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 Ite^Eemtiis of u inieriM "Coitrj Gdlem"; 
 
 Embracuig Jonmeys OYer Ijis Farm and Excarsions 
 into Ms Library. 
 
 . By 
 
 I* 
 
 m\^^i iLLusft^AfEtD. 
 
 "When I travelled I saw many things." — [Eeclesiastieus. 
 
 DETROIT: 
 
 1886. 
 
7& i^'^'i 
 
 COPYRIGHT BY 
 
 M. W. ELLSWORTH & CO. 
 
 1886. 
 
 AU. RIQHTS RESERVED. 
 
My ■^^'sd Fafeher, 
 Ti^e NJanliegt NJar) I {^ave {^r)owg, 
 
 Is ^ffeclioipately and flevevev^ily 
 
 dedicated, 
 
 by 
 
PEEFAOE. 
 
 JHB chapters which follow in this volume make 
 up a composition which some will be disposed 
 to denominate a prose idyl. And yet, as we 
 must agree, the work differs at points from an 
 idyl. It may be termed an autobiography; but it is 
 much more than that, much more and much less. It 
 is a history, and yet not a history; and, for one differ- 
 ence, this discourse is too veracious, too faithful for 
 history! Strictly speaking, this is not a sermon — a 
 lay sermon — though it appears certain that it contains 
 features which would not discountenance a homily of 
 that species. Perhaps we were not so far astray to 
 call it a great psalm, of several divisions ; or a book 
 of psalms ; or a parable; or a series of parables. It 
 is in no sense a novel, or work of fiction which may 
 bear that title ; it is far too true for that, even in 
 those parts which treat of matters that really never 
 occurred in manner and form as here set down. If a 
 name must be fixed upon, what objection to calling 
 this writing a poem ? A poem, unmetrical ; no less 
 unsymmetrical; unrhymed; but possibly not unrhyth- 
 mical. (!N'ot an epic, then, an Agricoliad ?) A didac- 
 tic poem, because one of its offices is to teach moral 
 lessons ; but it is greatly unlike all other didactic 
 poems the world has seen, or shall see. If properly 
 
VI PREFACE. 
 
 a dramatic piece, not a tragedy, 'tis too pleasant ; nor 
 a comedy, 'tis too earnest in purpose. Happy if it 
 be an oratorio. Wliy not, then, a hymn, a sacred lyric 
 to Pan and all the rural gods — i. e., to all the gods? 
 And it will displease the author not a whit though 
 the quest for a fitting title for the book eventuates in 
 total failure, if only its readers — or even a few of 
 them — shall be brought to confess, amid smiles and 
 tears, that 
 
 • "It has an excellence 
 
 That wants a name yet." 
 
 F. S. B. 
 
 Detroit^ Mick, April 15, 1886. 
 
GENERAL MOTTOES. 
 
 " Story? Ood bless you 1 I ham Twne to tell, sir! " 
 
 Caknihg: Tke Knife Grinder. 
 
 " This i» the discourse of an honorable philosopher, and not the dta- 
 
 eourse of a poet." Keran. 
 
 "Fan Ch'e requested to be taught husbandry. The master said, 'lam 
 not so good for th^t as an old husbandman '. He requested to be taught 
 gardening, and was answered, '/ am not so good for tJmt as an old gar- 
 dener', " CONTUCIUS, 
 
 " Books can and do penetrate into every nook of our most extended and 
 crowded cities ; but every day these cities and towns enlarge their bound- 
 aries, and the sweet face of Nature is hidden from the inhabitants. We 
 should, therefore, not only make our books breathe into the depth of every 
 street, court and alley the natural aliment of human hea/rts — the love of 
 Nature — but rouse tTiem like a trumpet, to get out at times and renew that 
 animating fellowship which God designed to be maintained between the soul 
 of man and the beauty of the universe." 
 
 Howrrr: Book of the Seasons, 
 
 ''This book will make a traveller of th^. 
 If by its counsels thou wilt ruled be; 
 It will direct iJiee to the holy land 
 If thou wilt its directions understand; 
 Tea, it will make the slothful active be, 
 The blind also delightful things to see." 
 
 Bunyan: Pilgrim^ s Progress, 
 
 "Beject it not, although it bring 
 Appearances of some fantastic thing 
 At first unfolding." 
 
 Witter: To the King;. 
 
a. 
 
 ^-fy 
 
 M 
 
 JM 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Mottoes — Introduction 16 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Mottoes — The Debate Begins — Poetry and Potatoes — 
 Beecher's Idea — Old Ruins of Enoland — An Appar- 
 ent Advantage — I Lose Mt Temper — A Lesson From 
 History — A Disappointment — Turning the Tables — I 
 Adjourn the Session — Victory at Last — Oakeields 
 Farm , • . 33 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Mottoes — Pretty Pictures — Practical Considerations — 
 Tallyrand's Notions — A Libel — Rustic Homes — We 
 Argue Certain Points — Several Authors Cited — A 
 Sweet Influence Departed 36 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 Mottoes — A Dull Cotemporary — Doubts and Fears — A 
 Country Cousin — A Parlor Concert — The 'Squire's 
 Solo — My Cousin's Discomfiture — We Go Fishing — A 
 Bald Insult — Peccavi — I Feel Better 46 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Mottoes — Squaring Away Again — Quoting a Precedent 
 
 — A Sample Case — Proceedings In Coubt — What if 
 You Fail? — The Farmer's Life — Contention, Conten- 
 tion — It is not the Law, but Lawyers — Some Sage 
 Comments — What Greeley Said 58 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 Motto — Fondness for Journalism — Journalism Discussed — 
 Some Comments — A Good Moral — Nature and Peace 
 
 — Quotation from Emerson — Mad as a Hornet — 
 CuRius Dentatus — My Father Receives an Embassy — 
 
 PhILOPCEMEN — A LITTLE MoONSHINE 70 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Mottoes — Aristotle Commented upon — An Ideal Re- 
 treat — The Subject of Politics Introduced — More 
 
X CONTENTS. 
 
 Politics — Dramatization — Council of the Conspira- 
 tors — The Plot Thickens — Other Scenes — The Devil 
 A Politician — Impolite, but not Impolitic ... 8^ 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 Mottoes — Homely Themes — Highways and By-ways — Prim- 
 itive Farming — And "We Enjoy It — The Subject of 
 Owls Introduced — The Owl-Music — Nocturnal Wan- 
 derings — A Horror — Metaphysical — Hoo-hoo, Hoo- 
 Hoo — An Illustration — But I Resume — A Woor^- 
 LAND Enchanted — Hopeful Signs 94 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Mottoes — Game not Plenty — The Author no Sportsman 
 — Pliny as a Hunter — I Go Dekr-Stalking — Why I 
 Didn't Shoot — Defective Game Laws — W. P. Hawes 
 ON Quails — Et tu, Frank Forester — Merciful Mur- 
 derers — The Black List — No use for Wolves and 
 Lynxes — But I Do Respect Bruin — The Story of our 
 Bear — A Mutual Surprise — A Masterly Retreat — 
 Ashamed of the Reader , . HO* 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Mottoes — Who Is this IV — Characteristics — Gen. Allen 
 at Ft. Ti. — Difficulties Still — The Elicitation of 
 Truth — Certain Bards Quoted — Only Weary; not 
 Spiteful — Hazlitt's Picture — The Lake Poets — Mon- 
 taigne — The Town no Place for Me — Several Authors 
 Cited — A Paradise — Democritus Again — The Eng- 
 lishman's Love of Nature 12S 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 Mottoes — Objections Considered — More Replies to Criti- 
 cisms — A Fault Admitted — It Can't be Stealing — Only 
 Poetical Justice — Don't Mention It 144 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 Mottoes — A Fellow-Feeling — We Write a Letter — Wb 
 Owe for a Lodge in S. V. W. — Up at the Farm — Wb 
 Farm for Fun — A Leafy Luxury — A Sweet Dream op 
 Peace — A Sudden Ending 153^ 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 Mottoes — He Should Have Been Happy — Why He Was 
 NOT — Arrant Nonsense — Discussion Found Unprofit- 
 
CONTENTS. XI 
 
 ABLE — A Poem — I Resolve to Begin Plowlng — The 
 Ancients Praised the Work — Ancient Deities and 
 Rites — Hitching on — Making Ready for a Start — 
 How She Moves off — A Crash — How it Ended — Some 
 Comments — Ye Owle 162 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 Mottoes — Pigxjrativkly Speaking — Topographical — A 
 Nook — A Maple Tree — My Oaks — A Sudden Fall — 
 The Attitude of the Boys — The Scenery — Suspense 
 
 — That Terrible Oath — How Recorded — The Reader 
 Upbraided — A Spectacle 178 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Mottoes — The Tale — Flossofer Daniel — Thoreau — Cer- 
 tain other Writers — Burroughs — The Old Story — 
 An Older Anecdote — Statement of the Case — On 
 Trial — An Appeal to Posterity , 192 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Mottoes — The East Eighty — An Historical Spring — 
 Stumps — Will Pine Stumps Become Valuable? — Trees 
 
 — A Joke — Clearing Land — Good Men Love Trees — 
 The Autocrat — Gibson — The Woods in Winter — A 
 Notable Tree — Our Beeches — Beecher — Matters 
 TO Lament — Fruit from Our Orchard — Farmers with 
 Souls — Visitors — My Neighbors — Old-Fashioned 
 Honesty — Friendly Interest — Labor 202 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 Mottoes — Thereby Hangs a Tale — Was it Providential? 
 
 — Kathleen Visits the Farm — The Question Decided 
 
 — A Faithful Assistant — Taste and Wit — The Prin- 
 ter AT THE Farm — Moonshine — Goneness — Distrust 
 AND Lectures — She's Come ! — Misery Enough — A Pit- 
 iful Tale — Was It Maniacy? — Flight, Freedom and 
 Happiness — Conclusion of the Tale 220 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 Mottoes — A Typical Camp — The Site — Extent of the 
 Robbery — A Visit to Camp — In Your Mind — Morn- 
 ing Exercises in Camp — Serious and Substantial Eat- 
 ing — Preparations for Business — How the Work Goes 
 
XII CONTENTS. 
 
 ON — Dining and Supping — Songs — Sleeping — Occa- 
 sional Features — Sunday — Striking Camp .... 238 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 Mottoes — Our Camp and Crew — An Epistle to Doc. — On 
 Guard — Voices of the Woods — Doc's Sinning — Some 
 OF Our Boys — Good Times — A Christmas Tree — The 
 Gifts — A Little Sentiment 254 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 Mottoes — Should He Have Been A Farmer — Emerson's 
 Thoughts — The Poets Have Spoken — A Landscape — 
 Other Poets — Would Men Let Me Alone .... 264 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 Mottoes — I Like Beecher's Style — Mitchell — Does 
 Farming Pay? — Pecuniary Profits Small — Another 
 Farmer — Thoreau Buys the Hollowell Place — What 
 the Attractions Were — Why I Purchased "The Wil- 
 lows " — The Brook Farmers — A Lament 272 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 Mottoes — Certain Considerations — Why I Purchased a 
 New Farm — All About Axes — With My Little 
 Hatchet — I Did It — Butterflies — Strong Testimo- 
 nials — Authorities Cited — Poetical Testimony . , 282 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 Mottoes — A Paradox — Experimentation — Wanted, a Sym- 
 pathizer — A Landed Country-Gentleman — Two 
 Varieties — An Intellectual Democracy — Defective 
 Definitions — I Will Describe — The Definition — What 
 A Mortgage Is — The Foul Fiend — Note .... 292 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 Mottoes — Topographical Pursuits — Forests — Townships 
 — Our Territory — The Farm Buildings — The Farm — 
 Shape and Surface — Ridges — Our Mountains — Fort 
 Ti. — Sylvan Scenery at Oakfields — The Woods — 
 Crimes We Commit 306 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 Mottoes — Thereby Hang the Profits — In the Meadow 
 
CONTENTS. XIII 
 
 — The Watbr-Wats — The Beavers — The Soils — As 
 
 TO Sand-Ridges — Too Cheap — How Long, Oh Lord? 316 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 Mottoes — Ancestor-Worship — Various Vanities — My 
 Castle in Spain — Ossian — Ecclesiastes — Emerson — The 
 Earth-Song — Job — " Only Waiting " — The " Ever- 
 lasting Hills " not Stable — The World Shall Pass 
 Away — How Newton Regarded the Matter — No Mat ■ 
 TER — Idealism — I Only an Idea — "Through a Glass, 
 Darkly" — As to Philosophy — Bivious Theorems — I Am 
 Troubled Thereby — Philosophy op no Practical Use 326 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 Mottoes — Symposium at the Farmstead — Why not a 
 Teacher — My Alma Mater — ' ' Board " Dictation — 
 Desultory Debate — I Write the Old 'Squire — Beauty 
 OF the Husbandman's Life — Exhortation and Reproof 
 
 — Sundry Considerations — An Honest Security — Me- 
 teors AND Rockets — A Pastoral Scene — A Beauti- 
 ful Vision — Farewell 344 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 Mottoes — The Indian Question — Two Ways of Treat- 
 ing A Subject — The Subject Introduced — A Squaw, 
 Ancient and Ugly — How She Was Rigged Out — She 
 Was Thinking — Lo — Kaween-Neshin Nish-e-naw-ba — 
 The Birds — Home Again — I Could Say More — Why 
 I Don't 360 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 Mottoes — Real History and Biography — A 'Ruption op 
 Barbarians — A Conversation in a Lumber Camp — A 
 Council of War — Will they 'Rupt? — Apprehensions 
 DissMissED — The Evening at the Cabin — Boys They're 
 Comin' ! — Some Sentiment — An Embassy — A Palaver 
 that Didn't Count — The Attack — The Combat Deep- 
 ens — Saved by a Woman — The Historical Bridge — 
 Victory is Ours — Where We Found Jose — How Cer- 
 tain Matters Occurred — Once and Out 373 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 Mottoes — A Practical Age — Yet I Read Poetry — Poets 
 AND Poetry — No Science op Criticism — Coleridge's 
 
XIV CONTENTS. 
 
 Rule — The Distich — My Rule, &c. — An Inter-Chap- 
 ter — A Mad World 393 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 Mottoes — Beecher's House and Mine — A House Should 
 G-Row — A Low-Browed Cottage — A Strange Jumble 
 
 — Wings and Lean-tos — Other Additions .... 402 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 Mottoes — My Study Windows — The Interior — A Pic- 
 ture — A Slander — Greeley's Cottage — Southey's 
 
 AND WhITTIER's STUDIES — MoNTAIGNE'S LIBRARY — BeG 
 
 Pardon Once More — The Center 410 
 
 CHAPTER XXXn. 
 
 Mottoes — Bucolics — The Morning Walk — What Has 
 Re-Strung the Lyre — Universal Tenderness — The 
 Farm- Yard — A Green Lane — The Owl and Other 
 Feathered Friends — The Brook — The Return — The 
 Crow and the Kingbird — Thieves and Cowards . . 418 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 Mottoes — A Rustic Picture — Ambition — And the End — 
 Sanguine but not Sanguinary — Give the Devil His 
 Due — A Happy Hour — I Speak for a Class — Gradu- 
 ation — An Old Story — The Changes Time Has 
 Wrought — Old Volumes — No More — The Parch- 
 ment — What it Recites and What Omits — One Who 
 Will Understand — Who? 430 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 Mottoes — Letters to Horace — Bees — Origin, Varieties 
 — An Enthusiast — Bee Literature — Wicked Gossip — 
 Growing Audacious — Business Changes — The Cause 
 
 — I Warn My Brother — Only A Little Nonsense — 
 The Blessed Bees — Exquisitely Beautiful — And Man 
 
 so Dull 444 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 Mottoes — Our Heritage — Nature's Storehouse — Where- 
 fore?— Not in the Bible alone — Nature's Worship — 
 Awake, Ye That Sleep — 'Tis Pitiful — Things I Love — 
 Burns, Thoreau, and other Examples — Moral Courage 
 
CONTENTS. XV 
 FEATtTRES OF THE FoREST — TOMB OF WASHINGTON — 
 
 Is There Hope? — The New Spring — Musical Creatures 
 — Later Spring — A Wild Meadow in Summer — Sum- 
 mer, Autumn, Winter — Features op Winter — A 
 Question — Live Your Own Life — What Does it all 
 Mean? — Summer Sunset — Truth and Beauty — Let 
 Us Seek to Learn 458 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVL 
 
 Mottoes — My Rule for Autobiographers — Mt Case— An 
 Illustration — Little Latin and Less Greek — Good 
 Lord Deliver Us! — Certain Erudite Authors Excused 
 
 — They Should Explain Their Explanation — This 
 Book an Aurobiography — Plutarch and Montaigne 
 
 — Menschlich-Anecdotische — Will it Pay? — Forward 
 THEN — The Size of My Circle 483 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 Mottoes — My Immethodical Method — Pleasant but not 
 Commendable — My First Favorite — A Book-Making 
 Age — Why I Like It — Books Do not Live — One Can- 
 not Read All 496 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 Mottoes — Who Knows? — A Real Service — Tom, Dick, 
 AND Harry — Naked Truth — It Is All in the Trav- 
 eller — Another Epistle — What Certain Old Worth- 
 ies Held — Pictures, and Milk — Morn in the Forest 
 
 — Resources — Evidences — An Amusing Incident — A 
 Curious Matter — Our Ramble — Consultation, a Tour, 
 A Party — Evening — Sweet Rural Seclusion — The 
 iPXiYMOUTH Pastor once more — Good-Bye 505 
 
 ^^^(^tV 
 
MOTTOEg TOR THE INTRODUmON. 
 
 ■ ^he -wopld is too rr|uch with us ; late and goon, 
 
 ©cttind and spendirjg "we lay waste our powers ; 
 
 Lsittle -we gee iij nature that is ours ; 
 'S^Je have giver) our hearts a^way, a sordid boor) ! 
 The ssa tl^at bares bjer bosorr) to thje rrjoor), 
 
 Vhe -winds tbjat -will be howlirjg at all Iqoups, 
 
 i^r)d are upgatl;)eped no-w like sleeping flo-wers, — 
 Fop this, fop everytljiijg, -we ape out of tuqe ; 
 It moves us not. — @peat ©od ! I'd patljep be 
 
 R. pagan suckled in a creed outworn, — 
 So migl^t I, star)dir)g or) tljis pleasar)t lea, 
 
 J^ave glirqpses that would make me less forlorn. 
 Have sig^jt of "?^poteus pisirjg from tlje sea, 
 
 ©p hear old T^piton blow his wpeathcd horr)." 
 
 Wordsworth. 
 
 "While such pupe joys my bliss cpeate, 
 
 "Who but -would gmile at guilty state ? 
 
 W^bjo but -would -wist) his tjoly lot 
 
 In calnj obliviorj's Igungble grot? 
 
 W^ho but -would cast V)is pomp a-way, 
 
 To take rr)y staff and amice gray ; 
 
 ^ijd to tl^e -wopld's turqultuous stage 
 
 •f^refer the blameless hermitage ?" 
 
 Thomas Warton. 
 
 16 
 
INTKODUCTION. 
 
 ' ORTHY reader, I have determ- 
 ined at tlie outset, if only you 
 will promise to be very dis- 
 creet, and not divulge the 
 secret, to make a confidant of 
 you : The author of this book 
 is really not much of a Farm- 
 er, after all. If then you turn 
 upon me and demand how I 
 have dared to assume the 
 name, as in the sub-title of 
 this work I so plainly do, I 
 have simply to urge that I 
 make up in the recreating part 
 what I lack in the other. 
 That is to say, while in a 
 qualified sense only am I an 
 agriculturist, and not heart-whole as a cultivator of the 
 soil, I am an entirely sincere and earnest believer in and 
 advocate of the universal culture of the soul; and, al- 
 though sometimes I have been reproached by my more 
 practical rural neighbors with being a "book-farmer," I 
 am rather, by instinct and aspiration, a Brook-Farmer. 
 
 But, it will be objected, the Brook-Farmers were dream- 
 ers, builders of tinselled air-castles, whose fairy fabrics, with 
 gossamer-raftered roofs, sunshine-shingled, only touched 
 earth at a single point, and hence could not stand, Yery 
 well then, I am a dreamer ; and would go on and try the 
 2 17 
 
18 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 pretty experiment over again, but in modified forms per- 
 haps, and over again and again, until either some way is 
 devised of making the Castle Beautiful maintain its proper 
 erect position, or the pleasure of trying them shall com- 
 pensate a thousand-fold for all the attendant labor and 
 expense of the successive essays. 
 
 How noble the following language of the author of the 
 Blithesdale Romance: 
 
 "Yet, after all," he says, "let us acknowledge it wiser, 
 if not more sagacious, to follow out one's day-dream to its 
 natural consummation, although, if the vision have been 
 worth the having, it is certain never to be consummated 
 otherwise than by a failure. But what of that? Its airiest 
 fragments, impalpable as they may be, will possess a value 
 that lurks not in the most ponderous realities of any prac- 
 ticable scheme ! They are not the rubbish of the mind. 
 Whatever else I may repent of, therefore, let it be reck- 
 oned neither among my sins or follies that I once had 
 faith enough to form generous hopes of the world's des- 
 tiny!"* 
 
 "Without sharing in the despondency of this noble spirit, 
 reader, let us adopt, as our platform of principles, the 
 remarkable words of his conclusion. 
 
 " I'm sadder now, — I have had cause; but oh, I'm proud to think 
 That each pure joy -fount loved of yore I yet delight to drink! 
 Leaf, blossom, blade, hill, valley, stream, the clear unclouded sky, 
 Still mingle music in my dreams as in the days gone by."f 
 
 To me the human soul is the most beautiful, the most 
 valuable, the most sacred thing under the whole Heaven ! 
 its culture the business for us the most worthy, the most 
 important, the most imperatively necessary ! Nay, of such 
 tremendous and transcendent consequence is this work of 
 the development of the intellectual and moral nature of the 
 
 *HaWTHORNE. fWlLLIAM MOTHERWELL. 
 
INTRODUCTION. 19 
 
 liiiman, that, neglecting this, all other enterprises appear 
 trivial, — of little value or avail. 
 
 "By words 
 Whicli speak of nothing more than what we are 
 Would I arouse the sensual from their sleep 
 Of death, and win the vacant and the vain 
 To noble raptures, while my voice proclaims 
 How exquisitely the individual mind 
 (And the progressive powers perhaps no less 
 Of the whole species) to the external world 
 Is fitted : — and how exquisitely, too, 
 (Theme this but little heard of among men) 
 The external world is fitted to the mind; 
 And the creation (by no lesser name 
 Can it be called) which they with blended might 
 Accomplish: — This is our high argument."* 
 
 I am not unaware that by my method of reaching my 
 'object in the present work, I may incur the criticism of 
 many and the hostility of a few ; and I have little defense 
 to make. I confess that in this volume I have touched 
 upon a variety of subjects, many of which may appear to 
 bear little relation to the general purpose of the work, 
 wherein I have possibly offended equally against the rules 
 of rhetoric and the canons of good taste. Of much that I 
 have said it may be urged, as was objected against Thoreau's 
 Walden^ that it might have been as well written elsewhere 
 or on another theme.f " I acknowledge it all " — the dis- 
 cursiveness — levity — egotism — all: " 'tis partly affected.":}: 
 But if one shall rise and charge that my work hence is 
 lacking either in sincerity or dignity, or that its lesson 
 merits hence less attention, I desire to enter an indignant 
 protest, and challenge him to his proofs ! 
 
 I am mindful, too, — and if memory should fail me a* any 
 season, three several times at least each day would nature 
 
 *"Wordsworth: Excursion. f Sanborn's Life of TJwreau. 
 :|:Burton: Anat. of Mel. 
 
2 JNTR OD VCTION. 
 
 quicken it, — that we must also attend to the "question of 
 bread and butter." The author of Zwcz'fe — and he a poet — 
 declares : 
 
 "We may live witliout poetry, music and. art; 
 We may live without conscience, and live without heart; 
 We may live without friends, we may live without books; 
 But civilized man cannot live without cooks." 
 
 I repeat we must not ignore the practical question of 
 "making a living" ; — and if I have sometimes dreamed of 
 the possibility of the return of the Golden Age, and de- 
 plored the manners of this age of gold, let it not be laid to 
 my charge that I have failed in my theories of life to take 
 into account the necessity of exertion to win a decent sup- 
 port for the physical part of this wonderful human animal, 
 or that I decry, or deny the dignity of, the labor devoted 
 to this end ! " Yenerable to me is the hard hand, — crooked, 
 coarse, — wherein, notwithstanding, lies a cunning virtue, 
 indispensably royal, as of the scepter of the planet."* But 
 I would fain believe it practicable still, in Dr. Eipley's 
 words, " to establish a mode of life combining the enchant- 
 ments of poetry with the facts of daily experience." 
 
 ' ' Paradise and groves 
 Elysian, Fortunate Fields, — like those of old 
 Sought in the Atlantic main, — why should these be 
 A history only of departed things. 
 Or a mere fiction of what never was? 
 For the discerning intellect of man, 
 When wedded to this goodly universe 
 In love and holy passion, shall find these 
 The simple produce of the common day."f 
 
 But although a perusal of the following pages may fail 
 perchance to arm the reader with a full equipment of log- 
 ical arguments, wherewith to maintain the position which 
 
 *CakLYLE. fWORDSWOKTH. 
 
INTR OD UCTION. 2 1 
 
 both himself and the author now so clearly occupy, and so 
 tenaciously cling to, logic or no logic, yet a shadowy 
 glimpse of the line of defense which I deem might by a 
 more forcible genius be made effective, may be thus ob- 
 tained. At all events some pleasant reading may possibly 
 be found between the covers of this book, and useful mean- 
 ings extracted thence, — meanings, however, which in some 
 instances may not be obvious to the careless reader. 
 
 Will you accompany me, dear reader, upon these my 
 *' Journeys" and my "excursions"? 
 
 "Beauty, a living presence of the earth, 
 Surpassing the most fair ideal forms, 
 Which craft of delicate spirits doth compose 
 From earth's materials, waits upon my steps; 
 Pitches her tents before me as I move, 
 An hourly neighbor." 
 
 If I have successfully accomplished my purpose in pre- 
 paring the following chapters, the sympathizing reader 
 shall yet experience something of the delight the author 
 has felt while the work has been in progress. 
 
 " Fit audience let me find, though few." 
 
Emm FOR mmu i 
 
 "J^ay, if you conQe to ttjat, sir, have rjofe the -wigest men 
 
 of all ages, rjofe exceptirjg Solorrjor) bjimgelf, — l^ave ttjey not 
 
 all had their hobby l^opgeg ; — thjeir running tjorseg, their 
 
 coing and tl^eir cockle ghjellg, their drums and thjeir tpum« 
 
 petg, thjeip fiddleg and their pallets, t]r)eip njaggotg ar)d 
 
 tlgeir butterflies? J<X.nd so loijg as a mar) rides t)ig Ijobby 
 
 Vjorge peaceably ar)d quietly alor)g tl]e kirjg'g h)igh-way, ar)d 
 
 neither compelg you r)op nje to get up behind hirr) — pray, 
 
 sip, -what l]ave eithjep you op I to do "with) it ? " 
 
 Laurence Sterne. 
 
 "T^he setting op the pising sun, beir)g mepe njattep, are in 
 thjenjgelves nothir|g, urjlesg they ape clothed in light by thje 
 in^agirjatior), ur)less tl]e east and the west ape ippadiated. 
 by poetry." Prof. Wilson. 
 
 23 
 
CHAPTER I. 
 
 IS of no use, little woman, to 
 fight against fate : I must have 
 a farm, — must be a farmer ! " 
 
 We — three of us — were cosily 
 seated in our little room, an- 
 swering the general purpose of 
 dining-, sitting- and reading- 
 room, in our snug dwelling in 
 the village of M. The boys 
 who worked at the printing 
 ofiice, and boarded with us, had 
 finished their dinner and quietly 
 withdrawn ; the ladies lingered, 
 chatting, at the table, while the 
 speaker, reclining at ease upon 
 a chintz-covered sofa, nearer the 
 coal-stove, had been for some 
 time buried in a volume of essays, and he gave utterance 
 to the abrupt exclamation which we note above, without 
 raising his eyes from the variegated page of Christopher 
 North. 
 
 But, although he had not looked, he was fully conscious 
 of the sudden birth of roguish and quizzical smiles which 
 forthwith began wreathing two sweet faces opposite, and 
 was fully prepared for a question — asked not now for the 
 first time by the same gentle voice on similar provocation : 
 " What have you found now? " 
 
 S3 
 
24 TSE DEBATE BEGINS. 
 
 The reader was conscious, witli still downcast eyes, of a 
 quick exchange of significant glances between his fair 
 companions. 
 
 A little abashed, because his exclamation had been 
 rather an involuntary one, and yet with more of hardihood 
 than a perfect stranger would have anticipated from him 
 under all the circumstances of the case, yea, with more than 
 would have supported him at an earlier day of his sinning 
 in this kind, the reader raised his eyes from the book till 
 they met the smiling orbs of his interlocutor and her co- 
 conspirator in turn, burst into a good-humored laugh, and 
 replied : 
 
 "Oh, 'tis nothing, much, here; only the thoughts this 
 paragraph suggested." 
 
 But they insisted on hearing it, and I was forced to 
 read : • 
 
 " ' Scotland bought and read his poetry, and Burns, from 
 a poor man, became rich — rich to his heart's desire — and 
 reached the summit of his ambition in the way of this 
 world's life in a — farm ! ' " 
 
 Then both ladies laughed merrily, but with such a sym- 
 pathetic light in their mild eyes as took the sting all out 
 of the rebuke and made me fain to join them. Then one 
 steals over to the sofa and, laying a soft hand on that of 
 the dreamer, looks directly into his eyes. It is Beecher, I 
 think, who avers that there are women able " to look a 
 whole arithmetic " in one glance at their bibliomaniac hus- 
 bands. What else did I see in the gentle eyes turned upon 
 me at this moment? I saw, indeed, the mathematics of 
 the problem duly arrayed against me. I saw prudent 
 admonition, kindly remonstrance. I saw — slowly gathering 
 — a tear ! 
 
 " Our poet idealizes the life of the farmer," was the 
 remark of Mignon from the table. " That probably isn't 
 very wrong; but the prosaic matters of bread and butter 
 
POETRY AND POTATOES. 25 
 
 must also be attended to, I suppose," she added. And 
 further : "I myself would like to perceive, 
 
 ' Through all familiar things, 
 The romance underlying.' "* 
 
 The dreamer looked his thanks to both his sympathetic 
 opposers and thus spoke : 
 
 " Yes, and you remember Bryant's lines : 
 
 " 'The sweet sounds of the vernal season, 
 And the fair sights of its early days. 
 Are only sweet when we fondly listen, 
 And only fair when we fondly gaze. 
 
 " * There is no glory in star or blossom 
 Till looked upon by a loving eye; 
 There is no fragrance in April breezes 
 
 Till breathed with joy as they wander by,' 
 
 "And," he continued, " Coleridge says, 
 
 ' We receive but what we give, 
 And in our life alone doth nature live,'" 
 
 "But what does all that prove?" interrupted the little 
 lady by my side, " that poetry liberally scattered will pro- 
 duce potatoes, and sufficiency of sentiment sown is certain 
 to secure heavy crops of cereals ? " 
 
 "No," responded Mignon, "the old problem of 'bread 
 and butter ' remains as before. True, I have read (in Shel- 
 ley, I believe) that while 
 
 ' Chameleons live on light and air, 
 The poet's food is love and fame! ' 
 
 So he^d do well enough, and, selfish man that he is ! he 
 seems to be looking out only for himself. But that sort 
 of provision wouldn't do at all for you, Malvina, — and the 
 little ones; you must have something far more substan- 
 tial." 
 
 *Whittier. 
 
26 BEECHER^S IDEA. 
 
 Then we all laughed gaily and the session broke up, nO' 
 progress having been made in any direction. 
 
 The above is only one of many conversations which took 
 place in the same little room upon similar subjects, and in 
 these odd triangles of debate the obtuser angle was always 
 directly opposed by two others {non Angli, sed Angeli) so 
 acute that the wonder was he did not give up the unequal 
 contest* But not he! 
 
 One day I took down a book, both ladies being at hand,, 
 and read aloud as follows : 
 
 " There is something in the owning of a piece of ground 
 which affects me as did the old ruins of England. I am 
 free to confess that the value of a farm is not chiefly in its 
 crops of cereal grain, its orchards of fruit, and its herds ;, 
 but in those larger and more easily reaped harvests of asso- 
 ciations, fancies and dreamy brooding which it begets. 
 From boyhood I have associated classical civil virtues and 
 old heroic integrity with the soil, l^o one who has peopled 
 his young brain with the fancies of Grecian Mythology but 
 comes to feel a certain magical sanctity for the earth." 
 
 When the reader began, although he carefully kept his 
 eyes upon the book, he was conscious of the usual mutual 
 glances and smiles on the part of his two fair companions, 
 and felt a little disconcerted : he managed, however, to keep 
 his countenance, and when he saw, as he furtively cast his 
 eyes about, during his progress down the page, that the 
 
 *I am a little dubious concerning ih'is, mathematical figure. If that 
 obtuser angle was right, as he evidently believed himself, then how 
 could the contest be said to be unequal? A questien this for students of 
 geometry. If the o. a. were greater than a right angle (more than 
 right!) the inequality of the two forces must be conceded, 'tis true, but 
 it would count in favor of the o. a. But the others would gain in acute- 
 ness as the larger angle grew more obtuse. If the obtuser angle were 
 less than right, he then were at a double disadvantage : he would lack 
 both in size and sharpness. 
 
OLD RUINS OF ENGLAND. 
 
 2r 
 
28 AN APPARENT ADVANTAGE, 
 
 ladies were lending attentive ears, and, in fact, growing 
 more and more interested in the beautiful sentences, his 
 courage rose and he concluded the paragraph with an elo- 
 cutionary flourish which betrayed him again. 
 
 "That's very fine," observed Mignon, dryly. 
 
 " Who wrote that ? " demanded she whom her companion 
 had addressed as Malvina. 
 
 " Brother Beecher," I replied. 
 
 " I thought so ! " was the response, and then she asked : 
 " How many thousand dollars a year does Mr. Beecher's 
 farm cost him? " 
 
 " Only some ten or twelve, I have heard," laughed Mig- 
 non. "A mere trifle," she added, sarcastically. Then she 
 remarked: "But I do think what was read is beautiful" 
 
 " So do I," asserted Malvina, " and it is a great and glo- 
 rious gift that enables men to write thus." 
 
 I was now gathering new courage, thinking I had made 
 an impression upon the minds of the ladies. I re-read to 
 attentive and appreciative listeners what I conceived to be 
 the finest lines in the paragraph, and then walking over to 
 the book-case, I opened the glass door, put up the Star 
 Papers and, taking down Whitiier^ which opened at a mark, 
 and standing by the book-case, and prefacing the verse with 
 a " Thank the Lord that ours is," which was not in the 
 
 book, I read as follows : 
 
 " 'A land 
 Where whoso wisely wills and acts may dwell 
 As king and law-giver in broad-acred state, 
 With beauty, art, taste, culture, books, to make 
 His hour of leisure richer than a life 
 Of four-score to the baron of .old time. 
 Our yeoman should be equal to his home 
 Set in the fair green valleys. ' "* 
 
 Then, quickly, lest something mal-apropos might be said, 
 " Is that picture not a beautiful one, 
 
 *Pre]ude to Amnng the Hills. 
 
I LOSE MY TEMPER. 
 
 29 
 
 ' His home 
 Set in the fair green valleys '? " 
 I demanded. 
 
 The ladies proved, as I had been fearful all the time they 
 would do, far too keen to be caught with this jugglery, and 
 the ludicrous side of it all being most apparent to them, 
 two simultaneous peals of silvery laughter was all the 
 reply vouchsafed to my question. I put the book back in 
 the case, slammed the door, caught my hat and overcoat 
 from the rack in the hall, flung them on, passed out of the 
 hall door, slamming that after me, muttering Goldsmith's 
 line as I went : 
 
 " 'The loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind.' " 
 
 N"o progress made as yet. 
 
 Bnt did I think of yielding ? Never ! 
 
30 A LESSON FRO 31 HISTORY. 
 
 I still had faith also in the power of pastoral literature 
 to convince other minds, feeling what influence its imagery 
 possessed over mj^self. 
 
 I sought likewise to draw here a lesson from history. 
 I remembered the ancient duel between the three Roman 
 brothers Horatii and the Alban triplets Curatii, which 
 decided the fate of the two nations, and how, with his two 
 brothers slain, the surviving Roman youth was confronted 
 by his three antagonists, who, although each was wounded, 
 together constituted fearful odds against the single cham- 
 pion, and how the latter turned and fled while terrible 
 groans were wrung from his kindred, for they saw sealed in 
 his defeat their own ignominious slavery. But it was only 
 a ruse of the brave young soldier to e£Eect the separation of 
 his opponents who pursued him with differing rates of 
 speed, and whom, thus divided, he turned and faced, and 
 'Conquered, overcoming easily seriatim forces which, com- 
 bined, he never could have successfully encountered. I 
 must meet and convince my adversaries separately. 
 
 I knew that Emerson was the favorite author of Mignon. 
 Nay, I knew that his every sentence appeared to her almost 
 as if inspired. I concocted a scheme of attack upon her 
 with all the circumstance and deliberation " My Uncle 
 'Toby " was wont to use in planning one of his sieges, and 
 when the conditions all were right, one day, I proceeded to 
 put my plan into execution. 
 
 I contrived it so, when left alone with her and when I 
 knew she would importune me to read something aloud, to 
 have a volume of the Concord sage's essays in my hand. 
 As was her custom, she requested me to make a selection, 
 and I turned to that beautiful and thoughtful paper. The 
 Farmer. I ^eZ^ rather than saw her smile as I began; but 
 she spoke not and appeared to grow more rapt as I pro- 
 ceeded, and the Emersonian pearls continued to drop from 
 jny lips, one by one : 
 
A DISAPPOINTMENT, 31 
 
 " * The glory of the farmer is that, in the division of labor, 
 it is his part to create. 
 
 " ' He stands close to nature, * * the good which was 
 not he causeth to be. 
 
 " ' And the profession has in all eyes its ancient charm, 
 as standing nearest to God, the first cause. 
 
 " ' Then the beauty of nature, the tranquility and inno- 
 cence of the countryman, his independence and his pleasing 
 arts, the care of bees, of poultry, of sheep, of cows, the 
 dairy, the care of hay, of frnits, of orchards and forests, and 
 the reaction of these on the workman in giving him a 
 strength and plain dignity, all men acknowledge.' " 
 
 A sound as of smothered laughter caused me to look np 
 quickly. What did my eyes behold ! Mignon had thrown 
 herself back in her chair and, having nearly suffocated her- 
 self in her attempts to check her mirth, was now holding 
 her handkerchief to her mouth, while, with eyes brimming 
 with tears, she was gazing at me with a curiously mingled 
 look of shame, apprehension and amusement 
 
 Of course I was disgusted and deeply offended, and didn't 
 in the least exert myself to conceal my feelings. Then, by 
 a powerful effort, she calmed herself, and coming over to 
 me with a very penitent expression of countenance, begged 
 me not to be angry with her for her extreme rudeness, and 
 to forgive her ; and then, without giving me time to make 
 a decision either way, she burst into another fit of laughter 
 which proved so contagious that I was forced to join her, 
 and having thus succeeded in working me into the sem- 
 blance, at least, of better humor, she inquired if I could 
 ^ess what had caused her merriment. 
 
 "No," said I, with returning savageness, "I can't, for the 
 life of me, see anything to laugh at." 
 
 "Do you wish me to tell you?" 
 
 I did feel a little curiosity on the subject, and was obliged 
 to confess so much. 
 
32 TURNING THE TABLES. 
 
 "Well," Mignon began, "in the first place, I couldn't 
 help seeing that you were carrying out the details of a 
 deeply laid plot against me, and that amused me highly, and 
 more particularly when I observed what a grave, even sol- 
 emn face and innocent air you maintained, and with what 
 an unction you pronounced some of those sweet lines. Then 
 toward the last I was reminded, I don't know how, of some 
 verses of another author on a similar theme. Would you 
 like to hear them? They are by Willis." 
 
 I assented with a poor grace, which moved her risibles 
 again ; but recovering her self-control, for she saw I was in 
 danger of getting very angry again, she struck an attitude, 
 and in a melo-dramatic tone declaimed : 
 
 " ' Your love in a cottage is hungry; 
 
 Your vine is a nest for flies; 
 Your milk-maid shocks the graces, 
 
 And simplicity talks of pies! 
 You lie down to your shady slumber, 
 
 And awake with a bug in your ear; 
 Your damsel that walks in the morning 
 
 Is shod like a mountaineer,' " 
 
 Now I submit to a candid world that the obduracy of 
 the two ladies of my household so far as my pet theory was 
 concerned, was very provoking to say the least ; and I enter- 
 tain no manner of doubt but the verdict of the intelligent 
 reader of these pages will be that the conduct of Mignon 
 upon the particular occasion I have just described, was rep- 
 rehensible in the extreme, and that I had good reason to 
 feel very deeply hurt. I felt so. Nay, my soul was full of 
 bitterness toward the lady, and, although while she was at 
 her antics with that wretched doggerel of Willis' 
 
 *' To be grave exceeded all power of face," 
 
 and I may have grinned^ like Milton's Death, 
 "Horribly, a ghastly smile," 
 
I ADJOURN THE SESSION. 33 
 
 I hated myself for it, and as soon as I could, in parliament- 
 ary phrase, get the floor, I spoke : 
 
 "Now, Katie," said I, (I called her Katie when I desired 
 to be terribly sarcastic, — meant, in fact, as she herself was 
 accustomed to put it, to quite crush her), " Now, Katie, I 
 should think, after that exhibition, you would never pretend 
 to a serious thought again ! I had supposed you appreciated 
 Emerson's best things." 
 
 Judge of my amazement when I perceived that my favor- 
 ite bolt had fallen innocuous ! 
 
 Tears, indeed, coursed down the cheeks of the provoking 
 girl ; but they had not their source in woe. " Why," 
 replied she, still struggling with her mirth, "I do ; and I 
 like that essay you have just been reading very much — 
 have long admired it ; and I fully agree with the author in 
 what he says near the close of that very paper (which, b}'- 
 the way, you have never read, I guess) that " we must not 
 paint the farmer in rose-color." I knew you were in danger 
 of doing — " 
 
 She was saying something more, but I was too much agi- 
 tated then to enjoy further literary conversation. I flung 
 the volume I had been reading from, under the sofa, snatched 
 my hat from the table, and was rushing madly through the 
 door, out into the cold world, when I was caught in the 
 arms of Malvina, returning at the setting of the sun, fresh 
 and cheery, from a walk, and borne in triumph back into 
 the room. 
 
 We three passed a delightful evening together. The 
 ladies related (for the seventy-ninth time) certain stories of 
 life at a distant health institute where they, for some months, 
 a short time previously, had together resided, and I, as soon 
 as possible, sang myself to sleep upon the sofa. 
 
 I entertain little doubt but that my hobby, at times, 
 became an exceedingly wearisome thing to the ladies, for I 
 
 3 
 
34 VICTORY AT LAST. 
 
 imagine that in my zeal I sometimes forgot tlie golden rule 
 regarding the management of these pets, hinted at in the 
 motto from Sterne which heads this unconscionably lengthy 
 chapter. Howbeit, I remember making one more literary 
 attack upon them, which was seemingly attended with a 
 little better success than any of my previous ones. About 
 this time both ladies were much interested in reading of. the 
 famous Brook Farm experiment of by-gone times. Their 
 sympathies had always dwelt with the originators of that 
 enterprise, whose ultimate failure they deplored. I read 
 aloud, on one occasion, from a then recently published bio- 
 graphical work the following extract (elsewhere quoted) 
 from a letter relating to the farm, which was written by the 
 Eev. George Ripley to a friend : 
 
 " We are striving to establish a mode of life which shall 
 combine the enchantments of poetry with the facts of daily 
 experience." 
 
 That was probably the best card I had ever played in my 
 little game with the ladies. It was indeed a trum'p. 
 
 Both of my arch-enemies became thoughtful of a sudden, 
 and remained silent for the space of half an hour. I felt 
 that at length the leaven was working, — yea, that the bread 
 I had been liberally casting upon the waters for so many 
 days, was at length about to be found, and, as Hosea Big- 
 low vulgarly expresses the thought, 
 
 "Buttered, tu, for sartio," 
 
 I waited almost breathlessly for "a sign." Suddenly Mig- 
 non, heaving a deep sigh, and turning to her accomplice, 
 exclaimed : " Why can't we make a Brook Farm of Oak- 
 iields, Malvina?" 
 
 "I have been thinking of that lately," asserted the little 
 lady addressed. 
 
 I had covqiiered! 
 
OAKFJELDS FARM. 
 
 35 
 
 Oakfields was tlie name I had adopted for the new and 
 wild tract of land lying some miles to the northward, which 
 I had recently purchased, and was even at that time burn- 
 ing to occupy, subdue, and develop into a farm. 
 
MOTTO FOR gSiPTER H. 
 
 '* ^r)d reusing on the tale I hjeard, 
 'T^vcere well, thought I, if ofter) 
 T^o rugged fapng^life came tl^e gift 
 "TPo harngoijize and softeq ; 
 
 " If more and more -we four)d the trutlj 
 ©f fact and farjcy plighjted, 
 ^nd culture's charm, and labor's gtreggfeh 
 In rural hon^es united. 
 
 "T^hje sinjple life, tl^e honjely health, 
 
 ^V'^itb) beauty's sphere surrounding ; 
 .?Xr)d blessing toil, where toil abourjds, 
 With graces rgore abour)dir|g. " 
 
 Whittier. 
 
 36 
 
CHAPTEE 11. 
 
 HE kind but conceited reader 
 of this most veracious history 
 should not for one moment 
 deem that he has now mas- 
 tered the whole mystery of 
 I my success in convincing the 
 ladies of my household of 
 the sanity of the views I held 
 with regard to the farm, and 
 in winning their consent to 
 make the much longed-for 
 experiment. 
 "The half can ne'er be told." 
 
 I have in the preceding chap- 
 ter said never a word of long 
 discussions of the important 
 question with Malvina upon 
 
 •our rides and walks, when no ear heard, no eye beheld us, 
 
 we two alone under the smiling sun, or 
 
 "Looked at by the silent stars." 
 
 In these " high debates " T sometimes grew passionate 
 and rhetorical ; she always remained gentle but firm : the 
 impetuous flood of eloquence, as the tide of a strong river 
 flowing against a solid, verdure-cushioned bank, beat against 
 her unyielding but reason-controlled will ineffectually. 
 
 37 
 
38 
 
 PRETTY PICTURES. 
 
 I drew pictures for her of a tree-embowered cottage remote 
 from the dusty highway, with hroad verandah vine-entwined, 
 
 conservatory, 
 verdant lawns 
 with walks 
 flower -border- 
 ed, sinuous 
 and shady 
 drives, rustic 
 seats in leafy 
 nooks, the 
 whole sur- 
 round d by 
 broad green 
 
 fields of waving grain and grass, with pastures where cows 
 grazed, colts frolicked and young lambs gambolled. And 
 mindful that 
 
 "Not rural sights alone, but rural sounds 
 Exhilarate the spirit," 
 
 I spoke of the mingled voices of the country home, begin- 
 ning with 
 
 "The breezy call of incense-breathing morn; 
 The swallows, twittering in the straw-built shed; 
 The cock's shrill clarion," 
 
 and dwelling upon the neighing of horses, the bleating of 
 the tender lambkins, the songs of wild birds in the orchard 
 and the woods, — " the real woods which man never planted 
 nor pruned," as Beecher's description is, — the murmuring of 
 all insects, and in particular the music of 
 
 " That flying harp, the honey bee;" 
 
 the sweet sound in the shrubbery through the open window 
 of "morn's fragrant breath," and of 
 
 "Summer evening's latest sigh 
 That shuts the roso," 
 
PRACTICAL CONSIDERATIONS. 39 
 
 and the sweeping of the brisker wind among the forest 
 trees ; then the soothing music made by the " patter of the 
 rain," I would mention ; — claiming as I always did and do, 
 that all these things could nowhere be so satisfactorily 
 experienced, so fully enjoyed as in the country. 
 
 Then would I expatiate upon the blessings of pure sweet 
 water and uncontaminated air, of the more delicious than 
 " Sabean odors," wafted from fields of blooming clover, of 
 fresh milk and honey that the village market knows not of, 
 of a free and unconventional mode of life, segregated from 
 strife and gossip, — quietude, with leisure for reading and 
 reflection, and a better chance for securing good company 
 from the opportunity given by this mode of life for selec- 
 tion. 
 
 I nave never doubted that my pictorial representa- 
 tions of rural life had their effect upon Maivina's mind, 
 though, perhaps they affected me more strongly than they 
 did her, for during the time employed by me in drawing 
 them she was studying arguments to be used against me. 
 Neither let it be thought that she did not possess good, 
 strong and cogent reasons wherewith to maintain her own 
 position and assault mine ; and they were many of them of 
 a more practical character than some of those I advanced. 
 
 She argued that it would cost a fortune to develop the 
 land I owned into a good farm, " and where is the fortune 
 to come from," she asked. After speaking of the heavy 
 labor of clearing off the forests she one day took up my 
 hand, and regarding it pityingly she thus apostrophized it : 
 "Poor, little, diQintj paw ! A pretty thing you'd be to 
 wield an axe or a hand-spike ! " 
 
 Then she deprecated the want of good society in the 
 country generally, and in so new a section as that where the 
 farm is situated in particular. There are many other priv- 
 ileges, too, she urged that could not be had so conveniently 
 
40 
 
 TALLTRAND'S NOTIONS. 
 
 even in a suburban home as in a town ; among these slie 
 enumerated libraries, lectures, the mails, etc. 
 
 All of which arguments, though prosaic in form and mat- 
 ter, possessed force, as I was obliged to acknowledge. 
 
 One daj, in her reading, she ran across some lines of 
 Tallyrand's which she brought and made me hear. They 
 were from a report made to the French Institute by the wily 
 old fox, a little after his return to his native country from 
 his enforced sojourn upon our shores. These are a good 
 deal out of the false prelate's ordinary vein, but are worth 
 reading, even if they be so couched in parts as to convey an 
 erroneous impression. The Frenchman wrote as follows : 
 " The American back- woodsman is interested in nothing ; 
 every sentimental idea is banished from him ; those branches, 
 so elegantly thrown by nature, a fine foliage, a brilliant hue 
 which marks one part of the forest, a deeper green which 
 darkens another, — all these are nothing in his eye ; he has 
 no recollection associated with anything around ; his only 
 thought is the number of strokes of his axe which are neces- 
 sary to level this or that tree. He never 
 planted ; he is a stranger to the pleasure 
 of that process. Were he to plant a tree, 
 it never could become an object of grati- 
 y fication to him, because he could not live 
 to cut it down. He lives only to destroy. 
 He is surrounded by destruction. Hence 
 every place is good for him. He does 
 not love the field where he has expended 
 his labor, because his labor is merely 
 fatigue, and has no pleasurable senti- 
 ment attached to it. The work of 
 [fk,i his hands is not marked by 
 
 '" ^\\M\\\/ the progressive cir- 
 
 ' ^liMUAk cumstance of 
 ^^growth, so interest- 
 
A LIBEL. , 41 
 
 ing to tlie agriculturist. He does not watcli tlie destiny of 
 what lie produces. He knows not the pleasures of new 
 attempts, and in surrendering his home, if he does not 
 leave his axe behind him, he leaves no regrets in the dwel- 
 ling in which he may have passed years of his life." 
 
 "What do you think of that, oh, you would-be back- 
 woodsman? " demanded Malvina, closing the book. 
 
 "I think," replied I, "that if the old diplomat designed 
 in his report to describe our race of hireling lumbermen 
 merely, he is not very far astray ; but, on the other hand, if 
 he meant to characterize our settlers, — pioneer farmers, I 
 €all 'em, — as being of that soulless class he describes, he is 
 a foul slanderer ! " 
 
 Then I took the book and read the lines over again. 
 "He is a liar!" at length I ejaculated passionately. "He 
 does mean our pioneer farmers, or else he is merely making 
 guesses. We have no class of lumbermen who would 
 answer all the requirements of this caricature. " And I fell 
 to reading again. 
 
 After a little further perusal of the printed page, and 
 some reflection, I looked up again to my vis-a-vis^ and said : 
 
 "I wish I had the power to write as that man (or his 
 amanuensis) wrote ; — Fd draw you a picture of our back- 
 woodsmen which should possess the merit of being both 
 true and beautiful. I have seen humble woodland homes, 
 cosy and neat as the nests of birds, with taste in construc- 
 tion everywhere displayed, though the materials used were 
 of the humblest and rudest, and which a glimpse of would 
 have moved you, Malvina, or even old Tallyrand, to admi- 
 ration ! 
 
 "Our back-woodsmen are sometimes interested in their 
 habitations, — in fact frequently possess most remarkably 
 strong attachments to the homes they have created. They 
 do plant trees, and vines, and flowers about their dwellings. 
 
42 
 
 RUSTIC HOMES. 
 
 sometimes in sucli profusion that the poor little cabin is 
 concealed, or becomes a bower of beauty ! What does the 
 old scamp want — " 
 
 " Tut, tut ! " warned a gentle voice. 
 
 "All right, then," responded I, "but I do declare unto- 
 yon sincerely that if you could view some of the neat little 
 rustic homes I have oftentimes observed upon our Michigan 
 borders, you would appreciate — " 
 
 " Some more poetry," she laughingly interrupted, holding 
 up a deprecating finger. 
 
 "Just this once," I pleaded, half rising and glancing wist- 
 fully toward the book-shelf whereon the "Household" poets 
 
WU AH QUE CERTAIN POINTS. 43' 
 
 were ranged ; but she was inexorable, and tbe debate was at 
 an end for that day. 
 
 During a later interview Malvina expressed the apprehen- 
 sion that there is something in farm-life, particularly in a> 
 comparatively new and undeveloped territory, that is inimi- 
 cal to the growth of what may be termed the graces of civ- 
 ilization. She feared, she said, that not only did such a life 
 fail to afford nourishment therefor, but that it actually 
 tended to discourage their development, so that progress 
 would generally be backward rather than forward. She 
 thought that the love of the beautiful, and the taste for 
 mental improvement would fail of encouragement, the ambi- 
 tion for excellence in the accomplishments of music and 
 painting, for example, would die out gradually, and the cul- 
 tivation of the social amenities would be neglected from 
 lack of incentive. Her early experience upon a farm had 
 not left a favorable impression upon her mind, so far as 
 these several matters were concerned, and her later observa- 
 tions had not resulted in re-assuring her. 
 
 I labored with all my might to convince her of what I 
 with perfect honesty conceived to be her error in this regard. 
 While I was driven to acknowledge that our farmer's homes 
 were many of them painfully void of those features which 
 are attractive to the generously cultivated mind, the wives 
 and daughters therein, in many cases, too careless of those 
 matters which tend to keep the refined humanities alive ; 
 still, I argued, we do not fail to find as large a percentage of 
 truly cultivated people among countrymen in proportion to 
 the means — the wealth — possessed, as we find in civic 
 populations. There is, I maintained, much less of ostenta- 
 tion and keeping up of appearances among farmers, and 
 hence a careless or superficial observer might easily gain an 
 erroneous impressioru I remember on one occasion reading 
 to her an extract from Adam Smith's Wealth of Nations to 
 
44 SEVERAL AUTHORS CITED. 
 
 prove the superior intelligence of the farming class in the 
 old countries, which runs as follows : 
 
 "After what are called the fine arts, and the liberal pro- 
 fessions, however, there is perhaps no trade which requires 
 so great a variety of knowledge and experience [as the pro- 
 fession of agriculture]. The innumerable volumes which 
 have been written upon it in all languages may satisfy us 
 that among the wisest and most learned nations it has never 
 been regarded as a matter very easily understood. And 
 from all these volumes we shall in vain attempt to collect 
 that knowledge which is commonly possessed even by the 
 common farmer, how contemptuously soever the very con- 
 temptible authors of them may appear to speak of him." * 
 
 I further sought to show that the cultivated portion of the 
 population of cities was largely recruited from the farm, to 
 support which position I quoted Emerson, Grreeley and 
 Arnold. 
 
 I am hardly prepared to believe, however, that all my 
 arguments in those protracted debates effected anything; 
 but I became aware sometime ere the occurrence of the 
 episode spoken of in the last chapter, wherein the extract 
 from Mr. Eipley's letter played such a conspicuous part, 
 that there had been a. perceptible alteration in Malvina's 
 views. I am not quite clear to this day as to what 
 produced the change, but have always deemed that the peru- 
 sal of a number of well-written works upon rural subjects, 
 and especially the then recently published bee-keeper's 
 manual, by my friend. Professor Cook, into which that genial 
 and gifted author has put so much of his good heart, had 
 
 *Book 1, Chap. X. But Xenophon says [(Ecoii] that "anyone can 
 be a farmer, as no art or skill is requisite; all consists in industry and 
 in attention to the execution." "A strong proof," says Columella, in 
 turn, "that agriculture was little developed in the time of the Greek." 
 But there appear to be many in this day who believe as did the author 
 of the Anabasis. 
 
