Indian and white law and", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0147.jp2"}, "146": {"fulltext": "132\\nALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\nthe peace of both communities. This time the\\nwhites undertook to administer justice, and they\\ndid it with a queer intermingUng of white and cop-\\nper-colored law and practice. The court Avas ap-\\nparently a town meeting, called at Newbury the\\nmorning after the murder, and the judgment of\\ndeath was unanimous, including the Indian law that\\nthe father of the murdered man must kill the mur-\\nderer. But first they sent a committee to consult\\nthe clergyman, whose approval being obtained, they\\nmade Toomalek sit down, and gave John a musket,\\nwith which he executed the judgment of private re-\\nvenge and public law on the son of Molly.\\nJoe and Molly were present at the execution,\\nburied the body themselves, and it is reported that\\nMolly, who had but lately wept long and bitterly\\nover the natural death of her other son, Muxa-\\nwuxal, shed no tears for Toomalek, nor was ever\\nheard to mention his name. During the War of the\\nRevolution Joe w^as always on the side of the colo-\\nnists was a great admirer of Washington; boasted\\nof a visit he once paid to the great father at New-\\nburg on the Hudson and of a kind reception there,\\nand was known to have such permanent hatred to-\\nwards the British that he w^ould never cross the\\nCanada line even in following moose through the\\nforests. His Indian friends could never persuade\\nhim to join the St. Francis tribe in Canada, nor\\nwhen once they stole Molly and carried her there", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0148.jp2"}, "147": {"fulltext": "FINDING NEW COUNTRY\\n^33\\nwould he go after her. She came back and died.\\nHe outlived her, and growing very old, received a\\npension of $jo per annum from Vermont until his\\ndeath in 1S19. When he died the Newbury people\\ndid him honor, laid him in the north-east corner of\\nthe burying-ground, and discharged over his grave\\nthe last load which the old Indian had placed and\\nleft in his gun. Says Mr. Powers (the historian of\\nthe Coos country, from whose book I have con-\\ndensed this story): with Captain Joe fell the last\\nof the Indians at Coosuck, that once fairy-land of\\nlong-slumbering generations.\\nYou will see that the names Joe s Pond and\\nMolly s Pond are sacred historical names. Some\\none will be trying t\u00c2\u00ae change them some day be-\\ncause they are not of pleasant sound. But they\\nshould stand.\\nWe dined at Marshfield, drove on to Plainfield,\\nand instead of keeping on to Montpelier turned\\nsouthward, crossing high hills with far views of the\\nmountains, and reached Barre at sunset.\\nAs I entered the village an old friend greeted\\nme. We had been together in many countries, and\\nhis greeting was the salutation of peace which is\\ncommon in the Orient.\\nWhy is it that English-speaking peoples of all\\nthe world have none of those beautiful forms of\\ngreeting when friends meet It is because of this\\ngreat lack in our language, or our customs, that", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0149.jp2"}, "148": {"fulltext": "134 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\ntravellers who have been in Oriental countries are\\nfond of using Oriental salutations. The American\\nor the Englishman, when he meets his clearest\\nfriends after a long or short separation, in ninety-\\nnine cases out of a hundred asks him, How do\\nyou do or How are you Perhaps he varies\\nit by saying, if surprised, Why, John Lovers\\nhave no more tender phrase when they meet in the\\npresence of friends than the same How do you\\ndo The physician or the clergyman coming to\\nthe bedside of the sick man or woman, like all\\nother friends, can only ask, How do you do\\nto-day? or, How do you find yourself? or\\nsome other vague inquiry always beginning with\\nhow.\\nIt is otherwise in parting. We have good old\\nphrases of benediction which we use, whether we\\nmean them or not. Why not some like phrases for\\nsalutation in meeting, like the old Romans, Good\\nhealth to you or, best of all, that salutation which\\nhas been used in the Orient with uninterrupted suc-\\ncession for thousands of years, Peace be with\\nyou.\\nWhat were the revisers of the Old Testament\\nabout when they failed to revise the King James\\ntranslation of that salutation repeatedly occurring\\nWhen the prophet met the woman whose boy lay\\ndead at home, he did not greet her in the vague\\nphraseology of the Englishman or the American,", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0150.jp2"}, "149": {"fulltext": "FINDING NEW COUNTRY 135\\nIs it well with thee? Is it well with the child?\\nNor did she answer with that cold word Well.\\nHe said, Is it peace with thee? Is it peace with\\nthe child and she said, with infinite calm and\\ntrust, It is peace.", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0151.jp2"}, "150": {"fulltext": "136 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\nXIII\\nBOYS WITH STAND-UP COLLARS\\nWhat boys those were! Looking about one in\\nthe Christmas-times in New York, and seeing the\\ncrowds of young people who are at home from\\nschool for the holidays, it is impossible not to con-\\ntrast the bo3^s of to-day in the city with those boys.\\nThis is not the pessimist s way of always thinking\\nthe old times better than the latter days. It is no\\nimaginary contrast. It is simply the demand of the\\nmodern boy, which he makes on you wherever you\\nmeet him, to examine and pronounce judgment on\\nhim. He challenges your opinion. His mother\\nsent him out into the street to challenge it. He is\\na work of art, and as such is set before you to be\\nadmired, with the expectation that you will look at\\nhim and pronounce on the quality of the art which\\nhas produced him. These little specimens of young\\nhumanity, with tight little trousers, tight little coats,\\ntight little white chokers around their necks, little\\ncanes in their hands and little thoughts m their\\nheads, arc correct representatives of the boys that", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0152.jp2"}, "151": {"fulltext": "BOYS WITH STAND-UP COLLARS 1 37\\nsome modern mothers are bringing up for the next\\ngeneration of men.\\nIt is a melancholy fact, which no father who has\\ndaughters can fail to recognize, that the girls of to-\\nday are in education and personal force of charac-\\nter much ahead of the boys. There are plenty of\\nhearty, bright, brilliant, sensible girls. Society has\\nnot spoiled them, with all its frivolities.\\nSociety is an essential part of this life. Those\\nwho abuse it with wholesale sweeping denuncia-\\ntions do not know what they are talking about.\\nThe purpose of education and life is happiness\\nhere and hereafter. She who has been so educated\\nthat she is able to be happy and hopeful and to\\nconfer happiness and hopefulness on those around\\nher is well educated. This life and the other life\\nare closely interwoven, and it is by no means nec-\\nessary to abandon this life for the sake of getting\\nready for that. The duties of this life are present\\nduties, and whatever be our social surroundings,\\nwhether in the informal associations of country soci-\\nety or in the settled formalities and splendid deco-\\nrations of city society, there are duties which men\\nand w^omen owe to one another. Those who in-\\nveigh against the evils of society would do well to\\nmeasure the certain results which w^ould follow the\\nabolition of that which they decry. Our civiliza-\\ntion rests for its support on the splendors and lux-\\nuries of life far more than on the utilities. Our", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0153.jp2"}, "152": {"fulltext": "138 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\ncharities, hospitals, missions, all derive their sup-\\nport from the wealth which is the product of our\\nsocial system. No mechanic, mason, carpenter,\\nhod-carrier, artisan, tradesman, whatever his em-\\nployment, whatever he produces or sells, would\\nhave a dollar to give to the church or the poor but\\nfor the fact that the rich wear rich apparel, live in\\ngorgeous houses, give brilliant receptions, enjoy the\\nsplendor of modern social life.\\nIn this social life, whether its brilliancy be that\\nof intellectual gatherings, or of dress and formality,\\nwoman has right to rule supreme. There is no\\nwork of art on earth, ancient or modern, more\\nbeautiful, more worthy of admiration, than a well-\\ndressed woman. If she were not a thing to be ad-\\nmired, the saint of old time, to whom were given\\nvisions of heaven, would not have likened the\\nHoly City to a bride adorned. The pathway to the\\nbetter country does not necessarily lie through the\\nwaste places of this life. Many saints there be\\nwho have walked it among all the splendors and\\nallurements of society. Mostly, I think, women,\\nnot men. x\\\\nd in our own day, it is undeniable\\nthat the young women in society are in general the\\nintellectual superiors of the young men. Some\\nparents look solely for wealth in selecting husbands\\nfor their daughters but I imagine these parents\\nare more rare than is commonly believed. And it\\nis certainly true that many judicious fathers and", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0154.jp2"}, "153": {"fulltext": "BOYS WITH STAND-UP COLLARS 1 39\\nmothers, recognizing the ability of their daughters\\nto be blessings and adornments of homes and of\\nsociety, are sadly occupied in measuring the visible\\ninferiority of the young men whom they see and\\nestimate side by side with their daughters.\\nWhat boys those were Can these little fellows,\\nwith tight collars and cravats at fourteen, ever\\nmake such men as those boys made. There is\\nsomething wholly inconsistent with development\\nof intellect in a tight stand-up collar around a boy s\\nneck. Freedom of physical action is certainly es-\\nsential to freedom of mind and thought. Fashion\\nimposes on men in society formalities of dress.\\nThe rules of society are proper and obedience is\\nnecessary; otherwise society would degenerate and\\nlicense destroy its system, which must be preserved.\\nTherefore men in society must dress as the rules\\nrequire, however ill be the taste which has made\\nthe rules. But boys are not in society and it is a\\nfearful blunder which mothers make in dressing\\ntheir boys as if they belonged to a social system,\\nor according to the rules of any such system, thus\\nteaching them to demand such dress as they grow\\nolder, and to regard it as a governing consideration\\nin life. Boys who dress in the style of some ab-\\nsurd-looking slips of humanity one meets nowadays\\ncan t possibly be boys. They are little automatons,\\nmimicking the solemnities of mature life, carica-\\nturing the sober realities of society.", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0155.jp2"}, "154": {"fulltext": "I40 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\nWhat boys those were I say it again. The\\nmemory of them comes with the fresh brilliancy of\\na December Christmas wind out of the north,\\nsharp, clear, with the sound of sleigh-bells and\\nshouts. Are there any like them now? Doubt-\\nless plenty but the modern schools, with gymna-\\nsiums for training the physical system, do not seem\\nto turn out one in three, or one in a dozen, such\\nboys as used to be in any high-class school in the\\ncountry. Tlie contrary is asserted. I don t be-\\nlieve it. Never did the system of old Greece,\\nwhich classed athletics among the three great\\nbranches of education, make more noble speci-\\nmens of young strength than our country schools\\ndid in old times, and perhaps now do. But these\\nare never the boys that wear tight things around\\nany of their muscles above all, never boys that\\nwear stiff stand up collars habitually. To be a\\ngreat boy is easier than to be a great man. It\\ncomes naturally with pure association, liberal use\\nof muscles as well as mind, freedom of feeling\\nwhich comes from freedom of clothing. It is easy\\nto spoil what would be a great boy if let alone.