Chapter 46 Acoustic - 4

Business is surprisingly confident, dignified, sensitive, aggressive, and tireless.Some of its ways are so natural that many fanciful undertakings and sentimental experiments cannot be compared with it, and therefore it has its own success.After a freight train passed by me, I felt refreshed and imposing, and I smelt some of the wares that smelt all the way from Long Wharf to Champlain Lake, which reminded me of foreign countries, Coral reefs, the Indian Ocean, tropical climates and the size of the planet.I see some palm fronds that will wear it on the hair of so many flaxen New Englanders by next summer, and I see manila hemp, coconut shells, old rope, jute sacks, scrap iron and rusty nails At this time, I feel more like a citizen of the world.A carload of broken sails made paper and printed books, which must be easier to understand and more interesting to read.Who can so vividly describe the history of their stormy experience as these ripped sails?They are themselves proofs that do not need to be reviewed.The logs passing through here are the logs from the Maine forest. When the water rose last time, they were not put into the sea. Because of the logs that were shipped out or sawn, the price increased by four yuan per thousand. Pine, needle fir Ah, cedars—first, second, third, fourth, the same quality not so long ago, swaying over bears, elks, and caribou.Then rumbled past Thomas East lime, the first-class cargo, which had to be transported to far away mountains before being unloaded.And as for the sacks of rags, of all colors and materials, the most disastrous end to cotton and linen, the final end of clothes,—their patterns are no longer admired, except in Milwaukee. , these glorious clothing materials, English, French, American calico, gingham, tulle, etc. - but rags collected from rich and poor, from all sides, will become one color. or just different shades of paper, maybe some real-life stories will be written on the paper, both in high society and low society, all written according to facts!The closed caravan smelt of salt fish, a strong commercial New England smell, which reminded me of big river banks and fisheries.Who hasn't seen a salted fish?It's all salted for our world, and nothing can spoil it, and it would put some stoic saint to shame.With salted fish, you can sweep the streets, pave the streets, split the kindling, and hide behind the salted fish. The master of the donkey and horse team and his goods can also shelter from the sun and the wind and rain. The merchants in Codd practiced it. The merchants can hang the salted fish on the door as a sign when the new store opens. At the end, when the old customers can’t tell whether it is an animal, a plant or a mineral, it is still as white as white. Snowflake, if you bring it to a boil in a pot, is still a delicious salt fish for a Saturday night feast.Then there are the Spanish hides, with their tails still twisted like that, and retaining the angle of elevation they had when they galloped over the steppes of the native Spain,—a very obstinate type, and a testament to how hopeless and irremediable all defects of character are. Medicine.In fact, after I know human nature, I admit that under the current living conditions, I absolutely don't want it to change for the better or worse.The Orientals say, "A dog's tail can be burned, crushed, and tied with a string, and it will not change after twelve years of energy." Gel, I think that's what they're usually used for, they stick to everything.Here is a large barrel of molasses, perhaps brandy, sent to Keddingsville, Vermont, to Mr. John Smith, a merchant from the Green Hills, who procured imports for the farmers near where he lived, and perhaps now leans on his on the bulkhead of a ship, wondering how the latest shipment to shore would affect the price, and telling his customer that he hoped the next train would bring first-class cargo, which he had said twenty years before this morning. all over.This has been advertised in the Kerdinsville Times.

These goods come up and others go down.I heard the sound of galloping, and looked up from my book, and saw some tall western pines, felled from the mountains of the far north, flying over the Green Hills and Connecticut with wings, It passed through the city in ten minutes like an arrow, people haven't seen it yet, already "Become a mast on top of a flagship." Listen!Here came the ox carts, the cattle and sheep from thousands of mountains and valleys, the sheep sheds, stables and cow sheds in the sky, and the shepherds with sticks, the shepherd boys among the flocks, everything came , except for the grasslands in the mountains, which were blown down from the mountains, like the fallen leaves blown by the September wind.The air was filled with the bleating of cattle and sheep, and the bulls jostled as though passing through a grazing valley.When the bell of the leading sheep rang, the mountains really jumped like rams, and the hills jumped like lambs.In the middle there is a train of shepherds, now they are treated the same as the shepherds, their occupations are gone, but they still cling to their sticks, it's like their badge.But where is their dog?It's a crash for them; they're totally abandoned; they've lost their scent.I seem to hear them barking in the Peterboro Hills, or walking along the western slopes of the Green Hills.They do not come out to attend the execution ceremony.They also lost their jobs.Their loyalty and wisdom are now gone.They sneaked humiliatingly into their kennels, maybe got wild, and raced a three-mile run with wolves or foxes.Thus your pastoral life whirls past and disappears.But the bell rang, and I had to get off the track and let the car go by; a——

What does the railway mean to me? i will never watch Where it goes. It fills the cavities, Made a bank for the swallows, Make the yellow sand fly everywhere, Call blackberries to grow everywhere.But I cross the railroad as I walk a forest path.I don't want my eyes and nose to be polluted by its smoke and moisture and hiss.