The national era. [volume] (Washington [D.C.]) 1847-1860, 1855-03-01
For the National Era
THE EMIGRANT AND THE CHILD.
BY NYLEHAU.

There was a small, rusty-looking man, with
sleek, cropped hair, sitting in back seat on one
of our Western railroads. He wore dingy sort
of straight brimmed cap and a red waistcoat,
buttoned up to the chin, which, with quick,
uneasy glance, and shrinking air of perplexi-
ty, very different from the free and easy, at
home-like manner of the unmistakable Ameri-
cans around him, sufficiently bespoke foreign
birth. In fact, he seemed rather dubious OF
the way in which he was going, and was con-
stantly protruding his head from the small win
dow next him, and making desperate efforts to
get it back again, raising the somewhat painful
doubt, as to whether it might not be accident
ally taken of, picked up on the road, and adver-
tised "'to be called for"
1t was hot afternoon, and the gray masses
of dust whirled around inside the car to the
motion of the train. Gentlemen, with their
places of destination on little yellow tickets
stuck in their hat-bands, read newspapers, with
lugubrious countenances perfectly impervious
to dust or heat. Ladies yelled out the dust,
rocked to and fro, and jolted along in grim
silence. Little children covered with perspira-
ton slept on their plush seats, or consoled
themselves with sweetmeats. And the blacken-
ed and memorable engine in front sped fercely
on, dragging along its burden of life, separating
friends and lovers, breaking long ties of rela-
tionship and association, or perchance carry
ing some tired wanderer to his longed-for home,
with the same releptess rush, whooping and
Tuning in the exultation of its iron strength.
Stations were gained and left far behind,
people got out and went, no one knows where,
and others came and presented new faces in
their place. The sun which had gathered in
brightness from the whole expanse of the pale
blue sky, and burst in a water spout of light,
glistening on the heated rails, and concentrating
on the foreigners rusty coat, now sank glaring
in sullen red mist, and cast flush on his coun-
tenance as it found him still rushing gloomily
on with the train.
Involuntary he turned from the uncongenial
faces near him, and gazed upon the landscape,
as if he hoped to find in it some traces of the
land he had left But endless fields of Indian
corn, and meadows thick with tree stumps,
seldom gave him any trace of resemblance to
his fatherland.
A monotonous forest, always shutting out the
distance sometimes closed around the track,
and sometimes opened upon little white, pert
looking houses, that seemed to squirt at him
through their halfclosed green blinds, but too
glaringly reminding him that he was thousands
Of miles away from happiness and home
Everything was terribly American. There
was America in the zig-zag fence by the road
side, that wriggled past in interminable contor-
tons. There was America in the tall girdled
forest trees, that stood scathed, and bare, and
blackened with fire, in scattered groups, cnclo-
sing peculiarly American log cabin, or stand
ing solitary and alone, sun-dials to mark the
progress of civilization.
He turned away again from the uncongenial
sight, almost sick at heart. Everything suggest
ed utter isolation, and brought it home to him,
that he was as utterly uncared for and unno-
ticed, as the blue fly that buzzed past him in
the sunshine.
As he drew back his head, his astonished
gaze fell upon the most delicate miniature of a
little hand in the world, lying softly in his own
toll worn palm. What contrast! The amazed
foreigner looked up, and met pair of lustrous
black eyes, looking compasssonately into his
own. The hand and eyes were parts of the
most fairy-like little form the foreigner had ever
seem For moment, the mystic poetry of the
Germans character overcame his reason, and
he met the little things gaze with the ave-
struck expression of one who sees vision.
The dread realities of steam and America were
banished by the child's presence.
"Why do you look so sorry?" said she.
Are you sick or hungry"
So grave and serious were the child's tones,
that the German inadvertently answered her
as he would have done an older person.
any little lady" said he, in his broken Eng
lish, al live away over der great ocean. My
home ish dare. Here old Hans ish poor, lone
ly German, among der proud Americans. Dis
ish der reason der sorrow ish heavy on me-"
"No old Hans, take LIME up in your lap, as
ma does when she is thinking Of dear dead papa,
and it win make you glad again, like it does
hers
And Hans did take the child into his lap,
and blessed God for the sight of her little face.
"Vere ish your ma? asked Hans
"Why, Uncle Ben and her are way to tother
end of the railcar, talking" said LIME, "aad