\\nPut him up to thinking much of how he looks when\\ndressed to go out, and the boy will turn out next\\nto worthless as a boy among boys, and have poor\\nprospects as a man.\\nPerhaps I mistake those boys of old time, and\\nthe glow which invests them is the deceitful light", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0156.jp2"}, "155": {"fulltext": "BOYS WITH STAND-UP COLLARS 141\\nthat memory sometimes creates like a halo around\\nthe things we loved long ago. But there is no\\nerror in the estimate one must make of a large\\nclass of boys in modern cities. There is good\\nstuff in them, but the vigor and force is taken\\nout of it between the ages of eight and fifteen.\\nThey have by that time no independence of char-\\nacter are, at their best, imitators, without self-re-\\nliance. It is a bad thing to make a boy s ambition\\nto be measured by what other boys do, his ideas of\\ntaste controlled by other boys ideas, his language\\nand conversation reduced to the slang of a set of\\nboys.\\nIf you have no other guide in conducting your\\nboy s life, good mother, take this Give him some-\\nthing to remember; keep him from all that he would\\nin mature life wish to forget. There is no more\\nprecious possession to the man than memories of\\nboyhood. They grow more precious with advan-\\ncing age. If it be possible, forbid in your boy s\\nlife that he shall ever look back from the serious\\nyears of maturity and have to say to himself,\\nWhat a httle fool I was in those days! All men\\nremember follies, and the honest follies of a boy\\nare pleasant memories, that one can laugh at and\\nremember joyously. But deliberate follies persist-\\ned in from year to year, through all the sunniest\\nyears of life, are not pleasant to look back at and\\nsaddest of all they will seem if the boy-man shall", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0157.jp2"}, "156": {"fulltext": "142 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\nhave to say, I was a foolish boy because my par-\\nents made me one.\\nAll this because of the group of country boys we\\nsaw at play in front of a school-house on the road-\\nside. They were stout, healthy, happy boys, and\\nsome of them will be men of mark hereafter.", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0158.jp2"}, "157": {"fulltext": "PILGRIMAGE ENDED\\n143\\nXIV\\nPILGRIMAGE ENDED\\nIt is a windy night. Elsewhere it might be\\ncalled a tempestuous night, but up in the north\\ncountry of New Hampshire we are used to high\\nwinds, and this is only a gale, not a tempest. The\\nforest is uttering thunderous voices, such as it al-\\nways utters when arguing with the wind. You can\\nfind resemblances to any and every sound you ever\\nheard in these forest sounds. Low voices in va-\\nrious tones mingle with the roar. Sitting here in\\nthe cabin, you will think them like whatever your\\nmind happens to be directed towards. I have been\\nreading a book therefore I hear the sound of the\\nsurf on a reef, and the whistling of the wind through\\nthe cordage of a ship, and the cries of people in\\nmany tones. I have been reading an account of a\\ntraveller landing from a ship at the port of Jaffa\\nancient Joppa the seaport of Jerusalem. They\\ncall it a port, but it is no port. The steamer anch-\\nors in the offing. If the wind be off shore you\\ncan go safely enough through the break in the reef\\nif the wind be otherwise, and be only a little fresh,", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0159.jp2"}, "158": {"fulltext": "144 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\nthe landing is difficult, sometimes impracticable.\\nSeveral times I have gone through the reef, and\\nfought my way up the steps into the crowd of\\nTurks, Arabs, and infidels on the shore street of\\nthat wretched Jaffa. The last time that I was there\\nI did not go ashore. The day was memorable, and\\ncomes back in memory whenever, as now, I read of\\nthe experience of travellers on their way to the Holy\\nCity.\\nWe were coming down the coast of the Levant\\non the Austrian Lloyds steamer. The only first-\\nclass passenger on board besides ourselves was a\\nGreek caloyer; but the deck of the ship was loaded\\nwith hundreds of poor pilgrims on their way to\\nJerusalem a crowd of men, women, and children\\nof various nationalities, mostly showing signs of ex-\\ntreme poverty, and all very far away from godliness\\nin the matter of cleanliness. It was difficult to\\nmake one s way along the deck without treading\\non arms or legs or children. Why do those poor\\npilgrims always take such crowds of children to\\nJerusalem\\nIn the cabin all was pleasant. The steamer was\\nof the first-class, and her table was of the best I\\never saw at sea. It was in consequence thereof\\nthat I made the acquaintance of the priest, our\\nonly fellow-traveller for at the dinner-table we sat\\ndown only five persons, of whom two were the cap-\\ntain and the ship s surgeon and when I praised a", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0160.jp2"}, "159": {"fulltext": "PILGRIMAGE ENDED 1 45\\ndish, the latter spoke, saying, We are proud of\\nour table, and think we have the best cook but one\\nin the Austrian Lloyds service.\\nYes, he is certainly a great cook but who is\\nhis superior?\\nHis father, who is one of the oldest cooks in\\nthe service, and has six sons, all cooks in the serv-\\nice, and two daughters married to cooks in the\\nservice.\\nA valuable family to the service, said a re-\\nmarkably gentle and yet strong voice at my side,\\nand I turned to look at the man who had just taken\\nhis place by me. He was a man of forty or forty-five,\\nfull six feet high, wearing the elevated black cap\\nof the Greek Church. His face was singularly at-\\ntractive and impressive, the features sharp cut, fore-\\nhead high, complexion surprisingly white and pure,\\neyes dark, full of life and full of benevolence. It\\nwas a face to fall in love with. The expression of\\nhis eye as my glance met his was winning, and his\\nwhole appearance that of power and saintliness\\ncombined. Somewhat such a man I think was the\\nApostle John. It is rare to meet one whose look\\nimpresses you thus with the thought that this man\\nis not of the world, worldly. I had prejudices\\nagainst Greek monks and priests, for most of those\\nthat one meets in Egypt and Syria are ignorant,\\nabsolutely dirty in dress and person, and generally\\nobjectionable but of this man I said at once he is", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0161.jp2"}, "160": {"fulltext": "146 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\na typical Caloyer, ^aXoQ yEpoQ a beautiful elder\\nin the Church and with a suddenness, of which I\\ndoubt not you remember examples in your experi-\\nence among men, I yielded myself to the charm\\nwhich drew me towards him. It soon appeared\\nthat he was a man of much learning as well as\\nmuch experience among men, and our conversa-\\ntion, commenced at the dinner-table, continued on\\ndeck until late in the night.\\nThrown by accident on a steamer loaded with\\nGreek pilgrims, he found work to do, and he did it\\nhere as everywhere, on his Master s service. He\\nseemed at once to know the case of every family\\nand group among them and though many were\\nuncouth and by no means gentle in their manners,\\nhe was rapidly recognized by all, or most of them,\\nas a good pastor, and was unwearying in his atten-\\ntion, especially to the sick and suffering, of whom\\nthere were not a few. When we came out from\\nBeyrout to run down the Phoenician coast, we met\\na sirocco, and there is no storm more trying. Hot\\nand fierce, the wind seemed to cut off your breath\\nas with a red-hot sword, and all day long the blue\\nseas went over the ship, half-drowaiing the misera-\\nble pilgrims who lay huddled in masses all over the\\ndeck. It was a brief luxury of rest when we ran\\nunder the lee of Mount Carmel and dropped anch-\\nor for an hour or two at Haifa.\\nIt is memorable now, in connection with what", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0162.jp2"}, "161": {"fulltext": "PILGRIMAGE ENDED 147\\nafterwards occurred, that we talked that evening of\\npilgrimages. He was making the pilgrimage. He\\nhad never seen Jerusalem, and was now devoutly\\ngoing to the Sepulchre. Across the plain of Es-\\ndraelon, which touches the sea near Haifa, we\\nlooked at the huge slopes of Lebanon, and I tried\\nto point out to him, among more distant mount-\\nains, the peaks of Tabor and Gilboa, the hills that\\nare around Nazareth, and the dark summit .of Lit-\\ntle Hermon, which looks down on the blue beauty\\nof the Sea of Galilee. And then we talked of pil-\\ngrims in old times, in all the ages, and spoke es-\\npecially of the exceeding bitterness of their disap-\\npointment who, after long journeys across Europe\\nand over the sea, reached the gates of Jerusalem,\\nand when the Saracens forbade their entrance, lay\\ndown and died under the very walls, never having\\nseen the Sepulchre.\\nThe sun went down in white dust, the desert\\nsand of Arabia flying over the sea before the siroc-\\nco, and the ship again plunged into the face of the\\ntempest. In the morning at daybreak we anchored\\nin the roadstead off Jaffa, two miles or so from the\\nshore, and the first fierce jerk of the ship at her\\nchain threatened to hurl everything out of her.\\nWhat an anchorage that was A tremendous sea\\nwas running. Under ordinary circumstances the\\ncaptain would not have anchored, but would have\\ngone on with his passengers to Alexandria. This", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0163.jp2"}, "162": {"fulltext": "148 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\nis sometimes, often, the luck of those who seek to\\nreach Jerusalem. But it lacked only a few da3^s of\\nthe Greek Easter, the great day of the pilgrimage,\\nand if carried on to Egypt, these hundreds of poor\\npilgrims would miss the chief object of their long\\njourney. So the good Austrian officer anchored,\\nand fired cannon to tell the Jaffa boatmen that it\\nwas for them to decide whether they would take the\\nrisk of coming out through the surf on the reef.\\nWe rolled and plunged and waited. About nine or\\nten o clock, the wind seeming to draw a little more\\ndirectly off shore, the shore boats began to appear\\nand disappear, rising and falling on the great waves\\nas they came towards the ship, and at length were\\nalongside. It was a fearful business to get into\\nthem, the steamer rolling over almost on her beam\\nends at every sea. With long delay and much dan-\\nger, boat after boat received a load of pilgrims and\\nluggage, and one after another went tossing shore-\\nward and safely passed the opening in the reef.\\nOn board were left fifteen or twenty timid wom-\\nen and men who had not dared the fearful descent\\nof the ship s ladder, and my friend, the priest, who\\nhad remained to the last to give them all his aid\\nand comfort. There was one queer little old wom-\\nan who passed the time in alternate shrieking,\\nlaughing, and crying. Ten times she essayed the\\nladder when the ship rolled to port, and rushed\\nback or tumbled back on deck when the angle", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0164.jp2"}, "163": {"fulltext": "PILGRIMAGE ENDED 1 49\\nchanged and the bottom step was ten feet above\\nthe boat. The priest gently encouraged her, but\\nin vain, and at last a sailor, watching his chance as\\nshe once more shrieked and fell back, seized her\\nin his arms, rushed down the steps and tossed her\\nlike a bundle into the boat. She was the last ex-\\ncept my friend. I took his hand, and we parted\\nwith many Oriental words of peace. He reached\\nthe boat, took his seat on a bench in the middle,\\nand as she swung across the stern of the ship on a\\nlong wave he bared his noble head, and with re-\\npeated waves of our hands, and words lost in the\\nstorm, we exchanged the last salutations. He looked\\nlike a pastor with his flock around him. Calm,\\nsilent, his forehead swept with the fierce sirocco\\nwind which he was facing, I followed them with\\nmy eyes, now on wave tops, now wholly lost to\\nsight. At length I used my glass a fine marine\\nglass it lies here to-night on the cabin table and\\nwith that I kept them steadily in view. The reef\\nwas a white wall of foam dashing high into the air.