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long battering…rams going twenty miles an hour against the city's
walls； and chairs enough to seat all the weary and heavy…laden that
dwell within them。 With such huge and lumbering civility the
country hands a chair to the city。 All the Indian huckleberry hills
are stripped； all the cranberry meadows are raked into the city。 Up
comes the cotton； down goes the woven cloth； up comes the silk； down
goes the woollen； up come the books； but down goes the wit that
writes them。
When I meet the engine with its train of cars moving off with
planetary motion or； rather； like a comet； for the beholder knows
not if with that velocity and with that direction it will ever
revisit this system； since its orbit does not look like a returning
curve with its steam cloud like a banner streaming behind in
golden and silver wreaths； like many a downy cloud which I have
seen； high in the heavens； unfolding its masses to the light as
if this traveling demigod； this cloud…compeller； would ere long take
the sunset sky for the livery of his train； when I hear the iron
horse make the hills echo with his snort like thunder； shaking the
earth with his feet； and breathing fire and smoke from his nostrils
（what kind of winged horse or fiery dragon they will put into the
new Mythology I don't know）； it seems as if the earth had got a race
now worthy to inhabit it。 If all were as it seems； and men made the
elements their servants for noble ends！ If the cloud that hangs
over the engine were the perspiration of heroic deeds； or as
beneficent as that which floats over the farmer's fields； then the
elements and Nature herself would cheerfully accompany men on their
errands and be their escort。
I watch the passage of the morning cars with the same feeling
that I do the rising of the sun； which is hardly more regular。
Their train of clouds stretching far behind and rising higher and
higher； going to heaven while the cars are going to Boston； conceals
the sun for a minute and casts my distant field into the shade； a
celestial train beside which the petty train of cars which hugs the
earth is but the barb of the spear。 The stabler of the iron horse
was up early this winter morning by the light of the stars amid the
mountains； to fodder and harness his steed。 Fire； too； was awakened
thus early to put the vital heat in him and get him off。 If the
enterprise were as innocent as it is early！ If the snow lies deep；
they strap on his snowshoes； and； with the giant plow； plow a furrow
from the mountains to the seaboard； in which the cars； like a
following drill…barrow； sprinkle all the restless men and floating
merchandise in the country for seed。 All day the fire…steed flies
over the country； stopping only that his master may rest； and I am
awakened by his tramp and defiant snort at midnight； when in some
remote glen in the woods he fronts the elements incased in ice and
snow； and he will reach his stall only with the morning star； to
start once more on his travels without rest or slumber。 Or
perchance； at evening； I hear him in his stable blowing off the
superfluous energy of the day； that he may calm his nerves and cool
his liver and brain for a few hours of iron slumber。 If the
enterprise were as heroic and commanding as it is protracted and
unwearied！
Far through unfrequented woods on the confines of towns； where
once only the hunter penetrated by day； in the darkest night dart
these bright saloons without the knowledge of their inhabitants；
this moment stopping at some brilliant station…house in town or
city； where a social crowd is gathered； the next in the Dismal
Swamp； scaring the owl and fox。 The startings and arrivals of the
cars are now the epochs in the village day。 They go and come with
such regularity and precision； and their whistle can be heard so
far； that the farmers set their clocks by them； and thus one
well…conducted institution regulates a whole country。 Have not men
improved somewhat in punctuality since the railroad was invented？
Do they not talk and think faster in the depot than they did in the
stage…office？ There is something electrifying in the atmosphere of
the former place。 I have been astonished at the miracles it has
wrought； that some of my neighbors； who； I should have prophesied；
once for all； would never get to Boston by so prompt a conveyance；
are on hand when the bell rings。 To do things 〃railroad fashion〃 is
now the byword； and it is worth the while to be warned so often and
so sincerely by any power to get off its track。 There is no
stopping to read the riot act； no firing over the heads of the mob；
in this case。 We have constructed a fate； an Atropos； that never
turns aside。 （Let that be the name of your engine。） Men are
advertised that at a certain hour and minute these bolts will be
shot toward particular points of the compass； yet it interferes with
no man's business； and the children go to school on the other track。
We live the steadier for it。 We are all educated thus to be sons of
Tell。 The air is full of invisible bolts。 Every path but your own
is the path of fate。 Keep on your own track； then。
What recommends commerce to me is its enterprise and bravery。
It does not clasp its hands and pray to Jupiter。 I see these men
every day go about their business with more or less courage and
content； doing more even than they suspect； and perchance better
employed than they could have consciously devised。 I am less
affected by their heroism who stood up for half an hour in the front
line at Buena Vista； than by the steady and cheerful valor of the
men who inhabit the snowplow for their winter quarters； who have not
merely the three…o'…clock…in…the…morning courage； which Bonaparte
thought was the rarest； but whose courage does not go to rest so
early； who go to sleep only when the storm sleeps or the sinews of
their iron steed are frozen。 On this morning of the Great Snow；
perchance； which is still raging and chilling men's blood； I bear
the muffled tone of their engine bell from out the fog bank of their
chilled breath； which announces that the cars are coming； without
long delay； notwithstanding the veto of a New England northeast
snow…storm； and I behold the plowmen covered with snow and rime；
their heads peering； above the mould…board which is turning down
other than daisies and the nests of field mice； like bowlders of the
Sierra Nevada； that occupy an outside place in the universe。
Commerce is unexpectedly confident and serene； alert；
adventurous； and unwearied。 It is very natural in its methods
withal； far more so than many fantastic enterprises and sentimental
experiments； and hence its singular success。 I am refreshed and
expanded when the freight train rattles past me； and I smell the
stores which go dispensing their odors all the way from Long Wharf
to Lake Champlain； reminding me of foreign parts； of coral reefs；
and Indian oceans； and tropical climes； and the extent of the globe。
I feel more like a citizen of the world at the sight of the
palm…leaf which will cover so many flaxen New England heads the next
summer； the Manilla hemp and cocoanut husks； the old junk； gunny
bags； scrap iron； and rusty nails。 This carload of torn sails is
more legible and interesting now than if they should be wrought into
paper and printed books。 Who can write so graphically the history
of the storms they have weathered as these rents have done？ They
are proof…sheets which need no correction。 Here goes lumber from
the Maine woods； which did not go out to sea in the last freshet；
risen four dollars on the thousand because of what did go out or was
split up； pine； spruce； cedar first； second； third； and fourth
qualities； so lately all of one quality； to wave over the bear； and
moose； and caribou。 Next rolls Thomaston lime； a prime lot； which
will get far among the hills before it gets slacked。 These rags in
bales； of all hues and qualities； the lowest condition to which
cotton and linen descend； the final result of dress of patterns
which are now no longer cried up； unless it be in Milwaukee； as
those splendid articles； English； French； or American prints；
ginghams； muslins； etc。； gathered from all quarters both of fashion
and poverty； going to become paper of one color or a few shades
only； on which； forsooth； will be written tales of real life； high
and low； and founded on fact！ This closed car smells of salt fish；
the strong New England and commercial scent； reminding me of the
Grand Banks and the fisheries。 Who has not seen a salt fish；
thoroughly cured for this world； so that nothing can spoil it； and
putting； the perseverance of the saints to the blush？ with which you
may sweep or pave the streets； and split your kindlings； and the
teamster shelter himself and his lading against sun； wind； and rain
behind it and the trader； as a Concord trader once did； hang it
up by his door for a s