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|No. 438: Savin Hill Railroad Bridge|
Engraving printed in Ballou's Pictorial Drawing-Room Companion, 1855. Shows Old Colony Railroad train on the bridge.
| From Ballou's Pictorial Drawing-Room Companion:
Savin Hill and Old Colony Railroad
No one who has visited the spot delineated in the accompanying engraving can fail to certify to its accuracy. Mr. Barry has treated the scene with true artistic feeling. It represents evening twilight?the tremulous and almost motionless water reflects the piers of the bridge and the long line of cars filled with New York passengers, gliding swiftly over it, the lantern already lighted within. The hill rises mellowed and mingling with the sky. The whole forms a pleasing scene. Savin Hill is a famous resort in the summer season for our citizens; its nearness and accessibility from Boston, the salubrity of its locality, and the beauty of the views it commands, rendering it peculiarly attractive. It is delightful to sit at the close of a summer day on the brow of the hill, and look upon the bay, with its fringing islands and picturesque shores, the various craft with their white sails spread before the breeze, or beating up close-hauled against it. As twilight deepens, and lights begin one by one to twinkle forth out of the darkness, while the sharp lines of rocks and houses are mellowed by the obscurity, the scenery acquires a very romantic character. The wide reach of land and sea-scape then becomes a boundless field for speculation, and a basis for building up a very pretty number of air-castles. There are in the neighborhood remains of earthworks erected by the Americans during the revolutionary war, for hereabouts there was ?mounting in hot haste,? planting of batteries, marching and countermarching, and all the bustle incidental to extensive military operations. There are few material traces, however, of the revolutionary struggle either here or elsewhere. The lines fortification are fast disappearing before the ploughshare?agriculture is no respecter of battle monuments, and where bristling bayonets stood up in defiance, the tall spear-heads of wheat and barley nod in the passing breeze. But though these memorials of a by-gone age are disappearing, there is no danger that the story of the past will be lost. Traditions are garnered up, and art and literature give them a permanent shrine.
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Created: December 27, 2003 Modified: March 29, 2008