A SWEET INFLUENCE DEPARTED. 45 
 
 more or less to do therewith. Greatly rejoicing that at 
 length we were all to be at one upon the question of the 
 farm, I did not seek to pry too closely into the causes which 
 had produced the happy result. I encouraged Malvina's 
 love for bees, and taste for bee-literature, and she in turn 
 listened with patience to all my pastoral rhapsodies, and life 
 was passing very pleasantly. 
 
 One serious drawback to our happiness, however, about 
 this time was that we were deprived of the society of Mig- 
 non, one of the brightest, purest and kindest of women, 
 whom, though not a relative, we both loved and esteemed 
 as a dear sister. Circumstances took her from our fireside, 
 and we have mourned her as a sweet influence departed. 
 
M0TT0E2 FOR CHAPTER III. 
 
 " 'T^ig -wrife for tVjee, 
 ^r)d ir| a rrjost eccerjtrie cljapfeer." 
 
 GoETHE's Faust. 
 
 " NJer) die -wbjen thje r|ighfe raver) girigs or cpies ; 
 ©ut -when Oick gingg the nighfe raven die§." 
 
 From the Greek A nthology. 
 
 " J-Iis tjead was balled, and gbjorje as ar)y glas." 
 
 Chaucer: The Monk'' s Tale. 
 
 ** For fpcsVjest wifeg I know will goer) be -weary 
 ©f ar)y book, hjow grave goe'er it be, 
 ©xcepfe ife have odd rrjatter, strande and njeppie, 
 ^iTell sauced wibb) lies, arjd glarid all -witlg glee." 
 
 Mirror for Magistrates. 
 
 46 
 
CHAPTEE III. 
 
 LEASE pardon presumption, but 
 I hope by this time the reader, 
 from the truly handsome manner 
 in which he has thus far been 
 treated, has become thoroughly 
 imbued with the notion that it is 
 the desire of the writer to deal 
 with him with perfect upright- 
 ness and candor. I trust he sees, 
 as I do, that it is for the best in- 
 terests of us both that I do so, and 
 that hence, unless, indeed, (which 
 is incredible after so consider- 
 able an acquaintance with me !) 
 he be disposed to set little store 
 by the author's judgment, he will 
 feel still more secure of continued 
 ingenuous treatment. Furthermore, in taking a retrospect- 
 ive view of the chapters which have preceded, the sagacious 
 and kind reader will doubtless also conclude that I have 
 not only been honest — conscientious — in all my dealings 
 with him, but that I have exhibited unmistakable signs of 
 possessing a character of real benevolence in the disinterested 
 efforts I have made to add to my narrative incidental feat- 
 ures that are calculated to give both pleasure and instruc- 
 tion. 
 
 47 
 
48 A DULL CONTEMPORARY. 
 
 These points being settled, then, I can proceed with my 
 task with great satisfaction, — the greater from the conviction 
 forced iipon me that I have succeeded in convincing a com- 
 parative stranger, who thus far has perUsed only a very 
 few of my pages, of facts, viz : my perfect integrity and 
 absolute benevolence, which formerly I spent whole years 
 in endeavoring to beat into the stupid understanding of 
 an esteemed contemporary in the journalistic line, and, to 
 all appearance, with only a partial success at the very best, 
 in the end ! And reflecting upon the matter at this dis- 
 tance, it appears really marvelous how that man wouldrCt 
 learn ! I took a vast deal of pains with him, too ; — told him 
 often and with much forcible iteration that I meant every 
 word I said; — endeavored, in the language of Carleton's old 
 
 farmer, 
 
 "To give him some strapping good arguments, that 
 he couldn't help but to feel." 
 
 It did seem occasionally, as one after another my thun- 
 derbolts were forged and fulminated, that he couldn't be so 
 dull as to fail in appreciation of my positions, and to 
 acknowledge himself convinced, — but he did fail, and mis- 
 erably ! And then he had such a discouraging way of 
 expressing his incredulity ! Discouraging, say I ? — yea, posi- 
 tively offensive, oftentimes, was his manner, and sufficient 
 to cause a less persistent and disinterestedly -benevolent per- 
 son than I to quite give over the task of converting the fel- 
 low,* Did I give it over ? Gro ask the intelligent subscriber.-* 
 of my late paper ! Go ask the able editors of my numerous 
 exchanges ! Go ask the gentleman himself for whose bene- 
 fit my efforts were expended ! But all this is a digression, 
 and I must resume my task. 
 
 *HoLMES has some lines which run about as follows: 
 
 " Perhaps it was right to dissemble his love, — 
 But why did he kick me down stairs? " 
 
DOUBTS AND FEARS. 49 
 
 I seek not to disguise from the gentle reader, who has just 
 made a concession so flattering to me, that I was far from 
 feeling perfectly tranquil concerning the proposed removal 
 to the farm, and the exchanging of my regular and tried 
 business for a life of "bucolic ease," now that the way 
 seemed open for the consummation of my long-cherished 
 scheme. Had it not been that I had painted to my friends 
 so many full-length and larger-than-life-size pictures in rose- 
 tints, of rural living, — had taken views thereof that I 
 believed at the time, deep down in my heart of hearts, were 
 somewhat too fair, — I should have felt easier. But, then, 
 you must reflect that I had been, in a sense, driven to my 
 rhetoric and my poetry by the obstinacy of the enemy with 
 whom I had to contend, to wit : the best and dearest in the 
 world ! They were convinced, or, perhaps, rather, silenced ; 
 and now I perceived that the arguments I had found so far 
 effective as against them, had failed in entirely satisfying 
 my own mind. A singular state of affairs, indeed ! Here 
 had I supposed myself thoroughly persuaded of the very 
 great desirability of the change, long months since, and had 
 been felicitating myself upon the happiness which would 
 visit my household when once all its members (as I never 
 for a moment doubted we should come to do) at length had 
 learned to look upon the matter in the same light, — and 
 that light of the peculiarly beautiful roseate tint which I 
 was all the time trying to throw upon it ! Now the hoped- 
 for time had arrived, so far, at least, as the feelings of those 
 whose approbation of my pet plan seemed important, were 
 concerned, and here at last was I experiencing a vague feel- 
 ing of uneasiness that frequently amounted to discontent. 
 
 Although the necessity of maintaining a standing army 
 of arguments to hold my conquered moral -provinces in sub- 
 jection did not appear to exist any longer, still let it not 
 be thought that all my friends had coincided in pronoun- 
 
50 A COUNTRY COUSIN. 
 
 cing my crusade of a physical character against the forces 
 of nature in the open field, one dictated by the greatest wis- 
 dom. My father, although a farmer, and a lover of the 
 husbandman's calling, was not fully convinced that, for me, 
 it was just the best enterprise in the world. Then he was 
 not one-half so much in love with the tract of land I had 
 chosen, as was I. For various reasons he deemed my 
 scheme Utopian. Again, I had a cousin in the country, 
 "The old 'Squire," we called him, (though, to be sure, it 
 was not his extreme age which had won him the distinction 
 of the adjective) who was fond of uniting his forces with 
 father's to the end of rallying me upon what he considered 
 my Quixotic venture. The 'Squire is a good, genial fellow ; 
 he has only two or three defects, and they are minor ones. 
 He will tease a companion to the point of desperation, and 
 then, even if the joke is not worth a copper, he will laugh 
 at a fellow in such a manner that the latter will almost 
 think there must have been a point to it somewhere, albeit 
 so fine as to have escaped recognition. He is a social being, 
 is my excellent cousin, a chatty vis-a-vis^ jo^ly ^^ old King 
 Cole in his palmiest days, and I always like to have him 
 "happen around." 
 
 The old 'Squire was never much of a songster ; and I 
 have always believed that he so delighted in "running 
 upon " me anent my farming project partly because of my 
 superior vocal endowments (now that is too bad ; for indeed, 
 to speak verity in parenthesis, I am never allowed to exalt 
 my voice in song anywhere in the neighborhood of a human 
 habitation : this is Malvina's strictest order !) and partly on 
 account of a huge practical joke I once played upon him, 
 whereby I demonstrated, even to his own thorough satisfac- 
 tion, how flagrant was the offense against decency, good 
 order, and the "dignity of the people of the State" (he was 
 a justice of the peace, you know,) he committed whenever 
 he attempted to sing ! 
 
A PARLOR CONCERT. 
 
 51 
 
 Once upon a time, in a certain snug little country parlor, 
 in regions far north, three of us, young, giddy things, were 
 ,singing a song, the tune whereof was pitched on rather a 
 
 lofty key. The 'Squire, who ordinarily kept some sort of 
 slender hold upon the leading strings of his voice, in the 
 excitement of the exercise on this occasion forgot all dis- 
 cretion, and was giving full play to his powerful lungs, the 
 effect whereof, while the other (not by any means weak- 
 voiced) performers were exerting theirs vigorously, was not 
 ■offensively apparent to the hearers, of which there were 
 several within the room. My cousin was not "carrying" 
 -any particular part, but, as the western phrase is, was "just 
 goin' in promiscus-like." And was he not enjoying it! His 
 head swayed from side to side, as with half-closed and roll- 
 ing eyes, and open mouth and throat, he was giving utter- 
 ance to sounds that beggared all description ! 
 
 I had become aware of the state of affairs by the difficulty 
 I experienced in making audible my own not always dulcet 
 tones. It appears that satan and myself had made the dis- 
 
52 THE 'squire's solo. 
 
 covery simultaneo'usly, and he put a wicked thought into 
 
 my mind. 
 
 "I paused not to question. 
 The devil's suggestion,"* 
 
 but like a flash acted upon it. Clapping my hand, by a 
 backward movement thereof, over the mouth of our fair 
 companion and assistant, in such a manner as to effectually 
 silence her voice, and that instantaneously, my own ceased 
 at the moment, and — what was left ! Well, it was, as inti-* 
 mated above, something simply indescribable ! 
 
 You've read Holmes' Music Orinders, and remember how, 
 when you heard them, 
 
 " You'd think they were crusaders sent 
 
 From some infernal clime, 
 To pluck the eyes of sentiment, 
 
 And dock the tail of rhyme — 
 To crack the voice of melody, 
 
 And break the legs of time I — " 
 
 But that don't commence: five octaves higher at least 
 must we go ! Hear another poet : 
 
 "With pleasure I have heard the hooting 
 
 Of midnight owlets through the gloom; 
 With calmness I have heard disputing 
 
 Full fourteen women in one room ; 
 With patience I have heard the bawling 
 
 Of children in the nursery. 
 And to disturb me, caterwauling 
 
 Most horrible indeed must be ! 
 I've stood where cannons loud did rattle, 
 
 Where shells did hurtle, bullets hiss; 
 I've heard fierce elemental battle. 
 The roar and rush of herds of cattle ; 
 
 But never heard I aught like this! 
 Composed I'd bear the wild, weird calling 
 
 Of fierce wolves, prowling in the wood, — 
 But to my very soul appalling 
 
 Are sounds like these — they freeze the blood! "f 
 
 *HoRACE Smith. f Uncle Hez, at a very early day. 
 
MY cousin's discomfiture. 53 
 
 Indeed, tliat you may be sure I am not overdrawing tlie 
 picture, I will state (what is a fact, and one, too, I can but 
 consider very mucb to tlie credit of tlie gentleman we are 
 discussing !) that when the others had ceased the old 'Squire 
 himself seemed horror-stricken at the fearful sounds issuing 
 from him ; but he appeared quite powerless for a moment or 
 two to " quell the disturbance " he was himself the author of, 
 so bewildered was the poor fellow, or so difficult did he find 
 it to descend from the dizzy altitude he had attained ! His 
 eyes almost started from their sockets, and his hair would 
 doubtless have "stood on end, like quills upon the fret- 
 ful porcupine," but for a " good and sufficient reason " which 
 will presently appear. He put a quietus on the " music " as 
 soon as possible, and that he was greatly mortified may be 
 gathered from the circumstance that for a lengthy interval he 
 appeared much dejected, although the rest of the company 
 remained quite cheerful, — in short, a great deal too cheerful, 
 apparently, for the perfect peace of my good cousin's mind ; — 
 they were hilarious — demonstrative — boisterous in their 
 merriment — and with reason ! But none of us all have been 
 persuasive enough to induce the 'Squire to " let himself out " 
 in a vocal concert from that day to the present writing. 
 
 My good-hearted cousin professed to have recollections of 
 m.y farming as a boy. He was in the habit of " throwing 
 up " to me a trick perpetrated (he always claims at my sug- 
 gestion) by himseH and the writer one fine summer day a 
 good many years ago. "We had a piece of grass-bound com 
 to hoe that morning ; but we were quite desirous to go fish- 
 ing. The last few, short rows of that corn were fearfully 
 encumbered with ^e poa pratensis * ; this called for the expen- 
 diture of a great deal of labor and promised to waste much 
 valuable time. Neither did it appear to our unprejudiced 
 eyes (unprejudiced, that is to say, by any selfish sense of the 
 
 * June grass, or Kentucky blue grass. 
 
54 
 
 WE GO FISHING. 
 
 value of the growing grain) that this particular portion o£ 
 the crop wonld repay for the labor required to cultivate it. 
 The old 'Squire avers that we took our hoes and made a sur- 
 prisingly sudden end of that task, by cutting out bodily the-- 
 few hills of com constituting the last two or three rows, and 
 then fled, like two shadows, across the sweet, green fields to 
 the tree-shaded bank of the stream, where fish and pleasure 
 were supposed more to abound, I do not think this tale is 
 entirely without foundation ; but as to the source of the sug- 
 gestion upon wliich the nefarious deed was done, why, I am 
 not so clear. 
 
 My father and the 'Squire happened to be visiting together 
 at my humble village home one day in the spring, and 
 household and visitors held a sort of symposium out upon 
 the verandah after tea. It was a mild and beautiful evening, 
 the air was full of sweet sounds and odors, and it was just 
 the sort of an occasion when, if ever, in Irving's phrase, " the 
 rural feeling throbs in every breast." 
 
 I was in high spirits, and had been boasting a little of my 
 accompHshments as an agriculturist. I had also been sub- 
 jected to some good-humored ridicule by the 
 other gentlemen, Malvina was defending me. 
 The 'Squire's laugh was being employed in the 
 usual manner for my discomfiture; and I was 
 often in some confusion, and put to it for 
 reasons wherewith to support myseli 
 SK Father was sarcastically hopeless that I 
 would accomplish any worthy thing by 
 my scheme, and thought I had better 
 ■^' !"'se of that land to another 
 
 
 SsSfg^t'ji<cv;3fv i„.,,, ,. i^tiM to the task of im 
 
 ■^•A,. 
 
 
 proving it. He 
 
 had " not a grain 
 
 _of faith" that I 
 
 , would do any 
 
 '' work in the field- 
 
A BALD INSULT. 55 
 
 My coTisin ventured tlie guess that I " would make a first- 
 rate hand to hold the top rail upon the fence ! Haw ! Haw ! 
 Haw!" 
 
 This banter put me to my trumps. I bade the gentlemen 
 to gaze about them where they were now sitting, and observe 
 what I had there accomplished with my own hand, and 
 within a few years. I told them to observe my lawn, (a little 
 plot of ground, containing some two hundred square yards, 
 which I had covered with sod, and of which I was very 
 proud), my shrubbery, my shade and fruit trees ! I exclaimed : 
 " Compare this verdure-covered knoll where my cottage stands 
 to-day with that arid waste I found here ! 'Twas then," I 
 continued, "as barren and as bare as — ." The sentence was 
 never finished ; for I here gazed wildly about me for some 
 ineffably dry and desolate object by which to make my com- 
 parison, and my eyes being raised in a line with the 'Squire's, 
 in an instant his face, neck and ears were of the color of the 
 June rose. My good cousin is quite sensitive, and although 
 his heart is in the right place, his hair isn't ; that is to say, 
 there is a large amount of it upon his upper lip, where it is 
 an intolerable nuisance, while he is as bB,ld as was Nicias, or 
 Silenus ! I had demolished him for that day. 
 
 I am not unaware that in relating these anecdotes concerning 
 my treatment of my excellent relative, I am la3dng myself 
 open to the charge of having, at different periods of my life, 
 disregarded both the rules of good breeding and the golden 
 rule. Now were I bald-headed, for instance, " as Brutus is," 
 I should not relish to have the circumstance made conspicu- 
 ous in a mixed company, and although, from the fact that I 
 was " born to blush unseen," if to blush at all, I might not 
 visibly assume a rosy hue when one should seek out the 
 shining dome which surmounted me wherewithal to show by 
 comparison the infinite barrenness of a sandy desert, still, 
 doubtless, my feelings would suffer, and I should feel like 
 calHng out the bears, as was done in the case of Elijah in his 
 
56 FECCAVI. 
 
 controversy witli the bad little boys ! And notwithstanding 
 that the great good humor of the 'Squire enabled him within 
 a few minutes to pay my poor joke the usual compliment of 
 a hearty "Haw! Haw! Haw!" as, with him, a joke is a 
 joke, no matter who is the victim, my conscience invariably 
 smites me when I recall this incident. 
 
 Then in that other affair, my conduct was reprehensible 
 in the extreme ! I was ungentlemanly not only toward the 
 'Squire, who was so thoroughly enjoying himself in his 
 unwonted vocal exercise, and whose dream of pleasure was 
 so rudely interrupted, but I was also inexcusably impolite in 
 my treatment of the lady who formed one of the trio of 
 singers. I was bound, moreover, by all the rules which gov- 
 ern good society, to make a humble apology to the audience 
 we had that night, for the sudden and terrible surprise I gave 
 them when I let loose upon their defenseless ears the naked 
 melody of the old 'Squire's voice, — which apology I entirely 
 forgot to make ! My only possible excuse for these last- 
 mentioned offenses is my extreme youth at the time, and 
 the fact recorded in detailing the shameful affair, that it was 
 of the devil's prompting. But if it be true, as currently 
 reported, that the old Serpent (who is Abaddon !) delights in 
 mischief for its own sake, I can well believe that when, "his 
 glowerin' een " were rewarded with the spectacle of the per- 
 fect success of his trick upon the occasion in question, he 
 conducted himself precisely as he did at a former time, when 
 something happened to his liking, and when, as Southey 
 declares, he 
 
 " — Knew not for joy what to do, 
 In his hoofs, and his horns, in his heels, and his corns, 
 It tickled him all through!" 
 
 Now, having made full confession and acknowledgement 
 of his sins, and expressed his contriteness therefor, the author 
 
I FEEL BETTER. 
 
 67 
 
 feels better, and freely forgives all Ms enemies and is willing 
 Mmself to be forgiven! The next chapter is one by no 
 means to be skipped. In the meantime, reader, good 
 night 1 and may your dreams be as sweet as a poet's vision 
 of a land 
 
 "Where the citron and olive are fairest of fruit. 
 And the voice of the nightingale never is mute ; 
 Where the light wings of Zephyr, oppressed with perfume, 
 Wax faint in the garden of Gul, in her bloom; 
 Where the virgins are soft as the roses they twine. 
 And all, save the spirit of man, is divine! " 
 
MOTTOES FOR giiPTER I¥. 
 
 " J^e tVjafe tillefch) Igis land shall have plerjty of bread." 
 
 Proverbs. 
 
 "2^ la-wyep, art fcl]ou ? draw not nigh ! 
 @o carry to gome fitter place 
 The keenrjess of that practiced eye, 
 The hardness of that sallo-w face." 
 Wordsworth. 
 
 "The bap does r)ot clairr] to be the comngurjiorj of §air)ts."' 
 
 Address by Chief Justice Ryan, 0/ Wisconsin.. 
 
 " (2ornpour)d for girjs they are inclined to, 
 ■©y damrjing thoge they have no nQind to." 
 
 Hudibras. 
 
 J^ail, thjerefore, patrorjegs of health ar)d eage, 
 ^r)d cor)templatior|, heart-congolirig joys, 
 ^r)d hjarmlegs pleasures, — in tl]e throrjged abode 
 ©f multitudes unkno-wn ; — l]ail rural life ! 
 
 COV/PER : Task. 
 
 58 
 
CHAPTEE lY. 
 
 HE discussion begun, as nar- 
 rated in the last chapter, was 
 resumed the next morning un- 
 der the wild cherry trees that 
 ornamented my little lawn. 
 With the odors of the blos- 
 soms in my nostrils and the 
 music of the glad birds in my 
 ears, I began the debate by 
 quoting Herrick's couplet : 
 
 "The best compost for his lands, 
 Is the wise master's feet and hands." 
 
 And then, in reply to the ob- 
 jection urged by one of the 
 gentlemen in opposition, that I 
 had not made it very profitable 
 farming thus far, I quoted 
 Greeley's Recollections where the author observes: "Pub- 
 lishing newspapers by proxy would be still more ruinous 
 than farming " in that way. Then I chanced to think of 
 Poor Eichard's distich, and gave 'em that : 
 
 " He that by the plow would thrive 
 Himself must either hold or drive." 
 
 "I think so," replied my father, drily. And then he 
 added : " That is precisely what you'll never do." 
 
 The 'Squire's view of the case coincided with this last, of 
 course. " But where is that poem upon this subject which 
 
 59 
 
60 SQUARING AWAY AGAIN. 
 
 you have promised to read us ? " demanded tlie latter. I 
 renewed tlie promise, and the discussion proceeded. 
 
 It is a remarkable circumstance, perhaps, that sometimes 
 in a disputed matter which concerns yourself most nearly, 
 you feel abundantly supplied with reasons wherewith to 
 overwhelm your opponents in a space of time too brief to 
 mention, and yet from a sort of weakness, a lazy indiffer- 
 ence, or a disinclination to exert all your powers, you will 
 permit yourself to be pursued, badgered, and harrassed for 
 an indefinite period, and content yourself with making poor, 
 mean, trivial excuses that will not bear the rigid scrutiny of 
 a moment, and serve rather to weaken than strengthen your 
 position. This had been precisely my own case. I had in 
 my quiver all this time some argumentative arrows that I 
 knew were really potent, such as I believed would prove, if 
 properly discharged, effective with the two intelligent gentle- 
 men who were just now causing me so much trouble. I had 
 at length concluded that I should be obliged to rouse myself. 
 They evidently saw that something was coming, for they 
 drew closer, and I could discern from their manner that they 
 were prepared to listen. 
 
 My father had spoken of my "two good professions," viz.: 
 the law and journalism, which I proposed to neglect in order 
 to engage in husbandry, — and I began there. 
 
 "In the first place, as you know, my health has been 
 impaired by confinement, and is at this time so delicate that I 
 cannot follow that sort of life longer with safety. It is a lit- 
 tle better in the sanctum than the law ofiice, for, where, as 
 has been the case with me, and is likewise the case in a 
 majority of country newspaper offices, the editing, book- 
 keeping, soliciting, etc., are all done by a single person, the 
 ssesions at the table or desk are not so protracted nor so 
 wearing to body and mind ; but still the office- work is not 
 inconsiderable, and I am convinced is quite too much for 
 me ; and the item of health, as you will be disposed to admit, 
 
QUOTING A PRECEDENT. 61 
 
 is not an nnimportant one. WitLLont liealtli, indeed, a man 
 may be somewhat, — but lie will not be himself. Leaving 
 ont of the account for the moment the poignant suffering of 
 its weary owner, just imagine, if you can, what effect upon 
 his work, and through that upon all cotemporary, yea, and 
 upon all subsequent literature, and mayhap, also, upon civil- 
 ization itself, has had, or will have, that dyspepsia-damned 
 stomach of Carlyle! 
 
 " But there are other considerations I opine, of sufficient 
 weight to merit attention. Take the case of the average 
 young lawyer. Put yourself in his place. You fit up an 
 office in a town, placing as many of those sheep-bound books 
 upon your shelves as you can muster. You set up a stove 
 and table ; a bit of old carpet is spread in front. An iron 
 safe, (it looks right well in a young attorney's office), pur- 
 chased on the installment plan, stands conspicuous in a cor- 
 ner ; you take down one of those heavy tomes, elevate your 
 heels to the top of the table or safe, and wait; and wait- 
 ing — fall asleep! Awaking with a start at noon, you go 
 to your dinner, and thereafter returning, you go through with 
 the routine marked out in the morning ; and so you con- 
 tinue to do, with perhaps slight incidental interruptions and 
 variations, every week day for a number of years. After a 
 while, however, the happy period arrives when you begin to 
 have clients and business accumulates. "What is this busi- 
 ness, for the larger part ? Condemned are we 
 
 ' To drudge for the dregs of men, 
 And scrawl strange words witli a barbarous pen ! ' 
 
 " I will suppose for you a sample case : 
 
 "A. brings suit against B. in a justice's court, (in assump- 
 sit) claiming by his pleadings that the defendant (that's B.) 
 owes him upon account three hundred dollars or under. 
 The indebtedness, if anything, is in reality but a very small 
 sum, three, five, or ten dollars, perhaps ; but the claim is 
 
62 A SAMPLE CASK. 
 
 made tlrns large in tlie process and declaration so ttiat if by 
 any means tlie proofs shall show the amount due to be 
 Tinexpectedly great, or the court shall prove complaisant to 
 the plaintiff in the suit, because he is ' the man who makes 
 the business,' it is well to be able to have it all put in the 
 judgment, and the latter can not exceed the claim except by 
 the amount of costs of suit. But the sum you hope to 
 recover is small, very small in the average of cases, — so 
 insignificant indeed that if it were jour own case you would 
 much prefer giving it to the defendant to harrassing him 
 (and yourself) with a law-suit. 
 
 " Perchance B. is a poor man, and is struggling hard in a 
 manful endeavor to support a large and ever-increasing fam- 
 ily, with which blessing poor men are apt to be blessed, (see 
 Psalm cvii, V. 41), afflicted, it may be, with sickness, or other 
 bad fortune. But the suit is brought and you are attorney 
 ior the plaintiff. ISTow what is expected of you ? Why, you 
 are to go into court and win that suit if possible. You are 
 to develop a miraculous degree of interest in the matter, too, 
 if you desire to please your client and meet his expecta- 
 tions of you. You are to contend for the paltry sum 
 which he claims is due him as if a great principle were 
 involved. Why not? have you not taken for a fee A.'s 
 money ? (or his promise !) and aren't you his advocate ? and 
 isn't his cause your own ? He is intensely interested. If 
 he wins the cause, he stands a chance of collecting from B. 
 the amount claimed as his due ; but he will also, and this is 
 frequently the most important part to liim, (for these little 
 matters often stir up much feeling), inflict punishment upon 
 B. You are to work, then, with all these things in view. 
 If you will ' tongue-lash ' * B. to some extent during the trial, 
 
 * A friend of the author in his younger days — an acute and ambi- 
 tious attorney — was actually employed to undertake the trial of a 
 cause in a justice's court (the young lawyer himself was my informant) 
 with an express understanding that if he would thoroughly tongue-lash 
 
PROCEEDINGS IN COURT. 63 
 
 •and Ms attorney, too, if he have one, it will redound all the 
 more to the satisfaction of your client. 
 
 " You are in court. The pleadings are filed and the cause 
 is ready for trial, Now you are expected by your client to 
 take all the advantages offered by the mistakes of the oppo- 
 site party, the remissness or ignorance of the court, the dif- 
 fidence of witnesses on one side and their dishonest willing- 
 ness on the other, — in short, of everything that will operate to 
 the behoof of that side upon which you happen to be re- 
 tained It is pretty hard, of course, for a beginner to main- 
 tain throughout the trial of a cause managed in this way, a 
 ■countenance and manner expressive of a soul bent only on 
 an honest and zealous search for truth; but, it must be 
 learned. The 'virtuous indignation' dodge must be prac- 
 ticed as often as you catch the attorney for the defense using 
 the tactics you are expected to employ ; — and if you watch 
 ■carefully it will cause you to smile directly to perceive how 
 closely opposing counsel is carrying out the program I have 
 here marked out to you. 
 
 " Well, the cause has been tried, and, as we will suppose, 
 you have won. By negligence upon the part of" B.'s lawyer 
 the time allowed by law for obtaining a stay of proceedings 
 has expired, and no stay has been had You are watching 
 the matter closely, (your fee of five dollars has been paid 
 over, and you are more zealous in your client's behalf than 
 ■ever), and promptly, at your request, the execution issues from 
 the hand of the justice. An officer receives it, and then 
 you begin your persecution of the defendant until the judg- 
 
 (that was the term used by the Hibernian client) the opposite party he 
 should receive twice the usual fee for his services. It will, perhaps, be 
 -of interest to the reader to learn that the attorney did not fail to earn 
 the additional stipend, and that it was gratefully paid over at the con- 
 clusion of the trial. This may be the sole case of record where such a 
 contract has been entered into by attorney and client ; it is probable, 
 however, that it is not the only case ever known. 
 
64 WSAT IF YOU FAIL? 
 
 ment and costs are collected, or you have learned, to your 
 chagrin, that B. is poor, — poor in short as is reputed to have 
 been Job's celebrated Thanksgiving turkey, — and quite 
 execution proof. 
 
 " You feel pretty well, however : you have won your cause 
 and even secured a larger judgment than by the facts and 
 the law you were really entitled to. But this is only an evi- 
 dence of your faithfulness to your client's interests and your 
 great ability as an advocate I 
 
 " But, on the other hand, let us suppose the case to have 
 gone against you. You declined to befog or coiTupt the 
 court ; though opportunity was offered, you refused to hood- 
 wink the jury, brow-beat opposing, or wheedle into false- 
 hood fi'iendly witnesses, and you behaved like a rational 
 christian gentleman throughout the trial, giving utterance to 
 no abusive language directed against opposing counsel or 
 defendant ; and you lost the cause ! What remains for you to 
 do ? Why, go back to your den in disgrace, — and whether 
 you ever get the promised fee of A. or not depends upon 
 circumstances. 
 
 " By-and-by, when you receive your first retainer for a 
 cause in the higher court, you will begin to learn that the 
 conditions of success are much the same here. It is true 
 you usually find a good lawyer upon the bench, and hence 
 the abuses practiced in the trial of causes are not so open 
 and flagrant ; but all the arts learned in the lower court will 
 come into play here ; and it will be found, until a reputation 
 has been achieved by the practitioner, — which may happen 
 with men possessing only ordinary ability after some decades 
 have passed, in other cases, as where the attorney is endowed 
 with unusual talents, or has been favored by fortune in some 
 other manner, at a much earlier period, — that they will, for 
 the most part, continue to be employed by the ambitious or 
 hungry members of the profession, and will form the major 
 portion of the advocate's mental armor. 
 
TBE FARMER'S LIFE. 
 
 65 
 
66 CONTENTION, CONTENTION. 
 
 " This is one phase of the matter. I am not claiming here 
 that there are no honest or benevolent lawyers. Far, very 
 far from it. What I do claim is that the tendency of the 
 business, at this day and age of the world, is to harden and 
 debase men, and that in consequence thereof we find enrolled 
 in the ranks of the profession still many Dobsons and Foggs, 
 Quirks, Gammons, and Snaps. The prosperity of the brother- 
 hood (so numerous to-day and increasing in numbers yearly) 
 depends upon the quarrels, contentions, dishonesty and 
 misery of the people. It is not for a lawyer to allay diffi- 
 culties and settle disputes among neighbors without a resort 
 to the courts, for soon he would find, as did Othello, his 
 occupation gone. He is not a lover of peace, neither, indeed, 
 can he be. Contention, contention, contention is the life of 
 his trade, and must ever be, and so long as even the honest 
 lawyer meets daily in his practice with opponents who 
 habitually employ pettifogging tricks and chicanery in the 
 trial of causes, he will be strongly tempted to oppose fraud 
 with cunning, and thus to fling away that ingenuousness, 
 that open, honest habit which the happy farmer is never 
 obliged to surrender. 
 
 '"It is a strange trade, I have often thought,' observes 
 Carlyle in his Reminiscences^ * that of advocacy. Your intel- 
 lect, your highest heavenly gift, hung up in the shop win- 
 dow, like a loaded pistol, for sale ; will either blow out a pes- 
 tilent scoundrel's brains, or the scoundrel's solitary sheriff's 
 officer's (in a sense) as you please to choose for your guinea.'* 
 
 " It was a characteristic feature of Utopia that there were 
 no lawyers there. I will read you what the author says on 
 that head : 
 
 " 'They have no lawyers among them, for they consider 
 them as a sort of people whose profession it is to disguise 
 matter as well as to arrest laws.'f 
 
 *Carlyle's Rem.: Remarks on Jeffrey's celebrated defense of Nell 
 Kennedy. fSiR Thomas More: Utopia. 
 
IT IS NOT THE LAW, BUT LAWYERS. 67 
 
 "I will read you also what the 'tough old Dean' (as 
 Holmes calls him) has to say : 
 
 " ' There is a society of men among us, bred up from their 
 youth in the art of proving, by words multiplied for the 
 purpose, that white is black and black is white, according 
 as they are paid. To this society all the rest of the people 
 are slaves.'"^ 
 
 " Our author is aiming his shafts at the legal profession 
 here," I concluded. 
 
 "And Swift was not always so slow ! " commented my 
 father, sententiously. 
 
 " The law is good," I resumed ; " the law means well ; 
 but it too often becomes the interest of the attorney to wrest 
 and distort it from its proper use. Its end is undoubtedly 
 justice ; but how frequently do we see it made the instru- 
 ment of the rankest, foulest iniquity ! 
 
 " Just think of this once : Every case that goes into court 
 is represented by counsel on both sides. These are men 
 whose interests, like those of their clients, are diametrically 
 opposed to each other. When just begun, and the blood is 
 still cool, one would be apt to believe that incentive enough 
 existed to induce the advocate on either side to exhaust all 
 honorable means at command to overthrow his antagonist 
 and win the cause for his client Bat as the trial proceeds, 
 feeling is engendered. The attorney becomes identified 
 with the cause he advocates. He meets with rebuffs, and it 
 gives him longings for revenge. Then the eyes of many are 
 upon him, and it is but natural that he should greatly dis- 
 like to submit to defeat even in what would readily be per- 
 ceived to be a bad cause. I tell you, gentlemen, it is a 
 mighty good man who will withstand a temptation to take a 
 wrongful advantage if, under such circumstances as we have 
 
 *Gulliver's Travels. 
 
68 SOME SAGE C03I3IENTS. 
 
 here supposed, one offers. History sadly records the fact 
 that they don't always resist."* 
 
 " We won't practice law, I guess," was my father's remark 
 when I had reached this point and paused for breath. 
 
 The 'Squire observed, with a very knowing expression of 
 countenance, that he had had some experience with attor- 
 neys when he had been addressed as "your honor." He 
 didn't think any durned lawyer had ever hoodwinked, or 
 befogged that court, but entertained no doubt that they had 
 tried. He admitted, however, that I had made out quite a 
 case so far as the profession of the law was concerned ; now 
 he would like to hear what I had to sa}'- about the news- 
 paper business. 
 
 If the reader will peruse the next chapter he will learn 
 what response I made to my cousin's request ; I will con- 
 clude the chapter in hand with some words written by the 
 great and good Horace Greeley : 
 
 " I regard farming as that vocation which conduces most 
 directly and palpably to a reverence for honesty and truth. 
 The young lawyer is often constrained, or at least tempted, 
 by his necessities, to do the dirty professional work of a 
 rascal intent on cheating his neighbor out of his righteous 
 dues. The young doctor may likewise be incited to resort 
 to a quackery he despises in order to secure instant bread ; 
 
 *Since the above was composed the author has happened upon the 
 following sage counsel in the Confessions of Rodsseau; a book, by the 
 way, which contains some things both well and wisely written : 
 
 "It '[the conduct of his fatlaer, under certain circumstances] has 
 taught me this great lesson of morality, * * that we should ever care- 
 fully avoid putting our interests in competition with our duty; or 
 promise ourselves felicity from the misfortunes of others, certain that 
 in such circumstances, however sincere our love of virtue may be, 
 sooner or later it will give way, and we shall imperceptibly become 
 unjust and wicked, in fact, however upright in our intentions."— 
 Book II. 
 
WITAT GREELEY SAID. 
 
 69 
 
 the unknown autlior is often impelled to write what will 
 sell rather than what the public ought to buy; but the 
 young farmer, acting as a farmer, must realize that his suc- 
 cess depends upon his absolute verity and integrity. He 
 •deals directly with Nature, which never was and never will 
 be cheated. * * * The farmer's calling seems to me 
 that most conducive to thorough manliness of character." 
 
MOTTO FOR (CHAPTER ¥. 
 
 " Farge is tl^e spur tl:;)al; feh)e clear spirit, doth raige 
 (VlQat lagt ir)firrr)ity of rjoble rrjirjds) 
 ■'Po scorn delights, and live laborious days ; 
 '©ut tl^e fair guerdor) wljer) we Ijope to fir)d, 
 ^r|d tb)ir)k to burst out into guddeij blaze, 
 Corrjes the blir)d Fury with the abhorred shearg^, 
 ^nd glits the thjin-gpur) life." 
 
 Milton. Lycidas. 
 
 
 70 
 
CHAPTEE V. 
 
 CKNOWLEDG-E will I a great 
 fondness for the trade of the 
 journalist ; so great, in fact, that 
 ' were I not Alexander I would 
 be Diogenese '; and hence,^ 
 when I choose the part of 
 Agricola, it is, in the language 
 of Brutus, ' not that I love 
 Csesar less, but Eome more'. 
 There is a fascination about 
 newspaper work that it is dif- 
 ficult to explain ; but it is so 
 certainly there that very few 
 who have once been in bond- 
 age to the periodical press are 
 ever completely 'heart whole 
 and fancy free ' again : 
 
 ' You may break, you may shatter the vase if you will, 
 But the scent of the roses will hang round it still.' 
 
 " But the labor is never ending — infinite ! and the public 
 for whom it is done is invariably ungrateful ; this makes it 
 certain that the remuneration will, except in rare instances,, 
 be poor, — and this, oftentimes, it indeed is, even to the ulti- 
 mate degree. 
 
 "In this profession, and particularly in the more humble 
 walks thereof, wherein it has been my fortune to tread, it is- 
 impossible for a conscientious man to satisfy himself with 
 
 71 
 
^2 JOURNALISM DISCUSSED. 
 
 acliievement. He makes himself an ideal standard for a 
 family newspaper, and then finds it impossible to produce 
 that kind of a journal. And why ? Simply because his 
 revenues are never (or so seldom that it is not worth 
 while to take account of the exceptions to the rule) sufficient 
 to enable him to do so. I believe it to be a fact, capable of 
 statistical demonstration, that, in our country, newspaper 
 men receive less compensation for their labor, quantity and 
 quality of the latter considered, than any other class what- 
 ever. This is certainly wrong — a vast injustice — and 
 works ill to all the public; but it cannot be denied that 
 journalists themselves are greatly, though not wholly, to 
 blame for this condition of things. I could suggest certain 
 action on the part of the profession, which would, I think, 
 if taken concertedly, go far toward abolishing existing abuses 
 and bear fruit in the shape of an increase in the 'poor 
 printer's' revenues. But this is neither the time nor the 
 place for such suggestions. 
 
 " The reason, then, why I do not remain in the old har- 
 ness I have worn so long and so contentedly, are, primarily, 
 that my health has suffered therein, and, secondarily, that it 
 does not pay. 
 
 "I have not in anything I have said intended to be 
 understood as making a claim that the lot in life of the 
 journalist, outside of and excepting those little matters 
 already particularly noted, is all pleasure — all sunshine. 
 By no manner of means! There are the dark passages. 
 There are the mistakes a merely human being unavoidably 
 makes, which, being of their very nature public and appar- 
 ent, will be perceived, then seized upon, exposed, expatiated 
 upon by envious or malicious rivals, or wicked men in other 
 walks of life, and of opposite political affiliations perhaps. 
 Then arise contentions, and acrimonious controversies, — 
 almost unavoidable, — at all events not always avoided, — 
 and violent personal warfares among the brotherhood, with 
 
SOME C03TMENTS. 73 
 
 a host of minor connected matters, most perplexing and dis- 
 agreeable, and all belonging peculiarly to this business, 
 
 " Still I love the profession and, it may be, who knoweth ? 
 I shall one day find myself again upon the tripod whaling 
 away with pencil, long scissors and paste-pot, getting up 
 * heavy articles ' or fabricating ' spicy locals ' to feed some 
 hebdomadal devil-fish which has somehow managed to get 
 its tentacles fastened upon me, and which will be, even then, 
 -engaged in sucking the life and energy out of its feeder, 
 hody and spirit ! but that will be, if ever, after I have had 
 time to rebuild my mental and physical systems." 
 
 " It always appeared to me pleasant," here observed my 
 ■cousin, " that you editors could ' have your say ' upon every 
 subject that comes up, and if it isn't very bright always, or 
 worth attending to, your matter usually has force, being in 
 print. Some things I myself have read of your getting up, 
 which sounded pretty well in a newspaper, but which I 
 should have considered hardly worth listening to if you had 
 spoken them." 
 
 The old 'Squire is sometimes quite complimentary, 
 
 "That is true," I replied, without noticing the wretched 
 joke of my cousin, " and at one time I valued highly that 
 privilege of speaking off-hand upon all manner of topics as 
 one having authority; but, as poor old Eip Yan "Winkle 
 observes, 'that vas a goot vile ago.' My appetite for that 
 sort of glory has been sated, and now I crave nothing so 
 much as peace and repose, — which means leisure to follow 
 my own inclinations, — believing that the moral taught in 
 the story of king Pyrrhus and his Counsellor is a good 
 one," 
 
 Then I related the old story : 
 
 " ' When the great king had completed his preparations 
 to march into Italy the wise Cyneas inquired : 
 
 " ' To what end do you make these mighty preparations ? ' 
 
 " ' To make myself master of Italy ' replied the king. 
 
14: A GOOD MORAL, 
 
 " 'And what after that is done? ' queried the other. 
 
 '"I will march into Gaul and Spain,' said Pjrrhus. 
 
 " 'And what then?' pursued Cyneas. 
 
 " 'I will then go and subdue Africa,' answered the king,. 
 ' and, lastly, when I have subjugated the whole world, I will 
 sit down content at my own ease,' 
 
 " 'In the name of all the gods, sire,' replied the Counsel- 
 lor, 'tell me what hinders you from sitting down now, 
 without further fatigue or danger, to the enjoyment of what 
 you have ! ' 
 
 " Indeed," I resumed, "I am fully pursuaded that I could 
 now, as Montaigne wished to do, ' content myself without 
 bustle, only to live an irreproachable life, and such a one aS; 
 may neither be a burden to myself nor any other.' "* 
 
 I then quoted : 
 
 " 'You see we're tired, my heart and I; 
 
 We dealt with books, we trusted men, 
 
 And in our own blood drenched the pen, 
 As if such colors would not fly. 
 
 We walked too straight for fortune's end, 
 
 We loved too true to keep a friend: 
 At last we're tired, my heart and I. 'f 
 
 "It has been my fortune," I went on, — " gentle and peace- 
 loving as I am by nature, — to be continually at war in one- 
 way or another, with politicians, with near or more remote 
 cotemporaries, with upholders of ancient abuses which I 
 have attacked, with this one and that one, but with some- 
 body always and forever, so that though I cry ' peace ! peace ! 
 there is no peace,' nor has there been for ' lo ! these many 
 years.' I mean now or, at least, so soon as the old news- 
 paper is disposed of, I feel confident that I shall be able, 
 
 ' Safe in my sylvan home 
 To tread on the pride of Greece and Rome, — ' 
 
 ^Essays, Book III, Chap. IX. fMns. Bkowning. 
 
NATURE, AND PKACm. 
 
 15 
 
 
 
76 QUOTATION FROM EIIERSON. 
 
 (though, that line sounds a little harsh in its juxtaposition) 
 to enjoy a peace that will pass the understanding of the 
 worldling. I shall have bidden 
 
 ' Good-bye to flattery's fawning face; 
 To grandeur with his wise grimace; 
 To upstart wealth's averted eye; 
 To supple office, low and high; 
 To crowded halls, to court and street; 
 To frozen hearts and hasting feet; 
 To those who go and those who come; 
 Good-bye, proud world, I'm going home!'" 
 
 "That sounds very pretty," observed the 'Squire rather 
 ironically. " Is that all there is of it ? " 
 
 " No," replied I, for I was now in great good humor ; and 
 accordingly I went back and proceeded to give 'em the first 
 stanza : 
 
 " ' Good-bye, proud world! I'm going home; 
 
 Thou'rt not my friend, and I'm not thine; 
 Long through thy weary crowds I've roamed, 
 
 A river ark on the ocean brine; 
 Long I've been tossed like the driven foam, — 
 But now, proud world, I'm going home!' 
 
 " 'I'm going to my own hearth-stone, 
 Bosomed in yon green hills alone, — ' " 
 
 *' Sandhills ! " interrupted my father; and then he quoted : 
 
 " ' 'Tis distance lends enchantment to the view, 
 And robes the mountain in its verdant hue.' " 
 
 But I went right on : 
 
 '"A secret nook in a pleasant land! ' " 
 
 " Better keep it a secret," growled the old 'Squire, impa- 
 tiently. 
 
 Still I drove away at Emerson's rhyme : 
 
 " 'Whose groves the frolic fairies planned; 
 Where arches green, the live-long day, 
 Echo the blackbird's roundelay, — ' " 
 
3fAD AS A HORNET. 
 
 77 
 
 "Blackbirds!" exclaimed my father, — for the boys now 
 evidently meant to dam this flood of verse, — " blackbirds ! " 
 cried he ; " you can't raise any corn there ! " 
 
 I did not mean to be bluffed off so easily, and continued : 
 " ' And vulgar feet have never trod — ' " 
 
 "Tom must go on your hands and knees," laughed the 
 'Squire, leering at my well-worn sandals. 
 
 " Well, gentlemen, if you want any more poetry to-day, 
 just find it for yourselves," I said, rising here with dignity 
 and walking down the street toward the office. 
 
 "Mad as a hornet!" I heard my father observe in an 
 undertone after I had started. 
 
 " Haw ! haw ! haw ! " The reader will readily account 
 for that. But I kept right on, looking neither to the right 
 nor to the left. 
 
 The discussion, however, was good-humoredly resumed 
 at evening. To meet the objection raised by the 'Squire 
 that one who was naturally active, charged with life, and 
 ambitious, like myself, would soon tire of sitting in the 
 shade of the verandah in the country " to watch the squasTi- 
 vines run", and would be more than likely to drop the 
 
V8 CURIUS BENTATUS. 
 
 "rural racket", and rusli into the crowd again, I instanced 
 the case of the emperor Diocletian, who resigned the crown 
 and scepter, which had become him so well, to retire to pri- 
 vate life in the country ; and, when afterwards solicited to 
 resume them, was reluctant, and made answer to those who 
 had visited him for the purpose of urging him: "You 
 would not offer to persuade me to this had you seen the 
 fine trees I have planted in my orchard, and the beautiful 
 melons I have grown in my garden," 
 
 I also gave them the story of Cato, the censor, out of 
 Plutarch, as follows : 
 
 "Near Cato's country seat [says our author] was a cottage 
 which formerly belonged to Manias Curius [Dentatus], who 
 was thrice honored [by the Eoman senate] with a triumph. 
 Cato often walked thither, and reflecting on the smallness 
 of the farm and the meanness of the dwelling, used to think 
 of the peculiar virtues of Dentatus, who, though he was the 
 greatest man in Rome, had subdued the most warlike 
 nations, and driven Pyrrhus out of Italy, cultivated this 
 little spot of ground with his own hands, and, after three 
 triumphs, lived in this cottage. Here the ambassadors of 
 the Samnites found him at his simple meal, and offered him 
 a large present of gold ; but he absolutely refused it and 
 gave them this answer : 'A man who can be satisfied with 
 such a supper has no need of gold, and I think it more 
 glorious to conquer the owner of it than to have it myself.' 
 Full of these thoughts [continues Plutarch] Cato returned 
 home and taking a view of his own estate, his servants and 
 manner of living, added to his own labor and retrenched his 
 unnecessary expenses." 
 
 When I had proceeded thus far, I looked up and saw the 
 fire in my father's keen blue eyes. 
 
 "Now that is a story worth hearing," asserted he with 
 ■emphasis. " That is exactly my notion of a great man." 
 
31Y FATHER RECEIVES AN EMBASSY. 79 
 
 I could but smile at his earnestness, whicli I knew was 
 not feigned, for himself had lived the life of a true Roman, 
 after the order of the rustic Dentatus and Cato, and the 
 incident in the life of the former when the ambassadors 
 waited upon him, as above narrated, from a resemblance, 
 real or fancied, brought to my mind an episode in my 
 father's own career. 
 
 Years before, when still comparatively young and active, 
 (he was some sixty-six years of age, to be sure, but hale, 
 vigorous, and resolute as a youth of twenty-six, and still 
 called himself a boy) and employed daily in the duties 
 devolving upon him as the manager of his own fine farm, 
 one evening two gentlemen, from the county-seat (distant 
 some twenty miles) visited him. I retain a vivid mental 
 picture now, — after the lapse of nearly a score of years, — of 
 him as he appeared at the precise moment when his visitors 
 ■approached, and the ceremony of hand-shaking was observed. 
 Clad in plain, strong clothes, with home-made frock, and 
 heavy cow-hide boots, as befitted his vocation, sturdy and 
 strong, firm on his feet he stood, his axe still in his hand, 
 (for he had been engaged in chopping stove-wood at the rear 
 door of his farm-house), and listened while the gentlemen 
 informed him that the district convention of the democratic 
 party, that day held, had nominated him their candidate 
 for the position of representative in the State legislature, 
 and had appointed them to notify him and solicit his accep- 
 tance. I remember, also, the reluctance with which he gave 
 his consent to the " use of his name " by his party, — for 
 never can it be truthfully said that my father has sought 
 public ofiice, or even willingly accepted it when freely ten- 
 dered. 
 
 My cousin approved of what I had read, also, and desired 
 me to proceed, for I had fallen into a reverie. Continuing 
 in the volume I had been using, I read how, from the trial 
 of causes in which he was engaged, Cato would return to 
 
80 PHILOPCEMEN. 
 
 liis farm, where in a coarse frock, if it was winter, and with- 
 out any covering (so Plutarch says) if it was summer, he 
 would labor with his domestics, and afterwards sit down 
 and eat with them, and drink home-made wine. 
 
 "There's a man worth imitating," observed my father. 
 
 " Ye-es," assented the old joker, as if reluctantly, " only 
 in his manner of dress ; that would be a little too airy for 
 our climate." 
 
 I was obliged to agree that the 'Squire had said a good 
 thing, and assisted him in the laugh at his own bon-mot. 
 
 The story of Cato taking so well, I read a little from the 
 same author concerning Philopoemen, whom, as Plutarch 
 and Pausauias agree, was a very ill-favored man. Our 
 author records that a part of Philopoemen's leisure was 
 spent in the tillage of the field. He had a handsome estate 
 twenty furlongs from the city, to which he went every day 
 after dinner, or after supper, and at night he threw himself 
 upon an ordinary mattress, and slept as one of the laborers. 
 In the morning he rose early and went to work along with 
 the vine-dressers and plowmen. And Plutarch adds : " He 
 endeavored to improve his own estate in the justest way in 
 the world, — by agriculture, I mean. Nor did he apply 
 himself to it in a cursory manner, but in a full conviction 
 that the surest way not to touch what belongs to others is to 
 take care of one's own." 
 
 At the conclusion of this tale the 'Squire yawned, and 
 remarked carelessly that he saw one encouraging circum- 
 stance for me in this last example, and perhaps I might 
 come out all right after all ; — " old Phil, what's-his-name 
 was a mighty homely man, — too ! " 
 
 I flung the volume from which I had been reading at a 
 certain bald and shining pate, which being duly "ducked," 
 for once Plutarch missed his mark; and as the session 
 broke up the note of the whip-poor-will came clear and 
 
A LITTLE 3I00NSHINE. 81 
 
 sweet from the bushes in the suburbs Just to the northeast 
 of my cottage. 
 
 I paused a few moments under the wild cherry trees 
 upon the lawn, after my companions had withdrawn, 
 to listen to the musical voices of the night, to breathe 
 the cool sweet breath of the west, to gaze at the star-sprent 
 firmament, where "Hesperus rode brightest," and the majes- 
 tic moon that began now to flood the east with her light, and 
 I thought of Southey's fine verses ; 
 
 " How beautiful is night I 
 A dewy freshness fills the silent air; 
 No mist obscures, nor cloud, nor speck nor stain, 
 Breaks the serene of heaven; 
 In full-orbed glory yonder moon divine 
 Rolls through the dark blue depths; 
 Beneath the steady ray 
 The desert circle spreads 
 Like the round ocean girdled with the sky; 
 How beautiful is night! " 
 
MOTTOES FOR KHiPTER Yl 
 
 'Philosophy will clip ar] angel's "wirjg." 
 
 Keats : Lamia. 
 
 " If -we don't 
 "Pwill be because our notions are rjot Ijigl] 
 <2)f politicians ar|d their double front, 
 \V^ho live by lies, yet dare not boldly lie.' 
 
 '^r)d so fporq hour to hour, we ripe ar)d ripe, 
 
 ^nd tbjer) from Ijoup to hour, we rot and pot, 
 
 ^r)d tl]epeby l]ar|gs a tale." 
 
 Shakespeare : As You Like It. 
 
 82 
 
CHAPTEE YI 
 
 T was a few days later when 
 my father, with, a kind of 
 qnizzical expression upon his 
 face, inquired my opinion of 
 Aristotle, I anticipated the 
 springing of some sort of 
 trap, hence rather hesitated 
 about answering ; but I final- 
 ly replied: " Oh, undoubtedly 
 his was a great mind, — per- 
 haps one of the greatest the 
 world has known." 
 
 " But didn't he have some- 
 thing to say against this iso- 
 lation of one's self," inquired 
 my father. " Seems to me," 
 he added, "I've read some- 
 where that he held that 
 neither virtue nor happiness are attainable apart from 
 society,* and that a man who could live alone must be 
 either a god or a beast. Isn't there something of that 
 kind?" 
 
 "Well, yes," replied I, "he did hold that doctrine, I 
 guess ; but he was nothing but an old barbarian, anyhow I " 
 Whereat we both laughed. 
 
 *Abistotle's Ethics, 10, 10. 
 
 83 
 
84 ARISTOTLE COMMENTED UPON. 
 
 " Seriously, tliougla," I resumed "Aristotle was right, if 
 we take him right. He meant, of course, that condition 
 where a person lives entirely isolated from and independent 
 of society and the state. He didn't intend to include 
 scholarly retirement in the ban, I think. You know that 
 he considered the family (a component part of his model 
 state) as made up of the husband, wife, children and the 
 slaves. The last, to him, were as much a matter of course 
 as any of the others. They were a necessity in the state, he 
 argued, to do the coarse work — the drudgery — so as to 
 afford the citizen opportunity for thought and study, which 
 was to be his whole occupation. I don't suppose we, or either 
 of us, would go to the extent of the noble old Stagirite in 
 any of these matters ; but you will admit that he keeps me 
 in countenance to a certain degree by taking the pains he 
 shows to give his contemplative citizen the best possible 
 opportunity for "the enjoyment of his favorite pastime. Now 
 I don't believe in total isolation from my fellows. No, no \ 
 I agree with Balzac, the French novelist, who says : ' We 
 must certainly acknowledge that solitude is a fine thing ; 
 but it is a pleasure to have some one who can answer, and to 
 whom we can say, from time to time, that solitude is a fine 
 thing ! ' Nor will I go to the extent to which Thoreau goes 
 when he asserts that he ' never found the companion that 
 was so companionable as solitude.' I can but consider 
 Simms as more just, who somewhere says : ' Solitude bears 
 the same relation to the mind that sleep does to the body. 
 It affords it the necessary opportunity for repose and 
 recovery.' 
 
 " Eeally, the ideal life for me would be something like 
 this : A rural home like Cicero's villa at Tusculum, per- 
 haps, or Horace's Sabine Farm, or Pliny's rural paradise at 
 Comum, or Yirgil's — " 
 
 "Never mind the rest of 'em," said my father. 
 
AN IDEAL RETREAT. 85 
 
 i 
 
 " "Well, a home like one of these," I resumed ; " but, if 
 upon a humbler scale, of course it would content me. Here 
 with my family and dearest friends I could live in quiet 
 independence and great serenity of mind, with leisure for 
 the study of books and nature, — for contemplation and, 
 perhaps, composition, — with care and labor enough for 
 variety and exercise in the management of my farm and 
 stock ; and the privilege, of course, of running out at any time 
 and mingling in cultivated society, and of varying the 
 monotony by enjoying at my own home the company of 
 agreeable and cultured persons, who would visit me by invi- 
 tation." 
 
 " What is it that Swift says ? " interrupted my father : 
 
 " ' I often wish that I had clear 
 
 For life six hundred pounds a year; 
 
 A river at my garden's end, 
 
 A house in which to lodge a friend! ' " 
 
 "Yes," I returned, "that's about it; but another has 
 come nearer to the picture. Let's see if I can find what 
 Thompson said," and I arose and went to the book-case. 
 
