 and Liberty
pulls down her cap upon her eyes, and owns Oppression in its vilest aspect, for
her sister.
    The engine-driver of the train whose noise awoke us to the present chapter,
was certainly troubled with no such reflections as these; nor is it very
probable that his mind was disturbed by any reflections at all. He leaned with
folded arms and crossed legs against the side of the carriage, smoking: and,
except when he expressed, by a grunt as short as his pipe, his approval of some
particularly dexterous aim on the part of his colleague, the fireman, who
beguiled his leisure by throwing logs of wood from the tender at the numerous
stray cattle on the line, he preserved a composure so immovable, and an
indifference so complete, that if the locomotive had been a sucking-pig, he
could not have been more perfectly indifferent to its doings. Notwithstanding
the tranquil state of this officer, and his unbroken peace of mind, the train
was proceeding with tolerable rapidity; and the rails being but poorly laid, the
jolts and bumps it met with in its progress were neither slight nor few.
    There were three great caravans or cars attached. The ladies' car, the
gentlemen's car, and the car for negroes: the latter painted black, as an
appropriate compliment to its company. Martin and Mark Tapley were in the first,
as it was the most comfortable; and, being far from full, received other
gentlemen who, like them, were unblessed by the society of ladies of their own.
They were seated side by side, and were engaged in earnest conversation.
    »And so, Mark,« said Martin, looking at him with an anxious expression, »and
so you are glad we have left New York far behind us, are you?«
    »Yes, sir,« said Mark. »I am. Precious glad.«
    »Were you not jolly there?« asked Martin.
    »On the contrairy, sir,« returned Mark. »The jolliest week as ever I spent
in my life, was that there week at Pawkins's.«
    »What do you think of our prospects?« inquired Martin, with an air that
plainly said he had avoided the question for some time.
    »Uncommon bright, sir,« returned Mark. »Impossible for a place to have a
better name, sir, than the Walley of Eden. No man couldn't think of settling in
a better place than the Walley of Eden. And I'm told,« added Mark, after a
pause,