\\nAs they approached a narrow opening where a\\ndarker sea indicated the passage, the waves grew\\nshorter. Their boat appeared and vanished in\\nquick succession. Are they past the opening\\nI cannot tell; I think they are just in it. The\\nsea is awful. And the words were not uttered\\nwhen in the field of my glass I saw a terrible vision.\\nThe boat was lifted on a mass of water, it rose high,", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0165.jp2"}, "164": {"fulltext": "150 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\nand then suddenly I saw the bow thrown up, a\\nhideous confusion of men and women and children\\namong oars and baggage were hurled into the white\\nsurf on the reef, which leaped into the air trium-\\nphant, and I saw no more of them only the upturned\\nboat, floating, and tossed now and then into full\\nview, swept northward along the shore, and finally\\nwent on the sandy beach in the breakers a half-\\nmile north of the northern wall of the city.\\nSo seeking Jerusalem that is below, before his\\npilgrim sandals had yet touched the soil of the be-\\nloved land, my newly-made and newly lost friend,\\nthe good priest, found Jerusalem that is above,\\nthe mother of us all.\\nI have thought of him a thousand times since\\nthen, most frequently when in the forest on windy\\nnights. In the roar of the mountain storm which\\nrages around the cabin, mingled with the shrieks of\\nthe forest trees writhing and intertwining their giant\\narms, I recall that pale, calm face and commanding\\nform as the boat sweeps shoreward on the great\\nseas of the Mediterranean and while I see him\\nwave his hand, I can hear again and again and\\nao-ain, as I could not then hear what I knew he was\\nsaying, Salame, sala?ne, salavie, Peace, peace, peace.\\nAnd I know that in every tempest, on land or sea,\\nthe war of the elements is but a little agitation\\nwhich to our weak sense seems great. The mount-\\nain stands calm, though my cabin shakes in the", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0166.jp2"}, "165": {"fulltext": "PILGRIMAGE ENDED 151\\nStorm, and the surroundings which I have made\\nseem ready to be swept away. And the Peace of\\nJerusalem the peace that passes our understand-\\ning the peace whose blessing he gave me across\\nthe sea when he waved his white hand to me in the\\nsirocco blast that peace is more calm than the\\nmountain, more enduring than sea and shore, and\\nabides forever in the City of Peace whither he went\\nthat morning through the tempest.", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0167.jp2"}, "166": {"fulltext": "152 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\nXV\\nNON-RESISTANCE\\nIt is very difficult for the honest advocate of the\\ndoctrine of non-resistance to Uve up to his princi-\\nples. The duty of self-defence, the divinely-or-\\ndained right of the master of the house to forbid\\nthe spoiling of his goods, the self-evident law which\\ncommands every one to defend the weak against\\nthe oppressing strong, these are requirements which\\na man may honestly try to ignore, but which, unless\\nhe be a coward, he will never succeed in ignoring\\nwhen the trial of his faith comes. The sturdy non-\\nresistant, sturdy of soul as of body, who has yes-\\nterday defended a little child from the attack of a\\ndog, will to-day defend the same child from the at-\\ntack of a brute in shape of man, and to-morrow will\\ndefend his country and government against ene-\\nmies.\\nIn one of the villages through which we drove\\nyesterday was once a society called a non-resistance\\nsociety. Its members were men and women, good,\\nhonest, well-meaning people all of them. Its history\\nwas brief, but not altogether uneventful. It was", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0168.jp2"}, "167": {"fulltext": "NON-RESISTANCE 1 53\\nstrong in its principles, but it was from time to time\\nenfeebled by the failures of its members in prac-\\ntical life and when at last the Civil War began it\\nceased to exist, because some of its members\\nwent to fight for the Union, and all the others en-\\ncouraged them to go and rejoiced in their pa-\\ntriotism.\\nWhile it existed, and indeed long before it was\\norganized, Jabez Dickinson was known in the whole\\ntown as a steadfast advocate of the doctrine of\\nsubmission without forcible resistance.\\nHe was the village merchant, kept the village\\nstore, where he sold everything from silk ribbons\\nto tallow candles and sugar candies. He was not\\na deacon, but he was always named and know^n as\\nDeacon Jabe, because there was never known a\\nman who more firmly, boldly, and consistently as-\\nserted and practiced the doctrines of the Christian\\nlife. Universally loved and respected by the peo-\\nple, old and young, he had led a long life of peace\\nand quiet, doing good and getting good. And dur-\\ning this life he had been an unwavering non-resist-\\nant. He was not much of a talker. He seldom\\npreached. But in the store, where it was the cus-\\ntom of the men of the community to gather, espe-\\ncially on Saturday evenings, the nickname deacon\\nhad been given to him for years, and thence had\\ntravelled through the community. Seldom volun-\\nteering opinions, he was often appealed to for the", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0169.jp2"}, "168": {"fulltext": "154 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\ndecision of mooted questions. And if you do not\\nknow it, I can tell you that in the country store\\nthere are daily discussions of questions, moral, phil-\\nosophical, religious, and practical, in which at least\\nas much average good sound sense and logical\\npower is developed as in any meeting of any of the\\nmodern scientific associations, British or American.\\nAlways, however. Deacon Jabe had laid down and\\nadhered to his non-resistance principles, and this\\nin the face of much provocation to think and act\\notherwise. Many indignities he had suffered from\\nfellows of the baser sort, insults and personal\\nwrongs, always taking them meekly and without\\nresentment. In all the town there was but one\\nsupporter of his radical views, and he often wished\\nhe was free from that ally for Miss Almira Smith\\nwas a cantankerous talker and fighter, doing with\\nher tongue a perpetual war, offensive and defensive,\\nwhile she proclaimed the sinfulness of physical of-\\nfence or defence with any other muscles or member\\nof the human body. For, after all, it is but a ques-\\ntion of muscles, and the non-resistant who forbids\\nblows with the fist is often a conscientious dealer\\nof deadly blows with the voice.\\nThe deacon had received much and sore provo-\\ncation that week from Silas iMaxwell, the town bully,\\na fellow of powerful structure, who rejoiced in his\\nability to whip any man in the county. And he\\nhad fought many battles, not in sport, with invaria-", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0170.jp2"}, "169": {"fulltext": "NON-RESISTANCE 1 55\\nble victory. My story would be too long were I\\nto recite the talk on Saturday evening in the store\\nwhen Silas nagged Jabez and insulted him again\\nand again, presuming, and boasting that he pre-\\nsumed, on the deacon s non-resistance, which Silas\\nsaid was nothing but cowardice. He don t resist\\nbekase he daresent resist, said the bully, walking\\nacross the store and helping himself to a chunk of\\ntobacco, at the same moment opening a huge knife\\nwherewith to cut off a mouthful.\\nLittle Katie Wheeler was the deacon s grand-\\ndaughter, a lovely child, the joy of his life, sole de-\\nscendant of his dead wife and daughter. Katie\\nwas a sad invalid, but she had a well mind, never\\nill, never sickly. All day long she was in and out\\nof the store, always breezy and cheery, making per-\\npetual spring-time in the life of the lonesome man.\\nHer little chair stood where in the evenino:s she sat\\ntill her grandfather closed the door and she walked\\nhome with him. Every one loved Katie even Silas\\nMaxwell, brute though he was. As Silas took the\\ntobacco in his hand, Katie sprang from her chair\\nand snatched it away from him, saying, Silas\\nMaxwell, you sha n t steal granther s tobacco any\\nmore. The child s impulsive act and clear ring-\\ning voice were greeted with a shout from the fifteen\\nor twenty villagers in the store. The act, the word\\nsteal, and the approving shout roused the devil\\nin Silas, and, seizing Katie by the arm, he uttered", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0171.jp2"}, "170": {"fulltext": "156 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\na brutal oath as he raised his right hand with the\\nopen knife to strike.\\nJabez had kept his eye on the man, and up to\\nthis instant had been struggling to keep down what\\nhe believed to be his sinful desire to silence the\\nother s insolence with earthly weapons. Now, as\\nhe saw the knife raised, he was a converted man.\\nWell was it for Katie that her grandfather in the\\nlong-forgotten days of his sinful youth had been\\nmighty in battle, power residing in the muscles of\\nhis arms and shoulders, for which he had been fa-\\nmous when Silas Maxwell was a child. The dea-\\ncon s legs were like steel springs, and without wait-\\ning for his mind to direct them, they of their own\\nfree will launched him like a rock from a catapult\\nacross the store. The shoulder and arm acted\\nnext, for the deacon always declared that it was the\\nphysical body God had given him which acted for\\nitself when the closed fist dealt on the bridge of\\nSilas Maxwell s nose an awful blow. The bully\\nreeled backward one, two, three short steps and fell,\\nfull length, over a keg of nails.\\nJabez stood silent, while Silas gathered himself\\nup. He knew what was coming, and now he rea-\\nsoned within himself, swiftly but sufficiently. And\\nwhen the huge fellow rushed at him intent on\\ncrushing him, the old skill (he said it was learned\\nin the devil s service) now came to him for the\\nLord s service in the defence of himself and the", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0172.jp2"}, "171": {"fulltext": "NON-RESISTANCE 157\\nchild and the just punishment of that ruffian. Silas\\nMaxwell had for the first time met his master.\\nThose trip-hammer blows of Jabez Dickinson s tre-\\nmendous fist live in the village traditions. There\\nwere but three, or at the most four, of them, with\\nthe right arm first, with the left arm second, the\\nother arm stopping the puny thrusts of the bully.\\nAnd so it came about that Jabez drove Silas across\\nthe store till he stood with his back to the window,\\nopen to the floor. When he had him there he\\ndealt one more and final blow, right between the\\nbig man s eyes, a blow backed up with a continu-\\nous thrust from all the weight of his body, which\\nthrew the ruffian off his feet, heels overhead through\\nthe window. The mill-race ran close under that\\nwindow. The deacon knew it, and had been think-\\ning of it all the forty seconds or less between the\\nfirst rush of Silas and his final exit. Go out,\\nsome on ye, and take him out. I kinder think he s\\ngot enough of it, said Jabez, very calmly, as he\\nsat down and took Katie on his knees and kissed\\nher.\\nThere was silence and awe in the store for a few\\nmoments. Then some one came in and said that\\nSilas reckoned he had got enough, and had gone\\nhome. Silas was converted then and thencefor-\\nward.\\nNot so the deacon. He was, like all non-resist-\\nants under like circumstances, in some danger of", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0173.jp2"}, "172": {"fulltext": "158 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\nrelapse into his old folly. I have not space to re-\\nlate at length how his new sentiments became fixed.