 " Never mind Thompson," cried my father impatiently ; 
 but I wilfully insisted, and, having found the place, I read 
 to him : 
 
 " ' Oh, knew he but his happiness, of men 
 The happiest he, who, far from public rage, 
 Deep in the vale, with a choice few retired, 
 Drinks the pure pleasure of the rural life! ' "* 
 
 "That's quite pretty," was the comment of my listener; 
 encouraged by which, while I was returning Thompson to 
 his place on the shelf, I slyly slipped out Cowper^ and ere 
 my father was aware of my design I had begun to give him 
 the latter poet's sentiments, as follows : 
 
 *TJi6 Seasons. 
 
86 THE SUBJECT OF POLITICS INTRODUCED. 
 
 " ' How various his employments whom the world 
 Calls idle, and who justly, in return. 
 Esteems the busy world an idler too! 
 Friends, books, a garden, and perhaps his pen. 
 Delightful industry enjoyed at home. 
 And Nature, in her cultivated trim. 
 Dressed to his taste, inviting him abroad, — 
 Can he want occupation who has these? ' "* 
 
 I looked up triumphantly, exclaiming : 
 
 " ' Oh, blest seclusion from a jarring world! ' " 
 
 But my father's mind was employed about another ques- 
 tion just then, and it was exceedingly doubtful whether he 
 had heard these last lines ; presently he opened his mouth 
 and spoke : 
 
 " I have always thought it a little singular that you did 
 not enjoy politics better," he said ; " and particularly as you 
 appeared to have been assigned the post of honor always, 
 locally at least, as the standard-bearer and mouth-piece of 
 your party. "While you continued to publish a newspaper 
 you could always be sure of receiving consideration and such 
 honors as the party in your county had to bestow." 
 
 I replied : "I presume I was always treated as well as I 
 deserved ; but I never have yet passed through a political 
 campaign when I did not emerge therefrom filled with dis- 
 gust both with politics and politicians. Politics in this 
 country and at this day are queer tics.^^ 
 
 " In what respect do you mean," demanded my father. 
 
 " Well, 'tis a long story, and I ought to go to the office 
 now ; but if you will listen a few minutes I will illustrate 
 the matter to you briefly and roughly," I said. 
 
 My father signified a desire to have me proceed, and I 
 gratified him by discoursing somewhat in the following 
 strain : 
 
 *The Task, Book III. 
 
MORE POLITICS. 87 
 
 "It has come to this pass, in this country, that the best 
 men cannot be nominated and elected to public office, except 
 at very rare intervals. The satirical phrase, ' scholar in poli- 
 tics,' shows the popular feeling upon this subject; and it was 
 considered quite a wonderful circumstance, as you will 
 remember, when, a few years ago, in a Massachusetts dis- 
 trict. Professor Seelye, a ripe scholar, an able speaker, and a 
 perfect gentleman, was chosen to congress without his having 
 solicited the honor, or paid a cent. His term expired and — 
 he has not been re-elected, nor will he ever be. The best 
 men do not ' come to the front ' ; it is the ' available man,' — 
 the popular man, — or the wealthy man who can employ 
 popular advocates of his cause, — who are nominated and 
 elected to office. These men are frequently among the worst 
 in the community, and, in a very large proportion of cases, 
 such as ' stand in ' with the saloon interests. 
 
 " The primary meetings — the township and ward caucuses 
 — are the points of beginning for the campaign. Here the 
 people meet to choose delegates to represent them in the 
 county convention. This convention not only nominates 
 the party candidates for the various county offices, but chooses 
 delegates, in turn, to the various district conventions of wliich 
 the county (if it be of the less populous ones) forms a part, 
 and to the state convention, etc. The scramble for the ' loaves 
 and fishes ' begins at the primaries, and the struggle among 
 the numerous patriots willing to make sacrifices of themselves 
 for the good of the pubhc, are frequently very earnest, while 
 the situations resulting are sometimes ludicrous in the ex- 
 treme. Combinations and rings abound, friend cuts the 
 throat of friend, and honorable dealing is a thing little 
 thought of. 
 
 "I have sometimes entertained the idea of producing a 
 little comedy to set oS these matters, and I may in the future 
 act upon the thought In the first place, as to the characters, 
 
88 DRAMATIZATION. 
 
 — I have a coarse draft liere of tlie thing, wHch I made a day 
 or two since." And I exhibited the following : 
 
 DRAMATIS PERSONS. 
 
 A., a Lawyer, Candidate for Judge of Probate. 
 
 B., a Citizen, " " SherifE. 
 
 C, an Attorney, " " Clerk. 
 
 D,, a Citizen, " " Register. 
 
 E., an Attorney, " " County Attorney. 
 
 F., a Physician, " " Coroner. 
 
 Gr., an Editor, " " Treasurer, or anything else 
 
 that can be had. 
 
 H., Pettifogger and Orator, Candidate General like the 
 last. 
 
 I., J., K., Etc., Citizens, Friends oj the various Candidates. 
 
 X., Y., Z., Etc., Etc., Members of the Opposite Faction, Can- 
 didates, their Friends, Etc., Etc. 
 
 ACT L 
 
 Scene 1. — A Meeting in a Lawyer's Private Office. 
 A., B., C, E. and F. are discovered in Council. 
 
 C. [In Chair.'] Well, gentlemen, is the Slate complete ? 
 
 B. Not yet, Mr. Chairman, as doubt exists in one or 
 two important matters. 
 
 Ch. Will some gentleman state the effect? 
 
 E. The doubt is here : "We find that there are more of the 
 boys who want positions than there are places to fill. A close 
 canvass of the shire reveals the fact that dissensions in the 
 party this campaign are likely to prove expensive luxuries, 
 as the parties are quite evenly balanced ; hence the course 
 pursued must be the conciliatory one. 
 
 Gh. [Impatiently.'] Well, how far have you progressed? 
 
 E. Five offices have we provided for, as follows, viz: 
 For Judge of Probate, A; for Sheriff, B.; for County Clerk, 
 C; for Register, D.; for Attorney, E., and for Coroner, Dr. F. 
 This leaves the Treasurer's office and that of Commissioner 
 
COUNCIL OF THE CONSPIRATORS. 89 
 
 yet to fill. Little diflficulty will be found witli tlie last ; but 
 the matter of the Treasurjship will, I fear, cause trouble. 
 
 Ch. Who are the aspirants ? 
 
 E. The Editor and Mr. H. 
 
 'Gh. Will they not draw for the place ? 
 
 M Alas, I fear not ! 
 
 Ch. Why, is it not the fairest way ? 
 
 E. Yes, indubitably ; but they seem to rather hint that 
 they have rights like the rest of us, and as they both can't 
 have that particular candidature, why one will e'en take 
 {with the permission of the convention) some other position 
 on the ticket ! 
 
 All Ah! Ah! 
 
 Gh. [After an anxious pause.'] Well, let 'em go I Are we 
 not strong enough without 'em ? 
 
 E. Softly, Mr. Chairman! By virtue of the secretary's 
 iunction, to which position the committee entrusted by the 
 party this campaign to manage, have myself appointed, 
 much I've had to do with our late convass, and I know the 
 'estimates of strength of parties and of factions; and here 
 again I warn you that we possess no strength to fritter away 
 in useless discord. 
 
 Gh. Can the gentleman inform the meeting about the rela- 
 tive strength of parties. 
 
 E. Eoughly that can I. To us the strength of the faction 
 'of X. and Y. and Z. is yet unknown ; but it bids fair to be 
 so great in the convention that we can ill afford to augment 
 it by a material subtraction from our forces, which might 
 result if there should be a quarrel. Granted that we, com- 
 hined, are the stronger, as we boast, can you prove that in 
 ■convention it will be found that 
 
 a+b+c+d+e+f+g=x+y+z+h f 
 Or that 
 
 Or, representing the opposition by U., can you guarantee that, 
 after the nominations shall be made, 
 
90 THE PLOT THICKENS. 
 
 Oh. Well, there's tlie position of State Senator ; would not. 
 that appease H.? 
 
 M He wants it not. 
 
 Gk Then a? 
 
 E. But have we the boon to give ? But one of four our 
 county is in this our district, and two at least have better- 
 claims than ours. Yet might the bait be thrown. 
 
 Gh. Which of the two would it be safest to disappoint in 
 the end? 
 
 E. Oh, Gr,, by all means ! for, although with his press he^ 
 is the stronger for good or evil, he is not one-half as likely ta 
 quit the party if offended. And H., too, is a power with the^ 
 hoys hehind the har ! 
 
 Gh. Can it not be likewise managed that the senatorial 
 convention shall be held quite late ? The editor will then 
 be so committed — and publicly — ere the nominations be 
 made (and we shall have made a show of doing all our best 
 for him) that even should he fail (and fail he surely will !)' 
 the candidacy to secure, he could not well desert us. 
 
 E. In that exact manner, then, shall the matter be 
 adjusted. 
 
 Gh. Can we not complete our Slate, therefore, and be at. 
 ease ? I desire to be at work securing matters in the prima- 
 ries ; for delegates come thence ! 
 
 A. 'Tis true, we have no time to spare ; for X. and Y. and 
 Z. are busy as the devil is said to be in a tornado ! Those 
 caucuses do need our close attention from this till th' dawn- 
 ing of that great day, for which all other days were made, 
 to wit : the day o' th' convention ! Give us the nominations I 
 We need not fear but that X., Y. and Z. and G. can be 
 whipped in, though disappointed sorely. As for the last, if 
 he essay to kick, why, threaten him with loss of patronage, 
 a rival paper, and financial ruin ! But there is K., who long 
 has served the party well, and often has been snubbed ; he 
 wants a place, and deems he's earned it, too. Something he'd 
 
OTHER SCENES. 91. 
 
 like that pays^ — ^but all of that's farmed out ; and we can put 
 Mm off by — making him the chairman of the great conven- 
 tion, or choosing him upon a delegation. 
 
 Gh. Yes; we must now to work! the enemy, 
 (X, T and Z, that is) are riding fast 
 And far through all the county; and design 
 To forge a set of delegates to suit 
 Their ends. It is a burning shame to see 
 Them interfering thus with th' people's choice, — 
 'Tis scandalous! outrageous! But we'll show 
 The gents a trick or two will trouble 'em 
 Ere they are through with us and the campaign ! 
 ' Now, boys, we'll close the session's work right here 
 "With the doxology, and then adjourn 
 To C.'s saloon to have a friendly cup, — 
 We're thirsty all, and C. shall " set 'em up! " 
 
 Thus closes the first scene. A second scene should dis- 
 cover two tried friends (a very Damon and Pythias) — can- 
 didates for different county offices — in close and confidential 
 consultation, which concludes with a warm clasp of hands, 
 and a mutual pledge of eternal fidelity (given with tears) : 
 
 By all the stars that shine above ! 
 By all I hate and all I love ! 
 By all that's fair, till all is blue, 
 You stand by me, I'll stand by you! 
 
 In two subsequent scenes should be exhibited these two 
 friends engaged in plotting each the other's overthrow. 
 
 Other scenes should represent the different primary meet- 
 ings, with would-be candidates manipulating the voters, etc. 
 
 A number of fine scenes should show the convention, the 
 plottings and counter-plottings of the candidates and their 
 delegates thereat, the action of the meeting, the different 
 aspirants for legislative honors taking part and intriguing to 
 secure the selection of friendly delegates, etc., — the chair- 
 man's speech with its inevitable reference to the "grand old 
 party," or else to "the party of Jefferson and Jackson," as 
 the case might be, "pointing with pride," etc., etc. 
 
92 THE DEVIL A POLITICIAN. 
 
 Etc., etc., as to district and state conventions, and otlier 
 larger matters. 
 
 "But," I resumed, tossing my notes aside, "I have not 
 worked it all out as yet, and sliall probably proceed no 
 farther with it. Perhaps I have read sufficiently far already 
 to show you that, as I view it, there are some things in the 
 methods of politicians, and something in modern American 
 politics to stir a little disgust in the soul of a sensitive and 
 self-respecting maru" 
 
 " Yes, fully enough !" ejaculated my father ; " but haven't 
 you overdrawn the picture a little ? " he asked. 
 
 "On the contrary, in this instance 'the devil is blacker 
 than he's painted I ' " I returned. " The half can never be 
 told- And the worst of it all is, that by continuing to 
 mingle in these matters, one will almost come to lose his 
 faith in humanity, — so faithless, so utterly false do men 
 become when once they have engaged in this struggle for 
 office, and so corrupting is the influence of such upon the 
 'common people.' Not all wen, but, it is perfectly safe to 
 Bay, all 'politicians are liars ! A man whose word you would 
 have considered as good as his bond at one time, becomes a 
 politician, when, presto! change! and you shall iind him 
 turn out as bold and shameless a falsifier as was the old 
 Serpent himself, who was — a politician from the beginning! 
 Ah,' so base are men ! " cried I, — ^growing passionate as I pro- 
 ceeded ; — " I myself have been betrayed by those whom for 
 long years I had counted my staunchest and dearest friends ! 
 Oh, this, this is the thing that will tend most strongly to make 
 one despise and detest the miserable business !" 
 
 My auditor sat silent and in thought for some minutes 
 after this outburst. At length he looked up and I noticed 
 that 
 
 "In the glances of his eye 
 
 A penetrating, keen and sly 
 
 Expression [had] found its home."* 
 I 
 
 *SC0TT. 
 
IMPOLITE, BUT NOT IMPOLITIC. 93 
 
 Tliis was tliat quizzical look to wliich. I liave already made 
 allusion, and whicli invariably has tlie_ effect to render me a 
 little uneasy. At lengtli lie spoke : 
 
 "Let's see," said he, reflectively and inquiringly, "you 
 must have been in politics some ten or twelve years? " 
 
 I had begun to move toward the hall where hung my hat 
 and stick, and I answered him in as careless a manner as I 
 could assume : 
 
 "Ye-es; — off and on." 
 
 "Did you ever fall into the habit of — " he was going 
 on, but of course I couldn't stop to talk all day; it was 
 already long past the hour when I should have been at the 
 office, and the door closing between us cut off the rest of my 
 father's question. My action was rather impolite, I confess, 
 but I think not impolitic, for a sarcastic laugh which fol- 
 lowed my exit was audible to me notwithstanding the barrier 
 of the door. 
 
 " Be mine a philosopher's life in the quiet woodland ways, 
 Where if I cannot be gay let a passionless peace be my lot, — 
 Far-off from the clamor of liars belied in the hubbub of lies; 
 From the long-necked geese of the world, that are ever hissing dispraise, 
 Because their natures are little, and, whether he heed it or not, 
 "Where each man walks with his head in a cloud of poisonous flies." 
 
MOTTOEg FOR SHIPTER YII. 
 
 " If tl]ou art "worri arjd Igard beset 
 
 "Witt) sorrow^s ^v^]ich thjou wouldst forget^ — 
 If th)ou -wouldgt read a leggon tl^at -will keep 
 Thy Ijeart fronj fainting, and thy goul from sleep, 
 ©o to the ■wood© aijd tjillg : no tearg 
 Oim the gweet look thjat nature wears." 
 
 Longfellow : Sunrise on the Hills. 
 
 ■"With) farrger ^llan at t?)e farm abode." 
 
 Tennyson Dora. 
 
 " J^orror, tyrant of the tl^robbiigg breast." 
 
 Gray : The Bard. 
 
 "T^hy tuwhits are lulled I wot, 
 T^hy tuw?)oos of yegtep ijig^jfej 
 Which upon th)e dark afloat 
 So took echo wit?) deligh)t, 
 So took ecV)o -with deligVjt, 
 Vhat Ijer voice ur)tur)eful gpowr) 
 W^earg all day a faiijter tor)e ! 
 
 *' I WT-ould nrjock thy chaunt arjew, 
 ^ut I carjnot n^irqic it ; 
 J^ot a wl]it of tt)y tuwl]oo, 
 Vhee to woo to thy tu'whit, 
 T^b)ee to -woo to tb)y tu-whit, 
 Wit>) a ler)gthened loud halloo, 
 Tuwh|it, tuwhit, tuwhit, tuwhoo^o^o." 
 Tennyson : To the Owl. 
 
 94 
 
 
CHAPTER YIL 
 
 e;- UEINGr all this time I liad been 
 the possessor of a farm, though, 
 it must be confessed, 'twas a 
 very wild, rude, and rough one ; 
 — a new farm, which, by means 
 of hired labor, I had been for a 
 number of years preceding the 
 date of the incidents narrated 
 in Chapter I. of this work, en- 
 gaged in creating out of chaos, or 
 at least carving out of a wilder- 
 ness as wild as Siberian wastes. 
 I had purchased a piece of 
 forest land lying some miles 
 from the town out toward the 
 north, a few acres of ground 
 near the middle of which I had 
 had cleared by contract ; I had 
 Teared a small house, and, emplojdng a man to act as farmer, 
 while his wife filled the responsible position of housekeeper, 
 I had begun farming in tolerably fair form. I had purchased 
 a brindled cow, a lineal descendant of that celebrated animal 
 reputed to have jumped over the moon ; a yoke of broad- 
 homed, awkward, but very strong and serviceable oxen con- 
 stituted our team; and we had erected a log stable about 
 the size, I suppose, of the original cabin occupied by Uncle 
 Tom and family, — and twice as ugly. I had also engaged a 
 wagonmaker of the village to build for me one of those old- 
 
 95 
 
96 
 
 HOMELY THE3IES. 
 
 fasHoned, two-wlieeled farm-carts ; and tMs lie had made to 
 correspond quite fairly in appearance with tlie team and their 
 stable. This cart was the only wheeled vehicle in use upon 
 the farm for several months ; it constituted our freight wagon 
 and eke our family carriage, so to speak. Later, when we 
 had progressed far enough to own a wagon, the cart was set 
 to one side in the farm-yard, and there it still remains, one 
 of " the sights " of the place. It never was a success except 
 as a " sight," and in that function it will hold its own with 
 any vehicle I have ever seen, or read of. I really do not 
 believe the old Deacon's famous " One Horse Shay " was a 
 greater curiosity than this same cart "Give me homely 
 themes," says Thoreau. Here is a theme homely enough 
 from all points of view, one would think, to suit even 
 the hermit of Walden. The cart, as already stated, is still in 
 existence ; its horned fellow-chattels have passed away like 
 exhalations, and the place which knew the picturesque log- 
 stable knows it no more. Better tools, better buildings, bet- 
 ter stock have taken the places of the first, — as was meet and 
 necessary to keep in countenance larger and better fields. 
 A romantic spot it was down deep in the forest where we 
 
 had set our stakes, cleared our 
 small space, erected our build- 
 ings, and established our Lares 
 and Penates. To reach that 
 
 town 
 
HIGHWAYS AND BY-WAYS. 97 
 
 cupation, you pursued the highway a number of miles (I 
 make the matter veiy definite in another chapter) and then, 
 "branching off to the left, you plunged into the dense forest 
 and proceeded about three-fourths of a mile to the west- 
 ward, over rich bottom-lands covered with a growth of 
 oak, ash, elm and soft maple trees, under which flourished 
 several species of wild grasses, alders, poplars and briars. 
 The highway was a tragedy in those old days,* particularly 
 during a moist season ; and the forest-road was not always in 
 the best of humor. You may draw on your imagination, 
 reader, for a picture of my family of farmers, the feminine 
 unit whereof alone weighed over two hundred and ten 
 pounds avoirdupois, when they made one of their occasional 
 trips to town in that cart drawn by those oxen. 
 
 But we had a world of sport in those early days in " these 
 grand old woods " ! I shall never enjoy another pastime as 
 I did this primitive sort of farming. My man, too, Gen, 
 Allen (for you might as well be introduced forthwith to a 
 person whose history was so intimately connected, for a num- 
 ber of years, with that of the farm as to be almost identical 
 
 *When people complain nowadays (as they sometimes will) of the 
 condition of these ways, I quote them the couplet attributed to Captain 
 Grose: 
 
 "Had you but seen these roads before they were made 
 You'd lift up your hands and bless General Wade." 
 
 In the primitive days, indeed, when we first used this highway, it 
 often much resembled that "among the Haddams," as described by 
 Saxe: 
 
 " Where in the mucky roads, a man 
 (The road was built on Adam's plan, 
 
 And not MacAdam's) 
 Went down — down— down, one stormy night, 
 And disappeared from human sight. 
 
 All save his hat, — 
 Which raised in sober minds a sense 
 Of some mysterious providence 
 In sparing that ! " 
 
98 PRIMITIVE FARMING. 
 
 therewith), and his wife* both agreed that the years they 
 spent in my employ here were the happiest of their hves. 
 This would be the testimony of the General to-day. Mrs. 
 Allen, alas! fulfilled her mission on earth and joined the 
 majority some years ago. 
 
 Yes, it was a romantic spot down here deep in the green- 
 wood, — for the circumjacent forests were verdant and fresh 
 and fragrant in those early days, but the frequent fires that 
 have coursed through them since have scorched and seared 
 them until upon three sides of the farm the dead trunks of 
 trees stand stark and stiff, like tombstones marking the place 
 of burial of much that was grand, graceful and beautiful. 
 
 "Many a time and oft" have I ridden my pet pony 
 "Eock" (not a "fast horse," the boys used to say, but an 
 " all-day horse ") over those roads, and bursting into the clear- 
 ing at the top of his speed, I have startled the whole planta- 
 tion with something as near resembling Indian war-whoops 
 as aught I could manufacture. Then would my farmer- 
 family all be glad to see me, and exhibit to me what pro- 
 gress in the way of " improvements " had been made since my 
 last visit, — for the clearing was so small in those ancient days 
 that even if I had not missed them more than a week, my 
 crew had usually been able to make a very appreciable and 
 substantial addition to the fields. 
 
 There was but little else to do here for a year or two 
 except to destroy the forests, and the General always had 
 two or more " hands " to help him, hence the work moved 
 along swiftly and to my immense satisfaction. 
 
 *During her residence here Mrs. A. actually composed several poems 
 descriptive of the farm, and expressive of her love therefor. Unfortu- 
 nately the manuscripts of these have been lost. One, I remember, 
 began: 
 
 " Oh, how I love the dear old farm! 
 About whose fields there is a charm," — etc. 
 
AND WE ENJOYED IT. 99 
 
 Enjoy it ! I just pity anybody wlio goes and dies, never 
 having had an experience similar to mine with a new farm ! 
 I could scarcely attend to my regular and legitimate business 
 in town, so eager was I to be in the midst of my force of 
 pioneers. The boys here among the "tall timber," or the 
 prostrate and blackened logs, used to laugh at first when 
 they saw me appearing and beginning to handle with my 
 thin hands "pevey," and axe, and brand. But they became 
 accustomed to it anon, and treated it then as a matter of 
 course. 
 
 There is no question but they liked to have me visit them. 
 !N"or could they foretell my times and seasons, for I often 
 made my advent into the clearing long after "Night had 
 thrown her sable mantle o'er the earth and pinned it with a 
 ■star," and came swooping and whooping down upon them, 
 waking the glad echoes in the dim aisles of the old forests. 
 And then would the boys pour out of their board walls to 
 meet me, while the friendly notes of the owl from down in 
 the vague beyond, — still deeper in the woods, — would fre- 
 quently be added to the General's pleasant and hearty 
 greeting. 
 
 Having introduced the subject of the owl, I desire to make 
 a short digression here in order to set right this friendly bird 
 with what I certainly believe to be a justice-loving, if a grossly 
 erring, public. Seldom, indeed, has this fine fowl been fairly 
 treated either by the poets or other writers. The literature 
 of owls, then, I would say, for the most part needs rewriting. 
 Almost everything that you shall find in imaginative works, 
 whether poetry or prose fiction, concerning this fowl, is 
 pitched on a key like this : 
 
 "From yonder ivy-mantled tower 
 The moping owl doth to the moon complain 
 Of such as, wandering near her native bower, 
 Molest her ancient solitary reign."* 
 
 *Gbat's Elegy. 
 
100 
 
 THE SUBJECT OF OWLS INTRODUCED. 
 
 -M, 
 
 How often do 
 you hear the ex- 
 pressions, "bod- 
 g owl," "uncanny fowl," 
 "bird of evil-omen," etc.,*^ 
 and how fine a thing it has 
 appeared to many inconsiderate per- 
 sons to class this handsome bird with 
 the "obscene bat!" ISTow this hurts my 
 feelings. Heap abuse upon the bat to the 
 top of your bent, (though, to be sure, there 
 are objections to this which I may take occa- 
 sion to mention and insist upon one of these 
 days; see in note lines from Emerson, and 
 for rat read hatW but desist from traducing the 
 owl, both for his own sake, — for he, the bird of 
 
 *We find, however, that some among the ancients were more justj 
 as, for example, Aristophanes, who in The TFasps (Frere's Transla- 
 tion) has this verse: 
 
 "High o'er our head, an omen good, we saw the owlet wheel." 
 
 Some very pleasant remarks concerning this interesting bird may 
 be found in Wilson Flagg's Birds and Seasons of New England ; but 
 they are provokingly few. The author pronounces him (generically) a 
 "picturesque bird," speaks of our associating him with the idea of 
 ruins (this would be more particularly the case in the old world, or the 
 earlier settled portions of our own country) and admits that a degree of 
 pleasure may be felt at sight of him, etc. 
 
 f "Who knows this or that? 
 Hark in the wall to the rat; 
 Since the world was he has gnawed; 
 Of his wisdom, of his fraud 
 What dost thou know? 
 In the vrretched little beast 
 Is life and heart, 
 Child and parent. 
 Not without relation 
 To fruitful field and sun and moon. 
 What art thou? His wicked eye 
 Is cruel to thy cruelty." 
 
 Emerson: Limits. 
 
TBE 0WL-3IUSIC, 101 
 
 Minerva, is as cleanly a bird and every way as wortliy of 
 respect, as is your eagle, the bird of Jove, barring tlie differ- 
 ence in physical prowess alone, — and for my sake, for I love 
 him ! Why, do you know, I have a much warmer feeling as 
 well as higher respect for the poet Southey since in that 
 singular but learned production of his pen, The Doctor, Etc., 
 I find him describing the notes of my feathered friend as one 
 of the "wildest and sweetest of nocturnal sounds" ! 
 
 Now you may laugh satirically and call this all gammon ; 
 but I tell you you err. I have been in situations where that 
 soft and low " hoo-hoo " of the owl -music has greeted my ear 
 when my soul has been thrilled with it, — it was in such per- 
 fect harmony with every feature of nature roundabout. 
 
 Can you not imagine such a scene ? 
 
 In pleasant company, deep in the heart of continent-cover- 
 ing forests, you stand at their base and seem to hear 
 
 "Mighty treea 
 In many a lazy syllable repeating 
 Their old poetic legends to the wind." 
 
 "We will suppose it to be a fair night in June ; the pale 
 ..gleaming of the stars is visible directly over-head; the 
 mild, young moon, one-fourth of her journey on her way 
 from the east accomplished, makes her presence known to 
 you — standing there, amid the fairy foliage forms and faint 
 odors of the sweet woods — only by a dim, verdure-tinted 
 radiance, which enables you barely to discern the graceful 
 outlines of things. Just then, when your whole soul is 
 bathed in the delicious atmosphere exhaled from this scene 
 of nature in her repose, your ear is saluted by that soft and 
 sweet, though wild and touchingly lonely sound, "hoo-hoo, 
 hoo-hoo." It does not break upon you harshly; it comes 
 with a soothing power, and seems in keeping with everything 
 around you. Its effect upon you is like that of the "wild 
 Tincertin', waverin' music of the -^olian harp that nature 
 
102 NOCTURNAL WANDERINGS. 
 
 plajs upon in the solitude,"* wliicTi " eclioes far, far away 
 amang the recesses of your heart." 
 
 Now I desire to relate an incident in my own personal 
 history. 
 
 Upon one occasion, in early life, I found myself a wan- 
 derer late at mirk night — 
 
 " That hour o' night's black arch the key-stane" — f 
 
 threading, " with cautious step and slow," an uncertain path, 
 that wound its serpentine way among the huge trunks and 
 through the dense undergrowth of a "far-stretching wood." 
 Solitary, and miles remote from human habitation, I pur- 
 sued my gloomy way through " empires black with shade". 
 The thought of the things which this dark, vast forest 
 covered would at times force itself upon me. I endeavored 
 to fix my mind upon the myriads of insects and smaller 
 birds, at present for the most part silent, which had made 
 vocal and comparatively gay, during the diurnal interval, 
 this now so melancholy wood. A breeze stirred, 
 
 "And the forests, dark and lonely, 
 Moved through all their depths of darkness.":]: 
 
 I thought of the frogs, the toads, — yea, and the gliding 
 snakes in the pools and the creeks of this wilderness. Day, 
 I thought, has seen other life here, — the playful, leaping 
 squirrel, the sprite-like weasel, the wily mink, the creeping 
 marten and fisher, and the raccoon. Then there were the 
 graceful deer ; — and I couldn't keep the ugly thought away, 
 although I had struggled hard to do so, — there were dan- 
 gerous beasts in this covert, too, hundreds of them, and 
 perhaps at this moment not far distant. The words of the 
 Psalmist came to my mind : " Thou makest darkness and it 
 
 *The Shepherd in Nodes Ambrosiancs, XIX. 
 
 fBuKN's Tarn O'Shanter. |Longpellow: ExawalTia, 
 
A HORBOR. 103 
 
 is niglit; wherein all tlie beasts of tlie forest do creep forth."* 
 Lynxes, bears and wolves abounded here ! Panthers, also, 
 as some old hunters had recently informed me, had been 
 seen or heard hereabout. 
 
 "Watchful, lurking 'mid the unrustling reed, 
 At these mirk hours, the wily monster lies, 
 And listens oft! * * * 
 And frequent round him rolls his sullen eyes 
 If chance his savage wi'ath may some weak wretch surprise."! 
 
 The reader will perceive that a horror had been quietly 
 taking possession of me all this time, and I think it is a gen- 
 erally admitted fact that the longer one struggles against 
 such a feeling which he is destined at last to find irresist- 
 ible, the more thorough is his subjugation when he yields. 
 I was entirely at its mercy now, and as I moved slowly on, 
 like Tam upon that fearful night he rode from Ayr, I found 
 myself continually 
 
 " Glowerin' round wi' prudent cares 
 Lest bogles catch me unawares," 
 
 although, to be sure, nothing supernatural was the object of 
 my dread. 
 
 I saw in every old stump the up-reared, haunch-supported 
 form of bruin ! The cruel spark-emitting eyes of the lynx 
 were discoverable in every "phosphoric crumb that lit the 
 forest floor " ! 
 
 " Ah, I see the eyes of Pauguk 
 Glare upon me in the darkness! "% 
 
 Truly, "darkness now goggled at hell with gloating 
 eyes."§ Sheer fancy peopled the obscure leafy caverns on 
 either hand with stealthy forms of huge cat-like quadrupeds, 
 all fraught with sinister purpose against me ! I was antici- 
 
 ^Psalm CIV, 20. fCoLLiKS. :j:Longpellow : MawatTia. 
 §Shiller: Love and Intrigue. 
 
104 METAPHYSICAL. 
 
 pating with, every breath tliat tlie next moment would bring 
 to my ear that peculiar, long-drawn-out, and most utterly 
 dismal of all sounds, the howl of the cruel and ever-hungry 
 wolf in pursuit of his prey, when suddenly — but let us pause 
 a moment and philosophize a little. 
 
 Did you, reader, ever experience this sort of a feeling: 
 You knew that something — it might be a smile, it might be 
 a sound, it might be a person — was about to come to you, — 
 nay, you felt it already, but it had not as yet touched the 
 region of the senses, and your knowledge of its nearness to 
 you was wholly mysterious ?* 
 
 It would, I think, task a pen like DeQuincey's to make 
 the statement of this situation just as I should like to have 
 it made, — to divide the intervals with the proper exactitude, 
 and draw the lines with, perfect perspicuity. And even 
 DeQuincey sometimes, as in certain portions of his Opium 
 Eater, wrestled with problems of this character which were 
 somewhat too difficult for him. 
 
 Well, I was, as you will doubtless conclude, in great 
 mental agony. Unreasonable it was — very — I admit, and 
 I have been much ashamed every time I have thought of it 
 since ; but it was none the less actual for all that It was 
 a genuine horror — a night-mare horror — and anybody who 
 has passed through one of these experiences will find little 
 
 *In the Noct. Am., XXXIV, Prof. "Wilson makes the Shepherd 
 speak of the "shadow of a sound," which, the latter asserts, affects 
 his mind under certain circumstances and enables him to speak the 
 name of a stranger in his presence, which he has never heard pro- 
 nounced. Hogg is said to have actually possessed this unusual endow- 
 ment. 
 
 Campbell in his fine poem, LocMeVs Warning, has the verse, 
 
 " Coming events cast their shadows before." 
 
 But probably the psychologists, or the spiritualists, will be able to 
 explain the matter in a way to make it perfectly clear and eminently 
 satisfactory to all interested. 
 
HOO-HOO, HOO-HOO. 105 
 
 difficulty in understanding my feelings at the moment I am 
 just now describing. 
 
 Suddenly I felt that something was about to happen for 
 my relief. I had no idea what it was, nor from what direc- 
 tion it would come ; but never was I more certain of any- 
 thing than I was that help was at hand, and this before my 
 senses were any of them affected. 
 
 It came : and what was it ? The low, soft, but wild and 
 plaintive, and infinitely tender and touching, note of the 
 great horned owl : " Hoo-hoo, hoo-hoo ! " 
 
 God bless the dear old fellow ! He was perched upon a 
 low limb only a little distance from me, and his eyes were 
 turned my way. It was just light 
 enough to enable me to discern 
 the outlines of his form against the 
 sky which was revealed through 
 an opening in the boughs, and I 
 could plainly perceive that he had 
 no dread of me, and that his 
 greeting was given in all friend- 
 liness. I could have clasped him 
 to my heart, I was so grateful 
 and so glad ; and as he repeated 
 his soft and low " hoo-hoo, hoo-hoo," I burst into tears. 
 
 But that awful feeling that had had possession of me, 
 blood-curdling and soul-freezing as it had been, was gone ! 
 That voice in the wood, whether it was the owl himself 
 that spoke, or a blessed spirit that spoke through him, had 
 produced a wonderful effect upon me, — a total revulsion 
 of feeling had occurred, and my perturbed spirits were 
 presently restored to their wonted calm. Neither prowling 
 wolves, nor stealthy lynxes, nor gliding snakes, had longer 
 any terrors for me, and love and admiration for the " bird of 
 "wisdom" took deep root in my heart. 
 
 Do you remember that little dialect poem (by Col. Hay, 
 I believe) of Tiliman Joy^ wdiich tells how the old man re- 
 
106 AN ILLUSTRATION. 
 
 turned to his home from the war bringing with him a colored 
 boy who, once upon a time, when Joy had fallen wounded 
 upon the field, had saved his life at the imminent risk of los- 
 ing his own, and not without having, as Tilman himself 
 expresses it, " his black hide riddled with balls ". At home 
 the somewhat fastidious gentry there resident, took it into 
 their heads to send the boy out of the community, and, as 
 it appears, " met and passed resolutions " to that effect. The 
 old man comes among them at the meeting and "speaks his 
 little piece," relating how he had lain there on the ground, 
 under the murderous fire of the enemy, his life oozing out 
 with his blood, and with no thought of any earthly relief, 
 when, of a sudden, he felt himself lifted and borne rapidly 
 away to a place of safety. " 'Twas that boy — that Tim ! " 
 he exclaims ; and then he warns his neighbors : 
 
 " You may resolute till the cows come home, — 
 But if any of you touches the boy, 
 He will wrastle his hash to-night in hell, 
 Or my name's not Tilman Joy I " 
 
 Hurrah for old Tilman Joy, say 1 1 
 
 But that's the way I feel about the owl. 'Tis a personal 
 hurt to me when you slander this bird, as many of you, my 
 brethren, have done. Therefore, gentlemen of the quill!, 
 please don't do it any more ! 
 
 I would add further, that, although I have a little native 
 talent in the way of limning, and have devoted some time 
 to learning to draw with a pencil, the only achievements of 
 mine in this line which have both satisfied myself and won 
 me the applaase of my friends are my figures of the great 
 horned owl. 
 
 Years hence, when it comes time to adopt a coat-of-arms 
 to have painted upon my coach and embroidered upon the 
 livery of my servants, I have quite decided that the device 
 shall be the figure of an owl surrounded by a wreath of oak- 
 leaves, and the legend underneath shall read: "Hoo-hoo, 
 hoo-hoo." 
 
BUT I RESUME. 107' 
 
 But to resume. Then when morning came with what 
 jollity I joined the crew on their outward march to their 
 labors ! with what hilarity I seized an axe and with what 
 audacity assailed the Titans of the wood ! with what " devil- 
 ish glee " I pursued my work of destruction until the boys 
 opened wide their eyes in astonishment, or I was forced by 
 fatigue and — blisters, to desist ! And you'll credit the story 
 when I relate that it was with a gusto not understood by the 
 " pampered pets of society " that I assisted in demolishing 
 the various plain and substantial edibles set before us by 
 the good, but equally plain and substantial housekeeper, 
 
 when 
 
 "At noon we returned from the field." 
 
 Ah, those were red-letter days to me ! and I really grew 
 young for a few seasons. Wholesome exercise of the char- 
 acter described, coupled with enthusiasm, was the elixir 
 which gave me back my youth with its health and strength, 
 its sweet sleep and its golden dreams ! 
 
 ISTow I have little hope of making the average reader 
 understand all this, for there are few who can be interested 
 in such enterprises as these. I write this chapter partly for 
 the benefit of that very limited number of cultivated persons 
 left in the world who, at one period or another of their lives,, 
 have developed a genuine enthusiasm for some sort of work ; 
 and partly with the hope that it may have some scientific 
 value/ 
 
 But my visits to the farm, though frequent, were seldom 
 of great duration. An hour in some instances, and at most 
 five or six hours, was usually as much of daylight as I could 
 give them. There were rare occasions, however, when I 
 remained the livelong day upon the farm. When such an 
 event occurred it usually happened that the General and I 
 would take a long tramp through the woods, exploring the 
 wilder and more remote portions of the estate. It was dur- 
 
108 A WOODLAND ENCHANTED. 
 
 ing one of these exploring expeditions, — not, however, this 
 time in company with the " boss ", — that I drove np a wild 
 turkey, the only one I ever happened to see in this portion 
 of the commonwealth. Game was not very abundant here- 
 abouts, even in those earlier days ; and it must appear a sin- 
 gular circumstance that this region should have remained so 
 new and wild, lying, as it does, close to a county-town with 
 a history of some thirty years, and one, too, which had long 
 vsince begun to assume metropolitan airs. At the date of 
 which I now write portions of my tract presented as fresh 
 and untamed an appearance as though the foot of white 
 man had never trod here. And to me 'twas 
 
 "A woodland enchanted! 
 But by no sadder spirit 
 Than blackbirds and thrushes. 
 That whistled to cheer it 
 All day in the bushes, 
 That woodland was haunted! "* 
 
 Here we go again ! Eeally and truly do I regret the 
 dance I have led the kind and patient reader in this 
 chapter, I had promised myself, and as good as promised 
 him, that I would pursue a straightforward course herein, 
 and pack the paragraphs of these particular pages with 
 valuable information, interlarded with such thin layers of 
 wisdom, in reflections and quotations, as I could command ; 
 and so had I fully intended to perform, when, a subject 
 coming up which touched my feelings, off I went pell-mell, 
 ■into that absurd episode of the owl ! Well, well ; perchance 
 I may learn to do better presently. I think already I dis- 
 cern signs of improvement in my habits and practices as a 
 writer — although it must be conceded that these are far too 
 few and faint — and I deem that by the time I shall have 
 reached the seventh volume of this history all danger of the 
 
 *L0WEIiL. 
 
HOPEFUL SIGNS. 
 
 109 
 
 reader's being subjected to the annoyance of these digres- 
 sions will bave ceased. Forgive my offences, dearest and 
 best of perusers, even to tbe measure of " seventy times 
 seven," and — I will undertake to perform my part so that 
 ample opportunity sball be afforded you. 
 
 If you will peruse tbe next chapter you will find certain 
 matters therein of record which are not generally known. 
 
MOTTOES FOR SHiPTER YIIL 
 
 '^' ^Igepe the turtles alight, and there 
 
 Feeds ■with hep fawn tb)e ting id doe ; 
 T^here wtjen tlje -winter woods are bare 
 Walks the wolf or) the crackling gnow." 
 
 Brvant. 
 
 " T"l-)e ngildest manijeped njan 
 That ever scuttled sl]ip op cut a thpoat." 
 
 Byron. 
 
 -''^t orjce tbjepe poge so vidld a yell, 
 W^ithir) tb|at dark ar)d naprow dell, 
 i5Ls all ttje fierjds from heaven tl;)at fell 
 J>iad pealed tlje banrjep cpy of Ijell !" 
 
 Scott. 
 
 110 
 
CHAPTER YIII 
 
 S was remarked in the preced- 
 ing chapter, game has never 
 been abundant in my forest 
 since my earliest acquaint- 
 ance therewith. At different 
 times, however, we have al- 
 most daily for weeks to- 
 gether been favored with a 
 visit from a solitary male 
 deer, which grew quite tame 
 and friendly after he seemed 
 to have become convinced, 
 from the treatment he was 
 accorded, that our farmers 
 wished him well. Efforts to 
 kill or capture such visitants 
 have seldom been made by 
 the boys at the farm, this 
 being, as has been well understood, in consonance with 
 my wish. 
 
 One season a fine doe accompanied by her fawn acquired 
 the habit of leaping the hedge which divided the meadow 
 from the forest, and cropping the tender grass and young 
 grain in the field. All of these gentle animals subse- 
 quently fell victims to some of the numerous hunters who, 
 in those years, infested these parts. 
 
 No taint of the hunter's instinct can, I think, be traced 
 in my composition. A far more pleasing sight to me is 
 the gentle doe with her tender young by her side, grace- 
 Ill 
 
112 THE AUTHOR NO SPORTSMAN. 
 
 fully sporting and feeding at her own sweet will in the 
 wildwood, than would be her bloody form, stiff and cold in 
 death, lying at my feet, and brought there by a well- 
 directed bullet sped by my own rifle. 
 
 I know what I am about to say will be unpopular, and 
 am equally aware that the sentiment is unfashionable ; but 
 the truth must come out : Pliny, the Younger, is just my 
 heau ideal of a sportsman. The following letter to his 
 friend Tacitus, the historian, written only the other day — 
 that is to say, a couple of thousand years, or so, ago — will 
 illustrate the character of the writer thereof, and at the 
 same time give the reader an idea of the sort of hunter I 
 am. The easy style and modern sound of these sentences 
 (translated from the elegant Latin of the original) are quite 
 remarkable. 
 
 "You will laugh [writes Pliny] and laugh you may. 
 Your old friend whom you know so well has captured 
 three magnificent boars. What, Pliny ? you will say. Yes, 
 Pliny; without, however, abandoning my indolent habits 
 and love of repose. The nets were spread, and I sat close 
 to them, but instead of a boar-spear or javelin, I was armed 
 with my pen and note-book. I mused and put down my 
 thoughts on paper. For I had made up my mind that if 
 I had to return with my hands empty, my note-book should 
 be full. There is no reason why you should despise this 
 way of studying. You cannot conceive how much bodily 
 exercise contributes to the imagination. Besides the soli- 
 tude of the woods around you, and the perfect silence 
 which is observed in hunting, strongly inclines the mind to 
 thought. For the future, when you go hunting, let me 
 advise you to take with you your papers, as well as a 
 basket and a bottle of wine. You will then find that 
 Minerva haunts the mountains quite as much as Diana. 
 Farewell."* 
 
 *Epistle XYl. 
 
FLINT AS A HUNTER. 113 
 
 Kow is that not deliglitful I And here is a hunter after 
 my own heart ! Sit there did he, near the nets, his mind 
 a thousand miles away, and allowed the boars, if they 
 chose to do so, to come and snare themselves. He was 
 equally and perfectly content whether they came or not! 
 Then the ndivete with which he gives his friend Tacitus 
 advice as to the conduct of future hunting expeditions! 
 The humor of all this is irresistible. 
 
 I have now in mind to relate a little anecdote concerning 
 an early experience of the writer in deer-stalking — an affair 
 that will parallel the incident recorded in Pljny's epistle, 
 and something that never leaked out before. I borrowed a 
 rifle of my brother one day, when a boy, and by invitation 
 joined a company of Nimrods who were going out with 
 hounds to " run deer," as the technical and laconic phrase 
 is. We passed down the stream (the beautiful Tittaba- 
 wassee was the river) and I was assigned a "run-way" 
 {%. e., a deer's pathway to the stream) upon the heavily- 
 timbered flats of the west side. There I sat, pursuant to 
 careful instructions, very quietly for a period as long as 
 fifteen or twenty minutes, my piece cocked, my eyes open, 
 almost breathlessly awaiting the advent of the game. It 
 didn't come; and the pastime grew monotonous to me. 
 I arose and looked about to see whether I might, perad- 
 venture, catch a glimpse of dog, hunter, or deer. I saw 
 nothing. Then I listened for the baying of the "deep- 
 mouthed hounds in the depths of the woods " ; but not a 
 "bay" could I hear. Then I leaned my rifle against a 
 thorn bush which grew near the bank of the stream, and 
 began to divert myself by picking up pebbles from the 
 beach and making them " skip " across the rippled stream. 
 This afforded very excellent amusement for a while, but I 
 tired of it presently, and strolled carelessly down the 
 beach, picking up small shells and pebbles, when of a sud- 
 den I became conscious of a slight but peculiar sound just 
 
114 
 
 / GO DEER-STALKING. 
 
 over tLe bank — ■ 
 here a little higli- 
 ,er than my head 
 — and apparently 
 a short distance 
 within the woods. I crawled 
 cautiously up the turfy terrace of 
 '"^^ the bank, mounted the huge trunk of 
 prostrate, wind-thrown elm, and peered 
 the dense covert of the forest. Yery 
 soon I discovered what caused the sound 
 which had attracted my attention, and it was 
 with difficulty that I repressed an exclama- 
 delight. Eight across a little bayou from 
 d distant not more than thirty yards, 
 daintily cropping the herbage that grew upon 
 a verdant knoll, was a fine yearling doe. The 
 exquisitely beautiful creature had not observed me, and 
 for several minutes I sat motionless enjoying the picture. 
 How graceful those limbs ! That slender, willowy neck ! 
 How large and lustrous those glorious eyes ! 
 
 "Why didn't I shoot? Shoot her! Why, you Vandal ! 
 
 You worse than savage ! Shoot that delicate, fairy -like 
 
 thing ! Not if I had had a whole arsenal at my command !* 
 
 I didn't have a single thought of attempting to kill the 
 
 animal. I was merely sitting there ("like a bump on a 
 
 *Tlie author is in good company here. In Howitt's pleasant Booh 
 of the Seasons we find the following paragraph : 
 
 "Who would not find a greater gratification in watching the happy 
 and undestructive habits of a timid little creature than in shooting it, 
 or worrying it with dogs " P. 223, 5th London Ed. 
 
 THOREAtr says: "No humane being, past the thoughtless age of 
 boyhood, will wantonly murder any creature which holds its life by the 
 same tenure that he does. The hare in its extremity cries like a child." 
 — Walden. 
 
WMY I DIDN'T SHOOT. 115 
 
 log," as my discoverer afterwards more forcibly than poet- 
 ically described it) mute with delight and admiration, when 
 a crackling in the brush to the right sent my timid beauty 
 flying deep into the forest, and brought me to my wits and 
 my feet. 
 
 "Was that a deer?" demanded the harsh voice of one 
 of the hunters who had come out with me. 
 
 " Ye-es," I stammered. 
 
 " Why didn't you shoot ? " He asked this question a 
 little impatiently. 
 
 "Why, why," I answered in confusion, "I didn't have 
 my gun here." 
 
 "Where is it?' 
 
 The truth is that I had forgotten all about the gun, and 
 it was still standing leaning against the thorn bush some 
 twenty perches up the stream. And, will you believe it? 
 that man was actually angry with me. He abused me 
 ferociously — and he had always been one of my very best 
 friends, too. "You'll never make a hunter!" was the 
 assertion, positively delivered, with which he concluded 
 his tirade. 
 
 That was an unkind cut ! A hunter ! Hadn't I found ? 
 and, as it transpired, wasn't I the only one of the entire 
 crew that went out who did find a deer that day ? And 
 therefore do I still insist that I am not only a hunter, but 
 a remarkably successful one. As to being a butcher, that is 
 quite another matter. 
 
 But then and there I bribed the man by whose presence 
 I had been so rudely interrupted, not to publish my dis- 
 grace abroad ; and he has proved honorable enough to per- 
 form as he promised. I had supposed that no one would 
 ever learn of this affair from me ; and, kind reader, I am 
 only relating this to you on condition, honest Indian, now ! 
 that you never "give me away to the boys." 
 
 I did once discharge a rifle at a deer ; but it was una- 
 voidable. The deer was there wading in the creek. I held 
 
116 
 
 DEFECTIVE GAME-LA WS. 
 
 the gun in the bow 
 of the canoe; my 
 companion at the 
 stern — much old- 
 er than I — cried 
 "Shoot! shoot!" I 
 fired. No harm 
 was done, and I 
 was aware from 
 the first that none 
 would be done by 
 me. I was well 
 enough pleased 
 with the results, 
 and my prompt 
 obedience to the word of command had met the approval 
 of my companion. 
 
 Had I the making of the game laws of the country, and 
 then could I oblige somebody else to enforce them, I 
 should soon come to be considered rather tyrannical by 
 sportsmen, I fear. In the first place, when I had a semi- 
 domesticated deer, to which I had grown attached, and 
 which I had put forth an effort to make fat and fair by 
 allowing him to pasture upon my succulent young grain 
 and grass, intending, when he died (of old age) to give him 
 to the poor (crows), or else give him decent interment, it 
 should be unlawful and a misdemeanor for anyone to enter 
 upon my territory with intent even to scare that deer,* 
 and a capital offense to shoot at him. 
 
 *So far as this gentle animal is concerned I feel something of the 
 sentiment expressed by Bukns in the following stanza from his poem. 
 To a Mouse : 
 
 "I'm truly sorry man's dominion 
 Ha' broken nature's social union, 
 An' justifies that ill opinion 
 
 Which makes thee startle 
 At me, thy poor earth-born companion 
 An' fellow-mortal." 
 
NOT EASILY UNDERSTOOD. 117 
 
 NeitTier is it pleasing to me to have my quails and 
 partridges massacred by ruthless men and wanton boys, 
 who according to my view fail to fill their own place in 
 the world as gracefully and as well as these innocent birds 
 fill theirs. But when I discover sportsmen traversing my 
 fields and wickedly destroying the smaller birds, 
 "The street- musicians of the heavenly city."* 
 
 then my sense of outrage makes itself felt and the silence 
 is broken to some purpose. 
 
 I protest again that I do not, cannot, and never shall 
 comprehend the heart of a sportsman ! You snare some 
 partridges which you need for your dinner, and proceed to 
 kill them by wringing off their heads, whereby they die 
 quickly and with the minimum of pain. Your sportsman 
 friend stands by and cries out indignantly, " 'tis murder ! " 
 Presently his dog flushes a covey of quails in the open ; he 
 fires, kills one outright, perhaps, and wounds one or two 
 others which ultimately escape him. He has done a glori- 
 ous deed, whereof he afterwards boasts among his com- 
 panions. 
 
 Yet these men are not all, or at all times, thus insane, 
 or wanting in susceptibility. Witness the following, 
 which we copy from the writings of that ardent sportsman, 
 W. P. Hawes : 
 
 "If you would see the purest, the sincerest, the most 
 affecting piety of a parent's love, startle a family of young 
 quails and watch the conduct of the mother. She will not 
 leave you, no, not she. But she will fall at your feet, 
 uttering a noise which none but a distressed mother can 
 make, and she will run, and flutter, and seem to try to be 
 caught, and cheat your out-stretched hand, and affect to be 
 wing-broken, wounded, and yet have just enough strength 
 to tumble along, until she has drawn you fatigued to a safe 
 
 *LONGFELLOW. 
 
118 
 
 W. P. HAWES ON QUAILS. 
 
 distance from her threatened chil- 
 dren, and the hopes of her young 
 heart; and then she will mount, 
 whirring with glad strength, and away 
 through the maze of trees you had 
 not seen before, like a close shot bul- 
 let, flies to her skulking infants. 
 Listen now ! Do you hear those 
 three half-plaintive notes, quickly 
 and clearly poured out ? She is call- 
 ing the boys and girls together. 
 She sings not now 'Bob White!'' 
 nor, ' ah ! Bob White ! ' That is her 
 husband's love-call, or his trumpet- 
 blast of defiance. But she calls 
 sweetly and softly for her lost chil- 
 dren. Hear them ' peep, peep, peep ' 
 at the welcome voice of their moth- 
 er's love. They are coming together. 
 Soon the whole family will meet 
 again. It is a foul sin to disturb 
 them ; but retread your devious way, 
 and let her hear your coming foot- 
 steps breaking down the briers as 
 you renew the danger. She is quiet, 
 not a word is passed between >the 
 fearful fugitives. Now if you have 
 the heart to do it, lie low, keep still, 
 and imitate the call of the hen quail. 
 Oh, mother, mother ! how your heart 
 would die if you could witness the 
 deception! The little ones raise up 
 their trembling heads and catch com- 
 fort and imagined safety from the 
 sound. ' Peep, peep ! ' They are com- 
 
ET TU, FEANK FORESTER. 119 
 
 ing, seem to say : ' Where is she ? Mother, mother ! We 
 are here !' " 
 
 Now it is difficult to believe that one who can write like 
 that is wholly wicked. And yet this man Hawes was from 
 center to circumference, 
 
 "From turret to foundation stone," 
 
 a sportsman ! 
 
 Listen also to Frank Forester : 
 
 " I had found [writes Herbert, in one of his numerous 
 works descriptive of field sports] a bevy of thirteen birds 
 [quails] in an orchard, close to a house in which I was 
 passing a portion of the autumn, and in a very few minutes 
 killed twelve of them; it was perfectly open shooting. 
 The thirteenth and last bird, rising with two others which 
 I killed right and left, flew but a short distance, and 
 dropped among some sumacs in a corner of a rail fence. 
 I could have shot him certainly enough, but some unde- 
 fined feeling"^ inclined me to call my dog to halt and spare 
 his little life ; and yet, afterwards I almost regretted what 
 I certainly intended at the time for mercy. For day after 
 day, so long as I remained in the country, I heard his sad 
 call ' from morn till dewy eve,' crying for his departed 
 friends, and full, apparently, of memory, which is, also, 
 too often but another name for sorrow ! " 
 
 Of course, then, says the kind-hearted reader, Mr. Her- 
 bert, who writes so feelingly and so regretfully of this 
 truly sad affair, gave over his diabolically destructive 
 habits, and never shot another quail so long as he lived I 
 
 *"Thus conscience doth make cowards of us all. 
 And thus the native hue of resolution 
 Is sickled o'er with the pale cast of thought;: 
 And enterprises of great pith and moment 
 With this regard their currents turn awry 
 And lose the name of action." — Shakespeare, 
 
120 
 
 MERCIFUL MURDERERS, 
 
 Gave over notliing ! He shot no more quails until — 
 another opportunity offered, and then his murderous fowl- 
 ing-piece spoke promptly in its accustomed tones, and the 
 little feathered innocents fell dead to earth; or, if con- 
 science so interfered with skill that the poor bird escaped 
 Tinscathed of lead, and only half frightened to death by the 
 explosion, Mr. Herbert was heartily ashamed of himself 
 for his lack of success ! 
 
 But the last-named writer thus moralizes upon the infat- 
 uation of the sportsman : 
 
 " It is a singular proof [he says] how strong is the pas- 
 sion for the chase and the love of pursuit implanted by 
 nature in the heart of man [some men], that however 
 much, when not influenced by the direct heat of sport, we 
 deprecate the killing of these little birds, and pity the 
 incidental sufferers, the moment the dog points and the 
 bevy springs, or the propitious morning promises good 
 sport, all the compunction is forgotten in the eagerness and 
 emulation which are natural to our race." 
 
THE BLACK LIST. 121 
 
 Oh, gentle race of murderers!* Precisely so mucli can be 
 said for human lust of all names ! But so far as regards the 
 confiding birds of these gentle kinds which seek a home in 
 my fields and woody coverts, I say to all sportsmen in 
 the language of Bismarck : " Hands off ! " 
 
 There are several species of animals native here which 
 I surrender up to the tender mercies of the Nimrods sans 
 remonstrance or remorse. There is the so-called wild-cat, 
 the raccoon, the fox, the Mephitis Americana^ the porcupine, 
 the wood-chuck, and even (but not without a pang) " poor 
 puss," the rabbit. Now, that is a handsome list, and by 
 such concession will be seen my desire to be fair and to 
 deal justly even by a class for which I have so little sym- 
 pathy and (shall I say it) respect as I have for our sports- 
 men. Then shall anybody feel disposed to shoot those 
 marauders the hen-hawks, or even the sable-hued crows, I 
 shall not interfere, because, as I hold, self-preservation 
 demands such sacrifice. 
 
