The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 05, No. 32, June, 1860: A Magazine of Literature, Art, and PoliticsVarious
History
The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 05, No. 32, June, 1860: A Magazine of Literature, Art, and Politics
Various
American periodicals
"Shyster," said our old man, as he called me into his own den, or rather
lair,--(for den, I take it, is the private residence of a beast of prey,
and lair his place of business. I do not think that this definition is
mine, but I forget to whom it belongs,)--"I suppose you would not dislike a
trip into the country? Very well. These papers must be explained to General
Van Bummel, and signed by him. He lives at Thunderkill, on the Hudson. Take
the ten-o'clock train, and get back as soon as you can. Charge your
expenses to the office."
"What luck!" thought I, as I dashed down-stairs into the
street,--determined to obey his last injunction to the letter, whatever
course I might think fit to adopt about the one preceding it. No one who
has not been an attorney's clerk at three dollars a week, copying
declarations and answers from nine A.M. to six P.M., in a dusty, inky,
uncarpeted room, with windows unwashed since the last lease expired, can
form a correct notion of the exhilaration of my mind when I took my seat in
the railroad-car. The great Van Bnmmel himself never felt bigger nor
better.
It was in that loveliest season of the year, the Indian summer,--a week or
ten days of atmospheric perfection which the clerk of the weather allows us
as a compensation for our biting winter and rheumatic spring. The veiled
rays of the sun and the soft shadows produce the effect of a golden
moonlight, and make even Nature's shabbiest corners attractive. To be
out-of-doors with nothing to do, and nothing to think of but the mere
pleasure of existence, is happiness enough at such times. But I was looking
at a river panorama which is one of Nature's best efforts, I have heard;
and on that morning it seemed to me impossible that the world could show
anything grander.
It was very calm. The broad glittering surface of the river showed here and
there a slight ripple, when some breath of air touched it for a moment; but
wind there was none,--only a few idle breezes lounging about, waiting for
orders to join old Boreas in his next autumnal effort to crack his
cheeks. The bright-colored trees glowed on the mountain-sides like beds of
living coals.
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