\\nIt came about in this way Miss Smith made a\\ndescent on him the next day and poured out on\\nhim the vials of her peculiarly unpleasant wrath for\\ngoin back on non-resistance. He listened in\\nsilence. Again and again, and again, alone and in\\npresence of whatever people might be in the store,\\nthat inexpressible and intolerable female rated Ja-\\nbez. And Jabez became hardened. At last he\\ndeliberately macle up his mind that resistance to\\na male bully like Silas had been a religious duty,\\nand, as a corollary, that resistance, duly measured\\nfor the case, to a female bully like Almira Smith,\\nwould be a virtue. So he prepared a trap, and one\\nday when Almira was coming down the street, and\\nJabez knew that her entrance and assault on him\\nwere as certain as foreordination, he set the trap,\\nJabez, said the sharp voice, as its owner en-\\ntered the store, Jabez Dickinson, it repeated, as\\nshe crossed the floor. Look out, Almiry, said\\nthe deacon; stop jist there or you ll spill some-\\nthin\\nWhat are you talkin about. Deacon Jabez\\nDickinson, said the keen, piercing voice. I ve\\ncome in because I can t find it in me to pass by\\nwithout warnin you At that moment there\\ndescended around Almira Smith a cloud of fine\\nblack pepper. It began gently, and she interrupted", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0174.jp2"}, "173": {"fulltext": "NON-RESISTANCE 1 59\\nher tirade with a sneeze. She tried to resume, but\\nthe more she tried the more she sneezed, and the\\nclouds gathered thicker around her. Sneezing and\\ndignity are incompatible. Continuous sneezing is\\nincompatible with self-respect or self -admiration.\\nAlmira had no idea of charging her convulsive\\naffliction to the deacon s new doctrine of resist-\\nance to vocal and other physical assaults. She\\nabandoned the field she sneezed along the road\\nhome she sneezed all night.\\nAnd Jabez chuckled, and kept his secret, and\\nlived, and is living now, a sensible man. Ye see,\\nhe said, in confidence, I could a stood Silas, and\\nif he d a come back I d a told him I was sorry.\\nSilas came in, and before I got a chance he told me\\nhe was sorry, and I kind o concluded I had been\\ndoin right. But the nat ral man couldn t stand\\nAlmiry Smith.", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0175.jp2"}, "174": {"fulltext": "l6o ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\nXVI\\nSONGS OF THE AGES\\nI HAD driven into the village the evening before.\\nI knew no one there. The inn was clean and neat\\nthe stable was good my horses and myself had a\\nquiet Sunday rest. In the church in the morning\\nwas the usual slim congregation, thirty or forty peo-\\nple. Notice was given of a service of song at\\nthe school-house in the evening.\\nIt was a small room, and crowded. The kero-\\nsene lamps gave a dim light and a vile smell.\\nThere were more people there than had been in\\nthe church in the. morning. The room was very\\nhot. A lady presided at the melodeon, facing the\\nassembly. For a while she led, by playing one and\\nanother tune of her own selection. Then she asked\\nany one to propose hymns or songs, and voices\\nwould be heard calling out this or that page of the\\nhymn or song book they were using. When a page\\nwas so called she would at once turn to it, and\\nthey sang together it was good singing. They\\nknew the words and tunes, and sang with spirit\\nand appreciation. There were some harsh, some", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0176.jp2"}, "175": {"fulltext": "SONGS OF THE AGES l6l\\nreedy, some sweet voices. All together were me-\\nlodious. It was a pity, as it is everywhere in the\\nnorth country, that the words they sang were most-\\nly doggerel rhymes which have become popular of\\nlate years, and have demoralized the hymnology of\\nmany parts of the country.\\nAt length the lady left the melodeon, and a man s\\nvoice broke the temporary silence which followed.\\nHe was praying. I sat near the door, and could\\nsee no faces. No one knelt or bowed a head. It\\nis not the custom up there. His prayer was short,\\nsimple in diction, several times ungrammatical, but\\nit was heard, I doubt not, for it was earnest, elo-\\nquent, beseeching in its tone the prayer of one\\nwho felt deeply the load of this world s weariness,\\nand whose faith was absolute in the promise of his\\nMaster, which he cited: Thou didst say that if\\nwe would come to Thee we should have rest. Give\\nus rest, O Lord Amen.\\nThen there was silence again, and a woman s\\nvoice broke it. It was not a pleasant voice. It\\nwas somewhat nasal, a little sharp and shaky, and\\nperhaps querulous in tone. She only sang a word\\nor two alone, and then another, and then all the\\ngathering joined her in that wonderful hymn, Art\\nthou weary, art thou languid?\\nThere was something very moving, very thrilling\\nin the utterance of the hymn by that group of up-\\ncountry people. They were one and all hard- work-", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0177.jp2"}, "176": {"fulltext": "1 62 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\ning men and women, to whom life is the perpetua-\\ntion of the curse labor for bread. The touching\\nwords in which Dr. Neale clothed the sentiment of\\nthe hymn entered into their souls. There was all\\nthe eloquence of which the human voice is capable\\nin the way they sang, with suppressed, inquiring,\\nalmost doubting voice,\\nIf I still hold closely to Him,\\nWhat hath He at last?\\nand a swelling triumph of assurance as they poured\\nout the response,\\nSorrow vanquished, labor ended,\\nJordan passed\\nMusic is not to be measured by any arbitrary\\nrules of the musical world. I have often heard\\nvesper song in St. Peters. I have heard a Te\\nDeum in Notre Dame, sung to God and to\\nthe emperor and empress. There was never mu-\\nsic which ascended to Heaven more musical\\nthan that song in the little New Hampshire school-\\nhouse.\\nAs I walked along the dark country road in a\\ndrizzling rain, stumbling over stones, and once\\nbringing up short against the end of an open gate,\\nI heard the voices of young people coming behind\\nme. One said Girls, who wrote that last hymn\\nwe sung? I m sure I don t know, said another.", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0178.jp2"}, "177": {"fulltext": "SONGS OF THE AGES 1 63\\nIt was not exactly the thing for a stranger to speak\\nout in the darkness and tell them. But I went on\\nto my inn, thinking on this wise\\nIt is the fashion to speak ill of the ages called\\nDark Ages. By reason of the bitterness of theolog-\\nical controversy the Protestant world is very gen-\\nerally imbued with the idea that for a long and\\nsomewhat indefinite period before the sixteenth\\ncentury the European world and all the rest of the\\nworld was in a state of sin and iniquity degraded\\nin intelligence, in arts and in religion that every-\\nbody went to the bad. The myth of the Dark\\nAges is still believed in.\\nOut of those ages we have an abundant brilliant\\nliterature, as glorious art, as pure religion as our\\nown age can boast. There was no more darkness\\nthen than now. There were weak men and great\\nmen, good men and wicked men, in the church and\\nout of it, then as now.\\nIt is the fashion to ridicule the hermits and\\nmonks of the early ages. There were dirty hermits\\nand dirty monks abhorring water and rejoicing in\\nuncleanliness. We meet such men, called clergy in\\nRoman and in Protestant churches, nowadays. But\\nthere were monks and hermits of another sort,\\ntoo, as there are Roman and Protestant clergymen\\nnow, men of holy life and labor, whose works have\\nfollowed and will follow them on earth and forever\\nhereafter.", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0179.jp2"}, "178": {"fulltext": "164 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\nFrom the dark road through the Uttle New Hamp-\\nshire village my vision went to a great gorge in the\\nmountains where the Kedron pours its floods in the\\nrainy season, plunging downward from Jerusalem\\nto the Dead Sea. The rocky walls of the narrow\\ngorge, broken and irregular, rise two or three hun-\\ndred feet above the noisy bed of the stream. Here,\\nin caverns and hollows of the rocks, perching like\\neagles on the sides of the chasm, one and another\\nman, weary of the world, came and made for him-\\nself a hermitage, a hole, with what shelter the over-\\nhanging cliff might give him. After a while path-\\nways, difficult and dangerous, along the ledges, led\\nfrom one s miserable abode to that of another. So\\na community was formed, a sort of hermit village,\\nand its fame went abroad for there were great\\nmen, learned men, noble men, who gave up the\\nworld and sought repose and oblivion in the gorge\\nof the Kedron. Thus grew the famed monastery\\nof St. Sabas, once the most powerful monastery in\\nthe Eastern Church. Here in the eighth century\\ncame John of Damascus, last and not least of the\\nGreek Fathers of the Church and Cosmas of Jeru-\\nsalem, Cosmas the melodious, poet and holy man,\\nwhose songs are sung in all lands where Christians\\nsing. And with them was one Stephen, of whom we\\nknow little more than that he was a Sabaite, and\\nhence is called St. Stephen the Sabaite. These all\\nwrote in Greek. St. John Damascene wrote the", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0180.jp2"}, "179": {"fulltext": "SONGS OF THE AGES 165\\nResurrection Hymn, which is known in Dr.\\nNeale s translation\\nFrom death to life eternal,\\nFrom earth unto the sky,\\nOur Christ hath brought us over\\nWith hymns of victory.\\nI wonder who was Stephen. He lived long, long\\nago more than a thousand years ago. He was a\\nman, and therefore he had sorrow and labor, and\\nwas heavy laden. He found rest, remembering the\\nMaster s invitation. He remembered the very words\\nof it, as St. Matthew had recorded them, Come\\nunto me all ye that labor; KOTnovreQ was the word,\\nYe laboring ones. He wrote an exquisitely\\nsimple and beautiful song beginning Koiroi re kch\\nKctfiaTor labor and weariness and it touched\\nthe hearts of the good Christians of that and all\\nthe after ages in the Eastern Church. Yes, my\\nfriend, there were good Christians in the Eastern\\nand in the Western Church, in all those times.\\nShake off the superstition that has enthralled you\\nabout the Church, and don t any longer imagine\\nthat all the people that have lived in Europe from\\napostolic times down to Luther s day are damned.\\nYou may find in heaven as large a proportion of\\nsouls out of what you call the Dark Ages as out of\\nthis age. There is no more sign of the millennium\\nnow than there was then.", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0181.jp2"}, "180": {"fulltext": "1 66 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\nIt was not a great many years ago that Dr. Neale\\ntranslated, or perhaps rather reproduced the senti-\\nment of the hymn of Stephen the Sabaite in our\\ntongue. And it entered the hearts of EngHsh\\nspeaking and singing and praying people, and\\ntouched the hearts of many who had not sung or\\nprayed before so that now all over the world they\\nsing:\\nArt thou weary, art thou languid,\\nArt thou sore distressed\\nCome to me, saith One, and coming,\\nBe at rest!\\nI do not think there is any subject more worthy\\nthe philosopher s consideration than this presented\\nto me in the school-house in a New Hampshire vil-\\nlage by the dim light of two kerosene lamps, listen-\\ning to the voices of weary men and women singing\\nthe song which Stephen the Sabaite wrote, a thou-\\nsand years ago, in the deep gorge where the Ked-\\nron pierces the wilderness, hurrying down to the\\nSea of Death. If I did not believe in any God I\\nshould feel bound to inquire into that sameness of\\nhuman character, suffering, wearying, wanting the\\nsame in old Palestine, the same in Russia, Greece,\\nAsia, Europe, America, and that oneness with wlwch\\nthe monks of St. Sabas and the young girls of New\\nHampshire hold firm and unwavering the faith that\\nwas delivered to the saints.", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0182.jp2"}, "181": {"fulltext": "IGNOTUS 167\\nXVII\\nIGNOTUS\\nThe road was across an open country. The hills\\nwhich skirted the western horizon were wooded to\\ntheir summits only one massive peak of bare rock\\nrose above the fringe of trees and stood out strong\\nand almost black against the evening sky. The\\nvalley through which I was driving was very rich\\nand fruitful. The farms were well kept, the farm-\\nhouses neat and comfortable, the barns and out-\\nhouses indicating by their appearance the thrifty\\ncharacter of the agricultural population. There\\nwas for several miles no house which did not stand\\nin a group of trees, whose great trunks and spread-\\ning branches were proof of considerable age in the\\nhome location under their shade. At length I\\ncame where on each side of the road was a row of\\nelms, large old trees, and soon to a group of houses.