 As for wolves, I have never seen one in this vicinity, 
 although their doleful noise has been heard from my door 
 ■on two or three occasions, and a solitary prowler hereabout 
 has sometimes attracted the eye of a neighbor. Anyone, 
 however, wishing to put an end to the life of a creature so 
 
 *In prescribing rules for using live frogs for baiting fish, in the Com- 
 plete Angler, old Izaak Walton directs to introduce the barbed hook 
 Into the body of the victim through the muzzle, and that the frog may- 
 live as long as possible, to "treat Mm as if you loved Mm ! " This atroc- 
 ity gives Byron occasion to observe concerning the author: 
 
 " The quaint, old cruel coxcomb in his gullet 
 Should have a hook, and a small trout to pull it." 
 
 Better far is Wokdsworth's humanitarianism: 
 
 " Never to blend our pleasure, or our pride. 
 With sorrow of the meanest thing that feels! " 
 
122 
 
 NO USE FOR WOLVES AND LYNXES. 
 
 cruel, so cowardly, and everyway so ignoble as the gray 
 wolf, has my full and free consent to indulge himself m the 
 pastime whenever he shall find it convenient. And in the 
 same category with the wolf I include that Ishmaelite of our 
 woods, the lynx, of which a stray specimen is sometimes 
 seen here. 
 
 WINTER SCENERY AT OAKFIELDS. — APPROACH TO UPPER BEAVER MEADOW. — 
 
 A PROWLER. 
 
BUT I BO RESPECT BRUIN. 123' 
 
 But for "bruin I entertain a good deal of respect — of a 
 certain kind ! Personally I should not like to inflict a 
 wanton and unprovoked injury upon tkis sagacious and 
 grimly-humorous quadruped. 
 
 Those who have observed our native black bear where- 
 he has been kept in confinement till he has become tame and 
 moderately gentle, will, I think, be disposed to acknowledge 
 that the adjectives with which above I have coupled his 
 name, are not misplaced. He is sagacious,"* and if he has 
 not a sense of humor about him, I have either failed tO' 
 make correct observations upon his character, or my 
 deductions therefrom have been sadly at fault. 
 
 Bears have been seen hereabout nearly every season 
 since I have occupied the farm. Yea, the very month I 
 purchased it, and when I surveyed it for the first time, 
 traversing all its forests and beaver-meadows for that pur- 
 pose, I found what are technically known as "bear-signs"' 
 almost everywhere. Paths made by the flat, ugly feet of 
 this animal crossed each other upon every rood of land. 
 Every live oak had been visited, and small boughs which 
 had been bitten off by the sharp teeth of bruin and dropped 
 where the acorns upon them could be more handily gath- 
 ered, strewed the ground under many a tree. Dozens or 
 scores of these brutes at a time must have been busily 
 employed here. 
 
 But we had a bear of our own, at least we so considered 
 him, at an early day in the history of our farming opera- 
 tions here. The General pronounced him " an old snifter!" 
 and that is precisely what he was — I guess ! Yes, you may 
 believe he was no second-rate affair ! His " hair was like 
 
 *"It is a shame to kill a bear, except, indeed, for Ms creech and 
 skin.. He's an afEectionate creature amang his kith and kin — in the 
 bosom of his own family, sagawcious and playful — no sae rouch in his 
 mind as his mainners — a good husband, a good son, a good father." — 
 The Shepherd, in Nodes Amirosiano', XLTX. 
 
124 THE STORY OF OUR BEAR. 
 
 the raven'8 wing." (That last sentence was taken bodily 
 from the latest novel.) His feet were large and expressive. 
 (I copied a portion of that sentence from a book by Mrs. 
 South worth ; the rest is of home manufacture.) " List, 
 list, oh, list!" (that's what Shakespeare said upon a cer- 
 tain exciting occasion) while I 
 
 "A tale unfold whose lightest word 
 
 Will harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood, 
 
 Make thy two eyes like stars start from their spheres. 
 
 Thy knotted and combined locks to part. 
 
 And each particular hare to stand on end 
 
 Like a hedgehog!"* 
 
 Now, reader, there's trouble a-brum ; but don't get ex- 
 cited, and don't, for mercy's sake, make me nervous at this 
 trying juncture by attempting any pun ! (you remember 
 what the Autocrat has to say about "upsetting whole 
 freight-trains of conversation for the sake of a battered 
 witticism ") and you have my promise that if it be a har- 
 rowing tale, it shall not be a long one, for it is the tale of a 
 
 hear. 
 
 ' And if you find it wondrous short 
 It cannot hold you long."f 
 
 If you think you can bear it, we will now begin. 
 
 THE BARE STORY. 
 
 "Bear with me; 
 My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar 
 And I must pawsV'X 
 
 The name of one of the men (we had a crew of five or 
 six men and boys at that time) who worked for us during 
 the second year of our occupation of the farm, was Bazil, 
 He officiated as chore-boy. A part of his duty was to take 
 care of a couple of colts pasturing upon the wild and par- 
 
 ■^Modified Shakespeake. fGoLDSMiTH. 
 tSHAKESPEAKE mutilated. 
 
A MUTUAL SUBPBISU. 125 
 
 tially brush-covered meadow below the barn, and beyond 
 the line of our "improvements." One day along in the 
 autumn Bazil took a measure of oats and set off to feed 
 the colts, which, as he supposed, were feeding down beyond 
 a little skirt of poplar and alder bushes. He whistled for 
 his pets, but they did not appear ; then he walked slowly 
 down toward the bushes still whistling and calling : "Come 
 Queen ! come Princess ! " They didn't come, however, and 
 Bazil proceeded as far as the edge of the brushwood, and 
 thinking he heard equine footsteps approaching from the 
 southwest, he turned that way and walked carelessly along, 
 still whistling and calling. 
 
 Let's see ; you remember Macaulay's lines : 
 
 "All shrank, like boys who, unaware, 
 Ranging the woods to start a hare, 
 Come to the mouth of the dark lair, 
 Where, growling low, a fierce old bear 
 Lies amidst bones and blood ! " 
 
 Well, these verses will represent with sufficient accuracy 
 for all practical purposes the situation of the poor chore- 
 boy when he had rounded the corner of that patch of 
 bushes. There were no bones and blood visible, how- 
 ever, and the bear when discovered was not lying, (or else 
 Bazil was when he gave in his account of the adventure, 
 and that I couldn't bear to believe — pshaw ! I must make 
 
 haste and wind up this yarn or I 
 shall get it so tangled that it 
 never can be unraveled !), but 
 there, full in his pathway not 
 ten feet distant, it was, and to 
 the excited imagination of the 
 astonished chore-boy, 
 
 " Black it stood as night! 
 Fierce as ten furies! terrible as hell! 
 And shook " 
 
126 A MA STEELY BETH EAT. 
 
 Hold hard, there ! The bear didn't shake, so far as the 
 evidence shows ; it was his vis-a-vis who did the shaking. 
 
 But Bazil didn't stop long there to shake ! Let's see 
 again ; what is it the author last quoted has to say about 
 the gentry luho fell, when upon a certain occasion some 
 Tin usual occurrence stirred their feelings? 
 
 *' At once the universal host upsent 
 A shout which tore hell's concave, and beyond 
 Frighted the reign of Chaos and Old Night." 
 
 That's it, is it not ? And what that nest of devils did 
 was about what poor distraught Bazil did. His yell, 
 when he found himself hob-nobbing with that grim mon- 
 ster of the wilds, was heard to the iittermost j)arts of the 
 farm, and the housekeeper afterward declared that it had 
 jarred the windows of the dwelling ! 
 
 " Shook the arsenal and fulmin'd over Greece, 
 To Macedon and Artaxerxes' throne," 
 
 as it were. Then he turned toward the house and incon- 
 tinently fled, sowing his oats wildly as he went ! 
 
 The bear survived the adventure, and was afterward 
 seen at sundry times and in divers places hereabout, and 
 even reappeared (at least we always believed it to be the 
 old and not a new one) the next summer. We gather from 
 these circumstances that he felt no hardness toward any 
 one upon the farm by reason of what had occurred. For 
 aught I know both the bear and the chore-boy are still 
 •alive, and here's hoping that they may each continue to- 
 flourish even to a green old age ! 
 
 That's about all there is of the hare story ; and, to tell 
 the literal truth, I, for one, am heartily glad of it ; for that 
 bear had been fast becoming such a bore that he could not 
 much longer have been borne ! 
 
 Now just a little word with yon, reader, ere I close this 
 •chapter : For the first time since we set out together I have 
 
ASHAMED OF THE BEADEE. 
 
 127 
 
 l)een really ashamed of you. To allow yourself to become 
 so excited over such a very trivial matter as the little 
 adventure I have been describing ! 'Tis positively disgrace- 
 ful ! One thing at least I am resolved upon, — you hear no 
 more bear stories from me. 
 Pass to the next chapter. 
 
MOTTOEg FOR SHiPTER II. 
 
 " Ife is orjly irj solitude that; the genius of emir]er|(!. ngeg 
 has beer) formed. "Tbjere their first thouglrjtg sprarjg." 
 
 D'ISRAELI. 
 
 " Silence is tl]u§ a rjovelty; and a syrqpatl^y wit^) forrqs of 
 nature, and witlj plgerjomerja of liglgt, op twiligl]fe, i§ Vjeight* 
 erjed by its contrast with) ordirjary expepier|ce. besides, 
 or)e likes to starjd out aloije before t]iir)self, * jjj * ir| life 
 he is actirjo and acted upon. 2S^ throng of exciterrjents are 
 Spurring l^im tbjrough various rapid races. Self^corjsider* 
 atior) is almost lost. |-ie scarcely krjo-ws "wljafe of hirgself 
 is bjimself, ar)d whjat ig but th|e workings of others uporj 
 hjirr). It is good, rjow arjd tVjen, to sit by one's self, as if 
 all the world were dead, and see what is left of tVjat which 
 glowed ar)d raged along the arerja. "We are out of tempt" 
 ation, out of excitemer|t. Ir| tb)e loom we are tb|e shuttle, 
 beaten back and fortt), carryirjg the thread of affairs out 
 of whicV) grows thje fabric of life. Slip tl]e band; stop the 
 loonr). What is thje tl-)read ? What is the fabric?" 
 
 H. W. Beecher. 
 
 128 
 
CHAPTEE IX. 
 
 ITH the general question, so 
 mucli mooted, which is prefera- 
 ble, city or country life, I de- 
 sire not at this time to m.eddle. 
 I am free to admit that for many 
 people the numbers, noise and 
 activity of the town are so much 
 conditions precedent of happi- 
 ness, and their training has been 
 such, that existence would be 
 worthless to them in another 
 state ; while, I doubt not, it will 
 be as readily conceded by most 
 reasonable persons, that many 
 people there are so constituted 
 by nature, and so warped by their mental and physical 
 habits, that the crush and rumble, the multitude and the 
 busy whirl of a city would be so repugnant, and the cool 
 sequestration of the rural life so inviting and grateful, that 
 their proper home is in retirement. But my difficulty re- 
 mains as before. 
 
 The question with me is this : For myself, with mental 
 and moral environments as they actually exist, — my diposi- 
 tion, endowments, acquirements, tastes, habits, — is it desir- 
 able that I shall deliberately dissever myself from the "busy 
 haunts of men," and seek leisure for study, contemplation 
 
 129 
 9 
 
130 WSO IS THIS I? 
 
 and composition, — seek rest from care and labor, — seek 
 solace for disappointed hopes and ambitions (if I happen to 
 have such), — seek gratification of my love Of ease, and my 
 taste for the delightful things of nature, — ^in rural seclusion ? 
 
 There is, if I see it aright, a matter connected with the one 
 under consideration which may complicate it somewhat, but 
 which can by no means be slighted My own fate in life 
 may be so linked with that of others as to modify the result 
 of this investigation to a large extent We will not admit 
 this disturbing factor at the present juncture, however, but 
 leave it to be taken up further along. 
 
 The question having been stated, then, it becomes us, in 
 the first instance, to inquire as to who and what is this /for 
 whose benefit it is proposed to be discussed Waiving all 
 considerations which diffidence might suggest, not forget- 
 ting either that many of the things I am about to confess are 
 not altogether flattering to the author, but keeping ever in 
 mind the ipse dixit of a wise writer, to- wit : that " no picture 
 of life can have any veracity [and, hence, any value] that 
 does not admit the odious facts",* the question may be 
 answered briefly thus : I am not precisely (we will suppose) 
 as Burton described Democritus, " a little wearish old man ",f 
 but small in stature, like Pope, and delicate from youth, and 
 one, at least, who has arrived at that indefinite period of life 
 known as middle-age. I am purely a bundle of nerves (we 
 will further suppose) like "Voltaire, or that Pascal whose 
 anonymous letters so wrought up the feelings of the Jesuits 
 in France during the seventeenth century ; or like Charles 
 Lamb ; or like DeQuincey without his opium ; or like Ean- 
 dolph of Eoanoke, Shy and reserved am I, as was Words- 
 worth, Collins, or our own Hawthorne; gentle as Addison 
 or Irving; whimsical as Rabelais, or Grodwin who wrote 
 Caleb Williams^ or Matt. Lewis, author of The Monk; quiet 
 
 *Emeeson: Essay, Fate. \Anat. of Mel. 
 
CHARACTERISTICS. 131 
 
 externally, notwitlistanding tlie nerves, whicli was a marked 
 characteristic of Henry Clay and of Neckar ; as peace-loving 
 as Penn, Whittier, or any other Quaker,— which disposition I 
 come naturally enough by, being a descendant from the 
 Friends on my father's side. I am studious, and almost as 
 much of a book-lover as was Macaulay, and have been, as 
 that General Allen, who captured Fort Ticonderoga so early 
 one fine morning, ('* in the name of the great Jehovah and 
 the Continental Congress!"), confessed himself, a devourer 
 of books, but to little purpose, as all have been used im- 
 methodically, — yea, a vast number of volumes ! I am indolent 
 as was the poet Thompson by report, or Montaigne by con- 
 fession ; affectionate as was Shelley, or Dick Steele, or Dr. 
 Johnson ; sometimes facetious and given to laughter more 
 genial than that of Democritus, and again am plunged in 
 melancholy, but fail to weep as readily or as copiously as did 
 Herachtus, and most resemble him who wrote the Anatomy. 
 I am as great a lover of nature, though not one-half so good 
 an observer, as was Prof. Wilson ; of careless business habits, 
 and as cordially detest the details of the counting-room, and 
 stiff formalities and conventionalities of every name and 
 nature, as did Goldsmith, or Gay, or Sheridan, or Savage. 
 I am a victim of vanity, which was a failing of Cicero, of 
 Benton the American and Canning the English statesman, 
 of Lamartine, and, as I deem, of Carlyle. I am no epicure, 
 in which respect I resemble the great Alexander, the greater 
 Napoleon, as well as Emerson and some others of that re- 
 markable eastern brotherhood of transcendent and trans- 
 cendental interpreters of nature. I have a disposition to be 
 strictly just toward all men, and for a possessor of this quality 
 to make comparison by, I need not go to Aristides, nor 
 indeed look further than to my own father. I am a sincere 
 lover of my friends, a trait upon owning which Brutus prided 
 himself. I have little taste for general society, in which I 
 resemble Zeno and Thoreau, the philosophers, — two men, by 
 the way, not so wide apart in certain other things as the 
 
132 
 
 GEN. E. ALLEN AT FT. TI. 
 
 THE SUMMONS TO SUKUENDER. 
 
DIFFICULTIES STILL. 133 
 
 antipodes. I am rather easily persuaded in practical affairs by 
 those in wliom I have confidence, which weakness was also 
 possessed by, or, rather, possessed Coleridge ; am not at all 
 revengeful, but would gladly avoid in toto a person with whom 
 I have had a misunderstanding, — ^which, it is said, was a 
 strongly marked character of George the First of America, 
 — videlicet^ " the first in war, first in peace, and first in the 
 hearts of his countrymen !" 
 
 Here then, loose enough it is true in the statement, are a 
 few of the qualities as I see them, which go to make up the 
 character of the being I denominate myself. And perhaps 
 the catalogue is sufficiently extended and complete to enable 
 us to reach a decision of the somewhat important question 
 proposed, if it be possible in this manner ever to arrive at 
 one. It will be noticed that I am made up of the weaknesses 
 and defects of nearly all the noted men that ever lived, and 
 to balance these, how few qualities of the opposite descrip- 
 tion! 
 
 " Truth that is I. ' What I? ' 
 
 I per se, I. ' Great I, you would say! ' No^ 
 
 Great I indeed you well may say; but I 
 
 Am little i, — the least of all the row ! "* 
 
 But after all I cannot assert that from the likeness drawn 
 a stranger would experience no difficulty in identifying 
 the writer. All these characteristics I certainly seem to pos- 
 sess ; but I am profoundly impressed with the truth expressed 
 in the following lines of Montaigne's : 
 
 " Whoever ,will look narrowly into his own bosom [says 
 our author] will hardly find himself twice in the same con- 
 dition. I give my soul sometimes one face, sometimes 
 another, according to the side I turn her to. If I speak 
 variously of myself, it is because I consider myself variously. 
 All contrarieties are there to be found in one corner or an- 
 other. Bashful, insolent, chaste, lustful, prating, silent, 
 
 *Davies. 
 
134 THE ELICITATION OF TRUTH. 
 
 laborious, delicate, ingenious, heavy, melancliolic, pleasant, 
 lying, true, knowing, ignorant, liberal, courteous and prodi- 
 gal ! I find all these in myself more or less, according as I 
 turn myself about * * In a word, I have nothing to say 
 of myself entirely, simply and solidly, without mixture and 
 confusion."* 
 
 Now, then, (if we are to proceed) where on earth shall such- 
 a creature as I have here depicted find his most fitting habita- 
 tion ? 
 
 I pause only to entreat the reader not to judge me a hideous, 
 
 hapless and hopeless monster from the anatomization of my 
 
 mental and moral constitution here given. I am not quite 
 
 that, I hope. There are some who respect me, as I verily 
 
 believe, and a few, I think, who love. And be not harsh, 
 
 nor hint sarcastically that some things had , better been left 
 
 unsaid, that 
 
 " Nature sometimes makes one up 
 Of such sad odds and ends. 
 It really might be just as well 
 Hushed up among one's friends, "f 
 
 In this instance it could not be. "We are desirous of con- 
 ducting an important investigation here. The elicitation of 
 truth is our object It became necessary to have all the 
 facts ; and I felt it incumbent upon me, so far as it lay within 
 my power, to furnish them. The facts are precisely what you 
 see. I have endeavored to make the analysis as complete as. 
 possible. " Naught have I extenuated," nor yet have I " set 
 down aught in malice." 
 
 Perhaps it will be as well — to make apology once for all 
 time for aught like an appearance of egotism in the present 
 or any other chapter of this book — to say right at this point 
 (as the circumstances do well authorize me) with Thoreau r 
 " I should not talk so much of myself if there were anybody 
 else whom I knew as well. Unfortunately I am confined 
 to this theme by the narrowness of my experience. ":j: 
 
 ^Essays, Chap. XLV. f Holmes XWalden. 
 
CERTAIN BARDS QUOTED. 135 
 
 If I have not mistaken my lineaments and have drawn the 
 portrait accurately, it will be seen that in several important 
 respects I resemble the poet Cowper. I speak without vanity 
 in this instance. I may resemble the sweet bard most in my 
 defects ; and this is probably pretty nearly the truth of the 
 matter. He was morbidly sensitive, shy, reserved, — he was 
 unworldly, affectionate, studious, melancholy, whimsical. 
 
 It was Cowper, in his retirement, who wrote : 
 
 " And God gives to every man 
 The virtue, temper, understanding, taste, 
 That lifts him into life, and lets him fall 
 Just in the niche he was ordained to fill. 
 To the deliverer of an injured land 
 He gives a tongue to enlarge upon, a heart 
 To feel, and courage to redress its wrongs* 
 To monarchs dignity; to judges sense; 
 To artists ingenuity and skill ; 
 To me an unambitious mind, content 
 In the low vale of life, that early felt 
 A wish for ease and leisure, and erelong 
 Found here that leisure and that ease I wished."* 
 
 And there in his seclusion, at the home of kind Mrs. Urwiny 
 
 I do suppose this gentle being was as happy as his poor 
 
 health and melancholy disposition would have allowed him 
 
 to be anywhere upon the broad bosom of the good, green 
 
 earth. It might have been said at one time that the author 
 
 possessed a little of the misanthropic spirit of the bard who 
 
 wrote : 
 
 "I have not loved the world, nor the world me; 
 
 I have not flattered its rank breath, nor bowed 
 To its idolatries a patient knee, — 
 
 Nor coined my cheek to smiles — nor cried aloud 
 
 In worship of an echo ; in the crowd 
 They could not deem me one of such; I stood 
 
 Among them, but not of them; in a shroud 
 Of thoughts which were not their thoughts, and still could 
 Had I not filled my mind, which thus itself subdued, "f 
 
 ^TJie Task. f Byron: Ghilde Harold. 
 
136 ONLY WEARY; NOT SPITEFUL, 
 
 But that wo"uld have been a great while ago. There is 
 nothing of the man-hater, nor of the world-hater in my com- 
 position at the present time. It may be that the verse, 
 "Among them, but not of them." 
 
 would closely enough characterize my situation for years 
 among the busy, bustling ones of the towns ; but that would 
 not by any means signify that I hated the curious creatures 
 who were pushing by and jostling me at every step. Nay, 
 nay! 
 
 I have been unworldly only; not spiteful Like Shen- 
 stone, when he retired to busy his mind and hands in the 
 decoration of his rural home at Leasowes, I am weary, weary, 
 weary of bustle, and want rest! I am dizzy with this 
 -whir of machinery, this buzz of trade. I am fatigued with 
 this eternal struggle going on around me, in which the main 
 object, if not the sole, of one class is to pile up wealth, and 
 of the other to secure just the needs of the hour, viz : bread, 
 butter and wearing apparel. I do not blame the poor 
 strugglers of the latter kind for desiring the indispensables ; 
 but I pity while I censure them that nothing but this is left 
 for them, or, rather, that they will have it so. And it is all 
 very wearisome ! 
 
 I will confess, however, that, separated from the seething 
 mass of humanity, safely retired into some sheltered, peace- 
 ful nook, I could watch the " great drama being enacted upon 
 the theatre of the world " with intense interest, having a com- 
 fortable feeling of my own security, and leisure to moralize 
 upon the plots and incidents of the wonderful play. Hazlitt's 
 captivating picture of what it is " to live to one's self " has 
 made an impression upon me, and lengthy though it is, I 
 subjoin it: 
 
 " What I mean by living to one's self is living in the world, 
 as in it, but not of it It is as if no one knew there was such 
 a person, and you wished no one to know it. It is to be a 
 silent spectator of the mighty scene of things, not an object 
 
HAZLITtS PICTURE. 137 
 
 of attention or curiosity in it ; to take a thoughtful, anxious 
 interest in what is passing in the world, but not to feel the 
 slightest inclination to make or meddle with it It is such a 
 life as a pure spirit might be supposed to lead, and such an 
 interest as it might take in the affairs of men, — calm, con- 
 templative, passive, distant, touched with pity for their sor- 
 rows, smiling at their foUies without bitterness, sharing their 
 afflictions, but not troubled by their passions, not seeking 
 their notice, nor once dreamt of by them. He who lives 
 wisely to himself and to his own heart looks at the busy 
 world ' through the loop-holes of retreat ', and does not want 
 to mingle in the fray. 'He hears the tumult and is still.' 
 He is not able to mend it and is not willing to mar it. He 
 sees enough in the universe to interest him without putting 
 himself forward to try what he can do to fix the eyes of the 
 universe upon himself. Vain the attempt! He reads the 
 €louds, he looks at the stars, he watches the return of the 
 seasons, the falling leaves of autumn, the perfumed breath of 
 spring, starts with delight at the note of the thrush in the 
 <3opse near him, sits by the fire, listens to the moaning of 
 the winds, pores upon a book, or discourses the freezmg 
 hours away, or melts down hours to minutes in pleasing 
 thought."* 
 
 Here, indeed, is pictured what Cowper denominates, 
 " A bleat seclusion from a jarring world." 
 
 A fascinating group to me has always been that little 
 htrotherhood of gifted men to whom the romantic lake region 
 of England for years afforded a home, and upon whom it has 
 •conferred a name that will endure as long as the language. 
 No adjunct is wanting to render the picture of this brilliant 
 family of poets and essayists ever a "phantom of delight" ! 
 Oenius of the highest order, perfect culture, similarity of 
 tastes and pursuits, mutual appreciation and confidence 
 
 *Hazlitt's Table-Talk. 
 
138 THE LAKE FOETS — MONTAIGNE. 
 
 upon tlie part of the men who composed the little band^ 
 and kindly neighborhood, are all associated in the mind 
 with the most beautiful and romantic scenery of Old Eng- 
 land !* Happy Lakers ! Most beautiful sequestration ! 
 
 The essayist Montaigne, after a pretty full discussion of 
 the subject of Retirement in one of his inimitable productions^ 
 remarks : 
 
 " There are some complexions more proper for these pre- 
 cepts of retirement than others ; such as are of a soft and 
 faint apprehension, and of tender will and affection, as I am, 
 will sooner incline to the advice than active and busy souls.'*' 
 
 I can but consider this as so much in point to the case in 
 hand; for in the mental and physical constitution of the. 
 author last quoted I deem I discover much in common with 
 those of the writer of this chapter. He confesses frankly in 
 some of his autobiographical essays, if not always in express 
 words, yet by plain implication, that he was personally of 
 indolent habits, shy, quiet-loving, whimsical, without ambi- 
 tion, etc. In speaking of the object of retirement, he remarks 
 that it is " to live at more leisure and greater ease " ; and he 
 draws a picture, horrifying to a man who loves quiet and 
 independence, of the condition of one who lives, moves, and 
 has his being in a crowd : 
 
 " He that goes into a crowd must now go one way, then 
 another, keep his elbows close, retire or advance, and quit the 
 direct way, according to what he encounters ; and must live, 
 not so much according to his own method, as that of others ;, 
 
 *As illustrative of the beautiful neighborliness of the Lake Poets, 
 I append an extract from DeQuincey's sketch of the life of Words- 
 worth: 
 
 "Coleridge," says this delightful gossip, " for many years received 
 a copy of the ^London] Courier as a mark of esteem, and in acknowl- 
 edgement of his many contributions to it, from one of the proprietors, 
 Mr. Daniel Stewart. This went up in any case, let Coleridge be- 
 where he might, to Mrs. Coleridge; for a single day it staid at Keswick,, 
 for the use of Southey, and on the next it came on to Wordsworth." 
 
THE TOWN NO PLACE FOR ME. 139> 
 
 not according to what he proposes himself, but according to» 
 what is proposed to him ; according to time ; according to. 
 men ; according to occasion."* 
 
 Let us pause for a moment here and look over the field to^ 
 determine, if we can, whether we have made any progress, or 
 otherwisa 
 
 With such a make-up as has been depicted, (and after 
 maturer reflection, for which the time consumed in "faggot- 
 ing together " that part of the chapter lying between the pen- 
 portrait of the author and this point, has afforded me oppor- 
 tunity, I still feel that the " likeness is as like " as I can make 
 it), it will, I think, from that alone be conceded, without 
 argument, that the town is no place for me I Thus much, then, 
 has been gained. Now if it could be demonstrated as clearly 
 that such a being would thrive in rural seclusion, — that his; 
 mental powers would be developed, his moral healthimproved,. 
 his nerves soothed, his physical part built up there, — ^why, we 
 should come near to securing a triumphant decision in favor- 
 of the country lifa Unfortunately, however, notwithstand- 
 ing the evidence already adduced appears to tend that way, 
 the proof that all these desiderata would come to pass is, 
 I fear, as yet a long way off. There may remain further 
 comfort and encouragement for us in the experience of others. 
 We shall see. 
 
 Thoreau resorted to his hermitage at Walden, as he says, 
 because he had " business to transact ". In another place he 
 intimates that this business was thinking and composing. 
 Pliny also recommends rural retirement to such as desire^ 
 to do good work with the pen. Balzac, the French novelist, 
 whenever one of his great works was to be produced, buried 
 himself from the world so that none, not even his dearest 
 friends, could find him. The Eoman poet, Horace, spent, 
 his happiest hours upon his " Sabine Farm," the gift of his. 
 
 *Essays, Book 3, Chap. IX. 
 
140 SEVERAL AUTHORS CITED. 
 
 friend Maecenas, and when absent therefrom, his heart's 
 yearnings for this rural paradise found utterance in melodi- 
 ous verse : 
 
 " Oh, when again 
 
 Shall I behold the rural plain? 
 
 And when with books and sages deep 
 
 Sequestered ease and gentle sleep. 
 
 In sweet oblivion, blissful balm, 
 
 The busy c»res of life becalm? "* 
 
 The love of the great and variously gifted Yarro for his 
 rural home is historical, and eke Cicero's villas and Yatia's 
 retirement ; and the Eomans used to say " Yatia lives alone " 
 when they desired to commend the country life. The 
 intense love of Yirgil for the serene seclusion of the country 
 is well known to all who read the best poetry, and hence 
 have perused those exquisite agricultural poems, the Georgics, 
 the product of his pen. 
 
 In his famous Anatomy of Melancholy, old Burton ob- 
 serves : 
 
 " The country has his recreations. * * The very being 
 in the country — ^that life itself — is a sufficient recreation to 
 some men, to enjoy such pleasures as those old patriarchs, 
 Diocletian, the emperor, was so much affected with it that 
 he gave over his scepter and turned gardener. * ^ I could 
 say so much of myself : No man ever took more delight in 
 springs, woods, groves, gardens, walks, fish-ponds, rivers." 
 
 Hail, old Namesake! congenial spirit, hail! Bravo, De- 
 MOCRITUS Junior ! And after that if one shall be desirous 
 of naming the author of this work Democritus The Least, 
 the latter will neither resent the liberty taken, nor question 
 the judgment of the new Adam. 
 
 In another part of his work our learned author recurs to 
 this subject, and discourses as follows : 
 
 *HpBACE; VI Satire. 
 
A PARAJJIHE. 
 
 141 
 
142 DEMOCRITUS AGAIN. 
 
 " I may not deny that there is some profitable meditation, 
 •contemplation and solitariness to be embraced which the 
 fathers so highly commended, Hierom, Chrysostom, Cyprian, 
 Austin in whole tracts ; which Petrarch, Erasmus, Stella and 
 others so much magnify in their books ; a paradise, a heaven 
 on earth, if it be used aright, good for the body, and better 
 for the soul, as many of those old monks used it, to divine 
 -contemplation, * * or to the bettering of their knowledge, 
 as Democritus, Cleanthus, and those excellent philosophers 
 have ever done, to sequester themselves fi'om the tumultu- 
 ous world, as in Pliny's villa, Laurentana, Tully's Tuscu- 
 lum, Jovius' study, that they might better serve God and 
 follow their studies." 
 
 So much for my very entertaining, though melancholy 
 ■old namesake ! 
 
 The poet Yirgil's ardent love for the rural life in his 
 declining years is breathed in every syllable of the following 
 from his second Oeorgic: 
 
 "My next desire is, void of care and strife, 
 To lead a soft, secure, inglorious life, — 
 A country cottage near a crystal flood, 
 A winding valley, and a lofty wood." 
 
 The bard's sincerity in this wish will not be doubted by 
 •one who is familiar with the leading traits of his simple and 
 beautiful character. 
 
 The elder D'Israeli in that elegant work. The Literary 
 Character of Men of Genius, quotes Lord Bacon as saying* 
 that, with him "country fruits" were "good meditations". 
 Thus did that giant mind profit by retirement. 
 
 The passionate love of rural life and its scenes and asso- 
 ciations, discoverable among the cultivated people of Eng- 
 land, has been a subject of frequent remark. No people of 
 the world, perhaps, equal the intelligent classes of that 
 island in their love of nature. This phase of the English 
 
TEE englishman's LOVE OF NATURE. 143 
 
 •cliaracter is finely commented upon by Irving in his Sketch 
 Book^ an extract from which I give below : 
 
 " To this mingling of cultivated and rustic society may 
 be attributed the rural feeling that runs through British 
 literature; the frequent illustrations from rural life, those 
 incomparable descriptions of nature that abound in the 
 British poets, that have continued down from The Flower 
 and the Leaf of Chaucer, and have brought into our closets 
 all the freshness and fragrance of the dewy landscape. The 
 pastoral writers of other countries appear as if they had 
 paid Nature an occasional visit, and become acquainted with 
 her general charms ; but the British poets have lived and 
 reveled with her — they have wooed her in her most secret 
 haunts — they have watched her minutest caprices. A 
 spray could not tremble in the breeze — a leaf could not 
 rustle to the ground — a diamond drop could not patter in 
 the stream — a fragrance could not exhale from the humble 
 violet, nor a daisy unfold its crimson tints to the morning, 
 but it had been noticed biy these impassioned and delicate 
 observers and wrought up into some beautiful morality." 
 
MOTTOES FOR (SSiPTER 1 
 
 " 2^\\ that I say is, I have ppecedcr)ts for it." 
 
 BURTON'S A natomy of Melancholy. 
 
 " ©1], thjafe I l^ad tb|e apt of easy "writirjg, 
 
 Which shjould be easy readir|g ! Could I gcale 
 ¥'arr)assus, wbjere the muses sit irjditing 
 
 Vhoge pretty poengs, rjever kr)o-wr) to fail, 
 l^ow quickly would I prir)t, the world deligb)tir)g, 
 
 2^ ©recian, Syriar], or J5J.§gypian tale ; 
 J^rjd sell you, rqixed witV) western ser)tirr)er)talisiT), 
 §orr)e samples of the firjest orientalism ! " 
 
 Byron : Beppo. 
 
 " !N^aid of Ounedin, tVjou mayst see, 
 "Thjouglg long I sought to pleasure thee, 
 T^^hat now I've ch)ar|ged my tiiTjid toqe, 
 ^r)d sirjg to please ngyself alorje j 
 ^r)d thou w^ilt read, when well 1 -wot 
 I care r)ot whetVjer thou dost or not. 
 Ves, I'll be querulous op boon, — 
 Flow -with the tide, chjarjge -with tlje ngoon ! 
 
 So may the rrjeteop of th)e •wild, 
 J^atupe's ur)staid, eppatic cVjild, 
 Tbjat glimrT)eps o'ep the forest ferj, 
 ©p twinkles ir) th)e dapksome glen, — 
 Car) that be bound ? car) tl]at be peirjed '? 
 ©y cold, ungenial pules regtpained ? 
 JSIo I — leave it o'ep its ample Ijorqe, 
 The bourjdless ■wilderness, to poam, — 
 To gleam, to tperrjble, op to die ! 
 'Vis J^atupe's ei'pop ; — so am I." 
 
 Hogg Queen Hynde. 
 
 144 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 OEMEN environ me ! It really 
 appears as if I must be quarrel- 
 ling witli one or another of the 
 hyper-critical or captious read- 
 ers of this discourse for the rest 
 of the way through the "thorny 
 maze" in which I struggle. 
 Here comes one, (or do I imagine 
 it? or did the "phantasm dire" 
 visit me " in a dream, in a vision 
 of the night, when deep sleep 
 falleth upon men, in slumber- 
 ings upon the bed " ?* and was 
 it from conscience?), and objects that 
 the amount of "original suggestion" 
 employed in these chapters is uncon- 
 scionably small. Here is No. 2, who 
 complains that he has never heard nor read of such a work 
 before. No. 3 criticizes the quality of the English used. 
 No. 4 objects to my manner of citing authors as a lawyer cites 
 legal precedents, — as if they were recognized authorities, 
 which settled the question at issue for all time, — and is 
 dubious of the morality of such wholesale stealing. Etc., 
 etc., etc. 
 
 (P. S. — Privately, dear reader, and strictly entre nous, 
 these are the several objections of as many friends to whom 
 
 *Job, Chap. XXXIII; 15. 
 10 
 
 145 
 
146 OBJECTIONS CONSIDERED. 
 
 I have submitted the manuscript of this work for their 
 friendly criticism, and who have given me too much of it 
 However, 
 
 "Better this ordeal 
 
 In friendly hands, before the time of types, 
 
 Than afterward in hands of enemies 1"*) 
 
 Well, well, Messieurs, the author would be glad to de- 
 light and edify you all, hoped at one time to do so, and now 
 despairs of pleasing a majority even, and can be only a trifle 
 disappointed, this stage having been reached, however much 
 he might lament that it should be so, if he shall not succeed 
 in satisfying any single soul of you. 
 
 In reply to objection No. 1, however, I desire first to 
 remind the critic of the dictum of the great Dr. Johnson, 
 who is reported on one occasion to have thus delivered him- 
 self: 
 
 " Modern writers are the moons of literature ; they shine 
 with reflected light, — with light borrowed from the ancients. 
 Greece appears to me to be the fountain of knowledge, — 
 Eome of elegance, "f 
 
 And a wiser than Johnson, ever so long before had said : 
 " The thing that hath been, it is that which shall be ; and 
 that which is done, is that which shall be done, and there is 
 no new thing under the sun,":{: Secondly, and still in reply 
 to the first objection, I wish to urge that there have been 
 books published in these latter days, — aye, and copyrighted, 
 — books, too, that have attained a wide circulation (though, it 
 must be confessed, they have never been extensively quoted) 
 which have exhibited much less of literary ability, less of 
 fancy, less of wit, and contained a much smaller amount of 
 original thought, than this work I Fact, too ! 
 
 *Holland: Kathrina. 
 
 ^'BoswE.iuJj's Life of Johnson, Vol.11. iSoLOMON. 
 
MORE REPLIES TO CRITICISMS. 147 
 
 "What were they?" "Name these books!" "We defy 
 you !" Hear the clamor! 
 
 Well, then, there was Mark Twain's 
 
 " Which work of that great humorist does not display 
 more — infinitely more — of wit, fancy, literary ability, and 
 •originality than this of yours? Tell us ! tell us !" 
 
 Why, there's his Scrap Booh ; then there was Dr. Todd's 
 Index ReruTYi^ and — 
 
 "Oh, Bosh!" 
 
 Well, therefore, withdraw that objection. • Kow take the 
 second : It appears to the writer when one claims that he 
 never read or heard of such a book, that he is attributing 
 wonderful merit, so far as originality is concerned, to that 
 which he is endeavoring to underrate — a merit, by the way, 
 which another denies that the work possesses — and I thank 
 this late comer ! If he states truth^ I shall henceforth value 
 my work more than I have ever before done. I will quote 
 you, friend, what Sir Thomas Browne says : 
 
 "Eather than swell the leaves of learning by fruitless 
 repetition, to sing the same song in all ages, nor adventure 
 at essay beyond the attempt of others, many would be con- 
 tent that some should write like Hel " What! Dr. 
 
 Browne impugned ! impossible ! Please allow me to con- 
 clude the quotation which you have interrupted at so awk- 
 ward a juncture — "write like Helmont and Paracelsus, and 
 be willing to embrace the monstrosity of some opinions, for 
 divers singular notions requiting such observations." 
 
 A "high authority" has declared, also, that "Nature 
 abhors equality and similitude as much as foolish men love 
 them."f 
 
 In reply to the third objection, viz : against the quality of 
 my diction, I would quote the words of Ctesippus, speaking 
 to Socrates concerning Hippothales, son of Hieronymus, in 
 
 ''Christian Morals, Part II, § 5. f Ruskin. 
 
148 A FAULT AD3IITTED. 
 
 love: "His performances in prose are bad enougli, but 
 nothing at all in comparison to his verse."* And likewise say 
 I unto you, oh, reader of these pages, who, reading, criticise, 
 and, criticising, forgettest moderation! tread softly; you 
 step among mines ! observe caution all along I I have given 
 you nothing original but prose as yet, and very little of 
 that : beware lest a worse thing come upon you ! I have been 
 known to do such a thing in ray life as produce verse ! 
 
 But upon this head I might admit a fault which, from the 
 nature of the case, it was quite difficult to avoid, and for 
 which I confess I do feel like making a suitable apology. 
 I have — I acknowledge it — employed the same old words 
 which have been used for the past hundreds of years by all 
 writers of English prose. I know that these words have 
 been used until they are worn thread-bare, have lost the 
 appearance of newness and air of freshness ; their gloss is 
 gone; and they have a very plebeian look and vulgar 
 sound, f Regretting, as I do, the necessity which has com- 
 pelled me to use tools so antiquated, worn, dull and battered ; 
 or, to change the figure, to clothe my thoughts in a garb so 
 plain, so cheap, old, faded, shabby, — these habiliments so 
 woeful, (if not, indeed, these "habiliments of -woe"), I can 
 only plead that necessity in extenuation of my act, and, as 
 intimated above, humbly solicit the reader's favor. 
 
 Now as to my manner of citing authors, I can only say, it 
 is my manner, and quote the old Latin saw, de gustibus non 
 est disputandum. As to the charge of stealing, I repel it 
 with considerable virtuous indignation. I own that I have 
 
 *Plato's Republic, II. 
 
 fSince the above sentences were written I have happened, in my 
 reading, upon the following paragraph : 
 
 " Things much used inevitably become much worn, and it is one of 
 the most curious phenomena of language that words are as subject as 
 coin to defacement and abrasion, by brisk circulation." — Introductwn 
 to Lectures on the English Language, by G. P. Marsh. 
 
IT can't be stealing. 149 
 
 extracted from other writers freely ; but make the claim that 
 my readers have not been wronged thereby, for in the main 
 the matter used has been quite as good as anything I could 
 have produced myself as a substitute. Or, I might confess, 
 in the language of Montaigne, that " I make others say for 
 me, what, either for want of language or want of sense, I 
 cannot myself so well express." I would likewise remind 
 the caviller that Emerson has so great a respect for my hind 
 of people that he ranks the first quoter of a good sentence 
 next to the originator thereof.* 
 
 Again, as to having stolen these extracts, that were impos- 
 sible ; they were already mine. I had bought them, (in the 
 original packages), and paid for 'em, and could show a clean. 
 " abstract of title " to them, every one. Not mine absolutely, 
 to have and to hold to my exclusive benefit and behoof, and 
 that of my heirs, executors, administrators, or assigns, for- 
 ever ; but mine to use, — hence I have used 'em. I couldn't 
 reconcile it to my conscience to do differently. Steal ! nay, 
 I'd scorn the thought, — under almost any circumstances ; 
 and more particularly in a case like this, holding as I do 
 with Synesius, that "it is a greater offense to steal a dead 
 man's thoughts than his clothes." 
 
 It appears now that I, having answered '' all and singular " 
 the objections that have been, or could have been, urged or 
 imagined against me as an author, fully and clearly, without 
 equivocation or mental reservation, ought to be allowed to 
 jog along peacefully by your side, dear reader, henceforth, 
 and that amity should characterize our intercourse. What 
 say you ? Methinks you may all the more readily assent to 
 this, even if you should happen to discover certain little 
 blemishes scattered here and there through my book, consid- 
 ering a great writer has declared : 
 
 " Whoever thinks a faultless piece to see, 
 Thinks what ne'er was, nor is, nor e'er shall be."f 
 
 *See Essay, Quotation and Originality. 
 fPoPE's Essay on Criticism. 
 
150 ONLY POETICAL JUSTICE. 
 
 After further reflection upon tlie subject I have concluded 
 to follow my own inclinations anyhow, and those alone, in 
 treating of the many matters which remain for discussion 
 in this work. Call my grammar bad, my rhetoric worse, my 
 logic worst of all, 
 
 "Dub me scribbler and denounce my muse," * 
 
 if you please ; I shall, like Mark Antony, " only speak right 
 on" in my own manner, making no claim to be an "orator 
 as Brutus is ", and not aping his style. There was a Burton 
 once who treated of Melancholy ^\ and who had such a 
 humorous turn as oftentimes to cause even the grave and 
 judicious reader to smile : it will be but fair then — a sort of 
 "poetical justice" — if I, writing on lighter themes, and 
 mindful of ^Montaigne's apothegm that "the most certain 
 sign of wisdom is continual cheerfulness ",:]: striving, too, tO' 
 stir men's hearts and minds to gladness and mirth, compose 
 in such a way as to make " severe and sour-complectioned "§ 
 readers sad, yea, to cause 'em even to groan with anguish. 
 
 " I who have written much in prose and verse 
 For others' uses, will write now for mine, — 
 Will write my story for my better self."! 
 
 But in all I have said, remember, I don't wish to be 
 understood as assuming the attitude of one consciously sin- 
 ning and madly defying the world to " help itself ". Mind, 
 I don't acknowledge the sin ! I am doing the very best I 
 can. Wherein I fail totally, or come short by certain 
 degrees, I am helpless. If I knew how to be infinitely more 
 discreet, witty, or wise, why, doubtless, notwithstanding my 
 great stubbornness and admitted egotism, I should fall ta 
 forthwith, and show that I had profited by such knowledge : 
 " I am as I am, and so will I be! " 
 
 *Btkon : English Bards and Scotch Beviewers. 
 
 •f-BuKTON's Anatomy of Melancholy. X^ssays, Book 1, Chap. LX. 
 
 gIzAAK Walton, || Mrs. Browning. 
 
don't mention it. 
 
 151 
 
 And yet — and yet — and after all, I will not be so rash 
 as to exclaim "with. Tickler of the Nodes that, " I care not a 
 single curse for all the criticism that was ever canted, 
 decanted, or recanted!" — for I do care, — I do, indeed, 
 gentle reader! Therefore if you discover aught amiss in 
 me, please don't mention it to your neighbor. "But something 
 too much of this." Eead the next chapter. 
 
MOTTOES FOR KHAPTER 11. 
 
 "Ooubfeless I aiT) pusb)ed arjd sb|oved by 
 Rogues s.r)d fool§ enough : the more 
 (@ood luck rqine ; — I love, am loved by 
 Songe few horjegfe to th)e core." 
 
 Robert Browning. 
 
 " Wtjen his task requires tb)e wiping out fporq rqemopy 
 of ' all trivial forjd records feljat youth ar)d observation 
 copied tlgere ', Ije ngust leave the Igouge, the street, aqd 
 the club, and go to wooded uplands, to tlge clearigg, ar)d 
 tlge brook. Well fop hing if Ige caig gay with the old ngir)" 
 stpel, ' I know wlgepe to find a new song ! ' " 
 
 Emerson : Resources /or the Country. 
 
 152 
 
CHAPTER XI. 
 
 EEVENTLY do I thank Ood 
 every day, or at least as often 
 as the thought occurs to me, 
 that I, too, am loved by some 
 few " honest to the core " and 
 that I have some of that char- 
 acter to love. One of these is 
 my brother Horace. Thank the 
 good Lord for giving me such a 
 brother as Horace ! This brother 
 is one of the few persons in the 
 world who have appeared to 
 thorougly understand and ap- 
 preciate the writer ; — so to value, 
 so to love him, that they have 
 been ready at all times to excuse 
 his mistakes, overlook his short- 
 comings, cover with the broad mantle of charity his many 
 misdeeds, stand by him, uphold him through evil and good 
 report and to make the cause of a brother their own. Thank 
 God again I say with deepest sincerity, for brother Horace ! 
 Then Horace, besides being indulgent to my faults and 
 helpful of my necessities at all times, has also been ever 
 ready to enjoy my little jokes and laugh at my witticisms. 
 Being possessed of a kindred genius, he was placed more on 
 a plain with the writer than most, and nothing said or done 
 by me has ever seemed to be ill-timed or misplaced 
 
 153 
 
154 A FELLOW-FEELING. 
 
 to Horace. All these things liave contributed to put me 
 vastly at ease with my great-hearted brother ; hence, when- 
 ever I have had an epigram or so to " fire off ", or have pro- 
 duced a poetical effusion of the more atrocious sort which I 
 have desired to read to some one in order to test its effect, 
 upon live flesh and blood, I have always been certain of a 
 (patient subject, shall I say ? nay !) kind and appreciative 
 auditor in Horace.* The latter has invariably been the 
 recipient of my most humorous epistolary productions, also, 
 and if so be that he has preserved them, and providing 
 always that he survives me, will be able one of these days 
 to furnish an enterprising editor some entertaining morsels 
 in this kind wherewithal to eke out for me a volume of 
 literary remains. 
 
 I might, perhaps, let the reader into a little secret here : 
 Horace, too, once, like his great Eoman namesake, and like 
 
 Lycidas, 
 
 "Knew himself to sing 
 And build the lofty rhyme, "f 
 
 Yes, reader, quiet, staid, peaceable, worthy citizen as he 
 seems now, domestic in his tastes and humane in disposition 
 
 — that same Horace in his younger days composed verses 1 
 
 — and such verses ! But though, haply, some of his poet- 
 ical feet were so defective that the lines hobbled and halted, 
 and even " went on three legs ", and spavined legs at that, 
 yet, as the all-expressive modern phrase is, "they got there,'^ 
 managing to jingle with rhyme on their way, and, as Horace 
 himself was wont to say, half apologetically, of them, "were 
 a great deal better than no poetry " ; though, doubtless, of 
 this there might have been some question. 
 
 *SouTHEY has experienced something of this feeling of complaisance 
 toward an admiring relative. He once wrote: 
 
 "My wife's nephew is a sensible lad. He reads my writings, likes 
 my stories, admires my singing, and thinks as I do in politics; a youth 
 of parts and considerable promise. — The Doctor, &c., A. 1, Chap. VII. 
 
 f Milton: Lycidas. 
 
WE WRITE A LETTER, 155 
 
 What I have written is written : the chief use of the 
 present chapter, according to the original plan of the writer, 
 was to furnish the reader with a copy of a letter addressed 
 by his brother to Horace only a few months after the Gen- 
 eral's occupation of the new house at Oakiields. The farm 
 had been born from Chaos and had received a name. Indeed, 
 it had been christened long before it could be said to have 
 had a birth as a farm at all. Some clearing had heen done ; 
 a house had been reared, and, as shown above, occupied, not 
 by the owner, but by hirelings; a barn had been built; 
 there were horses, cattle, sheep, hogs, and all kinds of 
 poultry in the farm-yard and pastures ; crops of grass, 
 grain and roots were growing, and the heart of the master 
 swelled with love and pride, — in short his joy in his new 
 possessions, unlike the estate itself, knew no bounds ! Of 
 course Horace had been kept posted with regard to the mat- 
 ters taking place at the new farm, in everything there was 
 he deeply interested, and it was to him, and to him alone, 
 that the enthusiastic owner of Oakfields could safely give 
 unreserved expression of his happiness. 
 
 The letter was chiefly written in the main room of the 
 small farm-house, one bright July afternoon. How well I 
 remember the day ! I sat at a plain pine desk of black stain, 
 which stood near the eastern window, whence I could see 
 the men at work at land-clearing, and where the mingled 
 sounds of the farm-yard — my farm-yard — were as music 
 to my ear ! My epistle ran as follows : 
 
 Oakfields, July 17, 18 — 
 To Horace^ a Sojourner in the Deserts of the North — Greeting : 
 
 "I lang hae thought, my youthfu' friend, 
 
 A something to hae sent you, 
 Though it should serve na other end 
 
 Than just a kind memento ; 
 Though how the subject theme may gang 
 
 Let time and chance determine, — 
 Mayliap it may turn out a sang, 
 
 Mayhap turn out a sermon ! " 
 
156 
 
 WB OWE FOR A LODGE IN S. V. W. 
 
 Dear Horace, 
 it was Cowper 
 (whose name 
 some have affect- 
 edly pronounced Cooper) who so 
 vehemently Oh'd "for a lodge in 
 some vast wilderness, — some boundless 
 contiguity of shade". Well, we have 
 felt the need of such a lodge for many a 
 year, and ah, how have we oh'd for it! 
 yea, as earnestly as did the sweet poet of 
 England ! Now we have such a lodge, and — we 
 owe for it still ! Yea, Horace, and of a verity, 
 'we sit to-day in our lodge, surrounded by such a 
 boundless contiguity of forest shadow as must throw 
 into the shade completely all wildernesses Mr. Cowper 
 could have imagined as surroundings for his camping-place 
 in his own little island. "Whether we are so secure in our 
 new and delightful retreat as that 
 
 "Rumor of oppression and deceit, 
 Of unsuccessful, or successful war," 
 
 will " never reach us more,"-remains to be seen ; but if such 
 rumors do reach us we shall not mind them much anyhow, 
 and to ensure immunity from cares of this kind we propose 
 to drop the newspapers. 
 
 "Am not I an ancient mariner," quoth the old Dominie, 
 caught, drunk, sailing down the Thames in a lighter, as the 
 amusing incident is narrated in that entertaining novel by 
 Captain Marryatt, Jacob Faithful. Are not we happy hus- 
 bandmen, destined soon to " sit under our own vine and fig- 
 tree", as it were? Have not the plantain and the knot- 
 grass already begun to grow about the doorway of our 
 farm-house? Have we not beaten the printing-press into 
 plowshares, and the shooting-stick into pruning-hooks, 
 figuratively speaking? And we love the art preservative 
 no more. And shall we not convert compositor into com- 
 
UP AT THE FARM. 157 
 
 post to fertilize, and the " devil " into swine to stock our 
 farm withal, if we keep on ? " Oh, Gimini ! but we are 
 in high spirits ! " exclaims Christopher North in his Recrea- 
 tions^ when speaking of the joys of the pedestrian. Yea, 
 Christopher, are we in high spirits here ; and, verily, " there 
 are delights which none but" husbandmen know. But, per- 
 haps, with us as in the case of the pedestrian (as our author 
 adds for a saving clause further down the page) "much — all 
 depends upon the character of the " husbandman ! 
 Horace, dear, you ought to be with us : 
 
 Here we have butter pure as virgin gold ; 
 And millc from cows that can a tail unfold 
 "With bovine pride; and new laid eggs whose praise 
 Is sung by pullets with their morning lays; 
 Trout (in a horn), good water from the well, 
 And other blessings more than tongue can tell !" 
 
 Yea, doth this land already flow with milk, and the honey 
 shall be forthcoming. 
 
 If thou wilt visit us here, thou shalt be treated according 
 to the verse of thy Eoman namesake : 
 
 "Here shall Pythagoric beans 
 With wholesome juice enrich thy veins; 
 And bacon, ham and savory pottage 
 Be served to you within our cottage." 
 
 "We are sitting by the sunset window, Horace, 
 penning this epistle to thee, and alternating the 
 delights of composition with those of contempla- 
 tion. 
 
 Abroad in the field the workmen are 
 piling the logs and brush into heaps, Hor- 
 ace, and applying the torch thereun- 
 to. The flames leap toward Heaven, 
 
 "Higher, higher, higher, 
 With a desperate desire," 
 And a resolute endeavor, 
 Now, now to sit or never 
 By th' side of the pale moon !" - 
 
158 WH FABM FOB FUN. 
 
 How beautiful a picture I and a type, Horace, of tlie ambi- 
 tious spirit of man ! 
 
 Eood by rood, Horace, we see our fields widening, and so 
 muck new space added to tlie productive area of tbe world — 
 so mucb. increment to tbe solid wealth of the nation ! 
 
 " Picture it, think of it, dissolute manl" 
 
 (Don't take tMs last expression to heart, Horace ; we meant 
 nothing personal, but could not afford to lose the quotation.) 
 
 Oh, 'tis pleasant to earn one's bread thus, Horace, by the 
 sweat of — " thy hired marHs browl'' — ^WeU, never mind that 
 part. Somehow our imported sentiment don't /a^/ in as weh 
 as usual to-day. 
 
 But who cares? One of the village neighbors dubs this 
 our "toy-farm". A pretty expensive toy it is likely to 
 prove I But who cares for that^ again ? "We must have our 
 little amusements — our recreations^ eh? and to parody 
 
 Burns : 
 
 "Some farm, (vain thought I) for needfu' cash; 
 Some farm, (as vain!) t' improve their Imsh; 
 Some to avoid the city's crash. 
 
 Or dodge a dun! 
 For us, — an aim we never fash, — 
 We farm for fun !" 
 
 The supper horn has blown, and the boys from the "log- 
 ging fallow " come trooping, bearing striking resemblance to a 
 " Blackening train o' craws to their repose." 
 
 To the complexion are they come of Ethiops, and when 
 they shall have washed, and like the old Baron's retainers, 
 "Thronged around the board", 
 
 you shall see, in your mind's eye, Horace, oh ! Horace, (a bad 
 one that!) a, work of destruction commence and continue that 
 .shall cause your "sensitive soul " to reflect on death's doings. 
 
"A LEAFY LUXURY.'^ 159 
 
 The long briglit day is over, Horace, and forms a portion 
 of the unrecallable past ! 
 
