1 04 IN TROD UC riON
Boston, July 30th, 1856. Dear Frank,
I know of nothing to prevent me from going to Stow on Monday. I have wished to do so for the past ten days, but have dreaded all motion on account of the heat. Last night was, I think, the most uncomfortable of the season. I did not sleep a moment, but spent the latter part of the night in strolling about. Near day-break I found myself at the end of Long Wharf, The deathlike calmness of the air gave to the motionless water a beautiful silvery as- pect. The ships seemed to be asleep, as they lay scattered over the vast bay, or, melting into the far distance like ghosts, were scarcely to be distinguished from, the mists that enveloped them. Vemet and Lacroix would have delighted to paint such a scene. No sun was visible, but the murky sky was here and there dashed with large red patches, like the light of a conflagration.
The ground was strewed with grain from the vessels which had been unloading, and the pigeons seemed in number almost infinite. A single motion of the hand would cause them to rise in one huge cloud, with an im- mense roaring of wings ; but with a short circuitous flight they would alight all together, nearly on the same spot where they rose. The suddenness and unanimity of motion in such vast multitudes was very picturesque. They seemed to display but little fear, and were no small annoyance to a sailor who had lain down to sleep upon some old canvas lying on the wharf, and upon a spot where the grain seemed most to abound. Him they literally covered, teazing him on all sides ; but he was too lazy to get out of their way, and seemed at a distance like some dead animal amidst clouds of carrion birds.
I am glad that you enjoy yourself, and hope that the
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