Where Town and Country Meet 



when a vessel is to be launched. He never 

 runs when a tree is falling, but stands close 

 by the trunk, and looks up, so that in an 

 instant he may step this way or that, if the 

 top leans in another direction than he ex- 

 pected. 



He told me that he had no need of a 

 watch to give him the time of day, because 

 he clearly heard every hour struck by the 

 big, deep bell of the town clock in Nepon- 

 set, and on the other side the Quincy clocks 

 kept him apprised, unless the wind blew too 

 strongly from the north. 



Here he worked in sight of the steeples 

 of Boston, cording wood that had been 

 growing there for generations a true 

 woodsman, with his lunch wrapped in brown 

 paper, and no better acquainted with books, 

 or even saloons, than a young farmer in the 

 valley of the Penobscot. 



After I left him I climbed a hill near by, 

 and saw the thousand plumes of smoke 

 waving over New England's capital, and 

 marveled at the contrast. Here indeed was 

 the country besieging the city, and well 

 intrenched in her outposts yet. The ring 

 of the rural ax mingled with the clang of 

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