 "Well have they done their office, those bright hours. 
 The latest of whose train goes softly out 
 In the red west !"* 
 
 With yet unfinished letter we linger in the twilight by the 
 pleasant east window and gaze out, and gaze deep into the 
 •cavernous openings in the old woods, lighted up by the 
 flames in the fields. A weird sight it is I 
 
 Ah, Horace, how the poetry gushes into the soul of the 
 imaginative youth (like the undersigned) as he contemplates 
 the works of nature which surround a home like this ! 
 Environing our cot on every hand, stand the far-stretching 
 forests. It is the witching hour of even ; and oh, at such an 
 hour, Horace, 
 
 "In this new strange world, 
 How mysterious, how eternal seems 
 The mighty melancholy of the -woods! "f 
 
 Yea, Horace, these — 
 
 •*' These are the forests primeval, the murmuring pines and the hem- 
 locks. 
 Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight, 
 Stand like druids of eld, with voices sad and prophetic. 
 Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms.":]: 
 
 Horace, dost thou not envy us, that we are so agreeably 
 <3ircumstanced here, and have the heart to so enjoy itf Well 
 sang the sweet poet : 
 
 "I shall ever bless my destiny, 
 
 That in a time when under pleasant trees 
 
 Pan is no longer sought, I feel a free 
 A leafy luxury 1"§ 
 
 *Brtaiit. fMKS. Hemans. 
 :i:LoNGFELLOW: Evangeline. §KeatS. 
 
160 
 
 A SWEET DEE AM OF PEACE. 
 
 All, liow in contrast with tlie petty strifes and struggles of 
 tliat other phase of life we know would be a continuous exis- 
 tence here in the umbrageous shadow of these " druid oaks ", 
 
 branching elms — the bird-cathedrals of which Nature was 
 the architect — these hemlocks, and 
 
 "Pine-groves with their soft and soul-like sounds,"* 
 
 and sweet balsamic odors ! Perfect peace reigns hereabontj 
 
 and ever will ! 
 
 " How sacred and how innocent 
 A country life appears ! 
 How free from tumult, discontent, 
 From flattery, or fears 1 
 
 ' This was the first and happiest life 
 When man enjoyed himself, 
 Till pride exchang'd blest peace for strife, 
 And happiness for pelf ! 
 
 "Twas here the poets were inspired — 
 
 Hene taught the multitude; 
 The brave they here with honor fired, 
 
 And civilized the rude! "f 
 
 *COLERIDGE. f OaTHAEINE PhILLIPS. 
 
A SUDDEN ENDING. 161 
 
 How sensible wert thou, Horace, to again seek rural retire- 
 ment ! In the language of Hosea Biglow : 
 
 '•"Wliat man with man would push and altercate. 
 Piecing out crooked means for crooked ends, 
 When he can have the skies and woods for friends, 
 Snatch back the rudder of his dismantled fate. 
 And in himself be ruler, church and state? " 
 
 Oh, tliat I Lad tlie lyre of a Thompson, or a Street to give 
 expression to my full heart to-night, Horace ! 
 
 "What," you cry, "you a newspaper man of some seven 
 or eight years standing, and now need the aid of another 
 lyre ! Impossible ! " 
 
 Well if you are going to grow impudent at that rate, 
 Horace, I drop you forthwith ! Glood-bya 
 
 Subscribed and sworn to the day and year first above 
 written. Hez. 
 
 11 
 
MOTTOES FOR gHiPTER SI. 
 
 " You fe-wa tjae ext)ou§feed the gubjecfe. I never heard 
 ony question mair ably argued or) baith sides, — -wi' maip 
 caution, ar)d, at tl^e sarge time, -wi' rgair gagaweity; and 
 the cor)sequer)ce is, that, while you're baith ir) ttje richt, 
 aqd tjae acquitted yoursel's till adniiration, you hae baith 
 left it preceesely wl^ere it was afore eitbjer of you opened 
 his mouth. shepherd, in Nodes AmbrosiancB^lA 
 
 " Ye generous "Britons, venerate tlje plouglj '' 
 
 Thompson : Seasons. 
 
 Tom he wer)t a ploughjin', ar)d couldn't a plougVjed ill, 
 
 worse ; 
 fie sat dow^n on ttje bjandles, ar)d ■werjt to spinr)ig' verge; 
 f^e w^note it r)ice aqd pretty, 
 ^r) agricultural ditty, 
 ■©ut all his pegky measures didrj't ngeasure ag acre more, 
 J^or his p'ints didn't turg a furrow^ that wasn't turqed 
 be fore . " v/ili. Carlexon. 
 
 162 
 
CHAPTER XIL 
 
 Y good cousin, the 'Squire, 
 happened to call again at 
 the cottage while father's 
 visit still continued. The 
 everlasting topic came up 
 again, of course, for discus- 
 sion. This appeared to be 
 in accordance with the 
 wishes of both my guests, 
 and no one can truthfully 
 say that I was ever averse 
 to a resumption thereof. 
 The 'Squire had about 
 "made up his mind" to 
 quit the ranks of practical 
 farmers himself, and I began 
 now for the first time to suspect that it was for this reason — 
 which had probably existed for a period longer than any 
 except himself knew — ^that I had found in him so inveterate 
 an opponent of my own scheme. To be just to him, his con- 
 duct and conversation had been very consistent in this regard. 
 He had always considered farming a slow business, and had 
 usually been on the alert to discover an opening elsewhere 
 which would enable him to escape from the calling of his 
 -fathers. I found him still the steady adversary, ready to 
 
 163 
 
164 HE SHOULD HAVE BEEN HAPPY. 
 
 meet my arguments pro witii his contra, whether of argu- 
 ments, ridicule, or (what was really a portion of the latter 
 and worst of all) that terrible, discomfiting laugh. 
 
 I had had some discussions with my cousin relating to this 
 idiosyncrasy of his, years before He then owned the farm 
 which later he occupied, and, as he was at that time wont to 
 express it, seemed fated to gain a livelihood by tilling it. It 
 was a destiny that his mind rebelled against even then ; but 
 afterward he appeared to have settled down with his young 
 wife in his snug rural home, in a state that confessedly a 
 good deal resembled old-fashioned domestic bliss. He ought 
 to have been happy if ever man was. With a bright, affection- 
 ate helpmate, and, by and by, two lovely children, upon his 
 own fine and unincumbered domain, personal debts few or 
 none, everything actually needed in the way of house and 
 farm furniture and stock, at hand — why should he not have 
 been one of the happiest of mortals ? But that old serpent 
 — discontent — seems somehow to have been a pretty con- 
 stant visitant in this Eden, and that he was finally successful 
 in driving its rightful inhabitants thence will appear from a 
 letter — given in a later chapter of this work — written by me 
 to the 'Squire after the happening of that, to me, mournful 
 event. 
 
 My cousin was ambitious; he desired to make money 
 rapidly. Then, too, he longed for a livelier scene than that 
 he found in the country, and for other associations. He felt 
 that he possessed talents (hitherto folded in a napkin !) which 
 would enable him to " flourish hke a tree planted by the rivers 
 of water "* could he once get himself planted in congenial 
 soil 
 
 But a peculiarity in the position which my father here 
 assumed is worthy of mention. He looked very grave when- 
 ever he heard any intimation from my cousin that the latter 
 was about to desert his green nest in the country ; while, at 
 
 *PSALJIS, I, 3. 
 
WSr HE WAS NOT. 165 
 
 the same time, lie contended tliat the farm was no place for 
 ■me. The old 'Squire was by no means without sagacity. 
 He felt in his inmost heart that for the particular variety of 
 farm- work for which he had at one time pronounced me emi- 
 nently qualified, viz.: "holding down the top rail of the 
 fence," he, too, was peculiarly fitted both by nature and 
 inclination! and he applied to the question the old saw: 
 "What is sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander," herein 
 giving evidence of the possession of a logical mind. 
 
 Probably my kinsman was "sound on the goose question," 
 so far as his deductions of the character described were con- 
 cerned ; and, really, I am still of the opinion that those mat- 
 ters which took place during our youthful companionship, 
 from which experience it was my good cousin drew his 
 inference against my fitness for the farmer's lot, would, if the 
 "whole truth were known, tell rather more emphatically against 
 his own ; but I do not desire to press this point ; — it is not 
 only a delicate question, but one, at this distance, very hard 
 of solution. 
 
 This was the everlasting burden of my kinsman's song : 
 You think you will like it, but you will not You've got 
 to work hard to make it pay at all, — and then it won't ! It 
 is pretty enough picturing out green fields and whispering 
 ivoods, grapevines and fig leaves; but there are other things 
 upon the farm. There are such things as hot suns, and 
 sweat, and fatigue, and dust, and mud, and long hours, and 
 early risings, and failure of crops, losses, and crosses, and 
 disappointments! You can't sit around in the shade of a 
 tree or a roof, as you do in the newspaper business. You'll 
 have to work till your back aches, and your eyes are full of 
 grime, while your head throbs so that you would not be able 
 to tell the difference between Thompson's Seasons, and the 
 sublime verses in Thomson's arithmetic which recite, 
 "Thirty days hath September," etc. 
 
 ITay, the latter would be more in tune with your mood — 
 and tense ! — ^for the very question most agitating your mind 
 
166 AREANT NONSENSE. 
 
 miglit be the " getting in " of yonr winter wlieat in season. 
 Then there's the long winter — almost a dead loss to the. 
 farmer — ^yea, worse than a dead loss, in fact, for, according 
 to the old song, 
 
 " The winter consumes all tlie summer doth yield." 
 
 Then if yon add to all these a natural distaste on the part of 
 the farmer, for all the farmer's work, why, yon will see the 
 life can neither be a profitable nor a pleasant one. 
 
 This case of the 'Squire's might appear like a strong one 
 to a person at a distance, who had always been at a distance, 
 from the profession sought to be characterized in the above 
 random sentences ; but you and I, dear reader, well know 
 that this tirade is, for the most part, arrant nonsense, and that 
 it would be easy in like manner to vilify any business or 
 profession. I simply inquire here if there be any sort of 
 work by which mortal man wins his daily bread that has not 
 its unpleasant features — its arduous duties? I know of 
 none. You remember the reply of the Eev. Henry Ward 
 Beecher to the young gentleman who wrote desiring to have 
 kindly pointed out to himself a life-work that would be at 
 once respectable, remunerative and easy. Said Mr. Beecher 
 to him, substantially: "Don't try the law. Keep out of 
 journalism. Avoid mercantile pursuits. Don't take up the^ 
 practice of medicine. Don't become a farmer. Beware of 
 the ministry. Don't learn any of the mechanical trades.'' 
 
 And the conclusion of the great preacher's epistle was as. 
 follows: 
 
 " Ah, my honest young friend, this is a hard old world we 
 have got into ! There is but one easy place in it, and that's 
 the grave !"* 
 
 *The author read the letter referred to, and the reply, in the New York 
 Ledger, I think, a good many years ago. In a certain Ohio town, a few 
 weeks since, a middle aged man was pointed out to me as the identical 
 person who addressed the letter to Mr. Beecher. The case it seemed 
 was notorious in the town in which the young man dwelt at the time he 
 wrote and received the reply, as above noted. 
 
DISCUSSIOJSr FOUND UNPROFITABLE — A POEM. 167 
 
 For tlie other part, I believe tliat a person can develop a 
 liking, or a disrelisli, according to tlie direction in wMcb. lie 
 exerts himself, for any honorable business whatever, that is 
 fairly remunerative and which, at the same time, is calculated 
 to afford a reasonable opportunity for the development of the 
 intellectual faculties. 
 
 But it will be clear, from the above, that my good cousin 
 and myself were, if anything different, further apart in our 
 views of this all-important matter, than ever. Tiring at 
 length of the hopeless argument, my father recalled my 
 promise made on the occasion of the 'Squire's previous visit 
 that I would read an original poem connected with the 
 subject that had engrossed our attention then, as well as at 
 this time, and requested a fulfillment thereof. My cousin 
 "seconded the motion ", and, it being carried nejn. con.^ I pro- 
 duced a roll of manuscript and read to very well-behaved 
 and attentive listeners, the following lengthy effusion, which 
 I had entitled : 
 
 THE POETICAL FARMER AND HIS PRACTICAL FOREMAN"; 
 OR HOW I HELD THE PLOW. 
 
 To-day I mean to spend my leisure 
 
 Where rural features charm, 
 And find, like Eoman Horace, pleasure 
 
 Upon my " Sabine Farm ;" 
 
 Or, like our own white-coated Eoman, — 
 
 The noblest of 'em all ! — 
 "Who bore like name, and whose farm no man 
 
 Him grudged, and which they call 
 
 Chappaqua ; this time, too, 'tis business^ — 
 
 And plowing I will go ; 
 'Tis good, 'tis said, for spleen and dizziness, 
 
 By those who ought to know ! 
 
168 I RESOLVH TO BEGIN FLOWING. 
 
 Too long have I sucli toil neglected, 
 
 And felt dyspepsia's curse ; 
 Likewise my sloth may haye affected 
 
 InJTirionsly my purse ! 
 
 Yea, "lie that by the plow would thrive," 
 (You know the ancient drivel !) 
 
 " Himself must either hold or drive !" 
 But Richard's head was level ! 
 
 I've quite made up my mind at length 
 
 To take th' implied advice ; 
 'Twill give my limbs prodigious strength, — 
 
 And plowing, too, is " nice I" 
 
 At least that's what Delphine allowed, 
 
 The other day in town, 
 And promised some day when I plowed 
 
 She'd certainly " come down." 
 
 And Thoreau somewhere takes the stand 
 
 That 'tis a noble toil, — 
 " Grave oxen for companions," and 
 
 "Material the soil!" 
 
 Delphine, you know, an heiress is, — 
 A merchant prince's daughter, — 
 
 Late all the way from Paris is : 
 
 What she donH know she'd oughter! 
 
 She's read the classics through and through, 
 (Our tastes do near relate us !) 
 
 She says my rustic habits do 
 Eecall areat Cincinnatus ! 
 
THD ANCIENTS PRAISED THE WORK. 169 
 
 Oft lavisUy to me slie's praised 
 
 Lucullus, Yirgil, Cato; — 
 They plowed, she says, and mTich cane raised, 
 
 And many a sweet potato ! 
 
 And Pliny writes, and Cicero, 
 
 And other Roman sages, 
 Extolling "following the plow," 
 
 Full many a hundred pages ! 
 
 Good old Greek Hesiod is another: 
 
 In Works and Days he's showing 
 Unto his idle, thriftless brother 
 
 "What worthy work is plowing I 
 
 There's General Xenophon, who thought 
 
 This best of any basis 
 To build for health and wealth on !— caught, 
 
 At eighty, plowing races ! 
 
 Xen. was a Greek ; but still had wit; 
 
 Then there was Columella, 
 Glozed plowing up in Latin, yet 
 
 Was qnite a " hkely feUah " I* 
 
 These writers, true, were heathens all ; 
 
 But when it comes to " culture," 
 They drive us modems to the wall, — 
 
 The eagle to the vulture ! 
 
 The simile is not first class, — 
 
 I mean, however, that 
 These Greek and Roman boys must pass 
 
 For knowing "what is what!" 
 
 *A New EnglandisDL 
 
170 ANCIENT DEITIES AND RITES. 
 
 But ImsbarLdmen Lad anciently 
 
 To lielp 'em, gods and goddesses, — 
 
 A multitude !* Old Hesiod see, 
 And th' Iliads and Odyssey s. 
 
 Grave sacrifices tlien were made 
 
 By rustics to their deities ; 
 And every pond and every glade 
 
 At least had two or three o' these ! 
 
 Exact in all these pious rites 
 
 Was farmer-bard TibuUus,'}' 
 Who plowed all day and rhymed o' nights,- 
 
 Or else the hist'ries "gull " us ! 
 
 But why now quote the Roman, Greek, 
 
 Or Macedonian sages. 
 While our art's praise so nobly speak 
 
 The Emersonian pages ? 
 
 Is't not enough that Washington 
 And Jefferson commend it? 
 
 And Horace Greeley thought it fun ; — X 
 That surely ought to end it ! 
 
 *As early as Hesiod's days there were 30,000 deities. Works and 
 Days, lib. I, v. 250. But the tasks to be performed by these seem still 
 too great for their number. The provinces of the deities were so sub- 
 divided, that there was even a god of Sneezing. Arist. ProU. , % 33, 
 cap. 7. See also Hume's Essay on Natural History of Religion, § 2. 
 
 •f-His biographers inform us also of the priapus, or scarecrow, set up 
 in his fields by this gentle poet-farmer. 
 
 ^Following IS the dedication of Greeley's What I Know of Farming: 
 "To the man of our age who shall make the first plow propelled by 
 Steam, or other mechanical power, whereby not less than ten acres per 
 day shall be thoroughly pulverized to a depth of two feet, at a cost of 
 not more than two dollars per acre, this work is admiringly dedicated 
 by the Author." 
 
HITCHING ON. l7l 
 
 The doubt, I mean, and all discussion, — 
 
 Not end all plowing, surely ! 
 So whetlier now or not I push on 
 
 Depends on liking purely. 
 
 Then, General, harness up the cattle, — 
 The huge, the broad-horned, awkward. 
 
 Strong brutes ! I mean to try their mettle ; 
 Don't yoke 'em front-side backward, 
 
 Nor upside down ; no tricks now please, — 
 
 Downright and perpendicular ! 
 Fetch chain, and bolt, and clevises : 
 
 I may appear particular, 
 
 Just at the start, and somewhat nervous. 
 
 Don't let it prove contagious. 
 Shake hands, old Plow ! an you will serve us 
 
 We'll soon move like old stagers ! 
 
 For grand display there's now a passion 
 
 In Yankee, or Canadian, 
 "Who farms ; reverse with me's the fashion : 
 
 Simplicity Arcadian ! 
 
 The favorite team before the plow, 
 
 American or European,* 
 Is always steam or horses now ; 
 
 But th" ox-team's more Utopian. f 
 
 *European — " This word, according to the analogy of our own lan- 
 guage ought certainly to have the accent on the second syllable; and 
 this is the pronounciation which unlettered speakers constantly adopt; 
 but the learned, ashamed of the analogies of their own tongue, always 
 place the accent on the third syllable, because Europeus has the penulti- 
 mate long, and is therefore accented in Latin." — Walker. 
 
 fBut few horses were reared in Utopia, and those only for exercising 
 the youth in the act of equestrianism. "For they do not put them to 
 any work eitlier of plowing or carriage, for which they employ oxen: 
 beca'jse thninrh their horses are stronger, yet they find oxen can hold 
 out longer.'' — TJtop., Chap. I. 
 
172 MAKING READY FOR A START. 
 
 Now, General, manage / this tillage ; 
 
 You I'll not need at all tlie day ; 
 Hitch up the gray, drive to the village, 
 
 And spend a jovial holiday. 
 
 You've labored hard through many a week, 
 
 And need the recreation ; 
 Tell all my friends with whom you speak 
 
 I'm plowing ! Shun temptation ! 
 
 Ho ! General, ho ! one moment wait : — 
 
 How call you these huge cattle ? 
 " The nigh one Bill ; the off ox Bright." 
 
 That's all Now for the battle ! 
 
 Ill here proceed to draw a furrow. 
 
 The beauty and precision 
 Of which would charm the heart of Thoreau, 
 
 Or th' emp'ror Diocletian ! 
 
 Back, Bright ! haw. Bill ! haw, haw. Bill ! Whoa ! 
 
 "Why, William ! you've forgotten 
 Which way haw is ; or / have. Ho ! 
 
 (Confound a memory rotten !) 
 
 Ho ! General, ho 1 good General ! say, 
 
 Which way is haw, — toward Bright there ? 
 
 "Nay, that is gee; 'tis t'other way," 
 The leftl Then Bill was right there. 
 
 And / was left (that's slang ). Now, giants. 
 
 Let's start 'er going : ea-sy ! 
 We'll soon bid obstacles defiance, 
 
 And slide along so — greasy ! 
 
sow SHE 310 VES OFF. 
 
 173 
 
 Now Briglit, boy, keep tlie furrow true ! 
 
 Sir "William I step up nert;y/ 
 The whole of this green turf must you 
 
 To-day turn topsy-turvy I 
 
 How smooth she glides ! How fine it turns ! 
 
 Prince, proud as Esterhazy I 
 Thus gallantly moved Bobbie Burns 
 
 That day he crushed the daisy !* 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 *" I thought 
 Of him who walked in glory and in joy, 
 Following his plow along the mountain side. 
 
 WOKDSWORTH. 
 
174 A CRASH. 
 
 I'm glad I'll meet no daisies liere ; 
 
 'Twould wound my sensibilities 
 To treat the flower to poets dear 
 
 "With wretched incivilities ! 
 
 Come, "William, faster move those shoes ; 
 
 And likewise, yon, your Brightness ; 
 (I find it not amiss to use 
 
 At all times great politeness I) 
 
 Ah, how such manly exercise 
 
 My every fiber thrills ! 
 Ye smiling fields, with me rejoice [ 
 
 And leap ye little hills I 
 
 Yon blue-bird sings a psalm of joy ; 
 
 I scent the fragrant mould ; 
 Soul-filling bliss like this, my boy, 
 
 Is better than fine gold ! 
 
 Aye, this sweet rural life for me I 
 Haw Bright ! that's right, — a trump I 
 
 Now gee, Bill, gee ! why, can't you see? 
 Gee, Bill ! we'll strike that stump ! 
 
 Crash I Whoa ! Oh, halt I for Heaven's sake I 
 
 What fearful fate has met us ? 
 My ribs ! my limbs ! the plow a- wreck ! 
 
 My eyes ! Great Cincinnatus ! 
 
 Ho ! General, come and lend your aid ; 
 
 I'm glad you kindly tarried ; 
 What was it that explosion made 
 
 Which us to ruin humed? 
 
HOW IT ENDED. 175 
 
 Can anything that's whole be found? 
 
 Anght saved of any value ? 
 'T was a torpedo underground, 
 
 Or lightning stroke, I tell you ! 
 
 What, laughing ! " Nothing cracked !" Dred Scott ! 
 
 Dread Jupiter and Juno ! 
 That shows how little sense you've got ! 
 
 Fm ruined at least, as you know ! 
 
 But — ^I can stand ! — ^yea, move ! — and go ! 
 
 But friend how near the sky was, 
 When I went up, you'll never know 
 
 Till you've been hurled as I was. 
 
 Kay, furthermore, how hard the ground 
 
 When I, at length returning, 
 Struck earth ! I heard a booming sound, 
 
 And all the stars were burning ! 
 
 What was it, then, the plowshare caught? 
 
 " It plainly lies revealed here ;" 
 A pine snag ! Well, I never thought 
 
 Such danger was concealed here ! 
 
 Dear General, if you do not care 
 
 About the holiday, 
 I'H let you plow a little here. 
 
 And I will drive the gray ! 
 
 When I had concluded, I looked up. 
 "Pretty good," commented my father, quite coolly. 
 " Umph !" growled he of the bald-head, scowling. 
 "Who's Delphine?" queried Malvina with some show of 
 interest. 
 
176 S03IE COMMENTS. 
 
 "Do you know wliat that reminds me of?" demanded the 
 ancient J. P. 
 
 During tlie pause wliicli followed this last, I found time 
 to answer one question and ask another, as follows : 
 "No; what?" 
 
 "Why," resumed "his honor," "you remember the old 
 story, don't you, about a member of the Connecticut legis- 
 lature (I guess it was Connecticut), who, when some bill was 
 up for consideration before the Haouse^ made a long, ram- 
 bling speech, chock full of quotations from the classics, and 
 coming but little nearer home, or the matter in hand. After 
 he had concluded, a little gentleman on the other side • 
 sprang up and said : ' Mr. Speaker, the honorable member 
 has doubtless made a fine speech. I followed him while he 
 roamed with Eomulus, soaked with Socrates, ripped with 
 Euripides, and canted with old Cantharides. But what, 
 may I ask, has all this to do with the laws of Connecticut ?' " 
 
 The 'Squire paused out of breath, and leered about him ^ 
 like one who is fully j^ersuaded in his own mind that he has 
 made a " hit." " Well," I said, " what is the application ?" 
 
 "Why," spoke my cousin, "I should like to know what 
 bearing those verses have, with all that array of heathenish 
 names, upon the question at issue I" 
 
 " So should I," cried my father. 
 
 "And I," I added. 
 
 " What's that Shakespeare has to say about the poet's eye 
 rolling in a frenzy," the 'Squire asked, after a little pause. 
 
 " Why," I answered, " he says : 
 
 ' The poet (that's I) in a fine frenzy rolling, 
 
 Doth glance from earth to heaven, and back again,' 
 
 or something like that." 
 
 " Who's Delphine ?" asked Malvina, in tone and manner 
 kindly but firm. 
 
TE OWLE. 
 
 Ill 
 
 /.^/X 
 
 •Ji-S-hucQi 
 
 NoTH.— In a former chapter (viz. VII.) I inadvertently uttered a word wMeh, as I reflec: 
 on the subject, I deem might be construed by the reader as a half promise, at least, that I 
 would afford him an opportunity to judge of my celebrated owl-portraits. Obligations of this 
 sort left unfulfilled weigh upon my conscience. These considerations, and no foolish vanity on 
 account of any skill in limning which I may, or may suppose myself to possess, are the occasioji 
 of all that you see upon this page. 
 
 The above ia an owl; and a pretty good owl, too,— considering. The owl is quite as difficult 
 a bird to draw, as to draw out. The fine points of his body do not always show well in a picture, 
 any more than the fine points of his character in a "mixed company " composed of his feath- 
 ered neighbors of the forest. In this case the a rtist has doubtless made the very most of the 
 best matters, viz: the eyes and ears,— nay, if in anything we diflier, I think I may fairly claim 
 that in the representation of these organs in this instance art has improved upon nature itself. 
 12 
 
MOTTOES FOR gSiPTER EII. 
 
 fie rode a Ijopge blrjat -would hjave flowg, 
 ^ub tbjat his heavy rider held him down " 
 Tbnntson. 
 
 "'©UP apn^ies gwope fceppibly iq Flaqders ', cpied njy 
 y.ncle Toby, 'but r)ofeh)ir)g 60 tbjis.'" 
 
 Tristram Shandy, Vol. Ill, Chap, XI. 
 
 "A ^ood rr)outh-fiIlir)g oath ! " 
 
 Shakespeare: Henry IV. 
 
 178 
 
CHAPTEE YTTT, 
 
 |]Sr the curious chapter upon wMcli 
 we are now entering, I sliall venture' 
 to relate in my own way some little 
 anecdotes, to note divers trifling 
 incidents connected with the farm, 
 and to comment thereon. 
 
 In my own way, I say, and 
 repeat. In all my career in this 
 field hitherto, have I too carefully 
 observed the temper of my reader's 
 mmd, and too sedulously trimmed 
 my mood and timed the paces of 
 my Pegasus to suit that temper. I 
 deem it no more than just that I 
 should have one chapter of my own, 
 — one in which I may allow the 
 "winged steed" I bestride- to cur- 
 vet about in his wildest and most 
 natural manner, wherein, to my mind, he not only displays 
 himself to the best advantage, but, at the same time, most 
 enjoys himself, while he affords me the liveliest and most 
 agreeable exercise. But lest I be misapprehended at the out- 
 set, I hasten to say that at his wildest gait the steed afore- 
 mentioned is not a " fast " nag, — no 2:10 affair, that sweeps the 
 stakes at the sessions of the national, or international, horse 
 association ; but a plain, honest- trotting, farmer's pony, with a 
 flash of fire in his kindly-humorous " off-eye," with shaggy 
 unkempt mane and tail, clean limbs and powerful " wind " 
 
 179 
 
180 FIGURATIVELY SPEAKING 
 
 apparatus, and, witlial, prompt and true. As to liis "style", I 
 sHould say it is rather modest than majestic, or showy. The 
 wings, of which some intimation has above been given, in my 
 " Peggy " occupy the position upon Ihe body of the beast usu- 
 ally assigned to the ears. This serves to give the amiable ani- 
 mal, from certain points of view, some slight resemblance to 
 a hybrid quadruped not to be named in the same paragraph, 
 and has led to sundry and divers aspersions upon his master. 
 Stupid my steed is not, nor stubborn; nor, unless mightily 
 provoked, is he in the least inclined to kick ! When pricked 
 to desperation, however, he rests on his forehead, and with 
 flaming eyes, smoking nostrils, and mane and tail like two 
 black clouds streaming on the wind, strikes out with all his 
 four strong limbs vehemently and in every direction, and 
 woe to the unlucky wight who ventures within range of his 
 terrible hoofs ! 
 
 All of the above is figurative, and contains precisely the 
 amount of meaning you may choose to impute to it It is 
 just as significant and sensible as is somectwo-thirds or three- 
 fourths of the romantic poetry of ancient Greece or Eome, or 
 of that class of English verse represented by the Fairy Queen^ 
 and difl!ers not in kind from such compositons as Goethe's 
 Faust and Bailey's Festus. It is all right ; 'tis fine writing — 
 fine figurative writing! Plain people (like you and me, 
 reader,) may not understand it ; but the poets will, and — we 
 must endeavor to look as though we did. 
 
 I remember, and shall never forget, that bright day in 
 October, when, in company with my friend and hireling, 
 Charles, the surveyor, I first inspected that tract of land 
 which forms the major portion of what is' now Oakfield's 
 Farm. We began by finding (no easy task) the " corner " 
 upon the township line where met and meets the southern 
 boundary lines of sections numbered thirty-three and thirty- 
 four, of township number fifteen north, of range number two 
 east. Thence we proceeded to trace the township line west^ 
 
TOPOGRAPHICAL. 181 
 
 'ward one-lialf mile, to a stake tliat Charley called a " quar- 
 ter post," wliicli we were greatly gratified to find in a good 
 state of preservation. This was the corner of the territory, 
 Tiz: the west half of section thirty-three, which we had 
 come to survey. The "quarter line" leading toward the 
 north was followed some distance, and retraced to the quar- 
 ter post ; we then followed the township line westward some 
 ■eighty perches, over a sandy ridge, and through the tangled 
 brushwood of the bottom land, when we left the line and 
 plunged boldly (that's a good expression, and an authorized : 
 I felt serene, and Charles looked like a chubby lion !) into 
 the trackless forest, and pursued our way to the northward. 
 "We had traversed a region where the soil was sandy, the 
 surface now a ridge, and now a dry swale with a growth of 
 coarse grass and flags, whereon the remaining timber (the 
 greater portion had been taken off by the lumbermen) was 
 pine, hemlock, poplar white-birch, eta, and mostly dead — 
 killed by the great fire of 1871 — a distance of someone 
 hundred and forty perches, when we ascended a ridge higher 
 than any previous one, crossed it, dived down its steep 
 northern side (here it was of the character of a bank) and 
 found ourselves upon beautiful flats covered, for the most 
 part, with a growth of fine deciduous trees. A few yards 
 further and we came to a spot where two ancient lumber- 
 roads crossed, and where there was an open space. The 
 ground in this opening was covered with a dense growth of 
 grass upon which some rays of the bright sun were now 
 falling. Taken with its surroundings of graceful overhang- 
 ing elms and maples, and in contrast with the dreary region 
 just crossed, this impressed itself upon me as the most beau- 
 tiful and delightful spot I had ever beheld : 
 
 "A sweeter sod 
 Than fancy's feet had ever trod ! " 
 
 and greatly amused was my companion at my extravagant 
 demonstrations of satisfaction. He remembers it to this day. 
 
182 
 
 A NOOK — A MAPLE TREE. 
 
 I threw m_yself upon the sward, cropped 
 
 close by wandering cattle or deer, and 
 
 would not budge for a good half hour, 
 
 'although it was growing late and we still had 
 
 'much work to do. 
 
 A nook within the forest ; overhead 
 
 The branches arch, and form a pleasant bower, 
 
 Breaking white clouds, blue sky, and sunshine bright 
 
 Into pure ivory and sapphire spots. 
 
 And flecks of gold; a soft, cool, emerald tint 
 
 Colors the air, as though the delicate leaves 
 
 Emitted self -born light."* 
 
 The spot which I thought so lovely in a state of nature^ 
 now denuded of its native adornments, lies not ten yards 
 north-easterly from the farm house. 
 
 Leaving that point we proceeded in a north-westerly direc- 
 tion, following one of the old roads, a distance of eighty 
 perches or so. I remember well when we came to a certaiu 
 fine, young maple tree growing by the side of this 
 road. I walked up to it, patted it, and gravely 
 informed my companion that I should preserve 
 'that tree for shade. It still flourishes — some two 
 hundred yards north-westerly from the farm barn. 
 Then we went northward upon the flats. 
 .Hundreds and hundreds of small white-oak 
 trees did we pass among, and the farm 
 was christened forthwith ! I was in rapt- 
 ures. I have ever possessed an 
 enthusiastic love for the oak, and 
 its presence here was a com- 
 plete surprise to me. I was 
 )im^,,AV,„i,i. /, disappointed(how 
 jV I -^^^s mi^^s^i^ M^^^^^^- agreeabl V the rea- 
 
 '^^ih^fF^^iaS^^^Si^^ ^^^ ^^^^^" der shall judge !) 
 
 ^w-£. '^■"""sjr^^ 
 
 'Strekl 
 
MY OAKS. 183 
 
 in the character of the soil here. Ever after we had left the steep 
 ridge, before spoken of, our feet had been pressing upon naught 
 but the very choicest agricultural ground. The timber was 
 green, where timber there was; but there were large open 
 spaces on the lower tracts where grew few woody plants and 
 little except luxuriant grasses, herbs of sweet odor, the tall 
 golden-rod, and showy queen of the meadow. I repeated a 
 hundred times : " Why I would not believe there were such 
 land here if I did not see it with my own eyes ! " My com- 
 panion was equally surprised, or, at least, suflSciently kind to 
 appear so. 
 
 But those oak trees ! 
 
 Bears, dozens of 'em, as I should guess, had been gathering 
 acorns here, and so fresh were the " signs " that it seemed as 
 if we might run upon some of the creatures at any moment, 
 — but I had scarcely a thought of this. Those darling oaks 
 occupied my mind to the exclusion of almost everything else ! 
 Purchase that land ! Of course I would ! and I remember 
 that I even had misgivings lest some one should see the owner 
 ere I could reach the town, and under-mine me ! Thoreau 
 somewhere says : "I could not find it in my heart to chide 
 the man who should ruin himself to buy a patch of well- 
 timbered oak-land ! " He understood the feeling, as you wiU 
 perceive. 
 
 Well, we tramped and tramped that day. 
 
 " You ask what guide 
 Us through the trackless thickets led. 
 Through thick-stemmed woodlands, rough and wide ^ 
 We found the water bed. 
 The water-courses were our guide; 
 We traveled, grateful, by their side, 
 Or through their channels dry; 
 They led us through the thicket damp, 
 Through brake, and fen, and beaver camp."* 
 
 *Emerson: Woodnotes. 
 
184 ANOTHER SURVEY. 
 
 I was in a daze, and forgot to grow fatigued. My long 
 
 dream had begun ! I liad met my fate in that piece of wild 
 
 forest-land ! and all the succeeding night, and during many 
 
 and many a night since, were, and have been, my sleeping 
 
 hours crowded with visions, and my visions filled with it ! It 
 
 is unnecessary to say that nobody " under-mined " me in the 
 
 matter of the negotiation for the purchase of the tract. An 
 
 inscrutable Providence for once permitted me to have my 
 
 own way, — perchance as a punishment for my many sins : 
 
 who knoweth? 
 
 * * * * 
 
 My friend Charles, the surveyor, was with me and rendered 
 me professional service upon my land on two or three occa- 
 sions of later dates. Upon one of these an incident occurred 
 which made an impression upon my mind which a thousand 
 years, should I live so long, would not efface! This was 
 after I had purchased the eighty-acre lot which lies upon the 
 east half of my section, and which is now known as the " east 
 eighty " of the farm. 
 
 That day we were engaged, with a competent crew of men, 
 armed with compass, tripod, chain, pins, axes, staff, etc., 
 in "running" the northern boundary-line of the above- 
 mentioned lot. We had proceeded to a point distant from 
 the state-road some twenty chains, and were in the midst of 
 a vast " tangle ", consisting of wind-fallen trees, the brush and 
 limbs of which were matted with poplars anji briars in dense 
 thickets, which had grown up among them. We had come 
 to a halt. I had climbed to the summit of a huge pine root, 
 up-turned there by the force of the wind, — the cruel tempest ! 
 which had overthrown the monarch of the forest this root had 
 supported during those long, long years consumed in striving 
 for that proud eminence among the trees he had at length 
 attained — during all his green centuries — and until this last 
 burst of elemental fury had torn his mighty foot from its set- 
 ting deep in earth where its growth had been perfected ! I was 
 
A SUDDEN FALL. 185 
 
 elevated some fifteen feet above the ground, and was peering 
 through the dense undergrowth awaj in advance of us, in an 
 endeavor to discover our little clearing farther to the west- 
 ward. Charles stood upon a log below me, engaged in 
 scratching a match upon the ampler portions of his corduroy 
 pantaloons, preparatory to lighting his pipe. The boys were 
 lounging upon logs and knolls round about us, and were 
 passing desultory and pleasant remarks, when, without any 
 warning, our surveyor's foot slipped, as a piece of treacherous 
 bark gave way under it, and our surveyor's plump form came 
 down with the " dull thud " of the reportorial corps, so that, 
 whereas he had been standing upon, he was now sitting astride 
 ■of a hemlock log. No one smiled: all looked concerned. 
 Oharles slowly arose, — put his hand behind him, — drew it 
 back, — looked at it : it was stained with blood ! A short 
 but sharp and vicious knot was upon that log, and it had 
 mangled his flesh. A spasm of pain contorted the surveyor's 
 features, he raised his hand aloft, clenched it, and swore this 
 awful oath : 
 
 "By — !" 
 
 But wait one moment. Ere I write down the oath to 
 which that unregenerate man did then and there give utter- 
 ance, I desire a little more fully to describe the scene and 
 the actors, that it may all strike you, my reader, even as it 
 struck me, perched in my " coign of vantage " upon that 
 lofty pine root. 
 
 Charles was (and is) a man about five feet, five and one- 
 half inches in height. His form is of the roly-poly variety. 
 His visage is rubicund, and save when distorted by passion, 
 as of laughter, or by pain, as at the moment I now describe, 
 it generally wears an expression that betokens a kind heart 
 and a conscience void of offense. He stood now, his feet 
 planted upon the log, his form erect, stomach protruding, 
 lips white and trembling, eyes bloodshot, and that terribly 
 significant clenched right hand swung aloft in the air, as he 
 
186 THE ATTITUDE OF THE BOYS. 
 
 Tittered what some of his listeners, as they afterward freely 
 declared, were from the very first prepared to believe would 
 prove a most terrible imprecation. He opened his mouth 
 and it came forth : 
 
 "By — !" 
 
 But one thing more ; — the attitude of the boys. They 
 had all been lounging listlessly enough about there in the 
 brush, but sufficiently near to observe without difficulty all 
 that occurred, and to hear all that was said. When the 
 poor surveyor first slipped and fell they had all seemed to- 
 feel alarm lest he should have sustained serious injuries. 
 "When he arose, therefore, and they perceived his pallor, 
 and more particularly when, upon his holding aloft a gory 
 hand, they realized that he had been wounded, their visages; 
 elongated perceptibly, and it could be seen that they held 
 in their breaths with suspense, and felt much apprehension. 
 And when the injured man had assumed the dramatic atti- 
 tude I have described, — his third position upon the log, I 
 may properly denominate it, — their emotion, as was patent, 
 had deepened by many degrees in intensity. But when my 
 stricken friend Charles had begun to utter that fearful, that 
 awful malediction, why the flutter of an aspen-leaf to the 
 ground, there in that grove of aspens, so painfully still was 
 it — so marked, so terrible the calm — would have been a 
 noticeable event. It did not occur, — for my eyes were 
 gifted with preternatural clearness and nervous quickness 
 during that interval, and it really appeared as if nature had 
 paused in her work and sympathized with us in our sus- 
 pense, which seemed age-lasting. I recollect perfectly every 
 feature of the surrounding landscape, — it has been stamped 
 indelibly upon my mind! From my exalted position I 
 commanded an extensive view around. I see at this 
 moment the huge prostrate bole of that pine on the 
 up-turned root of which I stood ; I see the barkless, but knot- 
 infested trunk of the treacherous tree upon which stood, like 
 
THE SCENEBY. 187 
 
 the great General Scott, when, upon a certain historical 
 occasion, he delivered a telling speech, the ill-fated man of the 
 compass ; I see the tall, spire-like bodies of the numerous dead 
 and dying pines ; I see the sympathetic faces of the boys, 
 who, amid the lopped bushes, sat or reclined about; I see 
 even the surveyor's shattered pipe, the fragm.ents whereof 
 strewed the ground under the fatal log. The sun was about 
 half-way down the west, and shone brightly from a sky of 
 purest blue. The long shadows of the tall pines were 
 momentarily lengthening, (as a matter of course, — but, as 
 another matter of course, this I could not perceive), and not 
 a zephyr stirred the foliage about us. A solitary raven, 
 with hungry beak, and "countenance solemnly-sad", was 
 curiously but silently regarding our little group from his. 
 elevated perch in a blasted black-ash tree. 
 
 " And his eyes had all the seeming 
 Of a demon's that is dreaming, — 
 And the suqlight o'er him streaming 
 Threw his shadow " 
 
 athwart the space between Charles and myself. I observed 
 my friend's lips tremble, and his eyes grow blood-shot, while 
 cheek and brow became livid. His whole frame appeared to 
 quiver with his great agony. It had been enough, as a rea- 
 sonable person would allow, to stir the passions of a choleric 
 man to an extent even to excuse a mild ejaculation of pro- 
 fanity, and from many men similarily tempted I should 
 have expected something of the sort, and should have allowed 
 it to pass uncensured, and unnoticed. But not from my 
 friend Charles ! and certainly not such an utterance as this 
 did I expect ! But it came : 
 
 "By—!" 
 
 I should say right here, however, that after my friend had 
 elevated his hand, or, to speak more exactly, for it was 
 doubled ere it had reached that altitude, his^s^, to about the 
 level of his shoulder, I had begun to anticipate some forcible 
 
188 SUSPENSE. 
 
 remarks from him. "When the hand continued to rise I had 
 feared that possibly the emphasis he would give his next 
 observation might be of a slightly profane character ; but even 
 when he had extended his menacing arm to its extreme 
 length zenith-ward, the fingers thereof still clenched, yea, 
 moreover, when he had shaken that elevated fist a little, 
 I had not for a moment begun to dream of the form his 
 utterance was going to assuma 
 
 " I would not seem presuming, yet have I 
 Mingled a little in this earnest world, 
 And staked upon its chances, and have learned 
 Truths that I never gathered at my books."* 
 
 I have heard, among sailors, soldiers, lumbermen and 
 street-arabs, what may with every propriety be denominated 
 hard swearing. But never elsewhere on similar provocation 
 had I, nor have I since, heard such language used as I heard 
 uttered here and now ; 
 
 "By-!" 
 
 But just one little word more by way of self -Justification : 
 or, parliamentanly speaking, I rise to a question of privilege. 
 It may appear to the reader that upon the occasion in ques- 
 tion the writer was guilty of an unpardonable neglect of obvi- 
 ous duty in not interfering in some way co prevent this 
 exhibition of terrible profanity. " There were young men in 
 your crew, — some mere boys, — and such example set them 
 could not but tend to their demoralization. The surveyor 
 was your friend" — you charge — "these persons were all 
 at work for you ; it was certainly your duty to interpose and 
 if possible forestall the blasphemous utterances of the injured 
 man, now, confessedly, from the intolerable anguish he was 
 suffering, quite irresponsible — nay, but little removed from 
 maniacy." But I had little time; and had the interval been 
 ample therefor, I was in such a peculiar mental state, — one 
 
 *WlLLIS. 
 
THAT TEBRIBLE OATH. 189 
 
 nearly resembling fascination — that condition into wliich. 
 fall tlie victims of tliose snakes which, possess the power of 
 charming, — that I was totally deprived of the ability to 
 speak or move. It had to come, and come it did : 
 
 " By — Cotton ! " 
 
 There ! 
 
 It's out ! 
 
 But what shall I say as to its effect ! I know ; I'll quote 
 a bit of poetry : 
 
 " Then for a little moment all people held their breath. 
 And in that crowded forum was stillness as of death; 
 But in another moment burst forth from one and all, 
 A cry as if the Volscians were coming o'er the wall ! "* 
 
 This is a pretty fair description of what occurred there just 
 after ihoX fearful oath had issued from the pale and tremblmg 
 lips of the sufferer ! For a moment the boys seemed thunder- 
 stricken, and not able to believe they had heard aright ; the 
 next instant a sound " like the voice of many waters, "regular, 
 square-built Minnehahas, roused the echoes of those old 
 woods as they had seldom been roused before, and — I record 
 It as a historical fact — my friend Charley, though really suf- 
 fering acutely, actually joined in the merriment ! 
 
 If the poor fellow had been staggering to his final fall 
 when he uttered that oath, I should have been obliged to 
 laugh. As it transpired it added, I think, at least a year to 
 my life ; though it threatened to end it instantaneously, by 
 precipitating me from my high pedestal to earth, so thoroughly 
 was I mastered ! 
 
 The wound my friend had received was attended to, and 
 found, though painful, not at all serious. Charley good- 
 humoredly allowed us to make all the sport out of the affair 
 we were able, and proudly received our congratulations upon 
 his admirable self-control under prodigious stress. 
 
 *Macaulay: Virginius. 
 
190 BOW RECORDED — THE READER UPBRAIDED. 
 
 But, considering the occasion which called it forth, and all 
 attendant circumstances, the oath of the surveyor must go down 
 in history as the softest thing ever uttered ; and the sin of my 
 friend Charles will, I think, stand side by side with that of 
 dear, old Uncle Toby, of which it is written : 
 
 " The accusing spirit which flew up to Heaven's chancery 
 with the oath, blushed to give it in ; and the recording angel, 
 as he wrote it down, dropped a tear upon the word and blot- 
 ted it out forever ! "* 
 
 But on this latter occasion, I ween, the smiles of the record- 
 ing angel must have shown through his tears ! 
 
 I think the thesis can be easily maintained, and desire here 
 to announce my willingness to enter the lists as the champion 
 of the proposition, that among all possible oaths uttered, or to 
 be uttered, that of my friend Charles, " By Cotton ", is king ! 
 
 Now, reader, just one word with you, and I conclude this 
 ■chapter : You had all along been thinking that my injured 
 friend upon the occasion I have here attempted (how vainly !) 
 to describe, did give utterance to "as round an oath as ever 
 rolled over a right English tongue, "f You really believed, 
 then, that I was all that time intending to record some fright- 
 fully wicked, ugly and outlandish expression as that of the 
 surveyor ! You were disappointed when it didn't come out 
 -at the first place where I cut off the paragraph, and at what 
 would have been the most natural position for it; you 
 were more grievously disappointed when another eligible 
 point for its introduction was reached and passed, and no 
 profanity appeared ; at the third place of like character you 
 grew impatient ; at the fourth you were disgusted ; at the fifth 
 angry, and almost ready to declare that you didn't care a 
 continental whether the fool ever swore at all or not ! 
 
 Now aren't you heartily ashamed of yourself ? Just pic- 
 ture yourself hurrying breathlessly along through my fine 
 
 * Stekne : Tristram Shandy. 
 f SouTHEY : Tfie Doctor^ &c. 
 
A SPECTACLE. 
 
 191 
 
 sentences, so eager to reach the end, and find that wicked 
 ejaculation, that you did not stop to realize the beauties of the 
 rhetorical wilderness through which you were rushing ! You 
 can't repeat a phrase of whole paragraphs, of which, at the 
 same time, you did not dare to skip a word lest the terrible 
 malediction might somewhere lie concealed therein ! Didn't 
 you make a spectacle of yourself ? 
 
 There's one consolation for you : nobody will ever know it 
 unless you are honest (or verdant) enough to make voluntary 
 confession of your folly. Eemember the counsel of St 
 James (V. 12). Good night ! 
 
 ^^ 
 
MOTTOEg FOR (SHAPTER II¥. 
 
 "^11 tbjoughtg, all pagsiorjs, all delighfcs,- 
 Wljatever gtirg fehig rgorfeal frarrje, — 
 ^11 are but ministers of love, 
 ^nd feed hig gacred flarr|e." 
 
 Coleridge. 
 
 "R. Oaniel come to Judgment, — yea a C)ar)iel ! 
 I tljarjk thee, Je-w, for teacl^irjg rqe tl^at word ! 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 " T^he l^ungpy Judgeg soon tlje sentence gigr), 
 .^r)d -wretcbjes har)g tb|at jupymer) may dine." 
 
 Pope : The Dunciad^ 
 
 ■"^^ogterity ! Oon't name tb)e word to nje ! 
 If I should choose to preach) 'f-'ogterity, 
 W^here would you get cotergpor-ary fun ? 
 Tl^at men will hjave it thjere's 130 blinking." 
 
 Goethe : Prelude to Faust^ 
 
 193 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 ONSIDERABLE time having 
 been bj me devoted to reflec- 
 tion upon the question, I have 
 about reached the conclusion 
 that it is advisable to inter- 
 weave a tale, — a love-storj, 
 (ah, I fancy I see the gentle 
 reader's eyes sparkle at the 
 mention !), — among the other 
 matters of this history; one, 
 for instance, that shall extend 
 through a number of chapters 
 (say, some twenty or thirty) 
 and which shall not appear to 
 constitute the chief business 
 — the raison d'etre — of those 
 chapters, but rather an inci- 
 dental thing, — a sort of by- 
 play. The idea was first suggested to my mind by recalling 
 the very successful manner in which this sort of thing had 
 been accomplished by the author of the Breakfast Table 
 books, wherein the " Schoolma'am " and "Iris" are courted 
 so cosily and married off so comfortably, and all done so 
 pleasantly! Delightful, indeed, are those love-tales! and 
 some exist — but I am not of the number — who esteem 
 them the best part of their respective books. I deem, how- 
 ever, for certain reasons not necessary just now to mention, 
 IS 193 
 
194 THE TALE — FLOSSOFER DANIEL. 
 
 tliat it is best to defer the introduction of my love-story 
 until about the middle of the fifth volume of this work, 
 which, as I figure, will leave ample space for it, like Pope's 
 "needless Alexandrine", to "drag its slow length along" 
 from the beginning, viz : the " accidental-meeting-of-the- 
 eyes" scene, through the "introduction" and "first-walk" 
 episodes, the " heightened -color " scene, the "throbbing- 
 heart" ditto, the "hand-pressing" affair, the "misunder- 
 standing" ditto, the "reconciliation" incident, the "meddle- 
 some-interference-of-the-young-lady's - parents " episode, or 
 episodes, the " proposal -and-suspense" scene, the "despair", 
 the " renewed-proposal-and-acceptance " scenes, the " all- 
 at-one" scene, the wedding and the tableaux! It will be 
 fine; it will be absorbingly interesting — wondrously enter- 
 taining — once we reach it, — this I promise you ; and should 
 it be possible, I will endeavor to so manage my narrative 
 as to make it convey a moral lesson, also ; in the meantime 
 read patiently what falls between this point and that. 
 
 There is a certain amiable character in The Doctor^ Sc, by 
 the name of Daniel Dove, — " Flossofer Daniel," his neighbors 
 called him. This philosopher is a very mild, quiet, domestic 
 sort of a man, who likes his humble home at Doncaster for a 
 very sensible reason — the same that I should give for liking 
 Oakfields — viz : " because it is a very likable place "! 
 Southey says of this Dove that " he had as much satisfaction 
 in being acquainted with the windings of the creek which 
 crossed his farm, from its spring to the place where it fell 
 into the Don, as he could have felt in knowing that the 
 source of the Nile had been explored, or the course and ter- 
 mination of the Niger." This was evidently the disposition 
 of Thoreau; and after he has withdrawn to his snug retreat 
 in that poor little cabin in the bushes by the side of Walden 
 pond, he proceeds to give us a minute description of all the 
 surroundings. Not contenting himself with the use of gen- 
 eral terms, or round numbers, he, as it were, weighs and 
 
TROREAU. 195 
 
 measures everything with great accuracy, and sets down for 
 us the exact figures. He even makes an accurate survey of 
 the pond, and constructs and publishes in his book a chart 
 ^nd description thereof ! Nobody else in the world would 
 have dared to do, if he had dreamed of doing, precisely as 
 Thoreau did, and nobody else could have done it success- 
 fully. At this day the whole literary world, who, but for 
 its surveyor never would have heard of Walden, are interested 
 in and even making pilgrimages to the little pond, for Thor- 
 eau's sake ! But our writer's practice was consistent with 
 the theory he expresses in his book. He somewhere says : 
 
 " Men commonly exaggerate the theme. * * * Most 
 words in the English language do not mean for me what they 
 mean for my neighbors. I see that my neighbors look with 
 compassion on me, that they think it is a mean and unfor- 
 tunate destiny that makes me to walk in these fields and 
 woods so much. * * -^ Ye fools ! the theme is nothing, 
 the lite is everything. ^ ^ ^ What is man is all in all ; 
 nature nothing but as she draws him out and reflects him. 
 Give me simple, cheap and homely themes." 
 
 It I could only see into and through nature as this man 
 saw, — did I possess the art of painting the graphic pen-pic- 
 tures of natural objects lie painted, — had I the gift by my 
 lust reflections " to stir the hearts and minds " of readers that 
 the poet of Walden possessed, — could I give to flower, and 
 bush and tree, to limpid, running stream, to tranquil lake, 
 and lichened rock the power of eliciting the sympathy and 
 interesting the affections as he could give it, I should not 
 despair of winning and keepmg the attention of the reader 
 of this book ! But, alas ! the Thoreaus of literature are few ; 
 and not many are they who possess even the courage to 
 attempt an imitation of the master, either in the choice of 
 themes, or in the treatment thereol 
 
 I am not sure but that when the good quaker poet penned 
 the lines quoted which follow, he meant to enforce the doc- 
 trine taught by Thoreau : 
 
196 CERTAIN OTHER WRITERS. 
 
 " Yet on life's current he who drifts 
 Is one with him who rows and sails. 
 And he who wanders widest, lifts 
 
 No more of beauty's jealous veils 
 
 Than he who from his doorway sees 
 
 The miracle of flowers and trees. 
 
 Feels the warm orient in the noonday air. 
 
 And from cloud-minarets hears the sunset call to prayer."* 
 
 What lesson did Emerson design teacliing when lie com- 
 posed the lines below ? 
 
 " Because I was content with these poor fields, 
 Low open meads, slender and sluggish streams, 
 And found a home in haunts which others scorned, 
 The partial wood-gods overpaid my love. 
 And granted me the freedom of their state, 
 And in their secret senate have prevailed 
 With the dear, dangerous lords that rule our life, 
 Made moon and planets parties to their bond. 
 And through my rock-like solitary wont 
 Shot million rays of thought and tenderness. "■!• 
 
 I am quite certain that Burroughs (a man, by the way^ 
 who most nearly of all living writers resembles Thoreau) 
 intended to teach the same lesson in a late essay published in 
 the Century Magazine^ which is entitled Signs and Seasons^ 
 and from which I copy a few lines : 
 
 " One has only to sit down in the woods or fields, or by the 
 shore of a river or lake, and nearly every thing of interest 
 will come round to him, — the birds, the animals, the insects> 
 and presently, after his eyes have got accustomed to the place,, 
 and to the light and shade, he will probably see some plant 
 or flower that he had sought in vain for, and that is a pleas- 
 ant surprise to him. So, on a large scale, the student and 
 lover of nature has the advantage of joeople who gad up and 
 down the world seeking some novelty and excitement ; he 
 has only to stay at home to see the procession pass. The 
 great globe swings round to him like a revolving show-case ; 
 
 *Whittieii: Last Walk in Autumn. *Musketaquid. 
 
BURROUGHS. 197 
 
 the change of seasons is like the passage of strange and new 
 ■countries ; the zones of the earth with all of their beauties 
 And marvels pass one's door, and linger long in the passing. 
 What a voyage is this we make without leaving for a night 
 ■our own fireside ! " 
 
 Now I consider those lines most beautiful ! and as for the 
 sentiment expressed, " I say ditto to Mr. Burke 1 " 
 
 This will be found to be the doctrine taught throughout this 
 work. The sub-title hereto will indicate (what was a fact) 
 that I had these things in mind when it was adopted, and, 
 moreover, I subscribe to, as I also attempt in my various 
 chapters to enforce the sentiment (quoted in the above paper) 
 •of St. Pierre : 
 
 " A sense of the power and mystery of nature shall spring 
 "up as fully in one's heart after he has made the circuit of his 
 iields as after returning from a voyage round the world." 
 
 It all means about the same thing, and I am glad to find 
 myself in such good company — and so much of it ! 
 
 I cannot forbear giving one more extract from the above- 
 mentioned essay : 
 
 " I sit here among the junipers of the Hudson [continues 
 Burroughs] with purpose every year to go to Florida, or the 
 "West Indies, or the Pacific Coast, yet the seasons pass and I 
 Am still loitering, with a half defined suspicion, perhaps, that 
 if I remain quiet and keep a sharp look-out, these countries 
 will come to me. I may stick it out yet, and not miss much 
 after all. The great trouble is for Mahomet to know when 
 the mountain really comes to him." 
 
