Two miles either way is better land ready for the plow! Why can't every
one be wise like us?"
"They have to have wood for houses, stables, and fuel," I said. "I hope
my land has timber on it."
"The railroads are coming," said he, "and they will bring you coal and
wood and everything you want. They are racing for the crossings of the
Mississippi. Soon they will reach the Missouri--and some day they will
cross the continent to the Pacific. No more Erie Canals; no more Aaron
Burr conspiracies for the control of the mouth of the Mississippi.
Towns! Cities! Counties! States! We are pioneers; but civilization is
treading on our heels. I feel it galling my kibes[8]--and what are a few
blisters to me! I see in my own adopted city of Lithopolis, Iowa, a
future Sparta or Athens or Rome, or anyhow, a Louisville or Cincinnati
or Dubuque--a place in which to achieve greatness--or anyhow, a chance
to deal in town lots, defend criminals, or prosecute them, and where the
unsettled will have to be settled in the courts as well as on the farm.
On to Lithopolis! G'lang, Whiteface, g'lang!"
[8] The editor acknowledges the invaluable assistance of Honorable N.V.
Creede in the editing of the proofs of this and a few other
passages.--G.v.d.M.
"I thought you were going to Monterey Centre," I said.
"Not if the court knows itself," he said, "and it thinks it does.
Lithopolis is the permanent town in Monterey County, and Monterey Centre
is the mushroom.
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