Page:Six months in Kansas.djvu/13



11, 1855.

, We are outside of Boston, feeling something like unweaned chickens, whose heads, if not wrung off, are at the best, worse for a blow. I notice the last guideboard says "Ashland." Now surely the smell is no longer the villainous odor of the Depot neighborhood; or the noise, the rattling over Boston pavements. We are among the green fields, making a great steam and noise on our own account, and borne along—as it is sometimes good to be, by the submissiveness of our own will—by the fretting power of an engine. Our speed is not extreme however, and there is a murmur through the cars, that we are behind the time. Men grumble and consult their watches often; they wish to take a night train. We who stop at Albany