The Fortunes of Oliver HornSmith, Francis Hopkinson
General
The Fortunes of Oliver Horn
Smith, Francis Hopkinson
Baltimore (Md.) -- Fiction; Bildungsromans; New York (N.Y.) -- Fiction; Painters -- Fiction; Young men -- Fiction
As the day wore on and the coach rattled over the big open bridge that
spanned the rushing mountain-stream, Oliver's eye caught, far up the
vista, the little dent in the line of blue that stood low against the
sky. The driver said this was the Notch and that the big hump to the
right was Moose Hillock, and that Ezra's cabin nestled at its feet and
was watered by the rushing stream, only it was a tiny little brook away
up there that anybody could step over.
"'Tain't bigger'n yer body where it starts out fresh up in them
mountings," the driver said, touching his leaders behind their ears
with the lash of his whip. "Runs clean round Ezra's, and's jest as
chuckfull o' trout, be gosh, as a hive is o' bees."
And the swing and the freedom of it all! No office-hours to keep; no
boxes to nail up and roll out--nothing but sweetness and cool draughts
of fresh mountain-air, and big trees that he wanted to get down and
hug; and jolly laughing brooks that ran out to meet him and called to
him as he trotted along, or as the horses did, which was the same
thing, he being part of the team.
And the day! Had there ever been such another? And the sky, too, filled
with soft white clouds that sailed away over his head--the little ones
far in advance and already crowding up the Notch, which was getting
nearer every hour.
And Marvin the driver--what a character he was and how quaint his
speech. And the cabins by the road, with their trim fences and winter's
wood piled up so neatly under the sheds--all so different from any
which he had seen at the South and all so charming and exhilarating.
Never had he been so happy!
And why not? Twenty-three and in perfect health, without a care, and
for the first time in all his life doing what he wanted most to do,
with opportunities opening every hour for doing what he believed he
could do best.
Oh, for some planet where such young saplings can grow without
hinderance from the ignorant and the unsympathetic; where they can
reach out for the sun on all sides and stretch their long arms skyward;
where each vine can grow as it would in all the luxuriance of its
nature, free from the pruning-knife of criticism and the straitlaced
trellis of conventionality--a planet on which the Puritan with his
creeds, customs, fads, issues, and dogmas, and the Cavalier with his
traditions and time-honored notions never sat foot. Where every round
peg fits a round hole, and men toil with a will and with unclouded
brows because their hearts find work for their hands and each day's
task is a joy.
If the road and the country on each side of it, and the giant trees,
now that they neared the mountains, and the deep ravines and busy,
hurrying brooks had each inspired some exclamation of joy from Oliver,
the first view of Ezra's cabin filled him so full of uncontrollable
delight that he could hardly keep his seat long enough for Marvin to
rein in his horses and get down and swing back the gate that opened
into the pasture surrounding the house.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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