\\nThe road widened and parted into two roads, with\\na broad green between them. The elms were more\\nabundant, scattered here and there on the green.\\nA small church, with rows of horse-sheds behind it,\\na house which could not be mistaken for any other", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0183.jp2"}, "182": {"fulltext": "1 68 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\nthan the parsonage, a store in front of which hung\\nthe sign Post-office, and about a dozen other\\nhouses formed the village.\\nBefore we reached the church the road passed\\nthe church-yard. A low stone-wall separated it\\nfrom the road-side foot-path. It was easy, as the\\nhorses walked, to read the inscriptions on many\\nheadstones. It is always interesting to do this,\\nfor the mere sake of the names, both the surnames\\nand the Christian names. I have given you lists\\nof peculiar names thus perpetuated, which I have\\nfound in country graveyards. One acquires the\\nhabit of catching a name quickly, even at a distance\\nand on a discolored stone. So as we passed along\\nI read aloud one and another and another name,\\nmost of them old Bible names, now and then a\\nstrange name, doubtless a home invention.\\nI read aloud Samuel, Hepzibah, Bezaleel, Marina,\\nIsaiah, Ichabod, Ignotus\u00e2\u0080\u0094 and as I read the last\\nname I said Whoa to the horses. Surely that\\ncould not be a man s name. I leaped over the low\\nwall and went to the grave which was near it. The\\nstone was a low, black-slate slab, on which green\\nand gray lichens were growing in such density that\\nthe original color was invisible except near the top\\nwhere the slab was cleaned, evidently with care, so\\nas to leave the word Ignotus plainly legible.\\nAnd there was no other word on the stone.\\nOf course I was interested in this and you will", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0184.jp2"}, "183": {"fulltext": "IGNOTUS 169\\nreadily imagine the succession of thoughts which it\\naroused. At first I took it to be the grave of one\\nwho, possibly knowing of the celebrated Miserimus\\ninscription, had directed the expression of utmost\\nhumility to be placed over his ashes. While I was\\npondering on this an elderly gentleman came along\\nthe road, and seeing where I was standing, paused\\nat the wall. As I looked up he fixed his eyes on\\nme with an expression which said as plainly as\\nwords could say, You would like to know what\\nthat inscription means I took him at his word\\nor at his eyes and said, Can you tell me any-\\nthing about this stone\\nEverything about the stone, was the reply,\\nvery little about the dust that lies below it.\\nThen no one knows whose grave this is\\nPrecisely so. The inscription and the grave-\\nmound together tell all that can be told. The\\nmound is long. The inscription is in the mascu-\\nline. The two tell you that an unknown man lies\\nbelow.\\nMay I ask who ordered the stone and the in-\\nscription\u00e2\u0080\u0094for I fancy most if not all the other in-\\nscriptions here are in the English language\\nYes, most of them not ahvays the best of\\nEnglish. I had this stone cut and set here. The\\nstone-cutter didn t understand it. As a rule the\\npeople around here don t know what it means.\\nPardon me. I should introduce myself. I am the", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0185.jp2"}, "184": {"fulltext": "lyo ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\npastor of these people. Most of the sleepers here-\\nabouts were of my flock. The living are my care\\nnow. These are in God s care.\\nAnd this man he was not of your flock, I take\\nit?\\nNo and 3^es. If the shepherd find a stray\\nsheep in ill condition, he should surely care for the\\npoor beast, and make it one of his flock till it goes\\nto its master. So it was with this man and myself.\\nHe came into the village one dark night forty years\\nago. He was ragged, dirty, old. There was a tav-\\nern then over yonder. The landlord found him\\nlying on the ground in front of his door. He was\\na good Samaritan, my old friend Hezekiah Bolter\\nyonder is his grave. God give him rest He took\\nthe man in and sent for the doctor, and the doctor\\nsent for me. But the man was past help from\\neither of us. He showed no signs of conscious-\\nness until after some powerful stimulus which the\\ndoctor administered. Then he murmured a little.\\nBut he never opened his eyes. We stayed by him\\nfor hours. His murmurs took the form of short\\nsentences, and these sentences were Latin. When\\nthey were complete I recognized some of them.\\nThey were familiar passages, now from Virgil, now\\nHorace, now Juvenal. Were these memories of his\\nboyhood, or were they the utterances of a mind fa-\\nmiliar, as a teacher s might be, with the Latin authors\\nused in schools and colleges We did not discuss", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0186.jp2"}, "185": {"fulltext": "IGNOTUS\\n171\\nthe matter then, but much afterwards and while\\nthe doctor maintained that the man was probably a\\nteacher, I held to the theory that he was recalling\\nmemories, quoting passages which he had not\\nthought of for years. We had, neither of us, any-\\nthing on which to base our arguments which is all\\nthe better for freedom of discussion. He died be-\\nfore morning. There was nothing in the pockets\\nof his ragged clothing. We could learn nothing\\nabout him, and there was nothing to do but to\\nbury him. I ordered the stone the doctor paid\\nfor it.\\nSuch was in brief, almost in full, the narrative\\nwhich the good old man gave me, as we walked\\nalong to the gate by the side of the church, he on\\nthe outside, I on the inside of the wall. We met\\nat the gate, and I ventured there to take his hand.\\nThe words he had spoken were a simple story, but\\nthere was a quaintness and earnestness in his tones\\nwhich had quite won me. I am not sure that there\\nare many pastors now (I know there is one) whom\\nyou would expect to hear of as staying all night by\\nthe side of a dying pauper, hoping for one interval\\nof consciousness wherein he might give to the poor\\nsoul light for the dark road on which it was travel-\\nling. I ventured somewhat more, after I had taken\\nhis hand. I said, And when you buried him you\\nprayed for him.\\nWhy do you think that", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0187.jp2"}, "186": {"fulltext": "172 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\nBecause just now you prayed for the repose of\\nthe soul of Hezekiah Bolter.\\nAh, so I did; and so I do very often. What\\nwould be the lonesomeness, what would be the in-\\ntolerable bereavement of this life of mine, of life in\\nthis world for you or me or any one, if we believed\\nthe dead were all gone out of the universe of God,\\nout of his reach, into an unknown domain where\\nthey do not need a God, and prayer is vain. I have\\nbeen in the cure of souls here for almost fifty years.\\nThe catalogue of those for whom it has been my\\nduty to labor and to pray is larger on these stones\\nand in these unmarked graves than in my list of\\nthe living. I never gave them up while they were\\nhere. I never gave up praying for them when they\\nwent out of the reach of my care.\\nAnd it seems to me you care somewhat for their\\ngraves. I suppose it is your care which has kept\\nthat word Ignotus so legible.\\nYes. I have never passed that grave without\\nsaying to myself, Ignotus, Ignotus who was he,\\nwho is he, where did he go I don t know, but\\nGod knows. Lord have mercy on him\\nAs I drove on in the gathering twilight I consid-\\nered what I had heard. There was something very\\npathetic in the story of the ragged wanderer who\\nhad left all that had been his in some part of the\\nworld and died unknown. But it is much the same\\nwith all of us. It is only a question of time how", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0188.jp2"}, "187": {"fulltext": "IGNOTUS 173\\nsoon the memory of every man s name and the\\nplace of his burial will be forgotten. If you look\\nback two hundred years you wall astonish yourself\\nby finding how few graves of the dead of two cen-\\nturies ago are known by monument. If you go\\nback a thousand years the number is very small.\\nIf you seek the graves of mighty men or renowned\\nwomen of the more ancient time, say three thou-\\nsand years ago, you will find, except in Egypt, few\\nif any besides the cave of Machpelah at Hebron\\nand the tomb of Rachel on the way-side between\\nJerusalem and Bethlehem.\\nAnd the names of men are forgotten. They are\\nmerged in other and strange sounds. It is not at\\nall certain that our pronunciation of those which\\nhave been handed down to us in phonetic charac-\\nters is remotely correct For all purposes of iden-\\ntification you might as well call the great Macedo-\\nnian Smith or Thompson as Alexander, pronouncing\\nthe word Alexander as moderns pronounce it.\\nThe Saracens call it Iskander. They are as near\\nright as we are. But it is not alone the names which\\nvanish. The greater the man the more certain it\\nis that a doubting generation will arise who will\\npronounce the name and the man creatures of im-\\nagination, pure myths. Homer has but a shadowy\\nexistence as a person. The greatest name in his-\\ntory is that of Moses, giver of laws not only to Israel\\nbut to the whole race of civilized men to-day. And", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0189.jp2"}, "188": {"fulltext": "iy4 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\nthere are plenty of men of this age in which folly\\nflourishes, who deny that there ever was a Moses.\\nSo the time may come when Washington will be\\nthe name of a shadow as unsubstantial as that of\\nWilliam Tell, and men will And in the fact that\\nmany peoples have legends of great and good lead-\\ners satisfactory evidence that no one of them ever\\nhad such a leader in veritable flesh.", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0190.jp2"}, "189": {"fulltext": "SEEKING A BETTER COUNTRY 1 75\\nXVIII\\nSEEKING A BETTER COUNTRY\\nIt was certainly as beautiful a spot for a home as\\none could find in this world. A rolling country,\\nwhere the hills were sometimes crowned with maple\\nforests in autumnal splendor of colors, sometimes\\ncultivated to and over their ridges, yellow corn-\\nfields glowing with vast heaps of orange colored\\npumpkins, pasture lands in which good cattle were\\nfeeding leisurely, brush lots crimson with sumach,\\nexcept where rich blue asters made spots of the\\nearth to look like spots of the sky.\\nBut its beauty had not caused it to be thickly in-\\nhabited, had not even kept the population here\\nwhich had once found homes in the valley for as\\nmy horses walked slowly up the hill road we ap-\\nproached a house which, at a little distance off,\\nlooked picturesque and pretty, but as we came\\nnearer was found to have only the beauty of ruin.\\nIt was a deserted farm-house.\\nThere is sometimes beauty in ruin. Nature oc-\\ncasionally takes hold of the works of men s hands\\nand shapes and decorates them to be very beautiful.", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0191.jp2"}, "190": {"fulltext": "176 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\nThis old house had been a low story-and-a-half ten-\\nement, painted red. The red had faded and been\\nwashed into a score of tints, which only old tapes-\\ntries and embroideries can match. Wild -cherry\\nbushes, growing close around it, were trying to\\nmatch them, and in trying made with their leaves\\nvery delicate and very surprising variations and con-\\ntrasts! There was a spot of brilliant color which\\ncaught my eye long before I reached the house, and\\nwhen I came up to it I discovered that a young\\nmaple had sprung up in the shattered door-step,\\nand filled the doorway with its foliage, mostly of a\\nlike color with the house, only there was a bunch\\nof leaves at the top, all as golden as gold.