The air is
peopled with traditions far back from the present, but with which the
grave, imposing, characteristic landscape seems still to sympathize.
In two days we emerged from the brown chrysalis of a New-Hampshire
spring into the exultant richness of the winged butterfly,--into white,
fragrant fields of blossoming fruit, and the odor of tree-lilacs.
In my enchantment at the bounteous panorama that spread out before me in
ever varying abundance, I forgot to cultivate any interest in my
fellow-passengers, and, except in listening to some communicative old
women, might really, as far as society was concerned, as well have been
travelling in the style of to-day. Beyond the casual acquaintances I
made when rain compelled me to indoor chat, I saw nobody who interested
me until we reached Springfield. There, at the top of the first short
hill outside the town, after looking back on the white houses standing
in the river-mist like so many ghosts in white muslin, I saw somebody
whom my prophetic soul announced as a companion, looking wholly unlike a
ghost, and very unlike a mist.
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