Full resolution (TIFF) - On this page / på denna sida - On the Hudson, Saturday, October 20
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Not far from Mr. Downing’s villa, on the other
side of the Hudson river, a brick-maker has built
himself a lovely home. This honorable man—for
so he seems to be, and so he really is—has been
here two or three times to present me with flowers
and invite me to his villa. My attention has been
called, also, to a pretty little house, a frame
structure with green veranda and garden, right in this
neighborhood. “It belongs,” said Mr. Downing,
“to a man who in the daytime drives cartloads of
stone and rubbish for making the roads.” In this
the workingman of the New World has more
advantages than he of the Old. He can here, by the
hard labor of his hands, obtain the more refined
pleasures of life, a fine home and the fruits of
education for his family, much more quickly. And he
may obtain these if he will.
At this moment an explosion thunders from the
other side of the Hudson, and I see huge blocks of
stone hurled into the air and fall into the water,
which foams and boils in consequence: it is a rock
which is being blasted to make room for a railway
now in the course of construction along the banks
of the river, where the power of steam on land will
compete with the power of steam on water. To
hurl mountains out of the way, to bore through
them and build tunnels, to move hills into the
water as a foundation for roads in places where
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