\\nDeserted farm-houses in New England are all\\nalike in the most prominent features, generally re-\\nsembling each other in many minute details. For\\nthe life in them was very much the same, and the\\nlife in the house gives specific character to the sur-\\nroundings. The worn spot on the little piazza of\\nthe kitchen end, or L, is again and again visible,\\nthe spot where the farmer sat down daily for a little\\nwhile when he took the very short rest which the\\nfarmer can afford to give himself in daylight. The\\nmarks on the inside of the window-seat are almost\\nalways there, made by the broken mugs and tea-\\npots and the cans and boxes in which his wife kept\\nher flowers growing when frost drove them in-doors\\nfor the winter. Her garden is always there, and I", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0192.jp2"}, "191": {"fulltext": "SEEKING A BETTER COUNTRY 1 77\\nknow a place where I go and gather roses some-\\ntimes from bushes in a dense tangle, which were\\nthe garden roses of a farm-house that utterly van-\\nished more than fifty years ago.\\nI drove on, still slowly uphill, and after a little\\nsaw the customary burial -ground, enclosed by a\\nstone-wall, only a few rods from the road-side. Go-\\ning to it I found four upright stones, and on one\\nof them read a name, and an inscription which was\\nsomewhat startling But now they desire a better\\ncountry.\\nWhy do so many people make the mistake of ex-\\npecting to find that better country by going off on\\nrailways There is nowhere on earth a better\\ncountry than this Northern New England country.\\nWhen we get a reasonable amount of common-\\nsense into legislatures and law-makers when they\\nget to realizing what a good country theirs is, and\\nhow good it can always be if they will preserve the\\nglory of their forests from the axe and the purity\\nof their streams from the saw-mill, it will be safe for\\nany one to make a home in it for the time he must\\nspend among the things that are uncertain.\\nVermont and New Hampshire are becoming\\nwide-awake to the extensive abandonment of farms\\nand the gradual decrease of the best element in the\\npopulation. The people are inquiring into the\\ncause, with a view to finding a cure for the dis-\\nease. It is a disease, and it is a disease which", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0193.jp2"}, "192": {"fulltext": "178 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\naffects the community and the State by affecting\\nindividuals.\\nThe inscription on that gravestone suggests the\\nexplanation of the disease. Those old people who\\nare never going to travel off in search of a new\\nhome in the Far West were contented and happy\\nenough in the red farm-house, looking for a better\\ncountry beyond all seas, all possibilities of travel in\\nthe flesh. Later generations were not contented.\\nLife was hard, and they thought to find a place\\nwhere it would be easier. They went to a large\\ntown, to a city, to the West, It is beyond a doubt\\nthat they went to less happiness, to harder labor,\\nwith smaller reward. Not one in ten bettered his\\ncondition by the going. If you had known the per-\\nsonal history of as many country families who have\\nmoved away from the old places as I have known,\\nyou would understand why I am so ready to affirm\\nthat the great body of New England emigrants who\\nhave gone away from these farms have done worse\\nthan they would have done had they remained in\\nthe old homes.\\nIs it probable that the efforts now made to turn\\nthe tide of emigration and lead it into instead of\\nout of New Hampshire and Vermont will succeed\\nWhy not The land is fruitful and beautiful.\\nThe climate is wholesome and enjoyable. What is\\nthere to keep people away Nothing, except that\\nvague idea which is so universally deceptive that", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0194.jp2"}, "193": {"fulltext": "SEEKING A BETTER COUNTRY 1 79\\nthe better country, where one may grow rich v/ith\\nease, may live well without much labor, lies far off\\nat the end of a railway or a steamer journey.\\nThere are some characteristics of American fam-\\nilies in which they differ greatly from people of\\nother countries. One of these is in their ideas of\\nwhat form the necessaries of comfortable life.\\nThat which goes to the daily support of a humble\\nfamily in America would support in luxury two or\\nthree or more families in the same social position\\nin old countries. There are a hundred considera-\\ntions which an American has in selecting a home\\nwhich no European would stop to think of. I do\\nnot find fault with these, but they are to be regard-\\ned in seeking the causes of depopulation of por-\\ntions of the country.\\nContentment with a moderate enough is not an\\nAmerican characteristic. It ceases in a few years\\nto characterize Europeans who come over here to\\nsettle. The enough includes too many things\\nwhich are not necessities. Look at a practical il-\\nlustration There are great numbers of American\\nfamilies in cities who are in what are called reduced\\ncircumstances. Men, women, sometimes husbands\\nand wives, have but small incomes. They have a\\nhard time to get food and clothing in the position\\nand with the surroundings to which they have been\\naccustomed. They suffer their lives are full of\\nstruggling anxiety, pains, too often debts. They", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0195.jp2"}, "194": {"fulltext": "l8o ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\nare unfitted for work, and work, if they were able to\\ndo it, is not easy to get. Thousands of these per-\\nsons cling to life in the city, where rents are high,\\nwhere food is costly, where the requirements of\\ndress seem to demand much expense. Now at the\\nsame time you have the broad country, especially\\nNew Hampshire and Vermont, with these facts\\nThe average expense of living of a family is not\\n$500 a year, and this furnishes better and more\\nabundant food, better and more clothing, better\\neverything that men and women need, than can be\\nfound anywhere else in the world. You can hire\\na house for $100 a year in the country which is\\nmore roomy and comfortable than any house you\\ncan hire for $1000 anywhere within miles of Mad-\\nison Square. You can get better board the year\\nround in country places at $3, $4, and $5 a week\\nthan you can get in a city for $13, $14, or $15.\\nBut if you suggest to the persons struggling on\\nsmall incomes in city life that they go to the far off\\ncountry villages of New England to live and be\\nhappy, they shrink with apprehensions they cannot\\ndefine from what seems miserable exile, I am not\\nthe one to make light of those desires, tastes, habits\\nof life which form the comforts and shape the pleas-\\nures of all of us. No one can be happy for any one\\nelse. But if the people who cling to life in cities\\nand expensive towns could be persuaded to con-\\nsider with common-sense the question whether, after", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0196.jp2"}, "195": {"fulltext": "SEEKING A BETTER COUNTRY I5l\\nall, life in the country, with its abundant enjoyments\\nand employments, and its small expense, is not the\\nlife they ought to adopt, it is probable that we\\nshould see a beginning of the repeopling of aban-\\ndoned farms, and a new growth of a valuable popu-\\nlation. A new generation might grow up to love\\nhome well enough to live and die in it.\\nIt is not at all probable that the New England\\nStates will recall to their homes the same people, or\\ncall to them the same kind of people, who have left\\nthem. A new age has begun for all the eastern\\ncountry. Wealth has increased in cities. The cus-\\ntom of having a country as well as a city home is\\nlargely on the increase. Before many years all\\nparts of the country which are healthy and attract-\\nive will draw purchasers of lands for country homes.\\nWhere a few will seek such homes in fashionable\\nlocalities for society pleasures, hundreds will seek\\nthem in more economical and quite as enjoyable\\nplaces. More and more families will go into the\\ncountry for the whole year. More and more men\\nwill retire from active business on small fortunes,\\ninstead of remaining in it to increase them, with\\nthe hundred to one chances of coming to grief and\\nlosing all. People of moderate means, and people\\nof wealth, too, will learn how much nobler is a race\\nof children brought up in the country than a race\\nbrought up in the city. And, to bring this to a\\nclose, the man who can count on an income of $800", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0197.jp2"}, "196": {"fulltext": "1 82 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\na year while he has a family to support and care\\nfor, will be wise enough to go where he can buy a\\nhouse and fifty or a hundred acres of land for $io or\\n$20 an acre, and live like a prince on his own estate\\nfrom its produce, with an outside income of six or\\nseven hundred. But even there he must work. The\\nbetter country than the city is beyond doubt the\\nfree land of fields and forests. But work and weari-\\nness he must have forever on this soil of earth, nor\\nwill there be work without weariness anywhere until\\nhe shall reach the better country far away, which\\nthe inhabitants of the old red farm-house desired\\nand I hope found.", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0198.jp2"}, "197": {"fulltext": "A WINTER night s ERRAND 183\\nXIX\\nA WINTER NIGHT S ERRAND\\nThis is the story which the doctor told me.\\nEzekiel Crofton s farm was on the slope of the\\nhill, two miles in a straight line from the village.\\nBut to reach it you had to go more than two miles\\ndown the valley, and a long one up the hill road. A\\ndeep ravine, wherein flowed a noble trout stream,\\ncut off the farm from more direct communication\\nwith the village. But the farm-house, with its barns\\nand out -houses, was a conspicuous object in the\\nlandscape, as seen from the back windows of the\\ndoctor s library.\\nThere was sickness at the farm. EzekieFs wife\\nand Susie s mother lay ill, and the doctor had left\\nher late in the afternoon with no little anxiety. But\\nhe had other patients, for it was a sickly winter.\\nSo Susie was instructed what to do if her mother\\ngrew worse. It was of no use to give Ezekiel orders.\\nHe was crazy. Trouble like this had never entered\\nthe farm-house before. Susie was to watch her\\nmother, and report by a simple telegraph. The\\ndoctor set the tall clock by his watch. At ten", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0199.jp2"}, "198": {"fulltext": "184 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\no clock, at midnight, and at two o clock, if her moth-\\ner should be worse, or if certain indications ap-\\npeared, Susie was to burn a blaze of straw on the\\nsnow-bank in front of the house. The doctor\\nwould see it and drive out.\\nIt was a cold night and the moon was young.\\nThe snow lay three feet deep on a level. A slight\\nthaw, followed by a freeze, had left a glassy crust\\nover everything. Then three inches of light snow\\nhad fallen without wind over this crust. It was\\nafter dark when the doctor reached home that night,\\nand he was a weary man. Did I say he lived alone\\nin his house Yet not alone, for one who had been\\nits light until a few years before never seemed to\\nhim absent from it. And though now, as he sat\\nbefore the big fire, no one sat visibly by him, there\\nv/as a cheery look on his face, just as there used to\\nbe when he sat there and talked to her. It is a\\nwonderful joy, that which some hearts have, of liv-\\ning with those they love, whether gone away on a\\nvisit, or gone across what men call the river of\\ndeath.