Excerpt from The Emigrant Ship
"Stop!" said I.
"Wo!" cried the driver.
The old horse, clanking in its harness like a chain topsail sheet in a squall, halted and I mounted upon my sea chest in the cart to take a view of the scene.
The month was early August, the year 1850. The afternoon was beautiful and rich with a sky full of large, low-floating clouds, which as they soared gave their white breasts to the kisses of the distant hilltops. On one side can a mile or two of level meadows, painted with red and brindled cows and white sheep. Afar glanced a dusty road, snaking past masses of trees to the summit of a green hill. I caught sight of the olive and purple light of the river, and the distant fields were studded with haystacks like giant toadstools. A soft air blew over the country; to my salt-hardened nostrils the sweets it brought seemed to combine into one marvelous perfume of raspberry.
Do you want to know how refreshing and fair beyond all prospects of meadow, hill, and valley which this great world has to offer is an English landscape viewed on an August afternoon, when the land is piebald with the blue shadows of clouds, and when the wind in the trees cools the hot buzz of the bluebottle with a quiet seething as of expiring foam? Come to it after three years and some months of coarse seafaring!
"Go on," said I to the carter.
"Jee oop!" cried the man, fetching the stern of his horse a friendly thump with a truncheon.
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