 Mahomet must keep his eye open and alert The moun- 
 tains, streams, woods, and " all that in them is " approach and 
 pass by a thousand stationary Mahomets every year, and the 
 blind pagans "perceive it not of them." But here sit I at 
 Oakfields in eager expectation that the pampas with all their 
 fioral magnificence, the Eockies with their grandeur of 
 scenery the Adirondackswith their picturesqueness, the greater 
 and the lesser lakes, the falls, St Lawrence with his thousand 
 
198 THE OLD STORY — AN OLDER ANECDOTE. 
 
 isles, the sublime old ocean, Switzerland with, all her moun- 
 tains, — or something just as beautiful, just as enjoyable, just 
 as valuable, will come to me and I shall make it mine ! Bur- 
 ton who anatomized melancholy has this observation: "I 
 never traveled but in map or card, in which my unconfined 
 thoughts freely expatiated." 
 
 "Well," growls some saturnine reader, "that is all very 
 pretty; now what does it prove?" 
 
 There is a little antediluvian newspaper anecdote which I 
 shall venture to reproduce here, and which runs to the effect 
 that in a certain court the bench had just delivered a ruling 
 which to one of the counsel appeared rather questionable law, 
 and he asked permission to read a paragraph or two from a 
 legal author, which he thought more favorable to his side of 
 the case. The judge prevented him, — didn't care to hear 
 anything further, his mind was fully made up, etc. " Ah, 
 yes ;" replied the polite attorney, " I didn't think to change 
 your honor's opinion ; I just wanted to show you what a con- 
 founded old fool Blackstone was ! " 
 
 If then you deny that Blackstone, Coke, Chitty and Kent 
 are authoritative upon the common law, and in addition 
 impeach all my witnesses, of course I have proved nothing 
 for you, excepting a matter similar to what the attorney 
 desired to show the wise judge. I have simply shown that a 
 goodly number of our brightest and best writere — and for 
 obviotis reasons I have summoned but a very small propor- 
 tion of my possible witnesses — have employed not a hun- 
 dredth pai't of my possible evidence — are agreed in entertain- 
 ing erroneous opinions upon a rather important question. 
 
 But if, on the other hand, it shall be generally admitted 
 that the precedents I cite possess weight and are authority ^ 
 that the authors quoted are as well poets as philosophers, and 
 that their testimony is, or will be, corroborated by most other 
 witnesses who are entitled to be heard upon the question, and 
 are worthy of credence, — why, then have I gone far toward 
 establishing my case. 
 
STATEMENT OF THE CASE. 109 
 
 " And what is youi case ? " persists tliat same blunt friend. 
 
 "Well, it is a delicate and diflficult task I now see before me. 
 It is an old maxim in the courts that " whoso acts as his own 
 attorney hath a fool for his client " But the duty cannot 
 now be shirked. In the words of the Moor : 
 
 "Rude am I in speech, 
 And little blest with the soft phrase of peace; 
 And therefore little shall I grace my cause 
 In speaking for myself. Yet, bj' your patienca 
 I will a round, unvarnished tale deliver 
 Of my whole " — case ! 
 
 1st. By my course in locating, purchasing, and improving, 
 with a view of ultimately occupying, as my permanent abid- 
 ing place, and finally establishing mysell upon a fine tract of 
 wild forest-land, I did assume that such a situation was a fit- 
 ting home for a cultivated person who is a lover of nature, — 
 which I count myself to be. 
 
 2d. By making this humble farm in a sort the subject of a 
 treatise, or, more correctly speaking, the text of, or the pretext 
 for a series of discourses upon pioneering, agiiculture, natural 
 philosophy, solitude, and, in fact, almost every other conceiv- 
 able subject that might, whether logically or illogically, by 
 fair pretense or false pretense, by imagination or against 
 Imagination, be connected therewith, I have assumed that the 
 theme is one worthy the attention of the reading public, and 
 that I possess the peculiar gifts requisite to give it accept- 
 able presentation. 
 
 3d. ***** 
 ***** 
 ***** 
 
 If you can read the stars you will have the whole case 
 before you.* 
 
 *Thus I, in the good old-fashioned, neighborly manner, "borry " of 
 Stekne what the learned and gifted Sotjthey, in TJie Doctor, &c., 
 scrupled not to steal. 
 
200 ON TBIAL. 
 
 After a little reflection I somewhat regret having inserted 
 the last clause before the galaxy above. With that omitted 
 mine were, I deem, a pretty clear case : with that in I may 
 be nonsuit even yet. 
 
 But after all if the law sustain me in the rest, judgment 
 can only be given against me on that count; and that must 
 still be an open question, — to be proved or disproved — 
 how ? 
 
 By the success or failure of the book ! 
 
 It is well : here I rest my case. 
 
 The jury is divided in opinion. A small minority have 
 cast their pebbles in my favor, so far as regards everything 
 set forth in the above statement of my case, excepting the 
 one slight clause concerning which I felt misgivings when I 
 gave it in, A vast maj'ority have voted t'other way ; and 
 the jury is unanimously against me on that fatal clause ! 
 
 The prospect is not encouraging. What shall be done? 
 Had even a very small minority taken a different view of 
 i\xdX fatal last clause I would have persevered with my mighty 
 emprise for their sakes alone; but now this cannot be. 
 What then? 
 
 ***** 
 
 Eureka! 
 
 I will appeal ! I will appeal to posterity !* 
 
 *At the time the above was written I had never seen the following 
 paragraph in the Nodes AmbrosiaTUB, or I might have hesitated before 
 venturing upon the course. Tickler is reported (by the man in the closet) 
 to have said : 
 
 "The world is as obstinate as a million mules, and will not turn its 
 head on one side or another for all the shouting of the critical population 
 that was ever shouted. It is very possible that the world is a very bad 
 judge. Well then — appeal to posterity, and be hanged to you — and 
 posterity will aflQrm the judgment with costs ! " 
 
 But 'tis too late; the papers are filed in the cause, and I must abide 
 the result. 
 
AN APPEAL TO POSTERITY. 
 
 201 
 
 I will liave a return, and a rehearing of tlie whole case, if 
 the court please. And do not think that I have no new 
 evidence to adduce, no further precedents to cite. I'll 
 swamp the opposition craft with " wise saws " and " instances," 
 both ancient and modern ; I'll overwhelm — I'll annihilate — 
 
 I will be calm ! But I still mean to win this cause I 
 
 *' Truth crushed to earth will rise again, — 
 Th' eternal years of God are hers! 
 But error, wounded, writhes in pain, 
 And dies amid her worshippers. " 
 
MOTTOES FOR CHAPTER M, 
 
 '©uli sli6l-)ted as it is, ar)d by the great. 
 ^barjdorjed, and, -which) s^ill I ngore r-egpeti, 
 Irjfecfeed with febje rr)ar)neps and tt)e ngodes 
 Ifc kne-vsr rjoii or)ce, the courjtry "wir)§ rge still. 
 I rjevep ngade a -wigh, nop foprrjed a plarj, 
 That flatteped rge ■witV) bjopes of earthly bliss, 
 ^ut tlgere I laid its 5cer|e." 
 
 CowPER: TAe Task. 
 
 " "Wouldst thou pest 
 ^•wVjile fpom turgult, and the fpauds of ngen, 
 Tljose old and fpiegdly solitudes invite 
 Vl^y visit." Bryant. 
 
 " 1 heap the tpead oi pior)eeps 
 ©f natior|s yet to be, — 
 T^l^e fipst low wash of waves virhjere soon 
 Shjall poll a Ijunjai] gea-" 
 
 Whittier. 
 
 " I -worjdep r|ot that trees have comn-)ar|ded the adrrjipa" 
 tion of ngen iq all qatiogs and pepiods of the world." 
 
 HowiTT : Book of the Seasons. 
 
 202 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 NE very important event occurred 
 at the farm quite shortly after the 
 General "moved on" with his 
 forces, — -z. e., his family. It was 
 the birth of a child — a man- 
 child — in the house. The new 
 manikin was a son of the eldest 
 daughter of the General and his 
 lady, and happened along while 
 his parents were on a visit to the 
 " old folks " at the farm. It was 
 a "mirk, mirk night" of winter 
 which the little fellow chose for a 
 birth-date, and there are those 
 who will long remember the occa- 
 sion on account of certain comical 
 happenings during that "collied 
 night ". The youngster was promptly christened, in honor of 
 the proprietor of the farm, Burton Gregory. He is still 
 a sturdy, manly fellow, and it is to be hoped that he will 
 live to honor the name he bears ! 
 
 It was generally regarded at the farm as a very decided 
 step forward when the " east eighty " was added by purchase 
 to our territory. "We had always been obliged to traverse 
 it to reach the farm from the outside, as at that day the other 
 ways of ingress and egress had not been opened. We were 
 in a measure at the mercy of the gentleman whose property 
 the lot was, and we had begun to feel that he was likely to 
 trouble us to some extent, if not to shut us off entirely from 
 
 203 
 
204 THE EAST EIGHTY. 
 
 his dominions, wliicli, of course, lie possessed a perfect legal 
 right to do. If this last event happened, we should be 
 driven to the alternative of constructing another way over 
 private property, or of petitioning the authorities to open 
 one for us : in either case there would have resulted delay, 
 some expense, and an element of doubt as to the upshot 
 would have entered into the matter, with no end of incon- 
 venience attending it. 
 
 Taking a comprehensive view of the thing, I concluded 
 that the wisest course would be to purchase the lot outright ; 
 although, to be sure, perceiving his advantage over me, the 
 owner seemed disposed to make the most of it, and anxious 
 though he was to dispose of the property to me, his figures 
 were such as at that time were generally regarded as extrav- 
 agantly high. But I closed with him, nevertheless, and have 
 not as yet regretted my act. The lot is a fine piece of land, 
 and naturally a part of the farm. It should never, indeed, 
 be separated from the larger segment on the west until the 
 whole is finally cut up into small estates — and distant be 
 that day ! 
 
 The improvements upon our new lot amounted to but a 
 trifle at the date of the purchase. Since then we have 
 cleared nearly the entire area, excepting a little skirt of 
 woods — some four or five acres in extent — upon the 
 southern side, which being green and thrifty, it is the 
 design to preserve as a permanent feature. Then there is 
 the small grove near the state-road, — for grove I maintain it 
 is, although my father and others will persist in alluding to 
 it as " those scattering trees " ! — this is also designed to be 
 a permanent " institution ". 
 
 There is a spring near the base of the ridge, not far from 
 this grove and close by the road fence, which has a history : 
 
 "That well, 
 By summer never dried, 
 Has cooled a thousand parching tongues, 
 And saved a life beside! " 
 
AN HISTORICAL SPRING. 205 
 
 The last circumstance transpired in manner and form as 
 follows : 
 
 It was on a day in October of the fiery year '71 that a 
 gentleman, whose business of land-surveying made him 
 almost a constant dweller in the woods, hurried adown the 
 state-road from the north, closely pressed by rapidly advan- 
 cing flames, and when he arrived at a point opposite this 
 spring he was opposed by a wall of fire. To retreat toward 
 the east was impossible, as hundreds of acres of forest on that 
 side were wrapped in flames, which darted and hissed like a 
 million serpents. The hunted wretch turned to the westward, 
 and, striking the forest road which led up the ridge, he 
 mounted the latter and ran forward a few paces, when he per- 
 ceived directly in front of him that the two great arms of the 
 fiery sea had joined, and even during the instant he paused 
 there he saw that along the road he had just trod the 
 advanced lines of flames, already very near together, were 
 momentarily drawing nearer, and in another minute would 
 meet. Horror of horrors ! there stands he upon a small dis- 
 solving islet in the middle of a tumultuous ocean of living 
 fire. In but another instant his standing-place will be 
 swallowed up. Oh, God ! what shall he do ? Ten legions of 
 devils are now dancing before his eyes, howling in his ears, 
 and he feels their hot and sulphurous breath upon his cheek ! 
 Ah! hah! a thought beats itself in upon his burning 
 brain ; and its effect is magical ! It comes not a breath too 
 so«>n ! Panting, choking, — with blinded eyes, and scorched 
 hair and beard, and clothing ablaze, the fugitive rushes back 
 to the spring and plunges in. He is saved ! 
 
 This spring was formerly kept open by the lumbermen 
 of this region, by whom also the state-road was much, and, 
 for several years following the date of its construction, almost 
 exclusively used, — as there were no farms up this way at 
 that early day. The well has latterly been allowed to become 
 choked up with rubbish and sand, and its site even has 
 
206 STUMPS. 
 
 become obscure. It deserves better treatment, and sball be 
 accorded it ere long. 
 
 Speaking of the perversity of certain people regarding the 
 matter of naming the grove, reminds me of another prolific 
 source of annoyance, viz: the stumps; — and not the stumps 
 themselves either ! AYe have many stumps here, of course, 
 the farm as yet being very new, the eldest field not nine 
 years old, and the youngest always a yearling, or less than 
 that. Well, it being a new farm, I, for one, am content 
 that it should possess the air and aspect of a new fann. But 
 I have visitors occasionally, or, perhaps, I bring out friends 
 from the county -seat for a drive, and to look things over. 
 They look: "Yes; a fine piece of land; the making of a 
 good farm, doubtless; but those stumps, — why don't you 
 have them pulled ? If this was my farm they should go^ and 
 at once I " 
 
 I could stand a repetiton of this sort of thing a few score of 
 times, or so ; but I have heard it so frequently that it has 
 grown monotonous — wearisome — exasperating! "Why, I 
 was almost rude to one gentleman (and I know that for a 
 minute he believed me profane) who repeated in my hearing 
 the other day the question I had been asked so many times: 
 " But what about those stumps? " " Oh, blast the stumps ! " 
 I snapped out ; but I presently added : " with the Hercules 
 powder, — it is said to be quile effective " I feel pretty cer- 
 tain that gentleman will not soon again bring up the subject. 
 
 But those pine stumps are a serious matter, and there is no 
 dodging the question any more than there is a way of dodg- 
 ing them when you plow the fields in which they abound 
 They will not decay appreciably in an age. They have ju^t 
 to be pulled, every one. This will make a heavy charge upon 
 the debtor side in the account with some of my fields. In 
 others the expense of stumping will be quite trivial. 
 
 It is a wonderful thing to view, the amount of pine wood 
 which can be harvested from a more than usually stumpy 
 acre of ground! and that after we have it, as we term it, 
 
WILL PINE STUMPS BECOME VALUABLE? 207 
 
 cleared^ — that is to say, after tlie removal of all the woody 
 encuinbermeiits excepting the stumps and roots. I paid a 
 a neighbor one hundred dollars for getting the stumps out of 
 :a piece of ground one acre and one-quarter in extent, the same 
 being a portion of ridge-land where I wished to plant an 
 orchard ; and although he appeared to manage the work very 
 well, he lost money by the job. And what prodigious heaps 
 of pine roots did he dig out ! Fuel enough to supply a small 
 village a quarter ! 
 
 Certain of my sanguine neighbors profess being able to 
 foresee the time when these unsightly stumps will be so valu- 
 able for fencing material that we shall thank no man to come 
 upon our farms and pull them for their own use. I am 
 dubious about this. I am afraid that day is too distant to be 
 profitably calculated upon. 
 
 Though I have thus far experienced, and shall in the future, 
 as I believe, find little difficulty in preserving my stumps, I 
 have found it a hard matter, as I have been prosecuting the 
 work of clearing land, to preserve trees for shade or orna- 
 ment. The enemies with which I have had to contend in 
 this enterprise have been : 1st, the fire ; 2d, the carelessness 
 of my men. 
 
 In the work of making a farm " from the stump " fire is an 
 important agency ; and it is requisite to employ it when the 
 timber and ground are quite dry, so that it will do its work 
 effectually. But at such a time it is liable to overdo its part 
 It will frequently attack and destroy valuable property. 
 -Most of all, so far as my personal experience goes to show, it 
 delights to skip over broad acres of turfy soil to reach some 
 fine tree that, in response to my earnest petition, the wood- 
 man has spared, — a darling of my heart ! Dozens of times 
 have the flames served me this ugly trick, and then laughed 
 at my chagrin ! 
 
 But the indifference, or thoughtlessness of workmen has 
 proved about as dangerous to my leafy pets as have the 
 flames. I never yet employed a foreman or a laboror who 
 
208 • TREES — A JOKE. 
 
 lias known to begin 'witli, or upon whose mind I have been 
 able to impress a notion of tlie value of a good green tree in 
 the right place. Idol after idol of mine have these iconoclasts 
 ruthlessly destroyed ; and often has this been done after I have 
 taken especial pains to point out the object which I have 
 wished preserved, and the proper means to employ to effect 
 my purpose. 
 
 I have never suspected malice on the part of the boys in 
 this matter even in a single instance ; but their exasperating 
 work in this line of destruction has often called down upon 
 their heads a withering rebuke at the hands of " the old man." 
 It grew into a standing joke finally, (although a serious enough 
 affair from my own point of view), so that latterly whenever 
 I have particularly desired to preserve a certain tree, I have 
 pointed it out to my men with the observation : " Boys, I'd 
 like to save that tree for shade ; now see if you can't find 
 something with which to knock it down !" And they have 
 generally succeeded in finding it ! 
 
 In land-clearing, as in most other work, the problem sought 
 to be solved is how to perform the labor in the cheapest and 
 most expeditious manner possible. As a usual thing, the 
 forest-growth over an area of a number of acres is felled dur- 
 ing a single season. Sometimes the field will contain ten, 
 fifteen, twenty, or even forty or more acres. 
 
 The trees and bushes are cut down (best when the leaves 
 are full grown, viz : during the months of June, July and 
 August) and are made to fall, or are thrown, into heaps, or 
 long rows called windrows. There they are usually allowed 
 to lie until a dry time offers in the following spring, when 
 the brush and the smaller poles are thoroughly, and the larger 
 timber partially seasoned, then, at a favorable hour, gener- 
 ally a little after noon, the fire is set at various points in the 
 lig-ht brush and dried leaves. 
 
 D 
 
 Grand beyond any mortal's power of description are fre- 
 quently the pyrotechnic exhibitions produced in this manner. 
 The flames, at first in narrow columns, shoot up to heaven ; 
 

 WINTER SCENE IN CENTRAL MICHIGAN. 
 
CLEARING LAND. 209 
 
 gathering strength, in a moment they rushed together from 
 their different sources, with hissings, cracklings, roarings 
 which cannot be uttered — on paper. A hurricane — strictly 
 a home production, and improvised for the occasion by the 
 great and increasing heat — augments the fury of the fire 
 which rages like a maddened demon, and rushes with the 
 speed of the whirlwind across the broad field. 
 
 Supposing, fond, foolish, tree-loving farmer ! you had left 
 standing out in the middle there a few beautiful oaks and 
 maples, around which you had, at considerable expense, 
 cleared off a space by hauling away the logs and carrying 
 off the brush. Does it appear as if your little grove would 
 be able to withstand the fury of this storm of fire? Why, 
 it often happens that portions of the great green wall of the 
 forest itself, which stands to the leeward of the burning 
 field, is blasted and shriveled by the terrible breath of this 
 leviathan of conflagrations ! • 
 
 "When everything results in the manner described, — and, 
 as man and boy, many and many such scenes have I wit- 
 nessed, — the farmer obtains what for nearly a year he has 
 been praying for, viz : " a good burn ". 
 
 This last is the common expression used. It means much 
 to the poor pioneer. It means that the flames have done 
 for him in the twinkling of an eye, as it were, a vast amount 
 of labor, conferring a benefit which is well nigh incalculable. 
 He is a wealthier man by some hundreds of dollars, prob- 
 ably, than he was an hour ago. His farm is broader. Its 
 productive capacity is increased, it may be, three or four 
 fold; for, although the logs remain upon the blackened 
 field, Indian corn, potatoes, beans, and many other varieties 
 of crops may be grown this first season with trifling ex- 
 pense of cultivation, and none of weed-killing. With the 
 happy pioneer-farmer the important thing has been achieved : 
 the widening of his cultivable fields, — and, as a usual thing, 
 he mourns little over the destruction of a few green trees, 
 more or less. 
 
 14 
 
210 GOOD MEN LOVE TREES. 
 
 There comes a time, certainly, in the history of every 
 district when, the forest timber having grown valuable as 
 raw material for lumber, shingles, fuel, etc., the clearing of 
 land loses much of the wholesale character which has here 
 been described, and it becomes possible and practicable to 
 preserve such of the forest trees as in the farmer's judgment 
 are best worth saving. The bulk of the timber is cut and 
 removed slowly and at intervals, and the aid of fire in the 
 fields is seldom invoked. To be sure some of the brush is 
 burned ; but perhaps the major portion of this even is first 
 cut into short sections and the reduction to gases and ashes 
 takes place within the stove. 
 
 Most good men whose minds are to some extent cultivated, 
 discover a generous love of trees. Classic poetry is full of 
 this feeling, and the great English bards of the Elizabethan 
 age have few pages upon which the out-cropping of the sen- 
 timent is not seen. It would seem that, of all men, farmers 
 most should possess this feeling and cultivate it. English 
 husbandmen appear to do both to a greater extent than our 
 own ; but this may be owing to some peculiarity in the sys- 
 tem of farming in vogue in the great little island. Undoubt- 
 edly, too, the literature most popular with that people has 
 had its effect. Such poems as Thompson's Seasons and 
 Cowper's Task^ probably more widely read in Britain than in 
 our own country, have beyond doubt exerted a gTeat influ- 
 ence in developing the sentiment there. But all of our own 
 eminent poets appear to share the feeling that was the inspir- 
 ation and the life of Thompson's, Cowper's, and Wordsworth's 
 muses ; and not a few of our best prose writers give evidence 
 that their hearts are susceptible to this sentiment also. 
 
 That ornament of our profession, the great and humane 
 Horace Greeley, is well recognized as a worshipper at this 
 altar. He formally announced that the forest at Chappaqua 
 was peculiarly his own field,* and here he pruned, clipped, 
 planted and shaped endlessly, and v/ith what inward and 
 
 '^Eecollections of a Busy Life. 
 
TnE A UTO CEA T — GIB SON, 211 
 
 lieart-felt deliglit none will ever know! Holmes, the 
 Autocrat, Professor, and Poet, at tlie Breakfast-table and else- 
 where, (who is also a farmer after the order of the Chap- 
 paquan), is a devotee in the temple of the sylvan gods ; and 
 he gives utterance to his feelings thus : 
 
 " I want you to understand that I have a most intense, 
 passionate fondness for trees in general, and have had sev- 
 eral romantic attachments to certain trees in particular."* 
 
 In another place he recurs to this subject as follows: "I 
 shall speak of trees as we see them, love them, adore them in 
 the fields, where they are alive, holding their green sun-shades 
 over our heads, talking to us with their hundred thousand 
 whispering tongues." 
 
 I recognize in that paragraph the utterance of a true lover 
 ■of trees, — and I can't help loving the man for his words. 
 
 In a late number of one of the grandest of the monthlies, 
 to wit : Harper'' s Magazine, I find a pajoer from the pen and 
 heart of W. H. Gribson, which embodies many beautiful and 
 :.some striking thoughts upon the subject with which I am at 
 present engaged. I believe I shall be pardoned by everyone 
 concerned — certainly by the reader of these pages — if I 
 reproduce here a generous portion of the noble essay of this 
 poet- artist. The inspiration of a genuine love of trees may 
 be felt in every word of the following lines, descriptive of the 
 woods in winter: 
 
 "Let us walk out into the inviting woods. The trees can 
 never be so fully seen as now. Their painted trunks, relieved 
 against this neutral foil of snow, disclose a surprising wealth 
 -of color, and the exquisite tracery of branch and twig, the 
 essential elements of the tree's beauty and character, hereto- 
 fore largely concealed by the perishable garniture of foliage, 
 is now revealed. The true tree, freed from all disguise, 
 stands forth like an athlete stripped for the contest. Observe 
 the soft, blending tones on the bole of this smooth, dappled 
 beech. See the infinity of refined grays, browns, and greens 
 
 * Autocrat. 
 
212 THE WOODS IN WINTER. 
 
 wliicTi everywhere spread and intermelt upon its surface. 
 'The painted beech,' it has been happily called. Yes, it is 
 the palette of the sylvan studio. It is Dame Nature's sampler. 
 Upon its gray surface she mixes and tests her sober and 
 subtler tints, to be afterward disposed in those artfully artless 
 contrasts throughout the landscape. You shall find this sil- 
 very sample on yonder rock-maple disposed in one telling 
 splash, divided vertically by the brown fissures of the bark. 
 This bright ochery remnant reappears on the hickory beyond, 
 in strong brilliant touches, here and there upon the shingly 
 shales ; and the broad rock hard by has received lavish decor- 
 ation in mottled circles of this pale sage green. Here is the 
 array of tints with which she paints the antiquated stone 
 walls, and here the sheeny gray by which she has reclaimed 
 the rambling miles of splintered rails. The virescent drab of 
 poplar, the rosy ash of young maple, and the varied mosaic of 
 the mossy bowlder, "^,11 find their complement here. 
 
 " With its clean, trim contour and bright smooth complex- 
 ion, we may readily appreciate the estimate of Thoreau : ' No 
 tree has so fair a bole or so handsome an instep as the beech.' 
 This latter feature, however, is often lost in the woods, as the 
 trees stand knee-deep in snow, and the comely slope of their 
 feet, clad in velvety moss, is concealed from view. 
 
 " It is a common error to suppose that winter effaces the 
 distinctions of individuality among the various trees. 
 Nothing can be farther from the truth. ' Are you the friend 
 of your friend's thoughts, or of his buttons ? ' asks Emerson, 
 as though we should know our companion only by his dress. 
 Many of our trees announce themselves even more distinctly 
 in February than in June. The shagbark was never barked 
 as now. The white birch reveals many more of her distinc- 
 tive pallid features; and in this unseasonable weather the 
 tattooed buif satin dress of her cousin, the yellow birch, 
 seems more than ever conspicuous. The tupelo never more 
 effectually asserted its precious whimsicality. The white oak 
 audibly rustles its identity ; and the marbled buttonwood tree 
 
A NOTABLE TREE. 
 
 213 
 
214 OUR BEECHES — BE EC HER. 
 
 liangs out a tell-tale label from every twig. Look at this^ 
 scraggly silliouette against tlie sky over this licken-painted 
 wall. Who needs the hint of the brown frozen apple lodged 
 among the twigs to call its name ? Is it not written in every 
 angle of its eccentric spray, or even in its shadow in the 
 snow ? Likewise the elm with pendant nest, the spiral fluted 
 horn-beam, and sugar-maple too. Who would not know 
 each from a fragment of its bark ? Scarcely in a less degree 
 do the linden, the ash, the various willows, oaks, and majDles, 
 the chestnut and the tulip tree assert their individuality and 
 claim recognition. To the curious observer they soon become 
 familiar, and he can name them all at a glance." 
 
 We have very few beeches upon our domain, I regret to- 
 say. One remarkably fine tree of the species there is in the 
 woods some eighty rods to the northward from the farm barn ; 
 and at least one beautiful, though smaller sized one, near the 
 point where the western highway crosses the Waterloo. 
 
 Then there is the Farmer of Lenox — a farmer after my 
 own heart is he, his name is Beecher, — how ardent his love 
 for my idols! you can feel the warm generous current 
 thereof pouring forth in the following paragraph : 
 
 "Our first excursion in Lenox was one of salutation to 
 our notable trees. We had a nervous anxiety to see that 
 the axe or the lightning had not struck them ; that no 
 worm had gnawed at the root or cattle at the trunk ; that 
 their branches were not broken nor their leaves failing from 
 drought. We found them all standing in their uprightness. 
 They lifted up their heads toward heaven, and sent down 
 to us from all their branches a leafy whisper of recognition and 
 affection. Blessed be the dew that cools their evening 
 leaves, and the rains that quench their daily thirst ! May 
 the storm be as merciful to them when, in winter, it roars 
 through their branches, as a harper to his harp ! "* 
 
 The above is inimitable ! 
 
 ^Star Papers^ p. 273. 
 
MATTERS TO LAMENT. 215 
 
 This writer relates that there is now flourishing at Bast 
 Hampton, on Long Island, an orchard planted bj his father, 
 and that the latter used to say that after an absence from 
 home his first impulse, the family greeting over, was to go 
 out and examine every tree "from root to top." And the 
 author of the Star Papers adds : 
 
 "I>ro man that ever planted a tree, or loved one, but 
 knows how to sympathize with this feeling. A tree that 
 you have planted is born to you. It becomes a member of 
 your family, and looks to you as a child for love and care." 
 
 I pause here long enough to give utterance to a single 
 note of lamentation. There is one thing I sadly miss at 
 Oakfields ; and 'tis a blessing that time alone can supply : 
 an ancient orchard ! Not a covetous man I, still I do envy 
 the fortunate farmer who possesses one of those half-century- 
 old, but still thrifty apple-orchards I sometimes see in my 
 trij^s abroad. It is not so much the fruit I miss — for money 
 will command much, and our "wild orchard" almost yearly 
 yields an abundance of certain varieties of most delicious 
 fruit — but the trees, and the associations ! 
 
 It is undoubtedly a matter to lament that our pioneer- 
 farmers, i. e., the men who, in the language of Greeley, are 
 "making rather than working" farms, are not, as a rule, 
 more deeply imbued with a love of trees. But it must be 
 confessed that the spirit of their business is rather against its 
 development. With them the forest is an enemy to be over- 
 come. Their entire employment until their fields are cleared 
 and tillable is a warfare against trees. They have quite too 
 many of them ; and, as in most cases, poverty renders exist- 
 ence to them a matter-of-fact and dead-in-earnest struggle 
 for subsistence for selves and loved ones, to feel as I have 
 expressed a desire they might feel in this matter would 
 demand of them the exercise of a Christian grace, as well as 
 of a sound taste, for " love thy trees " would almost seem 
 like another form of the command, "love thine enemies." 
 
216 FRUIT FR03I OUR ORCHARD. 
 
 SPECIMEN OF FKUIT FKOM THE "WILD OECHAKD " AT OAKFIELDS. 
 
FAR3IERS WITH SOULS — VISITORS. 217 
 
 There are those among onr makers of farms, however, 
 who worship trees and flowers with all the fervency of a poet 
 like Thoreau. "With them the lifting up of their hands 
 against the green forests is done in no spirit of bitterness. 
 They destroy trees while they love them, and their plans 
 for a campaign against the Titans of the wood are full of 
 merciful provisions for the saving of lives. They cut down 
 trees to plant others in their places. They plan groves and 
 parks. They plant orchards early. The homes of this class 
 of pioneers become bowers of beauty despite the roughness 
 incident to half-conquered nature about the sites. The 
 grounds about their dwellings bear witness to the taste of 
 the owners, in their graceful shade ; and the road-lines of 
 their farms are frequently ornamented with trees planted by 
 the owners' hands — lasting monuments to their good taste 
 and generous spirit ! A man of this character will prove, in 
 the long run, of incalculable benefit to a community, for his 
 example will prove infectious, and by insensible degrees its 
 influence will extend far and wide. 
 
 From the beginning of my work here, there has always 
 been quite a friendly interest taken in the farm by the 
 people of the county-seat. We have had multitudes of vis- 
 itors every season, and if our roads had been a little smoother 
 doubtless there would have been a still larger amount of 
 driving out this way. Lawyers, doctors, editors, bankers, 
 printers, merchants, have all been here, and representatives of 
 all these classes at different times have lent useful assistance 
 in the work we have been engaged in, — doing this, of course, 
 from a love of the exercise and the romance of the thing. 
 When we " raised " the frame of the big barn a large wagon- 
 load of the best young men of town, comprising teachers, 
 students, attorneys, physicians, etc., was driven out hither, 
 and the gallant boys did me yeomen's service, too ! These 
 same youngsters (and some of them were oldsters) proved no 
 feather-weights, allow me to add, when it came time to discuss 
 
218 3IY NEIGHBORS — OLD-FASHIONED HONEST r. 
 
 the substantial edibles spread by the good house-wife on the- 
 long table in the dining-room. 
 
 My rustic neighbors are various in character and national- 
 ity. There are some "to tie to"; and some with whom it 
 would not be safe to make such experiment. However, I am 
 rather proud of them as a class, and gratified to deem myself' 
 upon the best of terms with all. If not every one absolutely 
 reliable, perfect in all things, precisely what I could wish 
 him, (and myseK as well), I console myself with the reflec- 
 tion that there are few communities extant composed exclu- 
 sively of faultless people, and I am thankful for the good 
 gifts I have received. 
 
 When you come to reflect upon it, what a comfortable^ 
 thing a strictly honest neighbor is, anyhow! a man thor- 
 oughly trustworthy, — " whose words are bonds, whose oaths 
 are oracles ! " How you learn to lean upon him ! How read- 
 ily you fly to him when you need counsel, or when you wish 
 to leave delicate or important business to be done in your 
 absence! Thoreau quaintly remarks that "it is a great 
 encouragement when an honest man condescends to make 
 this earth his home." Pope, you know, sings and says truly : 
 "An honest man's tlie noblest work of God." 
 
 And honest old Grreek Hesiod — what a noble neighbor must 
 the venerable poet himself have made in his time ! — has the- 
 following in Works and Days: 
 
 " He hatli a treasure by his fortune signed 
 Who hath a neighbor with an honest mind ! " 
 
 Let us be grateful that there are still among us going to 
 and fro quietly, "upon their own affairs intent," a few wha 
 do "live by old ethics and the classical rule of honesty."* 
 Let us duly value and cherish them ; for, on the other hand, 
 who of us has not learned by bitter experience the truth of 
 the proverb, " Confidence in an unfaithful man in time o£ 
 trouble is like a broken tooth or a foot out of joint. "f 
 
 *SiK Thomas Browne : Christian Morals, Part I, § 13. 
 \Prowrhs, Chapter XXXV, 19. 
 
FBIENDL Y INTEREST — LAB OR. 219 
 
 Of course there lias been nuicli talk among my neiglibors 
 concerning the "big fann," its management, stock, etc. All 
 have been interested in its prosperity. Many of them have 
 contributed more or less by their labor (for a valuable consid- 
 eration rendered) toward making it what it is to-day. They 
 have been niggardly neither of their criticism nor their coun- 
 sel — good, bad and indifferent ; and in short have behaved 
 in a neighborly way generally, — on the whole about as one 
 would wish to have them. 
 
 Certain of the citizens of the township have manifested a 
 peculiar interest in the farm, — in fact, their attentions have 
 sometimes proved troublesome ; these are the assessors and 
 tax-collectors ! My taxes have been pretty higL But these 
 gentlemen have only proceeded in the line of their duties, and 
 I have easily forgiven them. 
 
 In his Recollectioiis of a Busy Life, Greeley pictures himself 
 struggling to reclaim a dismal swamp, whose presence 
 defaces his beloved Chappaqua. "If I live I shall surely 
 triumph in the end," he stoutly asserts. I believe he did 
 not live long enough to conquer that swamp, but his interest- 
 ing account of his struggles therewith calls to mind my own 
 experience in a like enterprise. 
 
 The better portion of my land, as I have elsewhere inti- 
 mated, is low and level, and a considerable proportion thereof 
 in earlier days was classed with the swamp lands of the state. 
 We have been obliged to dig long ditches to let off the sur- 
 face water, which, otherwise, in times of freshet, would con- 
 vert some of our lowest fields into lakes. "We have a good 
 outlet, however, in a natural water-course, a tributary to the 
 Sturgeon, (and which we have named the Waterloo), and 
 have little or nothing to complain of in the low and level 
 character of the ground. We have talked the matter all 
 over, and every thing here is about as the Greneral and I 
 would have it. 
 
MOTTOES FOR SHiPTER Ml 
 
 ©V), Lsove ! ir) such a wilderness as ttjiSj 
 
 Wbjere traqsporfe sirjd securifcy erjtwine, 
 Here is the empire of thy perfect bliss, 
 
 ^r)d Fjere art, thou a ^od, indeed, divine ! 
 
 jf^ere sljall r)o forng abridge, go Irjoups confirje 
 The views, tl^e walks tl^at bouqdless joy inspire ; 
 
 fioll on, ye days o^ raptured irjfluerjce, st^iqe ! 
 J^or, blirjd -with ecstasy's celestial fire, 
 Shall love betjold the spark of eartbj-borr) time expire!' 
 
 Campbell : Gerirude of Wyoming. 
 
 '^r)d now a tale of love and woe,— 
 
 ^ woeful tale of love, — I sirjg ; 
 Hark, gentle rrjaiderjs, hark ! it sigJ^S 
 Ar)d trembles og the spring." 
 
 COLEHIDCB. 
 
 220 
 
CHAPTER XYI. 
 
 Y very dear reader, since I " put 
 my foot in it " by consenting to 
 interweave a love-tale among the 
 other matters of this book, the 
 obligation has "rested down" 
 upon me like an incubus. " Fool, 
 fool that I was ! " Promises with 
 me are made to be redeemed, and 
 a love-tale it now must be, not- 
 withstanding there may exist with 
 me a total lack of certain or all 
 of these requisites, viz : Materials 
 which ought to be used ; ability 
 to properly employ such materi- 
 als as I may possess ; and incli- 
 nation to the work. And as it 
 must be done, 'twere well 'twere done quickly. 
 
 Pause a moment, madam, and reflect upon the peculiar 
 difficulties which beset my position. This book is not a 
 work of fancy, but, on the contrary, an historical treatise ; 
 and as such it is valuable or valueless, according as it shall 
 winnow the golden grains of truth from the light chaff of 
 fiction, or fail to do this labor. Now with Dr. Holmes, 
 whose seductive and rascally example it was which induced 
 me to undertake this perplexing enterprise, the case was 
 very different, and his task comparatively an easy one. 
 He had simply to draw on a lively imagination for his char- 
 acters and incidents ; or, if his yarn had any foundation in 
 
 321 
 
222 THEREBY BANGS A TALE. 
 
 fact, he felt no conscientious scruples in enlarging upon and 
 embellishing the filmy skeleton of truth with which he had 
 started out, until it assumed the form that was most pleas- 
 ing to his consummate taste. 
 
 I will drop a little remark right here, that too much disap- 
 pointment in the result of my present attempt may not be 
 experienced hy the reader : I have not at present one half 
 the hope of pleasing that I possessed when I made the prom- 
 ise I have herein alluded to; but as to the tale, "such as I 
 have I give unto thee ". I name my narrative 
 
 JOHN, KATHLEEN, AND CERTAIN OTHER PEOPLE. 
 
 Some years ago I was publisher and editor of a weekly 
 newspaper in a small but ambitious town in the newer por- 
 tion of the good Wolverine State. Possessing a taste for 
 jural pursuits, I had invested the surplus of my princely 
 revenues from the printing oifice in a new farm, situated 
 about four miles north from the county-seat where my office 
 and residence were, and here, a la Greeley, it was my delight 
 to spend all my spare hours. It is perhaps needless to 
 observe that my enthusiasm for agriculture was not shared 
 by the gentler member of my domestic establishment, or that 
 the financial showing of my farming transactions at the end 
 of the vear was frequently such as almost to shake my own 
 confidence in the business, However I persevered and 
 extracted a good deal of pleasure if little profit from my 
 farm. I had erected comfortable buildings upon my new 
 place, and maintained a family there the head of which was 
 usually foreman of the farm, while the lady was matron of 
 the farm-house. As a general rule there was also a force of 
 " help " upon the place, consisting of a girl in the house, and 
 from two to five men out-of-doors. 
 
 It happened at one time that a young ahd prepossessing 
 orphan girl, whom we will call Kathleen, was living in the 
 family at the farm. Fair and delicate, she was not of the 
 
WAS IT PROVIDENTIAL? 223 
 
 istuff of which ordinary and, generally speaking, the most 
 efficient of rustic female " help " is made. But she had been 
 thrown upon her own resources, she possessed courage, liked 
 work, and she entertained the hope that the kind of fare she 
 would find here would result in benefit to her health. At 
 all events here she was, — the gentle, intelligent, lonely girl, 
 — " making a good fist " of filling the position she had chosen, 
 and had soon grown quite a favorite with the family and all 
 the male assistants. 
 
 It all came about naturally enough, Kathleen's coming to 
 the farm ; and yet there are those now who think "they see 
 something in that chain of circumstances which led up to 
 her installation as first assistant to the Oakfields housewife, 
 which indicates that the finger of Providence was in it all. 
 
 ' ' There's a divinity which shapes our ends, 
 Rough hew them how we will ! " 
 
 Her home was away eastward near the Atlantic seaboard ; 
 l)ut an errant brother, drifting westwardly, had found a lodge- 
 ment in this brushwood, and after a short stay here had ren- 
 dered her assistance to come and visit him, with perhaps 
 little thought of what was to occur beyond that. She came ; 
 her visiting season was spent among the people where the 
 brother labored for a monthly stipend, — rough, uncultured, 
 but kindly people were these, — not just such as our young 
 city-bred girl had been accustomed to meet, — and the time 
 came when the question with her was : What next ? Eeally 
 her good-humored, careless brother had not looked far 
 enough ahead to anticipate the arrival of this emergency 
 and hence had made no provision for it. If Kathleen was 
 penniless, and hence comparatively helpless there, he was 
 little less so. But some move must be made ; and among 
 the many that were by them canvassed as possible, that 
 chosen as most feasible was the acceptance by each of a 
 ■situation upon the farm. 
 
224 
 
 KATHLEEN VISITS THE FAR3I. 
 
 I well remember the 
 occasion of tlie first visit 
 of Kathleen to the farm- 
 stead. It was sometime ere her 
 domestication there. It was a warm 
 in the latter part of the month of 
 y, I think. A thaw was in pro- 
 3ss; but although the water was running 
 brook and ditch, there was still a sufficiency 
 n the roads to constitute good sleighing. 
 11 tell you more about John pretty soon) 
 d ridden behind my slow pet-pony, " Eock ", 
 out to the "place", (which is the usual designation of a 
 country-seat like mine in this part of the world, and here 
 means mine), where I had alighted and loaned my horse and 
 cutter to my companion who had pushed on further toward 
 the north, where, scattered about among the tall trees, — part 
 farmers, part lumbermen, part huntsmen, part a combination 
 of all these, — lived various of his relatives. It was in this 
 neighborhood that our " hired girl", that was to be, was visit- 
 ing. It appears that my foreman printer had met her there 
 on a previous visit he had made, and that her presence there 
 had sometliing to do with his trip thither upon the day in 
 question, I entertain little doubt, but will not here assert. 
 
 Of course it was absurd in him ; equally of course it was 
 very wrong. John had no business being actuated by any 
 such motive as that hinted at. He, himself, would have been 
 one of the first to condemn such a thing in another. But 
 of this more anon. 
 
 It came on to rain in the afternoon, and convinced that 
 this would be taken by my printer as a good excuse for pro- 
 longing his visit among his dear relatives in the forest, I had 
 early made up my mind to put in the night at the farm-house ; 
 and with the good people there I had just settled down in 
 the front room, after tea, to a quiet game of casino, wjien the 
 
THE QUESTION DECIDED. 225 
 
 jingle of familiar bells announced to me that, notwithstanding 
 the rain, which was pouring down now as if it enjoyed the pas- 
 time, my faithful John and my pony were at hand. 
 
 A boy rushed out to care for the poor wet beast, my man 
 entered under a dripping umbrella with rosy face and shining 
 eyes. There was a second pair of lustrous orbs under that 
 umbrella, the slender form of Kathleen was soon relieved of 
 its damp outer wrappings, and the ceremony of introdu.ction 
 was observed. 
 
 There was but one sensible course open for us : this was 
 to stop over night where we then were, and to enjoy it the 
 best we could. It was a very pleasant evening I spent, albeit 
 I thought I observed certain mutual glances and other mani- 
 festations on the part of a couple of persons, who formed 
 interesting portions of our little company, which though per- 
 haps perfectly innocent, and, under other circumstances, actions 
 of the slightest possible significance, boded trouble for a num- 
 ber of individuals. 
 
 Several days later it was settled that Kathleen was to come 
 to the farm-house to live. In this matter, which, like most of 
 my farm affairs, was talked over at the office, I was inclined 
 to think that John took rather an undue amount of interest ; 
 but I knew his kind heart, and then he explained to me that 
 the brother of the orphan girl was a warm friend of his, which 
 caused him to feel a degree of friendly solicitude for the 
 young lady so peculiarly circumstanced. I learned later that 
 my printer's acquaintance with the brother was of very recent 
 date indeed, and hence to reach its present huge proportions 
 his friendship had been a plant of unusually rapid growth ! 
 
 It must not be imagined, however, that my mind dwelt 
 
 much upon the various little matters I have noted here as 
 
 occurring between John and Kathleen, or ever at this time 
 
 with anything like lively alarm. I knew the foreman meant 
 
 to be an honorable fellow, and I believed, the young lady to 
 
 be at least an ordinarily discreet person. It is true I con- 
 is 
 
226 A FAITHFUL ASSISTANT. 
 
 sidered tliat her condition was a lonely one, — one, in fact, to 
 render the sympathetic attention of a good-looking, genial, 
 intelhgent, gentlemanly fellow, like John, peculiarly pleasant, 
 if proper ; and I felt that his was a dangerous situation, too, 
 from certain causes : but I apprehended nothing more serious 
 than possibly a Iktle heart-ache on either side when the 
 period of final parting arrived, which period, as I then fig- 
 ured it, could not be very long postponed. 
 
 As plainly intimated above, Kathleen made herself both 
 very useful and very agreeable at the farm. Considering 
 how fragile she was, she rendered certainly very efficient 
 service. Nor did the walls of the dwelling circumscribe 
 her field of usefulness. She lent her aid whenever her 
 quick and searching eye detected opportunity. It was her 
 gentle hand that prepared the mild drink for the tender, 
 bleating lambkin, early left in an inclement season to buffet 
 the cold world, unknown a mother's care. The similarity 
 of the condition of the innocent, helpless thing to her own 
 appeared to touch her deeply, and often was she observed 
 to wipe quickly away a scalding tear, while she ministered 
 to the wants and comfort of her complaining charge. The 
 young calves soon learned to know and greet her, from 
 whose soft fingers they awaited caresses and seemed to know 
 their value above the rude cuffs the hurried and careless 
 stable-boy sometimes administered. One of her great-eyed 
 pets of this ilk she called " Harry ", and under her care he 
 developed into a noble animal physically, and even appeared 
 to surpass his fellows in an intellectual way. Poor, pam- 
 pered Harry! thou wast lovely in thy life, and, though 
 tender tears were lavished at thy demise, thou madest excel- 
 lent beef at the last ! Aye, Harry, thou promising Shorthorn 
 Grade ! thou didst die, and thy brethren must die, that we 
 nobler animals may live! Thus has it been ever; thus 
 shall it be ! A late American poet thus forcibly expresses 
 the saddening thought : 
 
TASTE AND WIT. 227 
 
 " Life evermore is fed by death 
 In earth, and sea, and sky; 
 And that a rose may breathe its breath 
 Something must die. 
 
 • The falcon preys upon the finch. 
 
 The finch upon the fly; 
 And naught can loose the hunger-pinch 
 But death's wild cry. "* 
 
 When at lengtTi the snow and ice had disappeared and 
 the frosty nights were no more, how zealously, and with 
 what joy was evidenced by her sparkling eyes and glowing 
 cheeks, the transplanted, city girl applied herself to the 
 work of cleaning up and adorning the little grounds about 
 the house. Yines and trees were planted and fostered, 
 flower-seeds were sown, foot-paths were marked out, and, in 
 short, the tasty housewife found in Kathleen an ever- 
 faithful and earnest ally in every enterprise of improvement 
 she originated, and the new girl was soon discovered to be 
 a person endowed with a mind fertile in suggestion and 
 never-failing in resources for the accomplishment of their 
 little domestic schemes. 
 
 Time sped along ; the pleasant spring days were yielding 
 to longer, warmer ones that betokened the approach of sum- 
 mer. Kathleen, by some unforeseen changes at the farm- 
 house, had become temporarily matron there, and had full 
 direction of affairs, including the management of an assist- 
 ant, while her brother, who had increased In favor with the 
 proprietor, had been promoted to the foremanship of the 
 farm. 
 
 But I had noticed with increasing concern that John's 
 visits to my rural retreat were occurring with greater fre- 
 quency. I had gently ^remonstrated with him upon the 
 delicate subject ; he had acknowledged his fault and vowed 
 to amend. He then absented himself from the farm a 
 whole week. 
 
 *J. G. Holland: Bittersweet. 
 
228 THE PRINTER AT TEE FAR3I. 
 
 Pleasant, kindly, bright, industrious, faithful, affectionate, 
 good-looking — that's John as he was known to me for 
 years. John was an accomplished printer and an invaluable 
 man to me. Eigidly temperate, a preacher of morals, a 
 hater of injustice, a humanitarian in practice, — yet that 
 same John was so manifestly going wrong, and in a grave 
 matter too, that I felt called upon to check him ^nd to 
 chide. 
 
 I knew he meant no harm ; but he was young yet, — very 
 young for the experience he had had, — only twenty-six, 
 and I trembled for him and for her ! 
 
 It was, to be sure, rather pleasant to see my printer at the 
 farm. There he threw off all dignity (if he ever possessed 
 any) and, figuratively speaking, kicked up his heels in gam- 
 bols like a young colt just turned out to "pasture. " It is 
 good to see him enjoy himself thus," I sometimes thought. 
 " Poor fellow ! he has had few enough of the sweets of life, 
 and such immense doses of its bitter I " He assisted the 
 boys with their chores, (near the house), helped Kathleen 
 feed Harry and the younger calves, worked after tea at the 
 flower-beds, even milked a cow or two, and, decked out in 
 a long calico apron, became "cook's mate", or washed 
 dishes. Then he would romp and roll on the grass in the 
 front-yard, sing hymns with the ladies, and was visibly 
 renewing his youtL 
 
 The printer and I were at the farmhouse one evening 
 during the latter half of May. I shall always remember 
 that evening from its delightful moonlight. And where, oh, 
 where have I ever beheld such enchanting moon-lit evenings 
 as I have enjoyed at the farm ! recalling the lines of the 
 poet : 
 
 " 'Twas moonliglit in Eden, — such moonlight I ween 
 As never again on this earth shall be seen." 
 
 I thought the present evening as I beheld the grand moon 
 emerge from the forest and rise in majesty into the " serene 
 
MOONSHINE, 229 
 
 of heaven " above tlie eastern ridge, of those beautiful verses 
 
 of Keats : 
 
 " The moon, lifting her silver rim 
 Above a cloud, and with a gradual swim 
 Coming into the blue with all her light 1 
 Oh, maker of sweet poets; dear delight 
 Of this fair world and all its gentle livers; 
 Spangler of clouds; halo of crystal rivers; 
 Mingler with leaves and dew and tumbling streams; 
 Closer of lovely eyes to lovely dreams; 
 Lover of loneliness and wandering; 
 Of upcast eyes and tendering pondering! 
 Thee must I praise above all other glories! 
 
 I believed, however, shortly, that I had discovered other evi- 
 dences of "moonshine" among the young folks, was dis- 
 pleased thereat, and closed the session rather imperiously and 
 suddenly. But notwithstanding my caution, something had 
 been said that night which operated to change the life-history 
 from " what might have been " of those two and others, and 
 will assist in moulding the destiny of all. 
 
 One pleasant Sunday afternoon in early June I began to 
 make preparations to drive to Oakfields. John asked mod- 
 estly, then begged piteously for the privilege of accompanying 
 me. I weakly consented to his so doing, albeit with a rue- 
 iul consciousness that I was abetting a wrong thereby. We 
 drove out the state-road chatting pleasantly, and when we 
 liad reached the red-pointed gate-posts that mark the 
 entrance to the farm, I noticed with what alacrity my man 
 sprang to earth and " swung wide the portal ", and took occa- 
 sion to commend his sprightliness. We slowly mounted the 
 ridge, and John's two eyes were strained toward the " low- 
 browed" farm-house in the still distant vale. Then some 
 object near at hand attracted his eager attention, and his 
 features fairly beamed with delight Kathleen suddenly 
 stood by the side of our Hght wagon, and smiled up at us 
 from under her gracefully-worn straw hat. 
 
 " We are waylaid ! " I cried, as my pony, who was ever 
 -looking for an excuse for such action, came to a halt I had 
 
230 GONENi:SS. 
 
 addressed my remark to Jolin witliout turning my face his 
 way ; hearing no response I looked where he had been sitting- 
 and fronted a vacant cushion. He was gone, — over the 
 "back-rest of the wagon-seat, 
 
 " Gone, like a tenant that leaves witliout warning, 
 Down the back entry. " * 
 
 I turned to comment pleasantly upon the sudden and 
 mysterious " taking off " of the printer to Kathleen ; she too 
 was missing. I sat as solitary there as Adam in his Paradise 
 ere he sunk into that deep slumber before Eve, or as that 
 other " lonely man " whom Campbell imagines : 
 
 "The last of human mould. 
 That shall creation's death behold, 
 As Adam saw her prime. " 
 
 I gazed from right to left, but saw not a living creature- 
 except a frolicsome bob-o-link sporting with the fragrant red- 
 clover blossoms. I glanced over my shoulder and there 
 beheld the truants walking toward the east the road I had 
 driven over; pretty near together they were, their heads 
 bowed so as to bring them still nearer ; they murmured as 
 they walked and were apparently utterly obhvious of every 
 thing around save only of the presence of each other. 
 
 " This is rather shocking to me I " 
 
 ' ' I something more than muttered ; " 
 
 " I can't imagine what Malvina will say when I tell her of it ! "' 
 I roused with difficulty my lazy little pony, and drove on 
 
 slowly and meditatively to the farm-house. 
 
 An hour or two later the two young simpletons, who, as it 
 
 seemed to me at the moment, were wantonly playing upon. 
 
 the thin crust of a volcano, slowly walked down to the house. 
 
 The air of either was graver than I had ever before observed, 
 
 it when they were in each other's company, and their faces. 
 
 * Holmes. 
 
DISTRUST AND LECTURES. 231 
 
 were a study. Something told me that John had made a 
 clean breast of it to her ; but I could also discern that there 
 was no diminution of esteem on either side, and I thought I 
 perceived something about them both that was indicative of 
 a fixed resolution to, — do something or other, — I was greatly 
 exercised to know what. A sentiment of distrust stole into 
 my breast. I decided then and there to deliver a moral lec- 
 ture to John on our way home ; for the present I contented 
 myself with making some common-place remark concerning 
 the sweetness of the clover fields. 
 
 '"Clover," said John, half -vacantly, half-inquiringly, "I 
 haven't seen it, I guess ; where is it ? " 
 
 The fool had actually followed our winding private road 
 through fields of blooming red-clover from the highway down, 
 a distance of nearly three-fourths of a mile, and had never 
 seen nor smelled it ! He was well laughed at by the entire 
 party, nor has he outgrown the incident to this day, and if 
 you want to see the printer blush like a sensitive girl, casually 
 allude to red-clover in his presence. 
 
 I did not fail to " get in my work " in the lecturing line 
 upon the devoted John during our homeward drive that 
 evening. I " rattled him roundly ", and reminded him that 
 such things, while they could do little less than end in a 
 scandal, sometimes eventuated in a tragedy. He was very 
 humble and penitent ; and yet I felt that there was something 
 in his mind that he failed to speak out, and I retired to my 
 couch that night with spirits much perturbed. " It's got to 
 end soon I " I muttered audibly, as I tossed about. 
 
 " Yes," responded the gentle lady at my side, " that farm's 
 killing you, and if you don't sell it 'twill end soon in 
 bankruptcy." 
 
 It was not many days later that I performed the feat of 
 rising very early one bright morning and walking out to the 
 farm. I breakfasted with the family there, gave the foreman 
 some general directions as to the distribution of his forces, etc., 
 assisted the chore-boy to feed the calves and poultry, salted 
 
232 SHU^S COME/ 
 
 the young cattle, wMcli laad come up out of tlie great wood- 
 pasture and were lying at ease in tlie grassy lane when I dis- 
 covered tliem, counted tlie lambs, fondled the two fine colts 
 in the orchard behind the bam, and then set out for a long 
 walk over my prized possessions. I had been out an hour or 
 two, and had tramped over hundreds of acres of beaver- 
 meadow and forest-land, when, on returning fatigued to the 
 house, I was somewhat startled to observe my pony and 
 wagon standing at the gate. A little boy whom I did not 
 recognize was seated in the vehicle. John's visage near the 
 door, more haggard and woe-begone than any human counten- 
 ance my eye had ever before rested upon, met my astonished 
 gaze. The printer made a half-spasmodic and despairing sort 
 of gesture toward the child in the wagon, which I failed to 
 comprehend ; then he gasped out : 
 
 " She's come ! " 
 
 " The devil ! " I ejaculated. 
 
 "Yes, and brought all the young-ones with her," he 
 mumbled almost inarticulately. 
 
 It must come out, dear reader, sooner or later, and it 
 might as well be told here as elsewhere. I know it will 
 shock you, — 'tis a most shocking affair, — and well do I 
 recall my own feelings when perusing that romance of 
 Eead's, Peg. Woffington, I came to the point where it was 
 revealed to me that the humane, the "incomparable Mr. 
 Vane " was a married man ! 
 
 Yes, John, the printer, — John, the industrious, skillful 
 and trusted foreman of my " newspaper and job office ", — 
 the serviceable, social, moral, good-looking, kind-hearted 
 John, had been a married man all this time ! And not only 
 that : he was also the father of three children ! and the old 
 lady, his Nemesis, and all the family had now swooped down 
 upon him to claim their own. 
 
