_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. The freed horse was not far off,
quietly cropping the grass. The man was busy at the wagon, the boy had
gather'd some dry wood, and was making a fire--and as we went a little
further we met the woman afoot. I could not see her face, in its
great sun-bonnet, but somehow her figure and gait told misery, terror,
destitution. She had the rag-bundled, half-starv'd infant still in
her arms, and in her hands held two or three baskets, which she had
evidently taken to the next house for sale. A little barefoot five-year
old girl-child, with fine eyes, trotted behind her, clutching her gown.
We stopp'd, asking about the baskets, which we bought. As we paid the
money, she kept her face hidden in the recesses of her bonnet. Then as
we started, and stopp'd again, Al., (whose sympathies were evidently
arous'd,) went back to the camping group to get another basket. He
caught a look of her face, and talk'd with her a little. Eyes, voice and
manner were those of a corpse, animated by electricity. She was quite
young--the man she was traveling with, middle-aged. Poor woman--what
story was it, out of her fortunes, to account for that inexpressibly
scared way, those glassy eyes, and that hollow voice?