\\nDinner was on the table. Jupiter (son of Jupiter,\\nwho was also son of Jupiter, slave of the doctor s\\ngrandfather in that same village) stood while his\\nmaster ate and drank. He never believed in the\\nrelationship between Burgundy and gout and many\\na bottle of good sound wine of the Wind-mill Vine-\\nyard found its way from his cellar to the lips of", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0200.jp2"}, "199": {"fulltext": "A WINTER night s ERRAND 185\\nthe sick poor. The valley was a rich one, but\\nthe poor are always and everywhere. Would that\\nsuch physicians with such cellars were equally\\nabundant.\\nWatch Mr. Crofton s farm from five minutes\\nbefore to five minutes after ten, and again at\\nmidnight, said he to Jupiter. And the dark eyes\\nset in ebony could be perfectly trusted.\\nThe doctor was asleep on a lounge when mid-\\nnight passed. There had been no signal from the\\nfarm. At two he stood at the back window and\\nsaw the blaze flash up from Susie s bonfire, for the\\npoor girl was frightened and heaped the straw\\nhigh. By the successive flashes he knew that she\\nwas throwing it on in armfuls, and that there was\\ngreat trouble and fear at the farm-house.\\nThe weather had changed. It was still cold but\\ncloudy, and a snow-storm was hastening on. There\\nwere plenty of horses in the stable, and two power-\\nful sorrels plunged out of the gate-way and down\\nthe broad village street, bringing up with a fierce\\nrattle of the bells in front of the stone house near\\nthe church where lived the clergyman. He, too,\\nwas ready, for he had received warning from the\\ndoctor in the early evening and had watched. I\\nam tempted to speak of him, that man whose mem-\\nory is cherished by so many, who lived and died\\nfor those over whom he was appointed. But there\\nis no space here. They two were men after one", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0201.jp2"}, "200": {"fulltext": "1 86 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\nanother s hearts. Happy the village with such a\\npair of doctors.\\nAnd now the wintry part of the story begins.\\nFor as they started a gust of wind met them, whirl-\\ning the light snow which lay on the frozen crust.\\nWhen they left the well-beaten village street and\\ntook the road down the valley a stiff gale was\\nblowing. The track had been cut down like a\\ndeep canal between two banks, and the drift of\\nthe light snow which lay on the crust was fast fill-\\ning it. It grew darker, for the moon was just set-\\nting, and it began to snow heavily. The runners\\ncut deep in the hard pack. The horses were well\\nused to such w^ork, but there are impossibilities on\\nroads before the best teams, and they found the\\nfirst of these when the sorrels plunged into a heavy\\ndrift at the fork of the road where you turn up tow-\\nards Ezekiel Crofton s. Thus far they had come at\\nlittle faster than a walk, but for a few rods the\\nhorses had found light pulling and were on a swift\\ntrot when they plunged into this drift which lay di-\\nagonally across the road, full six feet deep. Down\\nthey went, while the doctors and the robes went in\\na confused mass over on the crust at the road-side.\\nNo one was hurt, and at the voice of their mas-\\nter, who was at their heads in an instant, the sor-\\nrels recognized the situation and stood up. The\\ndrift was wide as well as deep, and the men right-\\ned the sleigh, gathered up the scatterings, then", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0202.jp2"}, "201": {"fulltext": "A WINTER night s ERRAND 187\\nbroke a road through the drift by trampling, and\\nled the horses through and around the sharp turn\\ninto the hill road. All was made right, and they\\nwent on now very slowly for the whole track was\\nfilled to the level of the banks, and the track on\\nthis less travelled road was narrow, and had been\\nimperfectly broken before the new drift filled it. A\\nhundred yards from the turn the left runner rose\\nover a lump, caught the hard bank at the side, and\\nlifted the sleigh so gently but so swiftly that as the\\ndoctor said Whoa he found himself lying in\\ndeep snow, a buffalo robe over him, and the minis-\\nter on the buffalo robe. The horses had heard\\nthe word and stopped. This was a simple upset, a\\ncommon enough affair to both of them. But a\\ntrace-hook had torn out, and it took ten minutes\\nto mend it, for now they missed the lantern which\\nhad not been recovered at the first place of empty-\\ning the sleigh,\\nI will not dwell on the many incidents of that\\nstruggle, which the doctor related with keen en-\\njoyment of the memory. It was a serious piece of\\nbusiness then. Sometimes it would have been lu-\\ndicrous, but for the solemn errand that took them\\nout in that tempestuous night among the hills. The\\nstorm increased, and the snow fell fast and deep\\nand drifted into heaps. Again and again they\\nwere upset until they ceased to count the times.\\nNow they went ahead and broke the way on foot", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0203.jp2"}, "202": {"fulltext": "155 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\nfor the horses. Now they took the horses out of\\nthe sleigh, mounted and rode them a httle way to\\nbreak road, and returned for the sleigh. Many\\ngood reasons forbade abandoning it. They were\\nmore than two hours on the half-mile between the\\nfork of the roads and the first farm-house. Here\\nthey roused the people and held a consultation.\\nFarmer Brown had six oxen in a stable a quar-\\nter of a mile off the road. He and his boys went\\nfor them. It took an hour or more to get them\\nto the house, and the boys came near perishing.\\nBut who would not have worked that night, at any\\nrisk, to get the parson and the doctor to the bed-\\nside of Mrs. Crofton The six oxen were put into\\nthe road, and driven up the hill through the drifts.\\nSlowly and with infinite toil, shouting and encour-\\nagement, they floundered on. The sorrels followed\\nin the track they broke. It stopped snowing, with\\nthe atmosphere far below zero, as the gray dawn\\ncame, and it was broad daylight when they entered\\nthe back gate of the Crofton farm-yard.\\nThe roadway to the door crossed a hillock in\\nfront of the house, and the wind had swept it clean\\nof drift. The horses sprang up the apparently\\nclear track, but at the very summit again the left\\nrunner flew high and the last upset was accom-\\nplished. In full view of the windows, as if it were\\na circus show, the two doctors shot into the air and\\nclutched each other before they struck the glassy", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0204.jp2"}, "203": {"fulltext": "A WINTER NIGHTS ERRAND 1 89\\nsurface of the hillock. They struck in a slanting\\nfall and slid to the verge of the short but sharp\\ndescent. There was nothing to catch hold of, so\\nthey held tight, each to the other, and went like\\nprojectiles down the icy slope, head first, into a\\ndeep soft bed of snow. Ezekiel Crofton s New-\\nfoundland dog was on the spot as their heads dis-\\nappeared, and then nothing was visible for a mo-\\nment but his huge black skin and the doctor s\\nboots and one leg of the minister, at which the dog\\nwas tugging as if to save a drowning man.\\nSo ended, and ended joyously, too, the merciful\\nerrand of that night. For the doctor, when he en-\\ntered the sick-room, found Susie in a wild excite-\\nment, and her mother sitting up in bed laughing,\\nand out of danger. I don t know what the doctor\\ncalled the disease of which she was supposed to\\nbe dying. It was some trouble of the throat. She\\nhad been lying with her face towards the window,\\ngasping. Even in the hour of death, when she was\\nlooking into the light as of the last earthly morn-\\ning, the scene had overpowered all sense of solem-\\nnity, and the burst of laughter had removed the\\ntrouble which was killing her.\\nIt might do you good, once in a while these win-\\nter nights, when you wake warm and comfortable\\nin your city bed, to think what possible errands\\nmen like those two may just then be out on in the\\nup country.", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0205.jp2"}, "204": {"fulltext": "igo ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\nXX\\nHINTS FOR CARRIAGE TRAVEL\\nFirst as to horses. There is a common idea that\\nheavy horses are not as good travellers as lighter\\nanimals. This does not accord with my experience\\nin really working-horses. For a spurt, or a day or\\ntwo of hard driving, it may well be that light horses\\nwill go faster and come in less worried than heavier\\nanimals. But for continuous travelling, with a rea-\\nsonably heavy load, day after day, taking any and\\nevery kind of road, ascending and descending hills\\nand mountains, it is my opinion after long experi-\\nence that strong, heavy horses are more trustworthy\\nand useful, do their work with less fatigue, and do\\nit better. My black horses, Ned and Jack, now\\ngrown old and living in almost inglorious idleness,\\nweigh twelve hundred and fifty each. I have a\\npair of grays that weigh short twelve hundred each.\\nMy carriage with my regular travel load weighs a\\ntrifle under fourteen hundred. Either pair of horses\\nwill take us along on roads up hill and down at an\\naverage gait of five miles to the hour. This is fast\\nenough for one to drive who travels to see every-", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0206.jp2"}, "205": {"fulltext": "HINTS FOR CARRIAGE TRAVEL\\n91\\nthing that is to be seen on both sides of the road.\\nIt may happen, after a day of loitering along, that I\\nfind myself towards evening eight or ten miles from\\nmy proposed resting-place. My horses can do that\\nin an hour, and come in in good order, I seldom\\naverage over twenty-five miles a day. But, on occa-\\nsion, I drive forty-five miles a day, without fatigue\\nto these horses. Few light horses can be depended\\non for such little afternoon spurts, or such extra\\ndays, over rough or mountainous roads, on a jour-\\nney of four or five hundred miles, with three-fourths\\nof a ton behind them.\\nA comfortable carriage, comfortable for both\\nhorses and travellers, is a very rare object in our\\nday. The tendency of late years has been to build\\ncarriages to be looked at, or to show off the persons\\nand dresses of the occupants. With this has grown\\nthe fashion of building carriages with narrow box\\nseats, into which two persons can crowd side by\\nside only by wedging as they take their seats.\\nIn carriage travel the primary considerations for\\nthe vehicle are strength and roominess. Don t save\\na hundred or two pounds of weight at the expense\\nof strength. Get horses that will draw your load,\\nand don t sacrifice safety and sureness. By sure-\\nness, I mean this that a break-down in a lonesome\\nroad, miles from a blacksmith, is an unpleasant ac-\\ncident.\\nBreadth of beam is what you need to give room.", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0207.jp2"}, "206": {"fulltext": "192 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\nYour running-gear must be of the ordinary gauge\\nin use in the country you travel in, and your car-\\nriage-box as wide as possible on that gear. The\\nseats should be so wide that two persons can sit on\\nthem with room between them for a book, or a\\nsmall bag, or any little traps. The front and back\\nseat should be on a level. I generally travel with\\nthree in the carriage, one on the back seat, myself\\nand coachman on the front seat. This leaves am-\\nple room on the back seat and bottom for books,\\nmaps, flowers that we gather, wraps, and the small\\nimpedimenta of travel while a rack behind the car-\\nriage holds the trunks, which are not heavy, but\\nwith their leverage power balance the weight of two\\non the front seat and make even springs. It is well\\nthat the carriage top be an ordinary extension top,\\nreaching forward over the front seat, which can be\\nthrown completely back and lie on the baggage. In\\nsoft October days there is vast delight in riding in\\nthe sunshine.\\nTo those who travel for the enjoyments which we\\ndesire, it is objectionable to have a carriage door.