There was a cat--as there invariably is in such places--who evidently

thought herself entitled to the privileges of forest life in this close

heart of city conventionalisms. I watched her creeping along the low,

flat roofs of the offices, descending a flight of wooden steps, gliding

among the grass, and besieging the buttonwood-tree, with murderous

purpose against its feathered citizens. But, after all, they were

birds of city breeding, and doubtless knew how to guard themselves

against the peculiar perils of their position.

Bewitching to my fancy are all those nooks and crannies where Nature,

like a stray partridge, hides her head among the long-established

haunts of men! It is likewise to be remarked, as a general rule, that

there is far more of the picturesque, more truth to native and

characteristic tendencies, and vastly greater suggestiveness in the

back view of a residence, whether in town or country, than in its

front. The latter is always artificial; it is meant for the world's

eye, and is therefore a veil and a concealment. Realities keep in the

rear, and put forward an advance guard of show and humbug. The

posterior aspect of any old farmhouse, behind which a railroad has

unexpectedly been opened, is so different from that looking upon the

immemorial highway, that the spectator gets new ideas of rural life and

individuality in the puff or two of steam-breath which shoots him past

the premises. In a city, the distinction between what is offered to

the public and what is kept for the family is certainly not less

striking.

But, to return to my window at the back of the hotel. Together with a

due contemplation of the fruit-trees, the grapevines, the

buttonwood-tree, the cat, the birds, and many other particulars, I

failed not to study the row of fashionable dwellings to which all these

appertained. Here, it must be confessed, there was a general sameness.

From the upper story to the first floor, they were so much alike, that

I could only conceive of the inhabitants as cut out on one identical

pattern, like little wooden toy-people of German manufacture. One

long, united roof, with its thousands of slates glittering in the rain,

extended over the whole. After the distinctness of separate characters

to which I had recently been accustomed, it perplexed and annoyed me

not to be able to resolve this combination of human interests into

well-defined elements. It seemed hardly worth while for more than one

of those families to be in existence, since they all had the same

glimpse of the sky, all looked into the same area, all received just

their equal share of sunshine through the front windows, and all

listened to precisely the same noises of the street on which they

boarded. Men are so much alike in their nature, that they grow

intolerable unless varied by their circumstances.




readonlinefreebook.com Copyright 2016 - 2024