“We’ll all join in the tune,” said Katie; “and John, who is ‘up to all sort o’ fixens’, as the Westerners say, will make some new variations, on purpose for the occasion.” Then came the bustle of depôts, the whizzing of steam, and visions of fields and hills racing away. As usual, the hearts that went recovered serenity sooner than the hearts left behind. The new excitement of travelling waked up hope, who shoved memory aside for awhile, and produced from her portfolio a series of sketches, painted in colours more prismatic than Rossiter’s. They talked of the genial climate, and beautiful scenery of Kansas, and foretold that it would be the Italy of the western world. “I hope it will be like Italy only in its externals,” said Kate. “I trust there will be no lazaroni, no monks, no banditti, no despots to imprison men for talking about the laws that govern them.” “Why do you _want_ to make a new Italy of it?” inquired Alice. “What better destiny can you wish for it, than to be like our dear New England?” “Nothing better _can_ be wished for it,” rejoined William. “Had I not been deeply impressed with the conviction that the institutions, and manners, and consequent welfare of states, depend greatly on the character of first settlers, I should never have encouraged emigration from the old Commonwealth by my own example.” “But the climate and scenery of Italy would be an improvement to Massachusetts,” said John, “if we could have it without losing the active soul and strong muscle of New England.” “That is it exactly, John,” rejoined Katie. “We will have it a young New England; but it shall be under sunny skies, with Italian dress.” Several days passed before the emigrants began to be much aware of the discomforts and fatigue of a long journey. The babies crowed, and seemed to think the huge machine was invented expressly to furnish them with a pleasanter motion than cradle or go-cart; while maturer minds found amusement in observing the passengers that came and went, and pleasure in the varying scenery, as they were whirled along, past the thriving farms of New York, the tall forests of Canada, and the flower-dappled prairies of Illinois. But after a while, even the strongest became aware of aching bones, and the most active minds grew drowsy. The excessive weariness of the last days no pen can adequately describe. The continuous motion of the cars, without change of posture; the disturbed night on board steamboats full of crying children; the slow floating over Missouri waters, now wheeling round to avoid a snag, now motionless for hours on a sand-bar, waiting for the drifting tide, while twilight settles darkly down over uninhabited forests, stretching away in the dim distance. The hurry and scramble of arriving at strange places, farther and farther away from home, and always with a dreary feeling at their hearts that no home awaited them.