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Whitman, Walt, 1819-1892

"Complete Prose Works Specimen Days and Collect, November Boughs and Goodbye My Fancy"


A SPECIMEN TRAMP FAMILY
_June 22_.--This afternoon we went out (J. B., Al. and I) on quite a
drive around the country. The scenery, the perpetual stone fences,
(some venerable old fellows, dark-spotted with lichens)--the many
fine locust-trees--the runs of brawling water, often over descents of
rock--these, and lots else. It is lucky the roads are first-rate here,
(as they are,) for it is up or down hill everywhere, and sometimes
steep enough. B. has a tip-top horse, strong, young, and both gentle
and fast. There is a great deal of waste land and hills on the river
edge of Ulster county, with a wonderful luxuriance of wild flowers
and bushes--and it seems to me I never saw more vitality of
trees--eloquent hemlocks, plenty of locusts and fine maples, and
the balm of Gilead, giving out aroma. In the fields and along the
road-sides unusual crops of the tall-stemm'd wild daisy, white as milk
and yellow as gold.
We pass'd quite a number of tramps, singly or in couples--one squad, a
family in a rickety one-horse wagon, with some baskets evidently their
work and trade--the man seated on a low board, in front, driving--the
gauntish woman by his side, with a baby well bundled in her arms, its
little red feet and lower legs sticking out right towards us as we
pass'd--and in the wagon behind, we saw two (or three) crouching
little children. It was a queer, taking, rather sad picture. If I had
been alone and on foot, I should have stopp'd and held confab. But on
our return nearly two hours afterward, we found them a ways further
along the same road, in a lonesome open spot, haul'd aside, unhitch'd,
and evidently going to camp for the night.


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