Good morning."
And that was the last I saw of him.
I was getting tired of Maine. I had been there longer than I had
stayed in any place, except in the Vermont State Prison, for the
past fifteen years, and I began to long for fresh scenes and a fresh
field for practice. I had accumulated some means, and thought I
might take life a little easier-make a home for myself somewhere,
practicing my profession when I wanted to, and at other times
enjoying the leisure I loved and really needed. So I closed up my
business in Augusta and Portland, put my money in my pocket, and
once more went out into the world on a prospecting tour. My first
idea was to go to the far West, and I went to Troy with the
intention of staying there a few days, and then bidding farewell to
the East forever. The New England States presented no attractions to
me; I had exhausted Maine, or rather it had exhausted me; New
Hampshire, Vermont, and Massachusetts had too many unpleasant
associations, if indeed they were safe states for me, with my record
to live in, and Connecticut I knew very little about. Certainly I
had no intention of trying to settle in New Jersey or Pennsylvania.
The west was the place; anywhere in the west.
Here was I in Troy, revolving plans in my own mind for migrating to
the west, just as Mary Gordon and I had done in the very same hotel,
only a few years before; and in the course of a week I came to
exactly the same conclusion that Mary and I did--not to go. I heard
of a small farm--it was a very small one of only twelve acres-which
could be bought in Rensselaer County, not more than sixteen miles
from Albany and Troy.
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