 This is what was the matter with John. It was an appre- 
 hension of the happening of this last thing, and of some 
 other things in connection therewith, that had been troubling 
 
3nSEBT ENOUGH. 233 
 
 my slumbers as well as my waking hours of late. But 
 John's worst enemy — if he had any enemies — and Kath- 
 leen's "dearest foe" — if foe she ever possessed — would 
 have pitied the poor children now could they have seen 
 their white and horror-stricken visages as I saw them, — his 
 near the door there, and her's through the window, — and 
 stopped pursuit and cried, " it is enough ! " Misery ! Had 
 Schiller's Louisa beheld those poor faces, from which every 
 drop of blood seemed crushed out by an awful despair, she 
 might indeed have cried out and been qualified to say: 
 " I will teach the duke what misery is, — I will paint to him 
 in all the writhing agonies of death what misery is, — I will 
 cry aloud in wailing that shall creep through the very 
 marrow of his bones, what misery is ! "* 
 
 And poor little Johnny, up there on the wagon-seat, 
 though failing, of course, to understand anything of all this, 
 still perceiving that something, — yea, that all — everything 
 was wrong, glanced piteously from one blanched face to 
 another, and began to sob as if his heart would break. 
 
 Yes, John, weak, unfortunate John ! was a married man, 
 had been a married man for years, in fact ; but, unlike the 
 good Mr. Vane of Eead's yarn, he had, upon the formation 
 of this later connubial co-partnership, brought into the busi- 
 ness about all the amiability, honesty, and the major portion 
 of the stock of decency the house ever possessed, and within 
 a few years, as must result in the majority of similar cases, 
 the firm had become insolvent from a lack of these articles. 
 
 It is a lamentable history, that of John's early married life. 
 ISTot to dwell an unnecessary length of time upon an un- 
 pleasant theme, I will content myself by making a very 
 brief statement of the grounds of his dif&culties, and for the 
 most part leave the imagination of the reader to supply the 
 incidents. 
 
 *Schillek: I/yee and Intrigue, Act III, Scene VI. 
 
234 A PITIFUL TALE. 
 
 At the early age of seventeen, an innocent, handsome,, 
 well-grown lad, John met an artful, scheming, insinuating- 
 woman, some sis or seven years his senior. This female^ 
 found means to gain his attention, and soon had acquired a 
 wonderful influence over the lone, wayward and always 
 susceptible youth. Soon the subject of marriage came up, 
 and the poor unguarded child, who ought to have been with 
 his mother, and who needed years and years yet of schooling 
 and experience ere he should have dared think of matri- 
 mony, was inveigled by the infernal machinations of that 
 cunning woman into wedlock. At the age of eighteen the 
 little fool was a father. 
 
 Soon enough had begun his punishment, and if to be 
 blamed at all for the false step he had been wheedled into, 
 there is no one not a demon who knows a tithe of what he 
 endured from that woman's insane jealousy and devilish 
 spite, but will say that he has been terribly punished for 
 his sin. 
 
 Oh, the tale is a pitiful one, and my heart is sick to think 
 of it ! It is a story of domestic discord, separations, perse- 
 cutions then repentance on the part of the woman, reconcili- 
 ations, brief episodes of peace, and occasionally something 
 like a gleam of sunshine in the troubled household, eclipsed, 
 however, ere fully recognizable, by another sudden burst of 
 the domestic tempest, never long inactive, followed again by 
 the blackness of despair. 
 
 The fault might not have been purely upon the side of 
 the woman at all times ; but that for the most part it was 
 there can be no question in the mind of one cognizant of so 
 many of the circumstances as was the writer. I have some- 
 times believed the wife a maniac ; and this is still the only 
 charitable explanation of her conduct. She would at times 
 appear to love her husband fondly, and always professed tO' 
 be proud of him — of his manly beauty, and his talents — 
 even during her most violent spells, and when her temper had. 
 
Tv^AS IT 3IANIACY? 235- 
 
 put lier completely beside Herself. Again slie would betave- 
 as if sbe really hated Hm, and even proclaimed this as a fact, 
 threatened often to kill him, and upon one or two occasions 
 seems to have attempted to carry out the threat. After 
 repeated efforts at a permanent separation from her, forever 
 foiled by the acts of the woman herself, (who followed him 
 from state to state and finally into Canada), as well as by that 
 tender traitor, his heart, which still pitied the wretched perse- 
 cutor, ^nd yearned for his helpless children, John finally, 
 sometime ere the date which marks the commencement of my 
 story, had quitted his home in the Queen's dominions with a 
 determination to see his wife no more. He had made appli- 
 cation to one of the legal mills of a western state for a divorce, 
 and had been fondly hoping that the decree, which he had 
 full expectaton of securing and which was now long past due, 
 would be obtained ere she should ascertain his whereabouts 
 and pounce down upon him. She had simply again ferreted 
 him out, displajdng herein something of that cunning for- 
 which she was ever remarkable, and had arrived in town by 
 the morning train after I had set out for my walk to the farm. 
 John, as soon as he could " tear himself away " from his new- 
 found wife, had hitched up the pony and fled — to Kathleen 
 for sympathy — to me for counsel. 
 
 It is not the special purpose of this tale to teach morals. 
 These are the actions of real creatures of flesh and blood with 
 which I am concerned. These frail beings may have behaved 
 well, or tliey may have acted ill ; in either event I disclaim 
 all responsibility. But in my dealings with the actors of 
 this drama at the time it " occupied the boards " I was con- 
 scious of an earnest desire to be strictly just toward alL 
 
 Although it may appear to the apprehension of the aver- 
 age reader that I have involved myself at this point in a 
 labyrinth from which, as the very least cost, much labor and 
 time must be expended to enable me to extricate myself, 
 I am prepared here and now coolly to announce that 
 
236 FLIGHT, FREED03I AND HAPPINESS. 
 
 my task is near its end There is an old proverb wliich 
 asserts that it is generally darkest just ere the dawn, which 
 experience has justified The case of John and Kathleen 
 was no exception to the rule, and in a few brief sentences I 
 shall be able to give you the — to them, and as I trast, also 
 to you, kind reader — pleasant conclusion of the little drama 
 I have here undertaken to unfold 
 
 John's meeting with his wife had been a stormy, that 
 with his children an affectionate and most affecting one. She 
 had taunted, scolded, threatened, — when, finding him firm as 
 a rock, she altered her tactics, and wept, pleaded and appealed 
 
 "No," said John, as an eye-witness of the interview shortly 
 after reported it to me, " it is of no use. It is too late. I 
 have applied for a divorce, and even at this moment may be 
 legally clear of you. "We can never, never be anything to 
 each other again ! " 
 
 These solemn words seemed to have had the effect to 
 stupefy the wretched woman for a period, during which John 
 made good his escape and his Hegira to the farm, as nar- 
 rated above. 
 
 Of course the only thing for John was another journey — 
 and a journey it was, to an eastern city, where he readily 
 found work at remunerative wages, and where within 
 a few weeks his decree of divorce, duly signed and sealed, 
 was delivered to him. Like a bird to her nest did Kathleen 
 fly to him when the summons came, as soon it did come, in 
 this form : 
 
 " Darling, I am free, and am waiting for you : come ! " 
 
 Thus I lost both my " hired girl " and my foreman from 
 the printing office ; but two hearts were surcharged with hap- 
 piness, and while I grumblingly sought about to supply the 
 places left vacant, I rejoiced with a great joy in the good 
 fortune of my young friends. They were married quietly on 
 the lady's arrival in the Quaker City, and they have now at 
 their house just one of the sweetest of little girls ! 
 
CONCLUSION OF THE TALE. 
 
 237 
 
 The poor creature who formerly, in a legal sense, sustained 
 the relationship of wife to our John, is dragging out a miser- 
 able existence in a country town. John has endeavored 
 repeatedly to regain possession of his children, but so far he 
 has been defeated in every attempt by the satanic ingenuity 
 of their mother, who appears to take this method of wreaking 
 her revenge upon him. He has been able to help them to 
 some extent ; but theirs is a sad lot, and humanity prompts 
 one to wish that the father may soon wrest control of the 
 helpless beings from one so unfit to exercise it 
 
 
MOTTOES FOR KHiPTER Mil 
 
 lr)ist!,opic rolls I oper)ed." 
 
 Anon. 
 
 ** W^ildly rour)d oup woodland quarters 
 Sad-^voiced ^ututr)n grieves ; 
 Thickly down the S"wellir|g waters 
 Float tl^e falling leaves. 
 
 % * * «• 
 
 *' J^oiselqss creepir)g while w^e're sleepir|g 
 Frost his task-w^ork plies > 
 Soon, his icy bridges ^)®2ipir)g, 
 Shall-£>ur log pilef rise. 
 
 "Wheq w^ith sound of rgufTied thur)dep, 
 
 ©n some nigljt of r6in, 
 Ljake ar)d river break asunder 
 
 W^inter'^ icy chain, 
 Oown ttje wild NJarch flood sl^all bear them, 
 
 Tq tlrje saw^^nnill's wlgeel, 
 ©p -where steam, tV)e slave, sbjall tear tlgem 
 
 Witt) Ijis teeth) of steel. 
 
 '" !N]ake w^e here oup camp of w^irjtep, 
 ^nd thpougb) sleet and snow^ 
 ■f^itchy knot arjd beechy splinter 
 ©r) OUP bjeapth sbjall glow j 
 338 
 
MOTTOES FOR CHAPTER XVII. 239 
 
 J^ere, "vvitlQ ngiptl-) bo lighten duty, 
 
 \^z ©hall lack alorje 
 Worrjarj's S^Qile, and girlhood's beauty, 
 
 (2hildb|ood's lispirjg torje. 
 
 **J4ot for us tlge measured rirjging 
 
 Fronr) the village spire, 
 jMot for us tl]e Sabbath singing 
 
 ©f tl]e sweet'-voiced choir ; 
 ©up's t^je old majestic temple 
 
 Where ©od's brigbjtness shiiQes 
 C)owr) the dome so grarjd ar)d simple, 
 
 '^-'popped by lofty piqes ! 
 
 "ClQeeply or) tlje axe of labor 
 
 Lset the sunbeargs dance, 
 'Better tl]a3-| tlrje flash of sabre, 
 
 ©r ttje gleam of larjce ! 
 Strike ! "witlg every blow is giver) 
 
 Freer sur) ar)d sky ; 
 i^rjd the long-hid earth) to Igeaven 
 
 Iiooks with wonderirjg eye ! 
 
 •" Ljoud behirjd us grow tl]e rguprqups 
 ©f tbje age to conge ; 
 Clang of sngith), and tread of faprrjePS, 
 
 ■©eaping hapvest horqe ! 
 ^ere hep vipgin lap v^'itlr) treasures 
 
 Sljall the gpeer) eaptlg fill, 
 "Waving wheat ar)d golder) ngaize-eaps 
 Crown tl]e beeclgen hjill. 
 
240 
 
 MOTTOES FOR CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 In our J^orthland, wild ar|d woody, 
 
 Lxet us gfcill have part ; 
 Hugged rjupse ar|d rgothep sturdy, 
 
 |-iold us to fcl^y heart ! " 
 
 Whittier : TAe Lum5er?naft. 
 
 " W^e live ir) the begt gylvarj society; -we have tl^e er)tree 
 of tbje soirees of tl-)e 'Pines, the Bln^s, tb)e ^sljes, ar)d the 
 ©aks, — the oldest and highest families." 
 
 Ixodes A mbresiancB, LXV. 
 
 'Thje woods I oh), golenQn are the boundless wood§ 
 ©f this great western -world I " 
 
 Mrs. Hzmans. 
 
 Y^e. fleetV) algo as a shjado-w, aijd cor]tinuetl] rjot. 
 
 yob. 
 
CHAPTER XVn. 
 
 (HE lumberman was liere before 
 me. The record of his labor 
 exists here in a multitnde of pine 
 stumps. There are also several 
 old grassy roads running through 
 my territory which were made by 
 him, and by that other vandal, 
 the ship-timber man, to whose 
 rapacity were sacrificed the largest 
 and best of the fine oaks which 
 grew here. There were old sMd- 
 ways ^Iso to be found in various 
 quarters hereabout at an earlier 
 period; but these have for the 
 most part been devoured by fire, 
 or consumed by slow decay. 
 
 An old building which was 
 erected in by-gone days, and for- 
 merly used during two or three 
 seasons for a lumber camp, stands in the clearing near the 
 centre of the " east eighty". It was called the Kenney 
 Camp from its builder, the " boss " of the crew who did the 
 cutting of the pine timber which grew here, — one Charles 
 Kenney. It was built, I think, during the fall of 1871. It 
 has been occupied by "help" upon the farm at different 
 times since my advent here. In it my first crew bivouacked 
 for several months ere I owned the lot upon which it stands. 
 This was during the dark ages here, and before' General 
 Allen's occupancy. The structure is growing old, and the 
 place that has known it will soon know it no more forever. 
 IS 241 
 
242 A TYPICAL CA3IP. 
 
 'Tis natural that we sliould feel a little curiosity regarding 
 those who have preceded us in our homes ; hence have I 
 made some inquiry concerning this particular camp of lum- 
 bermen. I here set down, for the benefit of future genera- 
 tions who may read this work, some results of that inquisition. 
 
 I find that the "boys" making up the different gangs 
 in the camp which I am about to describe, would 
 have averaged pretty well with those who are found in 
 the lumberwoods generally. The foreman, or "boss", as 
 he is usually termed, was a native of the state of Maine, six 
 feet three inches in height, straight as a pine tree, " bearded 
 like a pard," broad-shouldered, illiterate and rough. Strong 
 as a giant he was, and a typical lumberman in every respect. 
 Many of the crew doubtless resembled him in their more 
 prominent characteristics, and I am persuaded that a portion 
 of Frere's description of the knights of King Arthur's court 
 would apply measurably well to these half -wild campmen : 
 
 "They looked a manly, generous generation; 
 Beards, shoulders, eyebrows, broad and square and thick. 
 Their accents firm and loud in conversation, 
 Their eyes and gestures, eager, sharp and quick, 
 Showed them prepared on proper provocation 
 To give the lie, pull noses, stab, and kick." 
 
 It is certain that no better description than this of a crew 
 of men where all resemble the "boss" of Kenney's camp, 
 could be given. The boys are gathered together from the 
 lumberwoods of Maine, Ontario, Nova Scotia, etc., and 
 many of ' them are of huge stature, — the animal part being 
 well developed throughout, — ignorant and uncouth in their 
 manners, but generous and humane often, — prompt in the 
 offices of friendship, and equally quick in quarrel and hot 
 when engaged : 
 
 " They cannot read and so don't lisp in criticism; 
 Nor write and so they don't affect the muse; 
 Were never caught in epigram nor witticism; 
 Have no romances, sermons, ]i'ay=, reviews."* 
 
 *Byron: Bexqw. 
 
THE SITE. 243 
 
 Or if they have any of these things they are not of the 
 learned character our poet alludes to, and they form no 
 large part of their life, the latter being one generally of pro- 
 longed periods of toil in the woods and on the streams, 
 alternated with brief periods of wild revelry and debauch 
 in the border towns. 
 
 In its original and complete form the " shanty"* consisted of 
 two separate buildings standing some fifteen feet asunder. 
 The walls of these were of pine boards, set on end, and the 
 Toofs were of shingles. The space between the buildings 
 was roofed over with boards, but was left open on the sides. 
 The northerly building, the same being the one still stand- 
 ing, contained the camp-kitchen ; in the southerly building 
 were the sleeping and sitting apartm^ents of the crew. A 
 short distance further south were the stables, shop, etc. Of 
 these the walls were of logs and the roofs of boards. 
 
 The site of the camp is low ; the forest growth about it 
 was a mixed one, oak, elm, and ash trees abounding, and 
 upon the ridge just to the eastward and northward were 
 many pines, the stumps whereof still remain. The buildings 
 
 " Stood embosomed in a liappy valley 
 
 Covered by high woodlands, where the Druid oak 
 
 Stood like Caractacus in act to rally 
 His hosts with broad arms 'gainst the thunder-stroke; 
 
 And from beneath its boughs were seen to sally 
 The dappled foresters, as day awoke, — 
 
 The bounding stag swept down with all his herd 
 
 To quaff a brook which murmured like a bird, "f 
 
 It is somewhat rare that lumber-camps are constructed so 
 largely of such civilized materials as boards and shingles as 
 were those I here describe. The explanation here is that 
 the situation was near town, and the work was being done 
 for a gentleman who owned a large mill there, at which both 
 these articles were manufactured. 
 
 *The common appellation of buildings in the woods. 
 \Don Juan. 
 
244 EXTENT OF THE BOBBERY, 
 
 Thus have I given a faithful and tolerably clear account 
 of the habitation and personal appearance of the Goths and 
 Yandals who overran this territory at an early day, and 
 
 made havoc of the rich forest growths, — destroying the 
 fairest works of nature here, even as their prototypes de- 
 stroyed the works of art in Italy ! It would be difficult to 
 make even an approximate estimate in dollars of the value 
 of the timber — pine and oak — of which the land I now 
 own has been robbed : I have no doubt, however, that it 
 would run into figures of four ciphers. 
 
 The pine logs cut here were for the most part hauled to 
 the Sturgeon creek, a small tributary of the Tittabawassee 
 river, and whose mouth is about a half-mile above the 
 county-seat This creek lies to the westward of the farm, 
 and at its nearest point is distant therefrom one mile. The 
 logs were floated down this stream to the river during the 
 spring freshets. The oak timber was hauled directly to the 
 town. 
 
 I have no sentimental feelings connected with the exodus 
 of the pine trees, — I can spare them well, — but I do regret 
 the loss of those fine oaks ! Had I been able to save a por- 
 tion of them only, such as I would have selected ! I would 
 
A VISIT TO CA3IP — JZV TOUE MIND. 245 
 
 have bound myself by contract, too — and that willingly — 
 not to convert a single tree of them into a merchantable 
 ■commodity. I want the trees whole and alive, — and they 
 should have stood and gladdened every eye turned this way 
 while my rule lasted here, and for a period as much beyond 
 that as I could have provided for by condition of will or 
 stipulation of contract ! The mercenary iconoclasts* didn't 
 destroy all my oaken idols however. I have hundreds of 
 small ones left, and some still of very fair dimensions. 
 
 I have given you simply a plain description of the lumber- 
 camp, with a sort of guess at the character of its j)ersonnel 
 There is naught now to prevent us, reader, from exercising 
 our (cultivated) imaginations to develop a full picture of the 
 life -drama at an earlier day enacted upon this narrow stage. 
 "We may suppose — anything we choose, of course — ■ hence 
 we will play we are at the camp. It is about 3:30 of a brist- 
 ling winter morning. The male cook is astir, and so are the 
 teamsters. Lights are flashing about the stables, and rousing 
 fires are going in both camps. The savory odor of baked 
 pork and beans — not strictly in the Boston, but more nearly 
 m the " State-of-Maine " style — floats appetizingly on the 
 frosty air. Tea, black and strong too, it may be guessed, 
 will form the "wash" at this early meal. The rattle of tin 
 apprises the visitor that the shelf and tableware are largely 
 of this variety of plate. The clear voice of the energetic and 
 "ubiquitous " boss " rings out and echoes in the dense black 
 ^oods, and in reply are heard the notes of the owl, or, may- 
 hap, the dismal howl of the wolf. There is a general stir now : 
 the breakfast hour is at hand. At the men's camp are heard 
 various sounds : The voiceful yawn, the petulant snarl — 
 for it is both early and cold, — the crisp and ready oath, the 
 kicking on of frozen boots, the swashing of water, the slam- 
 
 *I'm calling "hard names" I know — to spell and pronounce! but 
 the wretches to whom they are applied deserve such tasks to do for 
 penance. 
 
246 MOBNIKG EXERCISES IN CAMP. 
 
 ming to and fro of tlie door — from wHcli comes an unwhole.. 
 some smell, — and then, at tlie blunt announcement, " Breck- 
 fns ready " ! there is a general rush, as if life itself depended 
 "upon eating! — which, come to reflect, is pretty nearly 
 the case. 
 
 !Forth from the sleeping camp pour the boys, 
 
 "As bees bizz out wi' angry fyke 
 When plundering herds assail their byke."* 
 
 Pell-mell for the cook's den they crowd ; and, like the mailed 
 retainers of old Baron Eudiger, pour 
 
 " On through the portal's frowning arch, 
 And throng around the board I" 
 
 Let's enter with these rough-hewn men and win a view of 
 the interior of the " cook's shanty ". 
 
 " Imagination fondly stoops to trace 
 The parlor splendors of that festive place 1 "f 
 
 The most prominent and interesting object at this hour is. 
 the long clothless table of undressed pine lumber, about 
 which stand benches of like material. Two long ranks of 
 round tin plates, each guarded on the right flank by a basin 
 of the same metal filled with a steaming fluid that appears as 
 if it might have been dipped from the Black Sea, mark the 
 places of the eaters. There are piles of bread, white and 
 brown, pjrramids of ]3otatoes boiled with their clothes on, 
 there are butter, fried pork swimming in its own fat, black 
 molasses, — yea, and there are the beans, in the original pack- 
 ages — that is to say, in the very kettles in which they were' 
 baked — at either extremity of the table. Ko grace is said 
 of which the ear is cognizant; no cumbrous ceremony is 
 observed ; — all this exercise of breaking fast is conducted 
 with that beautiful and primitive simplicity which marks the 
 banqueting of a pack of half-famished wolves. "Pitch in'* 
 
 * Burns: Tarn O'Shanter. | Goldsmith: Deserted Village. 
 
SERIOUS AND SUBSTANTIAL EATING. 247 
 
 appears to be tlie motto, and all the boys liave learned it 
 At this rate it does not take a very lengtby period for a crew 
 of from twenty -five to forty stalwart and hearty men to con- 
 sume a very handsome quantity of "chuck".* But they 
 persevere nobly at the table, do these " boys ", and be the 
 meal what it may, breakfast, dinner, supper, or Sunday lunch, 
 it never " comes amiss " to the lumberman, — he always " takes 
 to it kindly ", and does it ample justice. 
 
 Along the table view a double-row of uncouth, unkempt- 
 appearing, " Mackinaw-clad "f men, with shaggy, unshorn 
 heads, eager eyes, and prominent elbows, ruddy, fleshy faces 
 — not over-cleanly, hungTy, white teeth -r- snapping greedily, 
 catching and clawing fingers ! Huge morsels, poorly masti- 
 cated, are crowded into all-too-narrow throats, the ley -like tea 
 is freely pom'ed on, and, some hoiu^ down it all goes to make 
 room for what is crowding hard after. Cook and cookee:}: fly 
 about like veritable "devil's darning-needles" to keep all 
 these wonderful hash-traps^ in motion. Indeed, occasionally 
 when I have been an eye-witness of one of these gourmandiz- 
 ing scenes at the board of a lumber camp, I have been 
 forcibly reminded of the great Christopher, editor of Maga., 
 and his friends, in the banqueting hall at Ambrose's. The 
 quality of the edibles was different there, it is true, and the 
 drink was something stronger ; but the appetites and capa- 
 cities of the participants appear to have been about the same. 
 " Serious eating, James ; serious and substantial eating ", as 
 Kit well observed upon the twenty -third night But finally 
 the meal is concluded. 
 
 Out they pour, and now business is the word ! The dif- 
 ferent crews, the swampers,! the loaders, the choppers, the 
 
 * The favorite name for edibles in the lumberwoods. 
 
 f The Mackinaws are" over-alls ", shirts and drawers, of a coarse flan- 
 nel dyed a bright red or blue, and are very commonly worn in the 
 lumberwoods. 
 
 :|:The cook's assistant. 
 
 §The popular appellation in camp for the mouth. 
 
 |[The road-makers. 
 
248 
 
 PREPARATIONS FOR BUSINESS. 
 
 sawyers, etc., arm themselves with, their appropriate imple- 
 ments, and file out into the still, black forest, the road being 
 dimly discerned by the light of the twinkling 
 stars. The teamsters bring out their animals, 
 all bustling and hastening as if it were a race, 
 which indeed it generally is, to see who shall 
 accomplish the greatest number of trips for the 
 day. And while all this is on-going there, the 
 ; clinking of chains, axes, "pevies", and other 
 tools against each other, the cracking 
 of the whip, the crackling of the crisp 
 snow under foot, every exclamation, 
 and even the whistling of the busy 
 men is sharply and quickly, 
 and in a musical, metallic tone, 
 repeated by the near-dwelling 
 echoes. 
 
 The choppers fell the trees, 
 
 and frequently measure and 
 
 ___ mark the trunk, cut ofE 
 
 the top and " square the 
 butt ". The sawyers fol- 
 low and cut the 
 trunk into logs usu- 
 ~ '^ ally running from 
 twelve to 
 twenty -four 
 feet in 
 M" length. 
 
sow THE WORK GOES ON. 249 
 
 The swampers make the side-roads to the skidways (the main 
 roads, as a usual thing, having been constructed during the 
 preceding fall) and the "cross-hauls," or places to draw the 
 team transversely to the road in loading a log upon a dray.* 
 The skidding teams haul the logs along and place them upon 
 the skidways. The loaders assist the teamsters in loading the 
 logs from the skidways upon their heavy sleighs, or sleds, and 
 binding them there with chains. The teamster drives with 
 his load to the bank of the stream, and, unwrapping his 
 chains, tumbles his logs down a cleared portion of the bank 
 known as the roUway. The foreman and one or two super- 
 numeraries are flying about putting in a stroke wherever it 
 can be made to count, — repairing the main road, sanding a 
 hill, and keeping the machinery lubricated generally. 
 
 And now 
 
 "At intervals, 
 With sudden roar, the aged pine tree falls, — 
 One crash, the death-hymn of the perfect tree. 
 Declares the close of its green century. 
 Low lies the plant to whose creation went 
 Sweet influence from every element: 
 Whose living tower the years conspired to build. 
 Whose giddy top the morning loved to gild."t 
 
 At the dinner hour a horn is blown, and as fast as they 
 are able the men rush in, wash and hasten to the table as if 
 it were the first opportunity of the kind enjoyed for eight-and- 
 forty hours at the very least. The crew is not generally on 
 Land all at once at this second meal of the day. The team- 
 sters especially cannot always time their trips aright ; and 
 €ven among the others those nearest the camp frequently 
 iare first. 
 
 But, of course, as regards minor matters, usage varies 
 slightly in different camps, both in regard to the things 
 
 *A low, flat, sled-like vehicle upon which, when in use, one end of 
 the log rests while the other drags upon the ground. 
 •j-Emeeson: Wood Notes. 
 
250 DINING AND SUPPING. 
 
 last mentioned and various others. For example, in latter 
 days few choppers are employed, and ti-ees are felled by 
 means of the cross-cut saw. The last twenty-five years has 
 witnessed a complete revolution in the methods of lumbering. 
 Men used to cut timber here and there in the woods ; they 
 have learned to devour whole forests ! 
 
 Dinner over, a very brief season is allotted to the nooning. 
 Perhaps time may be afforded some for the enjoyment of a 
 pipe of tobacco, but ordinarily the smoking must be done on 
 the tramp back to the scene of labor. Supper time arrives 
 long after the dawning of the evening star. All are gener- 
 ally in camp by the time the word is given, and the rush of 
 the morning is repeated. Frequently as the eager boys 
 pour forth from their own quarters, or rally from stable, 
 shop, etc., and rush pell-mell to the table, one is reminded 
 of Scott's lines : 
 
 " Faster come, faster come, 
 
 Faster and faster, — 
 Page, vassal, squire, and gi'oom, 
 
 Tenant and master; 
 Come as the winds come 
 
 When forests are rending; 
 Come as the waves come 
 
 When navies are stranding!' 
 
 After supper the the teamsters care for their animals ; the 
 axemen and sawyers sharpen their respective tools ; harnesses 
 and implements are repaired ; smoking is indulged in 
 ad libitum^ and almost ad infinitum \ rude joking, story-tell- 
 ing, singing, etc., are in order; card playing, which in many 
 camps is allowed, serves to while away the hours, until bed- 
 time is reached, when the lights must all go out. 
 
 The songs sung in the camp are of many different kinds^ 
 varying from the sacred hymn through all the gamut down 
 to the most wretchedly obscene ditty, translated from the 
 forecastle. Some of these huge-chested sons of toil possess 
 marvelously sweet voices, but which are for the most part, of 
 
SONGS. 251 
 
 course, totally uncultivated. Still tlie music they make is 
 frequently very pleasant, and singularly in keeping witli 
 their wild surroundings. I recollect some stanzas of a 
 melancholy song, formerly a favorite in the camps, and 
 which ran as follows : 
 
 "A shanty-man's life is a wearisome one. 
 Though some say it is free from all care; 
 'Tis the wielding of an axe from daylight until dark 
 In the midst of some forest so bare. 
 
 "We turn from the glass, and the happy smiling lass. 
 And leave all cheer behind ; 
 ITot a friend so dear as to wipe a falling tear, 
 And sorrow fills the troubled mind. 
 
 " Transported we are from the maidens so fair 
 To the bank of some lone, wild stream, 
 Where tbe wolves and the owls, with their terrifying howls,* 
 Disturb our nightly dreams." 
 
 There were several intervening stanzas, then followed this r 
 
 "When spring doth come in double hardships then begin: 
 The water is piercing cold; 
 Dripping wet are our clothes, our limbs about half froze. 
 And our pike-poles we scarcely can hold." 
 
 The above is all I recall of this truly lugubrious ditty ; 
 and what has always appeared to me as a singular circum- 
 stance is that this is the only song peculiarly appropriate to 
 the life they lead I ever heard among the lumbermen, — 
 though doubtless there are some others. On shipboard, it is 
 said, yoTi hear few beside sailor-songs, — and their name is 
 legion. Soldiers love no Ijncs so well as those which cele- 
 brate martial achievements or the loves of warriors. Why is 
 it that this third isolated class should differ thus widely in 
 this regard from their brothers in the other walks of life in 
 
 *The howling of the owls will be a new thing to most, but Boswokth, 
 the author of A Dictionary oftlie Anglo-Saxon Language, says that "the 
 name [of the owl] appears to be formed from the Jioioling cry of the 
 bird." 
 
252 SLEEPING — OCCASIONAL FEATURES. 
 
 wliicTi tlie surrounding circumstances are most like their own? 
 Is it tliat lumbermen do not take tlie pride in tkeir work that 
 soldiers and sailors respectively take in theirs ? or does the 
 reason lie still deeper? 
 
 The sleeping place in the lumber camp is either the field- 
 bed, which extends the full length of the men's apartment, 
 usually on either side of the centrally-located fire-place, and 
 in which the boys lie together under a common coverlet ; or 
 bunks are used, which are rudely constructed, and fashioned 
 after the form of the berths in a vessel or steamer, — one 
 above another. Straw, or, in the absence of this luxury, 
 hemlock boughs are made to do.service in the place of springs, 
 husk mattresses, or cushions of down. 
 
 I should have noted earlier that as a usual thing in the 
 men's camp a fire is maintained upon the ground in the center 
 of the room, while the smoke is allowed to escape through a 
 large hole in the roof, called by courtesy a chimney. Long 
 deacon-seats,, or wooden benches, extend on either side of this 
 fire-place. At the Kenney Camp, I believe, however, both 
 the cook's and the crew's quarters were supplied with 
 
 huge stoves. 
 
 There are occasional features which serve to enhven the 
 scene, and vary the monotony of camp life in the lumber- 
 woods, at which I have here scarcely more than hinted. Dis- 
 putes sometimes arise, and quarrels and, incidentally, fights 
 ensue. Through the instrumentality of spirits (ardent) a gen- 
 eral free fight will occasionally take place, when bloody noses, 
 black eyes, broken heads, and other accidents of war, will be 
 pretty generally and more or less impartially distributed. 
 
 On Sunday, as a rule, the boys divert themselves very 
 much according to the dictates of their own individual inclin- 
 ations. Those impressed with a just sense 'of the value of 
 personal cleanliness (a small minority !) will generally enjoy 
 a thorough scrubbing up. Others will stroll off to a neigh- 
 boring camp, or to town, if that lies sufficiently near at hand. 
 Some will tramp about in " the bush ", armed with revolver 
 
SUNDAY — STRIKING CAMP. 
 
 253 
 
 or gun, and look for game large or small ; others, at home, 
 plaj at cards, or checquers, smoke, sleep, wasli and mend 
 clothes, etc., etc. 
 
 Such is the laborious, monotonous, but in some respects 
 picturesque -camp-life of the Michigan lumberman. 
 
 At the coming of the spring and the failure of the snow, 
 the rollways are "broken in", i. e., the logs upon the bank 
 are rolled into the stream, and camp is "broken up." The 
 crew divides : some of the boys will drive the floating logs 
 down the stream — this is technically known as " going upon 
 the drive " — others will take their winter's earnings and go 
 to town and spend them rapidly. A smaller number save 
 their money, and perhaps depart from the state to spend the 
 warm season with loved ones in distant states or the provinces. 
 
MOTTOEg FOR CHAPTER Mill, 
 
 Ljet not ambifeior) rrjock feheir'ugeful toil, 
 Their tjorrjely joys, and destiny obscure; 
 
 J^op drarjdeur hjear with a disdairjful §n-)ile 
 T^he sbjopt ar)d simple annals of the poop." 
 
 Gray: Elegy. 
 
 " InjiTjoptal verge, 
 Such) as the meetirjg soul may pierce, 
 Ir) rjotes witj-) marjy a winding bout 
 ©f lir|ked sweetr)es§ lorjg^dpawn out." 
 
 Milton : V Allegro, 
 
 •" 7^\ Chpistmas play ar)d make good cheep, 
 Fop Chpistrrjas comes but once a yeap." 
 
 TussER : The Farmer^ s Diet. 
 
 254 
 
CHAPTEE XYIII. 
 
 HE idea had long haunted my 
 mind that it would be a pleas- 
 ant experience for me to man- 
 age a campaign or two in the 
 lumberwoods. I felt that at 
 least I might in this manner 
 gain some knowledge of men 
 and things in their simplest 
 and rudest conditions, or forms, 
 which otherwise I should be 
 likely to miss. Such knowl- 
 edge might happen to become 
 useful to me in after life. 
 Well, as luck would have it, 
 opportunity was now given me 
 to test the matter. 
 
 There remained upon the 
 tract I had purchased, a con- 
 siderable quantity of pine tim- 
 ber of inferior quality, which had been rejected by the 
 lumbermen as not being of sufficient value to justify the 
 expense which would be incurred in cutting and conveying 
 it to mill. Much of this timber, however, was of a character 
 suitable for converting into shingles. But for this purpose 
 it was requisite to cull it over very carefully, and at no 
 inconsiderable outlay for extra work of sawing, etc. 
 
 There was a shingle-mill not a mile distant from the 
 eastern boundary of the farm which we should be enabled 
 to utilize in working up our timber. After considering the 
 
 255 
 
256 OUR CA3IP AND CREW. 
 
 matter awhile soluSy and talking it over with the General, I 
 determined to get together a crew of boys (workmen in the 
 lumber-camps — youths, middle-aged and hoary-headed 
 men — are all boys) and play at the game of lumbering 
 during a few of the colder months of the season of 1877-8, 
 and to haul our timber to the mill aforementioned. 
 
 Preparatory to the work we erected a small, flat-roofed log- 
 cabin a few paces southeasterly from the dwelling. This was 
 to be the " men's shanty ". The door of the cabin opened 
 toward the north, and it was (and is: for it still stands) 
 lighted by small windows in the northern and southern walls. 
 It was warmed by a box-stove, and was luxuriously furnished 
 with wooden benches, bunks or berths of pine boards, etc. 
 
 "We rallied a fine, jovial crew, numbering about fifteen souls, 
 among whom were two of the writer's relatives, both of whom 
 owned good farms, and were independent of this sort of life ; 
 but, like myself, they desired to taste a little of this sort of 
 experience. One of these was the younger brother of the 
 writer, whom we have long been in the habit of calling 
 "Doc"; the other was a cousin, who had journeyed all the 
 way hither from the state of Maine to be with me that season : 
 both as kind, honest, genial creatures as one will anywhere 
 meet. Then there was Charley, a younger brother of Mal- 
 vina, a noble fellow, too. He was with me, also, a number 
 of seasons besides this. Doc. had lingered about the farm a 
 good deal of the time since its discovery by me. He formed 
 a part of that crew which felled the timber upon the first acre 
 we began to improve, — which was before the General's era. 
 Ah, he was a dry joker in those days ! and I regTct not to 
 say that he has mended but little as yet. He was always a 
 favorite with the crew, with whom it was the invariable cus- 
 tom when anything went wrong, as, for instance, when a tool 
 was missing from its place, or an unusually poor day's work 
 accomplished, to attribute the fault to Doc. He would 
 shoulder it all with a shrug, and maintain a countenance so 
 
AN EPISTLE TO DOC. 257 
 
 preternaturally grave as to deceive the very elect, — i. e., 
 providing that class of citizens didn't happen to be in the 
 secret, or up to his tricks. 
 
 Doc. has been with us, for longer or shorter periods, a 
 number of times since the season in which our lumbering 
 was done. In fact he knows as much about the farm, and 
 how it came to be a farm, as any one excepting the Gleneral. 
 After I had. taken up my abode at the farm-house, I one 
 day addressed an "open letter" in verse to my younger 
 brother, which was read by all our friends ; and as the. par- 
 ticulars above given will enable the reader to understand the 
 hints and allusions therein contained, and in the^ belief, too, 
 that the few facts I have narrated concerning him will stir 
 the reader's desire for a little further acquaintance with Doc, 
 (although a little out of place here) I give the epistle below 
 (as we phrase it in the lumberwoods) at sled-length : ' 
 
 AN EPISTLE TO DOO. 
 
 Dear Doc, "I take my pen in hand", 
 ('Tis but a pencil : stubby brand !) 
 To give you thus to understand 
 How grows the crop, how glows the land, 
 How fertile proves the yellow sand, 
 How yield the clay-soils cereals grand, 
 Since of my jovial hireling band, 
 Upon the farm, I took command 1 
 
 You'd scarcely know the fields, dear Doctor, 
 Where late you wrought, or lounged, or walked, or 
 Sat down and smoked with Angus, talked, or 
 Played " duck " with Bill, your keen eye cocked, or 
 Else his^ lest " boss " you catch, when docked, or 
 
 Discharged you'd have been by process summary ; 
 
 For quite " too thin " were all this flummery, — 
 
 If the General " took it in " that ended the mummery I 
 
258 ON GUARD — VOICES OF THE WOODS. 
 
 Beginnings in sport sometimes end serious : 
 You felt more safe from act deleterious 
 To interests of yours, by foreman imperious , 
 If these field orgies you kept quite mysterious ; 
 And so it always happened, however delirious 
 
 Your stol'n joys were, with great circumspection 
 
 Your eye kept guard, and in every direction 
 
 It swept the approaches, for love o' seK-protection 
 
 In most minds is a natural affection I 
 
 But never will I on the boys cast reflection 
 
 Who in days gone by wrought for me on the section 
 
 "Which is numbered thirty-three, of the township 
 
 of Larkin, — 
 Where the wolf used to howl, and the red fox to bark in 
 The forests — so dense that at noontide 'twas dark in 
 Their caverns immense — where the echoes would 
 
 hearken 
 
 Till they heard in the wilds the fierce animals saluting, 
 The baying of the hounds and the hunter's random 
 
 shooting. 
 The jangling of the jays, the ravens' hoarse disputing. 
 The whip-poor-will's refrain, and the owlet's mellow 
 
 hooting. 
 
 There's "many a time and oft", when you ought 
 
 t' 'ave been a-sawing, 
 You've leaned agaiast a stump, the " cross-cut " ceased 
 
 a-drawing, 
 With joking and with laughter, a-smoking or 
 
 a-chawing ; 
 Or you've listened in the woods to hear the crows 
 
 a-cawing. 
 The wood-peckers tapping and all the jays a- jawing — 
 Which marks with us the season when the snow and 
 
 ice are thawing. 
 
doc's sinning. 259 
 
 I can see a merry group a-looking and a-grinning 
 Hound you, standing there, an anecdote beginning, 
 Or sitting on a log, a longer yarn you're spinning; 
 Your face as grave as Puncli, while all the time 
 
 you're winning 
 Applauses from companions, — your accomplices 
 
 in sinning I 
 
 But to him who loves much will much be forgiven ! 
 In spite of all your sins. Doc, I hope you'll go to 
 
 Heaven ! 
 I know you love me well, and vainly have I striven 
 My verse to control, but by it have I been driven 
 
 To divulge to our friends your manifold trans- 
 gressions, 
 To hint at deceit, and many merry sessions, 
 When the hours didnH count in aid of my possessions : 
 In proof of all I've charged I shall have your own 
 confessions ! 
 
 The years roll away, and structures artificial 
 
 l^ow stand where the forests once shadowed soils 
 
 silicial, 
 Where here you beheld the effort bold, initial, 
 
 To curtail a little the dominion of Nature, 
 To destroy the old forests, to change every feature, 
 To expel all the wood-nymphs and every wild 
 creature ! 
 
 Where the huge oak-tree stood with its foliage 
 
 umbrageous, 
 Protecting wild blossoms, — a giant courageous ! — 
 Have the woods fled away, the mature growth of 
 
 ages, 
 And still the axe hews, and the demon fire rages ! 
 
260 SOME OF OUR BOYS. 
 
 Broad fields smiling lie, all fragrant with, clover, 
 "Where erst every rood the dark forests did cover ; 
 There the robin is heard, the blue-bird, the plover ; 
 And lambs skip and play where the wolf was a rover I 
 
 One meets some original characters among the boys in the 
 woods. We had, however, rather an exceptional gang, — 
 one far more intelligent and refined for the most part than 
 the generality of crews found in the pine forests, — and the 
 difference was somewhat owing to the choice we had made 
 of the candidates who had offered. Several of our boys 
 were from farms not far remote, and these were of an entirely 
 different stripe from the regular woodsmen. We had five 
 or six specimens of the standard article, however, — just 
 enough for variety. One of the latter was a stalwart Scotch- 
 man, six feet two in his socks, Tieight Angus, and was 
 called " Pony " for short, (a pony is a short horse), and he 
 might properly have been called " an organized appetite ", 
 for in his capacity for storing away edibles he distanced all 
 competitors. He was a powerful, good-humored sort of an 
 animal. Then there was Dan., whom the boys nicknamed 
 " Come-along ", because he happened to join our force later 
 than the others ; the ox-teamster, Steve., who persisted in 
 pronouncing the abreviated cognomen of "William", the 
 quadruped he drove upon the " nigh " side, " Beel "; Greorge 
 Norton, who had the misfortune to break a leg in the woods 
 that season ; Bazil, the discoverer of Ursa Major^ and perhaps 
 others : portions of as jolly, awkward and good-hearted a crew 
 of its size, I venture to assert, as was ever assembled in a lum- 
 ber-camp ! Bless the boys ! each and all they have ever 
 appeared glad to shake again the hand of " the old man " 
 (that's I) whenever and wherever since that winter they have 
 met him ; and he has a warm corner in his heart for them, 
 every one ! 
 
 Good times did our "lumber-crew" have down in that 
 log cabin, which, standing in a small clearing in the bosom 
 
GOOD TIMES — A CHRISTMAS TREE. 261 
 
 of the mighty forest, was for the time being their home — 
 their castle. Many an evening as the rays of light from 
 their lamps streamed forth from those small windows, lighting 
 up the winter scenery around, and the old box-stove blushed 
 rosy-red and roared back to Boreas without, their shouts of 
 wild mirth have startled the night-birds and echoes in the 
 deep caves of the circumjacent woods. The boys will recall 
 those scenes, and relate the incidents which there occurred, 
 decades hence as they sit, with their wives and children 
 around them, in their own cozy "ingle-nooks", and the 
 sound of the winter-wind brings to their minds tender recol- 
 lections of those old days at Oakfields. 
 
 "We planted a Christmas tree that season at the farm-house. 
 "Well do I remember it ! It was a hemlock tree, of gener- 
 ous, green, fragrant foliage, and we reared it in the front 
 room of the dwelling. All of the boys were interested in the 
 enterprise. And so, also, was Dave., for six years the effi.-' 
 cient foreman in my printing office. Dear, prejudiced, hot- 
 headed, generous -hearted, faithful David Mooney! after 
 long, long years of bitter struggle with that terrible appetite 
 for spirituous liquors, thou wast at last a conqueror ! He is 
 gone now ; poor old Dave ! but there is a deep satisfaction 
 for those who loved him here in the thought that during the 
 last six years of his life no drop of the blighting fluid 
 passed his Hps, and that his end was peaceful and happy ! 
 
 Yes, Dave, took part, of course; everything going on at 
 the farm interested him as much as it did myseK. 
 
 The boys were all at home early in the afternoon preceding 
 the eventful evening ; and it amused me, while it touched my 
 feelings, to see them each and all with infinite pains and 
 patience set about and prosecute the work of making their 
 toilets, so as to present a becoming appearance at "the 
 party." Poor enough, indeed, were the "dress-suits" pos- 
 sessed by several of them; but it was a neighborly com- 
 munity, the borrowing of wearing apparel was not a thing 
 frowned upon, and all got along measurably well. Yea, it 
 
262 THE GITFS, 
 
 was surprising to view tlie metamorplioses produced by soap, 
 water, razor, and clean clotliing in a number of instances I 
 
 It was a fruitful tree which was planted upon that rough 
 pine floor ! Every bough bent beneath its burden. JSTo per- 
 son, member of family or crew, or invited guest, but was 
 remembered, and few received less than a half-dozen tokens, — 
 all, or nearly all, insignificant so far as cost was concerned,, 
 were these, to be sure, but, 
 
 " 'Tis not the value of a gift 
 
 That friendship's hand may tender, — 
 'Tis not the thing's intrinsic worth, 
 
 Though gems of rarest splendor. 
 That calls the heart's best gratitude. 
 
 And wakes a deep emotion ; 
 The simplest flower may be the gift. 
 
 And claim a life's devotion.'' 
 
 It was a merry party ; but what do you think I saw there ? 
 There were rough-looking, bearded men, who had spent their 
 years in the camps. There were elderly men, hundreds of 
 miles from home and those dearest on eartk There were 
 wild young boys there ; — ^yet not a person present but who, 
 when his name was called by the distributor of the gifts, 
 started as though moved by an electric shock, for everything 
 was managed in such manner as to surprise each recipient ; 
 and some, and these occasionally were of the bronzed, beard- 
 ed, or elderly men, as they were handed the articles marked 
 for them, turned quickly from the light — for what purpose ? 
 to hide the trembhng lips and starting tears ! Do you not 
 believe that, when I witnessed these exhibitions of genuine 
 emotion, I felt richly repaid for all the exertion it had cost 
 tne to make this Christmas at the farm a pleasant one for my 
 boys — and girls f Nay, I found occasionally in the course of 
 the evening that my own eyes needed attention to keep them 
 clear enough to enable me successfully to continue to person- 
 ate Kris Kringle. 
 
A LITTLE SENTIMENT. 263 
 
 "The old man" was not forgotten! his share of the 
 Christmas fruit consisted of an odd half-dozen or so of arti- 
 cles, useful and ornamental, among which — the joint gift of 
 the crew and family at the farm — the most prized of all — 
 was a small album containing likenesses, of the General, his 
 lady, the girl who constituted the help in the house, and of 
 nearly all the boys. This I still possess and highly value. 
 
 I may add, to conclude this chapter, that my lumbering 
 experience throughout proved a very pleasant thing indeed, 
 and it is not at all impossible that I may again sometime, for 
 amusement, merely, engage in a similar enterprise. If I do 
 I shall endeavor to secure a foreman and crew as neaxly 
 resembling the old ones as it is possible to find. 
 
MOTTOES FOR gliPTER III 
 
 Oergocritus* eatfele §poil Ijig copq 
 While hje alofl on farjcy's ■wirjg is borr)e." 
 
 Horace : Epistle I. 
 
 ^' Prierjd, hast tljou considered tt)e 'rugged, all''ir)inistep>' 
 ing earfet) ', ag Sophocles -well rjarges tjsp j ho-w gbje feed© 
 the sparrow on fch)e houge^feop, aqd much) more hep darling 
 "D^q ? " Carlyle. 
 
 ^'©ive me, indulgent, gods ! "witt) iTjirjd serene, 
 ^r)d guiltless Igeart, to rar)ge the gylvag sceqe j 
 jSLo splendid poverty, go smilirjg care, 
 J^o -well-bred hate, nor servile gragdeur ttjere I " 
 
 Young J Love of Fame, 
 
 264 
 
CHAPTEE SIX. 
 
 HEEE is a very entertaining 
 cliapter in tliat interesting and 
 instructive book, Horace Gree- 
 ley's Recollections of a Busy LifSj 
 which begins as follows : 
 
 " I shonld have been a farmer. 
 All my riper tastes incline to 
 that blessed calling whereby 
 the human family and its hum- 
 bler auxiliaries are fed. Its 
 quiet, its segregation from 
 strife, and brawls, and heated 
 rivalries, attract and delight 
 me."* 
 
 How that great, loving and 
 lovable heart cherished this 
 idea through long years, and 
 how at length it bore fruit in 
 the form of an investment of funds for the purchase and 
 development of a most unpromising, cold and sterile piece 
 of ground lying some thirty-five miles N. N. E. from the 
 Gotham city-hall, and how the venerable proprietor strug- 
 gled with the tough agricultural problem he had proposed to 
 himself, through the succeeding years of his life, we may 
 gather in part from the Recollections^ and in part from other 
 sources, including that most amusing if not most instructive 
 of modern agricultural hand-books, What I Know of Farm- 
 
 *Chapter XXXVI. 
 
 265 
 
266 SHOULD HE HAVE BEEN A FARMER? 
 
 ing. The critics have had their teeth in this last-named 
 work, and sly, shrewd, old, practical farmers have turned 
 over its pages, their visages meanwhile disclosing sarcastic- 
 smiles at several of the observations and suggestions of the 
 white-coated philosopher, — even as people of the same class, 
 in some future day, will doubtless have their risibles affected 
 by certain of the positions assumed in the present work. 
 But who cares ? I, and many others of kindred tastes, have 
 read and re-read both the works of Mr. Greeley herein 
 mentioned, and have been both instructed and amused ; long' 
 ago I learned to love the author, and I revere his 
 memory. 
 
 " I should have been a farmer," I have quoted Mr. Greeley 
 as saying. He begins the third paragraph of the same 
 chapter with, " I would have been a farmer had any science 
 of farming been known to those among whom my earlier- 
 boyhood was passed," 
 
 This is a strange world, and the commonest things are 
 sometimes, on close observation, discovered to be, in a 
 sense, among the strangest ! The great Greeley, the suc- 
 cessful journalist, the founder of that wonderful journal, 
 the New York Tribune^ — in its and its great editor's 
 prime, the most powerful newspaper the world has ever 
 seen, or shall see, — a man who should not have envied 
 the estate of princes, presidents, or emperors, and who. 
 should have taken pride in the work of his hand, if any 
 man ever should, — he "should have been a farmer ! " What, 
 a confession is here! and what food for reflection for the 
 discontented husbandman ! 
 
 But had Greeley started life as a farmer, and had he con- 
 tinued to the end in that calling which he has risen up and 
 called blessed, would he have been abidingly content ? and 
 would his self-development have been as complete ? his fame 
 as secure ? his usef alness to society as great ? 
 
 Grave question, these : I know not, as yet, how to an- 
 swer them, even to my own satisfaction. Emerson, whose 
 
EMERSON'S THOUGHTS. 267 
 
 just thoughts often assist me toward the solution of difficult, 
 problems, in his elegant essay, entitled Farming^ observes : 
 "Every man has an exceptional respect for tillage, and a 
 feeling that this is the original calling of the race — that he 
 himself is only excused from it by some circumstance which 
 made him delegate it for a time to other hands." 
 
 Is it, then, so universal ? Emerson is almost always right ! 
 Then, also, / should have been a farmer ! But perfect faith 
 is lacking here. 
 
 All confess that there is much that is delightful to con- 
 template in the life of the husbandman. The "Concord 
 Sage " himself, as one has said, half rustic, if the other half 
 was divine, has discovered various agreeable matters whicli 
 are connected therewith, and in the essay cited, enumerates 
 some of them, as follows : 
 
 " He has broad lands for his home. 
 
 " He is permanent ; clings to the land as the rocks do. 
 
 " He has grave truths confided to him. In the great store- 
 house of nature the farmer stands at the door of the bread- 
 room and weighs to each his loai. 
 "He is the continuous benefactor. He who digs a weU, 
 constructs a stone fountain, plants a grove of trees by the 
 road-side, plants an orchard, builds a durable house, reclaims 
 a swamp, or so much as puts a stone seat by the wayside, 
 makes the land so far lovely and desirable, makes a fortune 
 which he can not carry away with him, but which is useful 
 to his country long afterward." 
 
 "Is not the field with lively culture gi-een, 
 A sight more joyous than the dead morass ? " * 
 
 "Who knows," exclaims Emerson, "how many glances of 
 remorse are turned this way from the bankrupts of trade, 
 from mortified pleaders in courts and senates, or from the 
 victims of idleness and pleasure ? " 
 
 Again, he adds : 
 
 Thompson: Castle of In clolence. 
 
268 THE POETS SAVE SPOKEN. 
 
 "The profession lias in all eyes its ancient cliann as stand- 
 ing nearest to God, tlie first cause." 
 
 How the poets have fondled this theme in all ages of the 
 world I Hear the bird- voiced Thompson, the darling of all 
 
 lovers of rural life : 
 
 • ' Nor you who live 
 In luxury and ease, In pomp and pride. 
 Think these lost themes unworthy of your ear ; 
 Such themes as these the rural Maro sung 
 To wide imperial Rome, in the full height 
 Of elegance and taste, by Greece refined. 
 In ancient times the sacred plow employed 
 The kings and awful fathers of mankind ; 
 And some with whom compared your insect tribes 
 Are but the beings of a summer's day, 
 Have held the scale of empire, ruled the storm 
 Of mighty war ; then, with victorious hand. 
 Disdaining little delicacies, seized 
 The plow, and greatly independent, scorned 
 AH the vile stores corruption can bestow." * 
 
 Sir George McKenzie speaks thus : 
 
 * Oh, happy country life! pure like its air: 
 Free from the rage of pride, the pangs of care; 
 Here happy souls lie bathed in soft content, 
 And are at once secure and innocent." 
 
 The great Virgil has the following exquisite lines: 
 
 " Happy the man, who, studying nature's laws, 
 Through known effects can trace the secret cause, — 
 His mind possessing in a quiet state. 
 Fearless of fortune, and resigned to fate I 
 And happy, too, is he who decks the bowers 
 Of sylvan, and adores the rural powers — 
 Whose mind, unmoved, the bribes of Courts can see, 
 Their glittering baits and purple slavery — 
 Nor hopes the people's praise, nor fears their frown. 
 Nor, when contending kindreds tear the crown. 
 Will set up one, or pull another down. 
 Without concern he hears, but hears from fax, 
 Of tumults, and descents, and distant war. 
 Nor with a superstitious fear is awed 
 For what befalls at home or what abroad." f 
 
 *T?i6 Seasons. f II. Oeorgic, Dryden's Trans. 
 
A LANDSCAPE, 
 
 269 
 
^70 OTHER POETS. 
 
 That fascinating writer of pastorals, Eobert Herrick, lias 
 
 1iiis: 
 
 " Sweet country life! to such unknown 
 Whose lives are others not their own. 
 But serving courts and cities, be 
 Less happy, less enjoying thee." 
 
 The " Divine Dn Bartas " adds Ms testimony : 
 
 ** Oh, thrice, thrice happy he who shuns the cares 
 Of city troubles and of state affairs; 
 And, serving Ceres, tills with his own team 
 His own free land! " * 
 
 I haye always admired for its enthusiastic effusiveness and 
 the evident sincerity of its sentiment, the poetical epistle of 
 "Charles Cotton, in retirement^ to his friend, Izaak Walton : 
 
 "Farewell, thou busy world! and may 
 We never meet again: 
 Here I can eat, and sleep, and pray. 
 And do more good in one short day 
 Than he who his whole age outwears 
 Upon the most conspicuous theaters. 
 Where naught but vanity and vice do reign. 
 
 " Great God! how sweet are all things here! 
 How beautiful the fields appear! 
 
 How cleanly do we feed and lie! 
 Lord! what good hours do we keep! 
 How quietly do we sleep! 
 
 What peace! what unanimity! 
 How innocent from the lewd fashion 
 Is all our business, all our recreation! 
 
 Oh, how happy here's our leisure! 
 
 Oh, how innocent our pleasure! 
 
 ***** 
 
 Dear solitude, the soul's best friend, 
 
 That man acquainted with himself doth make! 
 
 *From a poem that "Flossofer" Daniel Dove used to read with 
 peculiar satisfaction. See Southet's The Doctor, <&c., page 60 of Har- 
 per's edition. 
 
WOULD MEN LET ME ALONE/ 27l 
 
 ***** 
 **How calm and quiet a delight 
 Is it alone 
 To read and meditate and write. 
 
 By none offended and offending none I 
 To walk, ride, sit, or sleep at one's own ease, 
 And pleasing one's own self, none other to displease! 
 