\\nThe side should present no impediment to frequent\\nstepping out and in, and the footsteps should be\\nbroad and roughened. You see a flower, a bunch\\nof moss, a stone innumerable objects along the\\nroad-side attract your eye and you get out scores\\nof times and get in again with your treasure. As\\nthe day passes you accumulate a heap of such", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0208.jp2"}, "207": {"fulltext": "HINTS FOR CARRIAGE TRAVEL 1 93\\nthings that you have examined and talked about\\nafter gathering. Towards evening, as you approach\\nyour resting-place, out they go on the road-side.\\nTwo-thirds of the pleasure and profit of this travel\\nis in thus getting out of the carriage, sometimes for\\nonly an instant.\\nGoing up or down hill I often stop, for the reason\\nthat I have a brake. I italicize the word because it\\nis so absolutely essential to the comfort and safety\\nof both travellers and horses. It is marvellous that\\nin ordinary hilly country so few persons have brakes\\non their pleasure carriages, buggies, or business\\nwagons. One can be easily attached to any vehicle\\nby any blacksmith, and will add years to the healthy\\nlife of your horses. No trouble is more common\\nwith horses than lameness in the fore-legs or shoul-\\nders. This comes, in countless instances, from trot-\\nting downhill with a load behind. The horse is not\\nfree in action. If he were at perfect liberty he\\nwould go lightly, set his feet down with instinctive\\ncertainty and without pounding. But he has a load,\\npulling by traces on his fore-shoulders, jerking pulls,\\nnow following fast on him, now brought up sud-\\ndenly by a stone or a water-bar. No horse thus\\nencumbered can trot downhill without constant\\ndanger of pounding his fore-feet heavily down, pro-\\nducing a strain in the shoulder, perhaps twisting\\nhis leg or ankle when his foot goes down on a\\nstone, or somewhere where he does not mean to", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0209.jp2"}, "208": {"fulltext": "194 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\nput it. So, too, the strain of holding back a heavy\\nload, with the breeching around the thighs, pro-\\nduces the same effects. Of course no one will be\\nguilty of trying northern trav^el with a light harness\\nand no breechings.\\nI repeat, for the benefit of all the race of carriage\\nhorses, as well as for the benefit of those who own\\nand value horses, that in a hilly country every buggy,\\nwagon, and carriage should be provided with a brake.\\nIt is hardly necessary to add that for the pleasure-\\ntraveller, who wants to stop anywhere along the\\nroad-side, it is indispensable. In western Massa-\\nchusetts and Connecticut, Vermont, and New Hamp-\\nshire, a steady uphill grade of two or three miles is\\na common feature of roads, and it is not uncommon\\nto find a mountain pass where the road is uphill\\nfor six, eight, or ten miles. If one desires a glorious\\nride, let him drive from Westfield in Massachusetts\\nto Norfolk in Connecticut, and learn how to ascend\\nand descend hills for the sake of every variety of\\nscenery. But if he try that country without strong\\nhorses, a stout carriage, and a safe brake, he will\\nchance to come to grief, with no help in sight.\\nLook well to the bolts which attach the pole and\\nhauling -gear to your carriage. Many carriage-\\nbuilders neglect this. A heavy carriage, with abun-\\ndant iron -work, warranted strong, will often be\\nfound drawn by two small iron bolts in thin rings,\\nboth of which are daily wearing weaker. Reinforce", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0210.jp2"}, "209": {"fulltext": "HINTS FOR CARRIAGE TRAVEL 1 95\\niron -work with straps. Iron is poor stuff to de-\\npend on there s nothing Hke leather. Have a\\nstrong neck-yoke or strong hold-back on the end\\nof your pole. A brake saves danger there, but\\nyou cannot be too safe. Don t forego safety for\\nthe sake of beauty. Travel to look, not to be\\nlooked at.\\nDon t trust your horses to the attention of host-\\nlers, but when you reach a resting-place, secure\\ntheir comfort for the night before you secure your\\nown. If you love your horses as I love mine, you\\nwill need no such advice. When you start in the\\nmorning take a thorough look over your harness\\nand carriage, to see that all is right for the road.\\nTalk a little while with the horses before you start,\\nchat with them once in a while along the road, es-\\npecially if you happen to be walking uphill beside\\nthem or before them, and always make sure to\\nspeak with them when the day s work is done.\\nCleanliness prevails in north-country inns. In\\nan experience of thousands of miles of travel along\\nNew England roads, during many years, my note-\\nbook records only three or four instances where I\\nwas compelled to write not clean of the inn in\\nwhich I passed the night. Food is abundant ev-\\nerywhere and of the best quality. Good bread,\\nand milk, fresh eggs, fruits, vegetables, preserved or\\ncooked fruits, cake made in great variety these are\\nfound on every table. There has been in former", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0211.jp2"}, "210": {"fulltext": "196 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\nyears a universal idea that beefsteak was essential\\nto a traveller s supper and breakfast. Country-\\nkilled beef, however good in flavor, is generally\\nvery tough and hard. The certainty of the ap-\\npearance of this tough beefsteak has led me to\\nadopt the custom of saying when I enter an inn,\\nDon t give us any beef. I recommend the trav-\\neller by carriage to follow my example. I have\\nnever found in Europe or America finer mutton or\\nlamb than is abundant with us all along our drives.\\nYou should carry your own tea and coffee.\\nThe roads are fairly good, but we notice, espe-\\ncially in Vermont, a manifest deterioration from\\nyear to year in their character. They are growing\\npoorer, and this is perhaps due to the fact that the\\ntowns are growing poorer.\\nThe whole system of road-making by town-tax\\nis bad. It is not to be expected that a poor town,\\nwhich happens to lie on a route of travel between\\ntwo or more populous towns, should keep up first-\\nclass roads for the use of those who pay nothing\\ntowards them. Nor do people with whom road\\nmaking and repairing is a matter of annual taxa-\\ntion take any personal interest or have any per-\\nsonal pride in their roads. The worst mud holes\\nin roads are frequently in front of good farm-\\nhouses. It would take the farmer an hour, with\\nhis horses, to fill up such a hole and make a good\\nroad by his front door. But that would be doing", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0212.jp2"}, "211": {"fulltext": "HINTS FOR CARRIAGE TRAVEL T97\\nwork which is the town s business to do, and he\\nwould get no pay for it so he lets it alone. If\\nhe is drawing a heavy load uphill he chocks his\\nwheels with a stone to rest his horses, and drives\\non, leaving the stone in the road. To throw it out,\\nand to throw out other stones left by other team-\\nsters, would be doing town work, and he will not\\ndo that in his own town, much less in another\\ntown.\\nDo you know what is meant by working out the\\nroad-tax Each man s proportion of work is as-\\nsessed. He has so many days work to pay. The\\ntimes of working on roads are fixed by the town of-\\nficer. Carts, horses, ploughs, etc., are furnished on\\norder, and allowed for at fixed rates. You have\\nseen the deliberate slowness with which day-labor-\\ners on railways, or on contract work in city streets,\\nperform their labor. These men are lively and\\nswift compared with the country farmer when work-\\ning out his road-tax. The gravel-bed is perhaps a\\nhalf-mile down the road. Four or five men with\\nshovels load a cart there in three minutes, and hav-\\ning loaded it, sit down and smoke and chat a half-\\nhour till it returns empty. Down on the roadway\\nfour or five men await the cart, smoking and chat-\\nting, dump and spread the dirt or gravel when it\\ncomes, taking three minutes for the job, and smoke\\nand chat a half-hour till the cart comes asfain. If\\nthey planted and gathered crops as they make", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0213.jp2"}, "212": {"fulltext": "190 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\nroads, they would starve. It is not because they\\nare lazy or indolent. These are men of might in\\ntheir own affairs. But they are working out the\\nroad -tax, and who ever heard that a man ought\\nto work in payment of a tax as he works for\\nhimself\\nIt is rarely necessary to drive anywhere in Ver-\\nmont or New Hampshire more than ten or fifteen\\nmiles to find a good inn. Whether going north,\\nsouth, east, or west, it is usually practicable to ride\\npleasantly in the forenoon for two or three hours,\\nstop at noon to feed the horses and get luncheon,\\nwhich will be called dinner, drive again two, three,\\nor four hours in the afternoon and strike a com-\\nfortable inn for supper and night-lodging. Day s\\ndrives can thus be adjusted according to your\\npleasure. You will linger in pleasant places you\\nwill loiter along some roads you will change your\\npreconceived route suddenly, at noon, or in the\\nmorning, or along the road. Sometimes you will\\ndrive only a few miles. At other times you may\\nbe induced to press your horses to their extreme\\nability in order to reach a desired resting place.\\nBut I recommend you to regard your horses and\\ndo not give them hard days works. Let them\\nenjoy the travel as you enjoy it. You may have\\ngreat confidence in the health and strength of your\\nhorses, but do not forget that for horses as for\\nmen, travelling, eating in various places, spending", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0214.jp2"}, "213": {"fulltext": "HINTS FOR CARRIAGE TRAVEL\\n199\\nnights in various stables, drinking varieties of wa-\\nter, subjected to various weather exposures, all this\\nis very different from home life. Oats vary as much\\nas bread varies. Hay is a very variable food. Men\\nwill assure you in October that they have only old\\noats, and sicken your horses by giving them grain\\nthreshed three weeks ago, unless you watch them\\nand it is by no means easy to tell new oats from\\nold. For comfort and enjoyment an average of\\ntwenty-five miles a day is quite enough for you or\\nyour horses. If you enjoy the country, with its in-\\nnumerable beauties, you will often be content with\\nfive miles, and constantly desire to remain just\\nwhere you are.\\nFinally, don t be in a hurry, and when you start\\nout for the day s drive do not start with the deter-\\nmination to go to a certain place. That is not\\nwhat you are taking a carriage journey for. You\\nmay and will fix on a place as a probable end\\nof your day, but don t go off in the morning with\\nmind set on reaching there as the day s purpose.\\nLoiter along stroll in the woods sit awhile on a\\nrock by the side of a lake stop long on the hill-\\ntops and take in the glory of American scenery.\\nIf you are an angler, your rod, unjointed but ready\\nwith line, leader, and flies, lies fore-and-aft on your\\ncarriage seats, and many a brook or pond or lake,\\nin the spring-time, will pay you for a cast. In the\\nautumn your gun lies ready, and partridges crossing", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0215.jp2"}, "214": {"fulltext": "2 00 ALONG NEW ENGLAND ROADS\\nthe road will tempt you often out of your carriage.\\nou will not get many, but you will have all the\\nexcitement, and may now and then carry your sup-\\nper or breakfast in with you.\\nTHE END\\nrf^", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0216.jp2"}, "215": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0217.jp2"}, "216": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3188", "width": "1908", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0218.jp2"}, "217": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3162", "width": "1893", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0219.jp2"}, "218": {"fulltext": "LIBRARY OF CONGRESS\\n014 042 619 2", "height": "3375", "width": "2126", "jp2-path": "alongnewenglandr00prime_0220.jp2"}}