And by the middle of the following
forenoon there was in all Southern Berkshire, only here and there a
family, off on a lonely hillside, or in a hidden valley, in which it
was not the subject of debate.
In Stockbridge, that morning, what few industries still supported a
languishing existence in spite of the hard times, were wholly
suspended. The farmer left his rowen to lie in the field and take the
chances of the weather, the miller gave his mill-stream a holiday, the
carpenter left the house half-shingled with rain threatening, and the
painter his brush in the pot, to collect on the street corners with
their neighbors and discuss the portentous aspect of affairs. And even
where there was little or no discussion, to stand silently in groups
was something. Thus merely to be in company was, to these excited men,
a necessity and a satisfaction, for so does the electricity of a
common excitement magnetize human beings, that they have an attraction
for one another, and are drawn together by a force not felt at other
times. There were not less than three hundred men, a quarter of the
entire population of the town, on and about Stockbridge Green at ten
o'clock that Monday morning, twice as many as had assembled to hear
the news from the convention the Saturday preceding.
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