"We Should Chaw Them Up," She Said, "Make Roads
Or Bridges Of Them, Unless Barnum Transported Them To His Museum:
We would
never keep them on our own hook as you do." "You value them yourselves,"
I answered; "any
One would be 'lynched' who removed a stone of
Ticonderoga." It was an unfortunate speech, for she archly replied, "Our
only ruins are British fortifications, and we go to see them because they
remind us that we whipped the nation which whips all the world." The
Americans, however, though they may talk so, would give anything if they
could appropriate a Kenilworth Castle, or a Melrose or a Tintern Abbey,
with its covering of ivy, and make it sustain some episode of their
history. But though they can make railways, ivy is beyond them, and the
purple heather disdains the soil of the New World. A very amusing ticket
was given me on the Mad River line. It bore the command, "Stick this check
in your - - ," the blank being filled up with a little engraving of a hat;
consequently I saw all the gentlemen with small pink embellishments to the
covering of their heads.
We passed through a large and very beautiful portion of the State of Ohio;
the soil, wherever cultivated, teeming with crops, and elsewhere with a
vegetation no less beautiful than luxuriant; a mixture of small weed
prairies, and forests of splendid timber. Extensive districts of Ohio are
still without inhabitants, yet its energetic people have constructed
within a period of five years half as many miles of railroad as the whole
of Great Britain contains; they are a "great people" they do "go a-
head," these Yankees. The newly cleared soil is too rich for wheat for
many years; it grows Indian corn for thirty in succession, without any
manure. Its present population is under three millions, and it is
estimated that it would support a population of ten millions, almost
entirely in agricultural pursuits. We were going a-head, and in a few
hours arrived at Forest, the junction of the Clyde, Mad River, and Indiana
lines.
Away with all English ideas which may be conjured up by the word
junction - the labyrinth of iron rails, the smart policeman at the
points, the handsome station, and elegant refreshment-rooms. Here was a
dense forest, with merely a clearing round the rails, a small shanty for
the man who cuts wood for the engine, and two sidings for the trains
coming in different directions. There was not even a platform for
passengers, who, to the number of two or three hundred, were standing on
the clearing, resting against the stumps of trees. And yet for a few
minutes every day the bustle of life pervades this lonely spot, for here
meet travellers from east, west, and south; the careworn merchant from the
Atlantic cities, and the hardy trapper from the western prairies. We here
changed cars for those of the Indianapolis line, and, nearly at the same
time with three other trains, plunged into the depths of the forest.
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