 '*' Lord 1 would men let me alone 
 What an ever-happy one 
 
 Should I think myself to be I ^ 
 
 Might I, in this desert place, | 
 
 Which most men in discourse disgrace, \ 
 
 Live but undisturbed and free! 
 Here in this despised recess. 
 
 Would I, mauger winter's cold, 
 -And the summer's worst excess. 
 
 Try to live out to sixty full years old! 
 And all the while. 
 
 Without an envious eye 
 'On any thriving under fortune's smile. 
 
 Contented live, and then — contented diel ", 
 
MOTTOES FOR SHiPTER II 
 
 "W^her) the muses nirje 
 
 With thje virtues rgeefe, 
 Fir)d to their degigg 
 
 ^n Atlantic seat, 
 ©y gpeer) opchjard boughs 
 
 Fended from thje hjeat, 
 \S/^here th)e statesrqan ploughs 
 
 Furrows for the -wheat ; 
 ^^D^en tl;)e churcb) is moral -worth, 
 When tlje state«hou§e is the heaptlj,- 
 Theq tlje perfect state is corrje, 
 
 Thje republicar) at V)orr)e." 
 
 Emerson. 
 
 " [^ow caq h)e get -wisdorr) that Ijoldetl-) th)e plow, that 
 glorieth iq the goad, that driveth oxer), ar)d is occupied 
 with) the care of bullocks f " 
 
 273 
 
CHAPTER XX. 
 
 HEEE is another versatile and 
 amusing writer, a cotempo- 
 rary of the author of the 
 Recollections^ more sportive 
 than Grreeley, hut not more 
 sincere in his agricultural 
 emprises, who once bought a 
 farm, and who has written 
 many bright paragraphs con- 
 cerning the same and his life 
 thereon. To perceive at one 
 glance precisely what kind of 
 a farmer Henry "Ward Beech- 
 er is, we have only to peruse 
 the lines below from his ex- 
 quisite little volume of essays 
 entitled Star Papers^ and 
 copied from that particular 
 paper which treats of "Dream Culture", viz : 
 
 " The chief use of a farm, if it be well selected, and of a 
 proper soil, is to lie down upon." 
 
 Then this industrious and ambitious agriculturist adds : 
 "Mine is an excellent farm for such uses, and I thus 
 cultivate it every day. Large crops are the consequence, of 
 great delight, and fancies more than the brain can hold. 
 My industry is exemplary. Though but a week here, I 
 have lain down more hours, and in more places than that 
 hard-working brother of mine in the whole year he has 
 18 373 
 
274 I LIKE BEECHER'S STYLE — 3IITCHELL. 
 
 dwelt here. Strange that industrious lying down should 
 come so naturally to me, and standing up and lazing about 
 after the plow, or behind his scythe, so naturally to him ! " 
 
 I have to confess to a sneaking fondness for Mr. Beecher's 
 style of farming. It is so pleasant, so graceful, so easy, — 
 and then he has managed to reap such rich and glorious har- 
 vests thereby, and for us, his friends, in the book whose title 
 I have above given, and in other books, he hath garnered 
 them up ! Let us be thankful to Providence for this sort of 
 farmers, then, and grateful to them that they have had the 
 candor to give us freely their methods of culture. 
 
 But Beecher is in earnest sometimes, even when writing 
 upon agricultural topics, and has recorded in pleasant words 
 many fine thoughts. 
 
 A fourth one there is whom I desire to mention here, 
 ■who has wielded a graceful pen in this behalf, and who has 
 been. -so strongly attracted toward the sweet earth that he on 
 one occasion parted with his shekels in the purchase of a 
 portion of the surface thereof. It was he who wrote Dream 
 Lif^^ over which we have all shed tears, and the Reveries of a 
 Bachelor^ which so delight us all — ere we enter the married 
 state. His agricultural works (!) are My Farm of Edgewood, 
 and Wet Days at Edgewood, works which contain little indeed 
 of agriculture of any sort, (except, perhaps, of the Beecheran), 
 but which are full of pretty thoughts on various subjects', 
 daintily expressed, and more or less remotf^ly (rather more 
 than less) connected with farms and farming. 
 
 Among the wise paragraphs in the former of the last- 
 named brace of books, is the following : 
 
 "But the i^eal question with a man of any consiclei-able 
 degree of cultivation who meditates country life, is not 
 whether legitimate attention will secure a tolerable balance- 
 sheet, and the fattening of fine beeves, but whether the life 
 and the rural occupations offer verge and scope enough for 
 the development of his culture — whether the land and 
 landscape will npen under assiduous care into graces that 
 
DOES FAE3IING PAY? 275 
 
 ivill keep his attadiment strong and enlist the activities of 
 
 his thought."* 
 
 But when the leading and practical question, does farm- 
 ing pay ? is pointedly put to any of these three agricultural 
 philosophers, Grreeley, Beecher or Mitchell, it is plain to see 
 they wince. Beecher affects to laugh the subject aside, just 
 as you would expect such a lazy, easy, jolly, old farmer to 
 do. Mitchell bridles, and retorts thus : 
 
 " And now let us preciser the whole matter, and get rid, if 
 we can, of that interminable [infernal, he doubtless meant] 
 question, — does farming pay ? 
 
 "Will shop-keeping pay? "Will tailoring or doctoring 
 pay? Will life pay? How do these questions sound? " 
 
 Of course our author does not leave the subject there, but, 
 like a sensible man, as he is, he recovers control of his tem- 
 per shortly, and enunciates some axiomatic truths, etc. ; but 
 we think it would be the judgment of the average reader who 
 peruses the fine prose of his book that the evidence therein 
 tends to show that the writer had not met with what he himself 
 would denominate "explosive success," in a pecuniary sense, 
 at farming. 
 
 Then Mr. Grreeley, when he comes to this part of the sub- 
 ject, has an amusing thing or two to say, and, contrary to his 
 usual rule, to be as little evasive as possible, he falls to mak- 
 ing excuses for his farm. 
 
 " 'But what are the profits of your farming? You have 
 said nothing of them^^ I often hear. Well, it is not jqI time 
 to speak of them, — in fact, they are, as yet, unspeakably 
 small. Thus far I have been making a farm rather than 
 working one, and the process is not yet comj)lete."f 
 
 We believe the process was not yet complete when the 
 venerable owner of Chappaqua passed away, — and the pecu- 
 niary profits of his farming, like those of Messrs. Beecher 
 
 *D. G. Mitchell: My Farm of Edgewood. 
 \Itecollections of a Busy Life. 
 
276 PECUNIARY PROFITS SMALL — ANOTHER FARMER. 
 
 and Mitcliell, in the same line, remained " unspeakably" 
 small " to the end In short, as the author of Edgewood 
 himself would have phrased it, each of these three pleasant 
 gentlemen, in the purchase and development, at a prodigious 
 expense, of his ill-paying farm,was guilty of an " agricultural 
 debauch". The author, ere now, has likewise visited that 
 part of the continent, and hence, according to the homely 
 but expressive phraseology of the late " Boss " Tweed of 
 Grotham, " knows how it is himself ". 
 
 There's still another farmer of my acquaintance, whom I 
 desire to introduce to the gentle reader, with a hope of thus 
 adding to the pleasures of the latter. This is a striking ex- 
 ample of the modern Arcadian, to which class, also, the 
 author has been accused of belonging. It is Thoreau ; and 
 he writes as follows : 
 
 " At a certain season of our life we are accustomed to con- 
 sider every spot as a possible site for a house. I have thus 
 surveyed the country on every side within a dozen miles of 
 where I live. In imagination I have bought every farm in 
 succession, for all were to be bought, and I knew their price. 
 I walked over each farmer's premises, tasted his wild apples,, 
 discoursed on husbandry with him, took his farm at his own 
 price (at any price), mortgaging it to him in my mind ; even 
 put a higher price on it, — took everything but a deed of it, 
 — took his word for his deed, for I dearly love to talk, — cul- 
 tivated it, and him, too, to some extent, I trust, and with- 
 drew when I had enjoyed it long enough, leaving him tO' 
 carry it on. This experience entitled me to be regarded as 
 a sort of real-estate broker among my friends. Wherever I 
 sat, there I might live, and the landscape radiated from me 
 accordingly. What is a house but a sedes^ a seat ? — better if 
 a country seat * * An afternoon sufficed to lay out 
 the land into orchard, wood-lot, and pasture, and to decide 
 what fine oaks and pines should be left to stand before the 
 door, and where each blasted tree could be seen to the best 
 advantage ; and then I let it lie fallow, perchance, for a man 
 
THOREAU BUYS THE HOLLOWELL PLACE. 277 
 
 is rich in proportion to the tilings which he can afford to let 
 alone." * 
 
 This is very pleasant talk. But Thorean actually pur- 
 chased a farm at one time; and thus he relates how it 
 happened : 
 
 " My imagination carried me so far [he says] that I even 
 liad the refusal of several farms, — but I never got my fin- 
 gers burned by actual possession. The nearest I came to 
 actual possession was when I bought the Hollowell place, 
 and had begun to sort my seeds, and collected materials with 
 which to make a wheel-barrow to ' carry it on ' (or off) with ; 
 but before the owner gave me a deed of it, his wife — every 
 man has such a wife — changed her mind and wished to keep 
 it, and he offered me ten dollars to release him. Now, to 
 speak the truth, I had but ten cents in the world, and it sur- 
 passed my arithmetic to tell if I was the man who had the 
 ten cents, or who had a farm, or ten dollars, or all together. 
 However, I let him keep the ten dollars and the farm, too, 
 ■for I had carried it far enough ; or, rather, to be generous, I 
 sold him the farm for just what I gave for it, and as he was 
 not a rich man, made him a present of ten dollars, and still 
 had my ten cents, and seeds, and materials for a wheelbaiTow 
 left. I found thus that I had been a rich man without any 
 damage to my poverty. But I retained the landscape, and I 
 have since annually carried off what it yielded, without a 
 wheel-barrow." 
 
 And regarding this sort of harvest our author adds : 
 
 " I have frequently seen a poet withdraw, having enjoyed 
 the most valuable part of a farm, while the crusty farmer 
 supposed that he had got a few wild apples only. Why, the 
 farmer does not know it for many years when the poet has 
 put the farm in rhyme, the most admirable kind of invisible 
 fence, — has fairly impounded it, — milked it, skimmed it and 
 
 * Walden. 
 
2*78 WSAT THE ATTRACTIONS WERE. 
 
 got all the cream, and left the farmer only the skimmed 
 milk." 
 
 This is a delightful husbandman, is it not ? No doubt 
 from the first about his succeeding at the business — as he 
 counted success ! Wow he informs us how he came ta 
 choose the HoUowell place : 
 
 " The real attractions of the Hollo well farm to me, were : Its 
 complete retirement, — it being about two miles from the vil- 
 lage, half a mile from the nearest neighbor, and sej)arated 
 from the highway by a broad field ; its bounding on the river, 
 which the owner said protected it by its fogs from frosts in 
 the spring (though that was nothing to me) ; the gray color 
 and ruinous state of the house and barn, and the dilapidated 
 fences, which put such an interval between me and the last 
 occupant ; the hollow and lichen-covered apple trees, gnawed 
 by rabbits, showing what kind of neighbors I should have ; 
 but above all, the recollection I had of it from my earliest 
 voyages up the river, when the house was concealed behind 
 a dense grove of red maples, through which I heard the dogs, 
 bark. I was in haste to buy it before the owner finished 
 getting out some rocks, cutting down the hollow apple trees, 
 and grubbing up some young birches which had sprung up 
 in the pasture, or, in short, made any more of his improve- 
 ments. To enjoy all these advantages I was ready to carry 
 it on, — like Atlas, to take the world on my shoulders (I 
 never heard what compensation he received for that), and do^ 
 all those things which had no other motive or excuse but 
 that I might pay for it and be unmolested in my possession 
 of it ; for I knew all the while that it would jield the most 
 abundant crop of the kind I wanted if I could only afford 
 to let it alone. But it turned out as I have said." 
 
 What a display of " agricultural products " such a hus- 
 bandman as this will be likely to make at the annual fair ! 
 Alas ! here is a rather more discouraging specimen of the 
 ultra- Arcadian than is Beech er or — or — the author! Yes^ 
 this out-herods Herod ; and I am forced, for appearance' sake,. 
 
WHY I PURCHASED ''THE WILLOWS". 279 
 
 at least, to withold my endorsement of such a farmer — of 
 sucli farming ! 
 
 'Tis true, tliougli (and let the truth be told though the 
 heavens fall), that the author was once impelled to purchase 
 a forty-acre farm by just two considerations, viz : A large 
 willow tree (which he had long coveted), and a romantically 
 ruinous old log-house, which formed characteristic features 
 thereof. The farm had been, truly enough, worth the price 
 demanded for it — to one needing it and . able to carry it 
 on. But I was not that one. However, I purchased it — and 
 something in the manner in which Thoreau had proposed to 
 purchase the Hallowell place, for I had about the same 
 amount of cash on hand — and I called it mine for a matter 
 of two years, and named it " The Willows". Forced later to 
 relinquish it, I sold out my claim to a Philistine, who first 
 dismantled and then burned my log-house ; then grubbed 
 out my willow, and now has of my old estate a very product- 
 ive, but not at all romantic, famx 
 
 " 'Twas ever thus; in cMldliood's hour 
 
 I've seen my fondest hopes decay; 
 I never loved a tree or flower 
 
 But 'twas the first to fade awayl 
 I never had a dear gazelle 
 
 To glad me with its soft, black eye. 
 But when it learned to know me well, 
 
 And love me, it was sure to die ! "* 
 
 That was a good while ago, and I have witnessed the over- 
 throw of many idols since that sad day. 
 
 Having been accorded a hearing by the patient and polite 
 reader to a recital of my own private griefs, I have a mind 
 to reward that long-suffering creature, and conclude, while I 
 add to the sum of my villainies in the form of wholesale lar- 
 cenies in the present chapter, by copying from a delightful 
 American authorf a graphic and amusing, and more or less 
 
 * Moore. f Hawthorne : Blithesdale Romance, Chap. VIII. 
 
280 THE BROOK FARMERS. 
 
 correct, description of tlie style of workmen who, earlier in 
 the centary, sought to carry on the celebrated Brook Farm: 
 "Arcadians though we were, our costume bore no resem- 
 blance to the be-ribboned doublets, silk breeches and stock- 
 ings, and slippers fastened with artificial roses, that dis- 
 tinguish the pastoral people of poetry and the stage. In 
 outward show, I humbly conceive, we looked rather like a 
 band of beggars, or banditti, than either a company of honest 
 laboring men, or a conclave of philosophers. Whatever 
 might be our points of difference, we all of us seemed to 
 have come to Blithesdale with the one thrifty and laudable 
 idea of wearing out our old clothes. Such garments as had 
 an airing whenever we strode a-field ! Coats with high 
 collars, and with no collars, broad-skirted or swallow-tail, 
 and with the waist at every point between the hip and the 
 arm-pit ; pantaloons of a dozen successive epochs, and greatly 
 defaced at the knees by the humiliations of the wearer 
 before his lady-love ; in short, we were a living epitome of 
 defunct fashions, and the very raggedest presentment of men 
 who had seen better days. It was gentility in tatters. Often 
 retaining a scholar-like or clerical air, you might have taken 
 us for the denizens of Grub-street, intent on getting a com- 
 fortable livelihood by agricultural labor ; or Coleridge's pro- 
 jected Pantisocracy in full experiment ; or Candide and his 
 motley associates at work in their cabbage-garden; or any- 
 thing else that was miserably out at the elbows and most 
 clumsily patched in the rear. "We might have been sworn 
 comrades to Falstafi's ragged regiment. Little skill as we 
 boasted in other points of husbandry, every mother's son of 
 us would have served admirably to stick up for a scare- 
 crow. And the worst of the matter was, the first ener- 
 getic movement essential to one downright stroke of real 
 labor, was sure to put a finish to these poor habiliments. So 
 we gradually flung them all aside, and took to honest home- 
 spun and linsey-woolsey. After a reasonable training, the 
 
A LAMENT. 
 
 281 
 
 yeoman life throve well witli us. Our faces took tlie sun- 
 burn kindly ; our chests gained in compass, and our shoul- 
 ders in breadth and squareness; our great brown fists 
 looked as if they had never been capable of kid gloves. 
 The plow, the hoe, the scythe, the hay-fork grew familiar to 
 our grasp. The oxen responded to our voices." 
 
 Is that not glorious ! Ah, with what joy would the 
 author of these Recreations rejoice if he might associate 
 with a community of such farmers ! Alas, that the Blithes- 
 dale experiment came to so untimely an end ! And there 
 are no more Dr. Kipley's extant ! It will be long ere the 
 world shall see another Brook Farm. 
 
MOTTOES FOR ^iPTER III 
 
 "Thjer) -welconQe, rural golifeude, 
 My Sreafe felicity ! 
 Vhjough some are pleased to call fetjee rude, 
 
 Thou art r)ot go, but -we." 
 
 Phillips. 
 
 " T^he great ngan i§ h)e wl-|o does not lose tjis chjild'i 
 heart." Mencius. 
 
 " ^y agriculture, tlje orjly l^orjegfe ■way, -wherein the rrjar) 
 receives a real increase of the seed th)Po-wn ii]to the 
 ground, in a kir)d of continued njiracle, -wrought by tl]e 
 hand of ©od in hjis favor, as a. re-ward for his innocerjt life 
 arjd virtuous industry." Franklin. 
 
 282 
 
CHAPTEE XXI. 
 
 F any reader of this discourse 
 should be led to the conclusion 
 that it was the purpose of the 
 two preceding chapters to show 
 that a man who was a miserable 
 failure as a practical farmer, 
 might nevertheless be an enter- 
 taining writer upon themes more 
 or less nearly related to agricul- 
 ture, to the end of making an 
 advantage for the author, or the 
 book, I hasten to correct the 
 impression. T do not desire that 
 my literary success shall depend 
 upon my reputation for non-suc- 
 cess as a tiller of the soil ; for, 
 like the immortal Greeley, at the time he composed his 
 Recollections of a Busy Life^ "I still mean to succeed," — yea, 
 even to coin money at farming ! 
 
 I freely acknowledge that I might, with perfect propriety, 
 at the present juncture, address my farm, my darling, old, 
 scarred and stumpy Oakfields Farm ! in the language that 
 Goldsmith employed in apostrophizing his Muse : 
 
 "Thou source of all my joy, and all my woe, — 
 That f ound'st me poor at first, and keep'st me so ! " 
 
 But, thanks be to a merciful Providence, the end is not yet ! 
 
 283 
 
284 CERTAIN CONSIDERATIONS. 
 
 Like the lamented master of the stony, swampy Chap- 
 paqua, I have been hitherto " making rather than working a 
 farm", and even now, while gazing about over my fields 
 from which the stumps are yearly yielding as the plow 
 advances, and my yet but partially reclaimed beaver- 
 meadows, I am often reminded of "Whittier's lines : 
 
 "The rudiments of empire here 
 Are plastic yet and warm, — 
 The chaos of a mighty world 
 Is rounding into form. "* 
 
 But there is one difference between Chappaqua and Oak- 
 fields, which is altogether in favor of the latter. The soil of 
 my farm, for the most part, is as rich, fertile and promising 
 as any that was ever manufactured from the raw material 
 furnished by the original rocks, whether by the majestically- 
 moving glacier, the action of flowing or dropping water or 
 sweeping winds, through the subtle but powerful agency of 
 frost, or by means of the milder, but no less certain, processes 
 of vegetable growth ; — and that soil was virgin when I 
 began upon it : Mr. Greeley's estate, at its best, was but a 
 cold and sterile piece of ground. Therefore, while in his 
 crusade against the adverse forces of nature, failure was 
 almost the inevitable result, in my own enterprise there was 
 at least a " fighting chance " for some sort of success. 
 
 There is one matter in which some of my dearest friends 
 have differed with me, and deemed that I erred in judgment. 
 This is in regard to the choice I made of stark wild forest- 
 land where from to make my farm. I could show them good 
 authority for my action in this matter, however, and have 
 sometimes quoted to them from Xenophon, that glorious old 
 Grecian farmer, who makes Ischomachus to say : 
 
 "I remember my father had an excellent rule which he 
 advised me to follow, that if I bought any land I should by 
 no means purchase that which had been already well im- 
 
 *If it so please you, in that last word substitute an a for the o. 
 
WSr I rUR CHASED A NEW FARM. 285 
 
 proved, but should choose such as had never been tilled, 
 either through neglect of the owner, or for want of capacity 
 to do it ; for he observed that if I were to purchase improved 
 grounds I must pay a high price for them, and then I could 
 not propose to advance them in value, and must also lose the 
 2Jleasure of improving them, myself or of seeing them thrive better 
 hy my endeavor.^'' 
 
 The author of the Anabasis discovers his usual sound 
 sense in the above paragraph, and his reasons appear to me 
 particularly strong in those lines I have marked in Italics. 
 I am aware that Cato took a contrary view, but am inclined, 
 on the whole, to believe that, in this single instance, the sage 
 decided without mature reflection. Modern sages have been 
 known to make a similar mistake. 
 
 Of this much, at least, I feel assured : If in purchasing 
 an iinimproved farm, the price of which was merely nomi- 
 nal, I committed a grave error, there was still a graver which 
 might have been committed. For instance, supposing that 
 somebody owning such property at the time I made my pur- 
 chase, had consented to sell me instead of the aboriginal 
 Oakfields a well-developed farm, worth a great deal of 
 money, exacting only the payment down I was then able to 
 make, that person's mistake, I maintain, had been much 
 greater and graver. 
 
 But I had other reasons besides the pecuniary one hinted 
 at above, for not coveting a farm read3^-made. I was from 
 habit and instinct a pioneer-farmer, and loved all the pro- 
 cesses of " clearing land ", I did as a youth assist my father 
 — also a pioneer-farmer, and one of the best and sturdiest of 
 the class, — my father, — 
 
 " He was an elder in the land, and held 
 His first proprietary right, it seemed. 
 From Nature's self; for, in an earlier day. 
 He came with others, who of old had reached 
 Their neighbor hands across New England farms 
 Over the mountains to this western land — 
 
286 ALL ABOUT AXES. 
 
 A journey long, and slow, and perilous, 
 With many hardships, and the homesick look 
 Of wife and children backward ; chose his farm, 
 Builded his house, and cleared, by hard degrees. 
 Acres that years anon were meadows broad. 
 Or wheat fields rocking in the summer heat! "* 
 
 jea, he is one who learned the rudiments of his business 
 when and where, as the Psalmist has it, "A man was famous 
 according as he had lifted up axes upon the thick trees ",f — 
 him did I help in his herculean labor of making a farm ah 
 initio — of carving out of the vast and gi'and old forests 
 of beech and maple, oak and hemlock, space for broad and 
 smiling fields. I have been with him in body and in spirit 
 when 
 
 " His echoing axe the settler swung 
 Amidst the sea-like solitude, — 
 While rushing, thundering, down were flung 
 The Titans of the wood! " 
 
 And I have been an interested spectator when such scenes as 
 those described in the last half of the same spirited stanza 
 have trans23ired, viz : 
 
 " Loud shrieked the eagle as he dashed 
 From out his mossy nest, — which crashed 
 
 With its supporting bough. 
 And the first sunlight leaping, flashed 
 On the wolf's haunt below.":): 
 
 Speaking of axes : I am, I dare say, to-day a better axeman 
 than Grladstone, or than Greeley ever was ; for, as to the lat- 
 ter, although he professed to love the instrument, he has con- 
 fessed that he was but a poor chopper. § But my love for 
 the tool probably has never surpassed that of the great 
 founder of the New York Tribune. He maintained with con- 
 siderable enthusiasm that the axe was his "doctor and de- 
 light ", and expressed the wish that " all our boys would learn 
 
 *J. J. Piatt. \ Psalms, LXX, 5. 
 
 :t;Ai.FE.ED B. Stkeet. ^Recollections, Page 303. 
 
WITH 31 Y LITTLE HATCHET. 287 
 
 to love it".:}: I must concede, "however, to make a further 
 comparison, tliat from all that I have quoted, and all that I 
 have left unquoted of the writings of the one, and from what 
 I know of the other, that the writer of the Recollections^ 
 although a poorer chopper, appears to me to have been a 
 much more industrious and enthusiastic woodsman than has 
 iDeen the writer of these Recreations^ even in his palmiest days. 
 
 But I deprecate that any reader shall begin at this stage of 
 our acquaintance to form unflattering opinions concerning 
 the author's ability or disposition to wrestle with the prob- 
 lems which ever confront the pioneer-farmer. There are 
 brave records in the recollections of relatives of the writer of 
 this chapter, of deeds of prowess performed at an earlier day 
 by the good right arm that wields this pen ! Gro question 
 these friends, and be told of a huge, sound, and sohd hnden 
 or basswood tree, — the largest of its species in a township 
 which abounded in huge trees, and at that time contained 
 little else but trees, — that the veracious writer hereof in his 
 fourteenth year, — when boasting of but httle more than one 
 hundred pounds avoirdupois, and swinging an axe weighing 
 precisely forty ounces, poised on a helve that measured thirty 
 inches in length, — leveled with the earth ! "I did it with 
 my little hatchet !" 
 
 Was that not glory enough for one boy in a single day? 
 
 The stump of that tree — "a square and handsome one ", 
 my father admiringly pronounced it — when at length the 
 trunk lay prostrate and we apphed the tape, measured just 
 five feet across the top ! 
 
 Now don't cry out that the story is an improbable one, 
 or that the feat as I have narrated it is impossible of per- 
 formance. The " matchless deed " was actually 
 
 "Achieved, 
 Determined, dared, and done," 
 
 in manner and form as herein relaated, as is still susceptible 
 
 *Bec. of a Busy Life. 
 
288 I DID IT — BUTTERFLIES. 
 
 of proof by the testimony of eye-witnesses who remember 
 all the details. The stump itself stood for many years 
 •• To witness if I lie", 
 
 and was seen of many. How well do I remember it — there 
 in the sloping back-lot of my father's farm ! It was always 
 known by the family as " Frank's stump". But time, which 
 conquers all, has conquered that ; it has at length entirely 
 decayed away ; the last vestige thereof is lost ; its exact site 
 even has become a mere matter of conjecture, and other 
 monuments must be reared. 
 
 There is another class of persons — the butterflies of soci- 
 ety, (you will find them everywhere, and in ever-increasing 
 numbers in our young Republic), who will feel like indulg- 
 ing in ridicule at my expense, even now after I have so sat- 
 isfactorily demonstrated that I am, or, at least, in former 
 times have been, no " carpet knight " among pioneers ; and 
 perhaps more especially because I have deemed it worth 
 while to defend myself, or even to write at all upon these triv- 
 ial themes. 
 
 To be sure I anticipate that my book will be ignored, or 
 much neglected, by the greater number of individuals of 
 the last-named class. The very title of the work will be 
 sufficient to keep them at bay. You will remember that the 
 wise Piscaior remarked : " It is an easy thing to scoff at any 
 art or recreation ; a little wit mixed with ill-nature will 
 do it."* The Recreations of a Farmer^ forsooth ! of ?i farmer 
 of all men in the world ! 
 
 Not all the great and good people the world has ever seen 
 have despised the calling. " The first farmer was the first 
 man," as Emerson observes, and the same author further 
 declares that " All historic nobility rests on the possession 
 and use of land ". 
 
 For the benefit of such as are accustomed to sneer at the 
 
 *IzAAK Walton: TM Complete Angler. 
 
STRONG TESTIMONIALS. 289 
 
 husbandman and his vocation, I have concluded to extend 
 the limits of this chapter beyond the stakes I had at first 
 set, for the purpose of citing a few opinions. Divers of 
 these proposed beneficiaries have doubtless heard of Thomas 
 Jefferson, and regard him as having been a tolerably sens- 
 ible man in his day and generation. At the risk of shock- 
 ing some, I give certain of the great democrat's words, as 
 follows : 
 
 " Let the farmer forevermore be honored in his calling, 
 for they who labor in the earth are the chosen people of 
 God." 
 
 These persons may also harbor a vague notion that 
 Daniel Webster was great and wise ; and yet it was the 
 Marshfield statesman who uttered the declaration : 
 
 " Farmers are the founders of civilization." 
 
 Members of that class of persons who indulge in sneers, 
 overt and covert, at farmers and farming, sometimes make 
 profession to revere the " father of his country ". Follow- 
 ing are the very words of the immortal "Washington : 
 
 " Agriculture is the most useful, the most healthful, and 
 the most noble employment of man !" 
 
 Henry Ward Beecher, the great Brooklyn divine, adds 
 his testimony to the above, administering, at the same time, 
 a stinging rebuke to the scoffers for whose instruction and 
 behoof we have prolonged this chapter, thus : 
 
 "He who would look with contempt upon the farmer's 
 pursuit is not worthy the name of man." 
 
 General Xenophon, the celebrated Greek,— soldier, histo- 
 rian, and husbandman, — who flourished more than four hun- 
 dred years before our savior's time, and whom I have before 
 quoted in this chapter, held views upon the subject similar 
 to those of the wise and good men of to-day, and among 
 other fine sentences wrote the following : 
 
 " Agriculture, for an honorable and high-minded man, is 
 the best of all occupations and arts by which men procure 
 their means of living." 
 
 19 
 
290 AUTHORITIES CITED. 
 
 In tlie Zend Avesta we read : 
 
 *' He is a holy man who constructs upon the earth a habi- 
 tation in which he maintains fire, cattle, and his wife, his 
 children, and flocks, and herds. He who makes the earth 
 produce grain, who cultivates the fruits of the fields, he 
 promotes the law of Ormazd as much as if he offered a 
 hundred sacrifices." 
 
 Plutarch, in his life of JSTuma Pompilius, the second and 
 best of the old Eoman Kings, uses this significant language : 
 
 "For there is no employment that gives so keen and quick 
 a relish for peace as husbandry and a country life, which 
 leaves in men all that kind of courage which makes them 
 ready to fight in defence of their own, while it destroys the 
 license which breaks out into injustice and rapacity." 
 
 He says of Numa : 
 
 " He hoped that agriculture would be a sort of chami to 
 captivate the affections of his people to peace ; viewing it 
 rather as a moral than an economical profit.^'' 
 
 I may add, in passing, that the long, peaceful, and pros- 
 perous reign of this good king appears to be a justification 
 of his theory ! 
 
 Columella asserts that agriculture is next akin to phil- 
 osophy. 
 
 " The great 
 
 Would mortify me in vain ; for still 
 
 I am a willow of the wilderness, 
 
 Loving the wind that bent me. All my hurts 
 
 My garden spade can heal. A woodland walk, 
 
 A quest of river grapes, a mocking thrush, 
 
 A wild-rose, or rock-loving columbine 
 
 Salve my worst wounds."* 
 
 Bacon denominates gardening "the purest of human 
 pleasures ". 
 
 "Oh, friendly to the best pursuits of life. 
 Friendly to thought, to virtue, and to peace, 
 Domestic life in rural pleasures past."f 
 
 *Em:erson: Musketaqxdd. fCowPEE.. 
 
POETICAL TESTIMONY. 291 
 
 The love of TibuUus, Cicero, Pliny, Yirgil, Cato, Proper- 
 tius, Catullus, among the ancients, for the rural life and for 
 the husbandman's pursuit is known to every reader of his- 
 tory. 
 
 " Under the greenwood tree 
 Who loves to lie with me. 
 And tune his merry note, 
 Unto the sweet bird's throat, 
 Come hither, come hither, come hither! 
 Here shall he see 
 No enemy 
 But winter and rough weather. 
 
 " "Who doth ambition shun 
 And loves to lie i' the sun, 
 Seeking the food he eats. 
 And pleased with what he gets, 
 Come hither, come hither, come hither! 
 Here shall he see 
 No enemy 
 But winter and rough weather."* 
 
 I will conclude this chapter with a quotation from Gray's 
 iine poem : 
 
 "Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault 
 If memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise, 
 Where, through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault, 
 The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. 
 
 " Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife, — 
 Their sober wishes never learned to stray; 
 Along the cool, sequestered vale of life 
 They kept the noiseless tenor of their way." 
 
 *Shakespeake 
 
 — 6lSl^'^^J'&^ — 
 
MOTTOES FOR KHiPTER IXH. 
 
 " I built my goul a lordly pleasure tjouge 
 ^v'^hjerein at ease for aye to d%vell ; 
 I said, * © soul, rqake ngerry and carouse, 
 Oear soi^l. foi' all is well.' 
 
 **j^r|d '-wbjile the -world runs pouqd ar)d round,' I said, 
 ' Peigr) feljou apart, a quiet J^iqg, 
 Still, as while Saturn -whjirls, his steadfast sb)ade 
 Sleeps or| his lurqinous riqg.' 
 
 " To w^hicb) rr)y soul made answer readily : 
 'Trust nge ir) bliss I sId^H abide 
 Ir) tljis great rgan§ion, that is built for me, 
 So royal, rich aqd w^ide.' " 
 
 Tennyson. 
 
 " So bhje dreams depart. 
 
 So tlje fading ptjarjtongs flee ; 
 
 ^r)d tb)e shjarp reality 
 
 J^ow^ njusfe act its part." 
 
 Westwood : Beads of a Rosary^ 
 
 "That there's a ngortgage, I've beeq told, 
 ^bout it w^ouqd so neatly, 
 That ere this new^ ngoon sljall be old 
 'T-will be swept off corrjpletely." 
 
 Catullus. 
 
 " ©orgons, ar)d {-hydras, and Chiirjeras dire." 
 
 Milton : Paradise Lost, 
 
 "The rich ruleth over tlje poor, and th)e borrower is a 
 servar|t to thje lerjder." Pr^i/., XXII, 7. 
 
 292 
 
CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 HE sagacious reader already 
 will have observed that the 
 source of much of the objec- 
 tion to my removal to the 
 farm, on the part of my kinsmen, 
 had been an apprehension of 
 something in my disposition 
 which would disincline me either 
 to hold or drive in the various 
 manual operations requisite to 
 the successful working of a farm ; 
 and it is not unreasonable to sup- 
 pose that their fears, grounded 
 upon their knowledge of my char- 
 acter gained during my early 
 were not altogether unwarranted. 
 Nay, it is more than probable that had the 
 direct question been put to me even at the 
 •date of my greatest enthusiasm for rustic retirement, and 
 I unable to find a way of evading the same, I should have 
 replied somewhat in the language used by Dr. Faust, when 
 Mephistopheles pointed out to him one way of renewing his 
 youth : 
 
 "I am not used to that, I cannot stoop to try it, 
 To take the spade in hand and ply it : 
 The narrow being suits me not at all."* 
 
 *GoETHE: Faust. 
 
 293 
 
294 A PARADOX — EXPERIMENTATION. 
 
 I had long been imj^ressed with the behef that there was. 
 somewhere for me a middle course between the life I had 
 been leading, — which was telling on my health, and which. 
 I felt was, to say the least, not the most favorable one in the- 
 world for the development of the intellectual man, and 
 which did not afford such leisure for literary work as I 
 coveted, — and the life of the ordinary farmer. 
 
 It may appear somewhat paradoxical that opportunity for 
 study and composition is not afforded by the calling of the 
 journalist, whose work is largely reading and writing ; but 
 it is nevertheless true. Perusing the daily papers and fabri- 
 cating news paragraphs, with an occasional "leader" of 
 hurried birth and doubtful finish, tends rather to kill than 
 to foster both the habit of, and the taste for, what I should 
 denominate true literary work. 
 
 It was a sort of task-work which I had to perform, and 
 it grew morg distasteful as it became more a matter of 
 mechanical habit. Again, by the labor of writing, proof- 
 reading, etc., exercises which I was long past receiving any 
 benefit from in an intellectual way, and on account of the 
 increasing discomfort I felt in the prolonged sessions at the 
 " editor's table ", which this work necessitated, I was, from 
 physical causes alone, becoming incapacitated to accomplish 
 any large amount of business in my study. 
 
 I had found by experimentation that whenever it became- 
 possible for me to dismiss all care from my mind, and to 
 indulge myself in a stroll of a couple of hours' duration over 
 the farm, varying such recreation, perhaps, by occasional 
 pauses to assist a little in the work there on-going, I was. 
 benefited, both physically and mentally, more than I could 
 have convinced myself would be possible by any a 'priori 
 reasoning. I was more alarmed concerning my health than 
 anybody knew. I was aware of the cause of that deep chest 
 pain, however, and I thought I knew what would relieve 
 and, perhaps, permanently remove it. 
 
WANTED, A SYIIPATHIZER. 295 
 
 It had appeared to me possible that I might so manage 
 matters as to reside upon my farm and oversee all the work 
 there, with a trusty " General " to carry out the plans in the 
 field which should be elaborated in the cabinet, and with 
 laborers suflEicient to do the work, so that the amount of 
 time spent by me in out-of-door employment might be 
 regulated by my own desires, and yet all be done with 
 measurable economy. 
 
 There are a few delicate matters which I have been unea- 
 sily carrying along a great while, waiting for a favorable op- 
 portunity to divulge them. Could I have been sure that you 
 would have listened in a kindly and sympathetic manner, 
 dearest reader, I should have ventured to speak out long- 
 ago. I do so dread ridicule, even though it be good- 
 humored, and I have a perfect horror of a sneer ! To- be 
 sure this weakness (for as a weakness I can but regard it) 
 would scarcely prevent my taking a bold stand upon what I 
 considered the right side of a great moral question, or any 
 matter of general moment ; but this affair is one strictly pri- 
 vate and personal to myself. I do not care to make a con- 
 fidant of a person who is simply kind and well-disposed in a 
 general way; I desire one who feels a particular friendliness 
 for me ; who mil be tender of my feelings ; who will not 
 laugh at me even if what he hears appears wild or visionary ; 
 who, in one word, will be sjonpathetic. I think I can trust 
 you now, reader ; then listen. 
 
 I have long entertained the sentiment that what should be 
 about the pleasantest life in the world is that of the landed 
 country-gentleman of England. Living a little remote from 
 town, he is yet enabled to enjoy all its best advantages, while 
 he avoids its discomforts and inconveniences. He has a 
 fixed home, which it is his to enrich and adorn, — a perma- 
 nent home, connected in the idea with the soil of his coun- 
 try. He is part owner of the broad-bosomed earth, which 
 Hesiod speaks of as " the everlasting seat of all that is ", — 
 the beautiful, the kindly earth, — the " tender mother of us 
 
296 A LANDED C0UNTRY-GENTLE3IAN. 
 
 all," as Pliny after Plato has it, — and more his mother than 
 another's. His is a stable home, fit to be ever the center of 
 his plans, his ambitions, his hopes, his life ! His broad acres, 
 of which he knows intimately every foot, are a solid founda- 
 tion, which neither fire, nor flood, nor whirlwind, can sweep 
 from beneath his feet. Through his possessions he becomes, 
 in a sense, himself secure, solid, permanent ! Eaised above 
 the necessity of daily drudgery in the field, he has leisure 
 for the cultivation of his mind, for philosophy, for composi- 
 tion (if he be bent that way), for such society as he chooses 
 to indulge in — and he is almost the only man in the realm 
 to whom it is left to exercise a choice in this matter. He is 
 truly the independent gentleman, the "solid citizen", the 
 wise conservative, the ballast of the ship of state ! Were I 
 a citizen of " Merrie England " I would say : Let me be an 
 independent, land-owning, country-gentleman, and I care not 
 who bears the titles. 
 
 You have, of course, read Irving's Bracebridge Hall. I 
 perused it when a boy, and it has been an influence in my 
 life.* 
 
 *"I am ashamed andhumbled," writes Coleridge, in a note to the 
 BiograpMa Literaria, on an occasion when he had found grazing in the 
 luxuriant and well-watered pasturage of certain picturesque sentences he 
 had therein written, a herd of what he termed ' ' hydrostatic bulls ". I 
 am saddened and humbled ; for I had verily believed that the above de- 
 scription of an English country-gentleman's happy lot, was to a large 
 extent original with myself. I had not perused the Bracebridge Hall for 
 years and years ; but having referred thereto in the text, I bethought 
 me just to scan it over again to see what it does say. Alas, what did I 
 find ! I have copied a sentence or two from one of Irving's chapters ; 
 read: 
 
 "Indeed," says Irving, "I do not know a more enviable condition 
 of life than that of an English gentleman of sound judgment and good 
 feeling, who passes the greater part of his time in an hereditary estate 
 in the country. * * * jjg jg enabled to command all the 
 
 intelligence and novelties of the capital, while he is removed from its 
 hurry and distractions. He has ample means of occupation and amuse- 
 ment within his own domains. He may diversify his time by rural oc- 
 
TWO VARIETIES. 297 
 
 The poet Crabbe, if I may be indulged in the use of a lit- 
 tle verse, describes two varieties of country-gentlemen, as 
 tliey existed in his day : 
 
 "Two are the species of the genus known: 
 
 One who is rich in his profession grown, 
 
 Who yearly finds his ample stores increase, 
 
 From fortune's favors and a favoring lease; 
 
 Who rides his hunter, who his house adorns, 
 
 Who drinks his wine and his disbursement scorns; 
 
 Who freely lives, and loves to show he can; — 
 
 This is the farmer made a gentleman ! 
 " * The second from the world is sent. 
 
 Tired of its strife, or with its wealth content; 
 
 In books and men beyond the former read. 
 
 To farming solely by a passion led, 
 
 Or by a fashion ; curious in his land. 
 
 Now planning much, now changing what he planned ; 
 
 Pleased by each trial, not by failures vexed, 
 
 And ever certain to succeed the next; 
 
 Quick to resolve and easy to persuade; — 
 
 This is ■a gentleman a farmer made! 
 
 Owin was of these ; he from the world withdrew 
 
 Early in life, his reasons "known to few; 
 
 Some disappointment said, some pure good sense, 
 
 The love of land, the press of indolence."* 
 
 I have been yearning to found a home that should be 
 strong, substantial, and permanent as the good earth, its 
 foundation, — a hall, if you please, generous enough as to 
 size and room, with brick, and oak, and iron, and stone for 
 
 cupations, rural sports, and by the delight of friendly society within 
 the walls of his own hospitable halls." And still other things there are 
 in this delightful volume which will remind you of my own poor 
 lines. 
 
 What a tantalizing thing is this memory, which is at times so feeble 
 that I almost lose the power of promptly pronouncing my own name, 
 and at others is so retentive that it enables me to steal, with no felonious 
 intent, whole sentences, nay, paragraphs! But the text shall stand as 
 "written. 
 
 *Crabbe's Tales. 
 
298 AN INTELLECTUAL DEMO CE ACT. 
 
 materials : a hall ; — and having chosen for site an eminence 
 (the site has already been selected) I would dig down deep 
 to ledge of solid, everlasting earth or rock, whereon to lay 
 the underpinning. My arched doorways and windows with 
 
 oaken casements should be broad and ample, a sign of hos- 
 pitality, and to let in freely the glorious sunlight. One 
 tower, at least, I would have lift its proud head to enlarge 
 my horizon, to afford me a coign of vantage to overlook my 
 own domains, and to view the sweet pictures of my neighbors' 
 farmsteads, and from my " loop-holes of retreat " to catch a, 
 glimpse of the life and motion of railways, highways, and 
 the distant town ! 
 
 To this, my hall, surrounded by its tree- and shrub-be- 
 sprinkled grounds, beautified at little pecuniary expense, per- 
 haps, but at large cost of taste and care, would I assemble 
 my friends, — book-lovers, peace-lovers, and earth-lovers like 
 myself, — and here would we found the capital of the freest, 
 intellectual democracy ! 
 
 "But these are dreams ! "* 
 
 * * -X- -Sfr 
 
 There are some things which are not dreams ! 
 
 ^ * * * 
 
 Eeader, do you know what a mortgage is ? 
 
 Be not surprised at the question ; I am seeking at this 
 late day to ascertain the true meaning of certain terms in 
 quite common use, having been content for a period of time 
 exceeding a moiety of the allotted life of man, (like you, my 
 
 *Greei,ey. 
 
DEFECTIVE DEFIXITIONS. 29 & 
 
 dear sir; or, you, clear madam, — barring the fact, of course, 
 that you are not so old by half, at least !) to be put ofJ witk 
 merely superficial or half-meanings. Therefore, with this- 
 understanding, I ask again, do you know all that is com- 
 prehended in that term, mortgage ? 
 
 "When the question was propounded to me (if it so hap- 
 pened that it loas) by the law-professor who "quizzed " me- 
 during my course at the university, I gave him, I presume, 
 as nearly as I could recollect it, the substance of the defini- 
 tion found in Bouvier^ and the good old gentleman was 
 probably satisfied with the answer, although it is undeniable 
 that he was (and is) a man of intelligence and fine feeling, 
 and was even then bald, gray and wrinkled. He knew then 
 in his heart that the definition I had given was to the last 
 degree imperfect, and yet he let it pass. He undoubtedly 
 believed that for a man so young and inexperienced as I 
 then was, I had acquitted myself with tolerable credit in 
 defining the word as perfectly as had the maker of the dic- 
 tionary, and he must have been aware (for, as intimated 
 above, he is a man accustomed to look a little beneath the 
 surface of things) that for an accurate account of the meaning- 
 of the word I should have been obliged to go outside of the 
 text-books, outside of all the dictionaries, outside of the 
 law-library even, yea, outside of the great library of the 
 university itself. 
 
 But I will undertake to say that had I turned, upon the 
 succeeding day, and put the question to the venerable judge 
 himself, his definition of the term would not have differed 
 in any material particular from that I had given. Even had 
 a faculty meeting of the law department been called for the 
 express purpose of fixing upon a comprehensive definition 
 of the thing in question, and had the professors there con- 
 vened deliberated long and well upon the subject, the result 
 of their labors would have been nothing new, — the defini- 
 tion they had agreed upon — a sickly abortion still ! 
 
300 I WILL DESCRIBE. 
 
 After I had entered upon the practice of the law it fre- 
 quently became my duty to draw up a mortgage for my 
 clients. This I was in the habit of doing with perfect cool- 
 ness and unconcern, for as yet, like Frankenstein when as a 
 student he fabricated the gigantic being which was to be the 
 occasion of so much misery in the world, I did not realize 
 the true nature of the thing I made, and all the while I 
 thought the dictionary-makers had been wise in their day 
 and generation, and hence that their definition was the cor- 
 rect one, Alas ! there are very many words defined in the 
 lexicons of whose real meanings we never dream until they 
 have been taught us by experience ! 
 
 Dearest reader, if you will be patient with me I will 
 attempt here and now to give a more full and complete 
 definition of a mortgage than can be found in any book. I 
 have bespoken your patience because the task is a long one, 
 and a peculiarity of feeling which occasionally affects me 
 when my mind dwells upon this subject may cause me to 
 falter at times and deviate from the direct way. I have the 
 right to speak as I do upon this theme : I know the nature 
 of the thrice-accursed thing to which men have given that 
 name. I have learned it hy hitter experience! 
 
 For the past decade an ominous shadow has hovered over 
 my pathway. It is a peculiar, cloud-like shadow, and pos- 
 sesses the power of assuming protean shapes. 
 
 Sometimes I have been sitting chatting at my own fire- 
 side, and the little company has been building, perhaps, 
 some gay castle in the air, which Hope is promising us shall 
 be realized in the near future. A gloom gradually fills the 
 room, unperceived by any but me. ^Tis the shadow! and 
 forthwith my castle collapses. 
 
 Perchance a visit has been planned, a Christmas re-union, 
 it may be, of relatives and friends. The enterprise is 
 cheerily discussed for days, and no thought of a possible 
 failure entertained ; — that gloomy shade appears, and all the 
 
THE DEFINITION. 301 
 
 pleasure planned which, depends upon my participation, 
 fails ! 
 
 An ambitious project is entertained, — a move is contem- 
 plated which promises pleasant things, — perhaps worthy 
 achievements in politics, in business, in literature. Like a 
 miasmatic fog that shadow falls over it all, and strength and 
 ambition are departed ! 
 
 Now it is a gloomy spirit that visits me in my study, bend- 
 ing above me when I am seated, book in hand, in my chair ; 
 or when I write, leaning towards me from the opposite side 
 of my table, with a Mephistophelean leer in its cold, dead 
 
 eyes! 
 
 " Loathed Melancholy, 
 Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight bom, 
 In Stygian caves forlorn, 
 'Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights unholy."* 
 
 Now, where friends have met together for pleasant con- 
 versation and pastime, forgetting myself for the moment, I 
 am actually enjoying the cheerful scene, when, happening to 
 cast my eyes upward, over the shoulder of a companion, I 
 see the shadowy outlines of a death's head ; a skeleton arm 
 is extended ; a long, bony finger is pointed — / know where^ 
 and shudderingly withdraw ! 
 
 Eeturning home after a brief absence, with glad feelings 
 in my heart that I am soon to see the face of the one I love 
 more than all earthly beings beside, the vanishing visage of 
 a grinning harpy blisters my vision. I recognize him ; he is 
 an old acquaintance, and he had fulfilled his mission with me 
 ere he went ; I find a cold, immovable stone in my bosom ! 
 
 "Thou hast been called, oh, sleep! the friend of woe; 
 But 'tis the happy who have called thee so! "f 
 
 I have been awakened at the dead hour of night, an agony 
 in my breast, and have given utterance to deep groans which 
 
 *jVIilton. f Southey: Curse of Eehama. 
 
302 WHAT A MORTGAGE IS. 
 
 the exercise of my utmost will was not sufficient to sup- 
 press. Eoused by the start and noise, the gentle being at my 
 ■side has questioned me, and I have re|)lied, "It is nothing ! " 
 Nothing ! It was the evil one himself ! but he had only been 
 paying me one of his accustomed visits, and with his red-hot 
 pincers playfully nipping my naked heart ! 
 
 I will tell you what a mortgage is. 
 
 It is the grinning skeleton in the closet in many a home 
 that were otherwise most happy. 
 
 It is an incubus, perpetually sitting upon your spirit ! 
 
 " Her skin as white as leprosy, 
 The night-mare Life-in-Death is she 
 Who thicks man's blood with cold."* 
 
 It is a paper bond which binds down your proud soul, — 
 ^firmer and more galling is it than are links of brass or hooks 
 -of steel 'to the body ! 
 
 It is a whip of scorpions in a demon hand for your daily 
 torture ! 
 
 It is an asp with sting thrust into your brain, whose ven- 
 om, not usually fatal, is only maddening, or, at other times, 
 benumbing ! 
 
 It is a cold, slimy snake that, in those hours which you 
 ■should give to rest and repose, crawls into your arm-chair, or 
 jowc couch, and insinuating its horrid head into your 
 shrinking bosom, throws his coils about you and tightens 
 them ! 
 
 It is a vampire which is battening upon your life-blood 
 from day to day ! 
 
 It is the Promethean vulture, eating your heart which is 
 ever renewed that the agony may be perpetual ! 
 
 It is an octopus which has seized and wrapped you with 
 crushing force in his tentacles, and is holding you helpless to 
 devour you at his leisure ! 
 
 *Coleeidge: The Ancient Mariner. 
 
THE FOUL FIEND — NOTE. 303 
 
 It is the foul fiend loosed from tlie pit, cold, cruel, merci- 
 less, sneering ! endowed with power to inflict upon you all 
 the torments of hell before the time l"^ 
 
 *NoTE. — It may be objected that I have included in my definition of 
 a mortgage much that would be true if given as a definition of debt in gen- 
 ■eral; or, that what is said applies to the debt rather than to its acciden- 
 tal accompaniment, the security, — the mortgage. In reply to this I 
 would say that in numerous instances the mortgage can by no means be 
 called an accidental accompaniment of the debt, as the debt wovild never 
 have had an existence but for the mortgage, and, in a certain sense, may 
 be said to have been called into being for the sake of the mortgage. 
 That the mortgage is the cause and occasion of the debt, in very many 
 cases, — that is to say, that the debt would in such instances never have 
 existed at all but for the opportunity given by the system of tafdvg 
 ■mortgage securities, — may be easily verified by an appeal to the incidents 
 of our every-day life. I subjoin a few of the latter which have come 
 under my personal observation. 
 
 Many there are similar to this: A man, who owns a small homestead, 
 deliberately goes into debt for a sum of money which he could well 
 and would have done without, but for the ease with which it could be 
 had, — he was, perhaps, being occasionally importuned by a loan agent 
 to take some money, — and to secure the loan has pledged his farm in a 
 mortgage which is destined to plague him for years, and to wrest his 
 farm from him in the end. In such case the debt never could have 
 existed but for the mortgage. The money, which had seemed to 
 come easily, went easily, and perhaps of itself, and at the time, was more 
 a damage than a benefit to the borrower. 
 
 Take another instance (and I know of several such) : A well-to-do 
 farmer covets an adjoining lot. Can he secure it? O, yes; it is but to 
 take a deed and then for the amount of the purchase- price give a mort- 
 gage covering both the land purchased and the farm of the purchaser 
 Can time be had to make the payment? Certainly; as much of it as 
 the buyer wants. In course of years, after his hair has grown gray 
 and his form bowed by toil in the service of him who holds the mort- 
 gage and collects the annual or semi-annual interest thereon, there comes 
 a bad season or two and — the accursed mortgage has turned the farmer 
 oflf his farm — out of his home! 
 
 A third variety: A young man, ambitious to own a home, contracts 
 with a wealthier acquaintance for a piece of land. He makes a small 
 payment in hand, and gives a mortgage to secure the payment of the 
 balance at the end of some two or three years, perhaps. He then sets 
 to work with all his energy to improve his little farm. He erects a 
 
304 NOTE. 
 
 house, perhaps, fences, etc. The year rolls round; the interest falls 
 due. Having expended a large share of his time in labor upon his im- 
 provements, the youth lacks the means to make the payment. He vis- 
 its the mortgagee about the matter. Oh, it is of no consequence; let it 
 run awhile. The land, with these improvements upon it, is good secu- 
 rity anyhow for a much larger sum than the debt. This is repeated at 
 the end of the second year. But now the youth, having a fair home of 
 his own, desires a companion to share it. He visits his old friend and 
 creditor and consults him about the matter. If this step is taken that 
 interest will have to be neglected another year. Well, there is quite an 
 accumulation now: would it not be best to have a new mortgage made 
 of just the amount of the principal and accrued interest? or, as the 
 youth is about to begin housekeeping and needs some clothes and will 
 need furniture, etc., why not make the loan a trifle larger, take more 
 time if necessary, and pay the whole at one date? The future looks 
 promising to the young man ; his fields are growing broader ; he f eek 
 that he really needs the money (although he hadn't thought of getting 
 it thus before); to have it he has only to say the word! Yes, he'll take 
 it! The amount of the old mortgage is figured up; the young debtor is 
 saddened to perceive how large it is; but he has now so set his mind 
 upon the additional sum that he must have it. and it goes in. "With a 
 choking sensation and a ringing sound in his ears, he puts his pen to 
 paper, grasps the crisp bills representing the new loan, and hurries 
 away. That mortgage proves to be a diabolical thing! "It has the 
 primal, eldest curse upon it!" Like Macbeth, it "murders sleep"; 
 it goes even further; it murders the peace of that young hus- 
 band; preying upon his mind, it destroys his health, and so murders 
 by inches the man himself! Too proud, perhaps, and too fond to tell 
 his young wife of his care, it pursues him through years of his life like 
 the Nemesis ! Sometimes his debt increases, seldom does it diminish ; 
 but in time the mortgage has devoured both the farm and the man ! 
 
 I have known a man to mortgage his little home to secure the means 
 to make a journey, or a visit ; and the mortgagee shortly became the 
 owner of the property. 
 
 I have known a man to mortgage his homestead to procure the 
 means of purchasing improved stock at extravagant prices, and only to 
 be had for cash, and afterwards surrender up that farm to the 
 mortgagee. 
 
 I have seen a man give a mortgage to raise money wherewith to 
 make improvements upon the home he pledged ; and he did not live to 
 see that mortgage discharged, although he struggled therewith through 
 many dubious years. 
 
 I have known a man who mortgaged his little homestead to buy a 
 team of horses of the mortgagee, paying, as is usually the case in these 
 
NOTE. 
 
 305 
 
 instances, a very high price for his chattels. He wore the horses out on 
 the farm in making improvements; the mortgage remained unpaid, and 
 the man who had parted with the team took the land — and of course 
 the improvements. 
 
 All over our land this tragedy, with innumerable variations, is be- 
 ing enacted ; but so quietly does the terrible play proceed that to the 
 careless observer naught of it appears. 
 
 There are no exemptions in a foreclosing mortgage. This is the true 
 Shylock that, once the forfeiture occurs, takes unrelentingly the last 
 ounce of the pound of flesh, as "it is nominated in the bond ", and is 
 undeterred by the consideration that the blood and life of a christian- 
 man must follow — for the law permits it! A mortgage is everything it 
 is painted in the text, and is enabled to accomplish its diabolical work 
 by the wonderful power of accumulating interest ! 
 
 20 
 
M0TT0E2 FOR (SHiPTER IIIII. 
 
 " Ljefe us first of all, tl]cn, Igave a class of laws wtjieh sljs-ll 
 he called the laws of husbaqdngen. ^nd let the first of 
 these be th)e laws of ^eus, the god of boundaries. Lxet no 
 oge shift thje bourjdary lirje eitl^er of a fellow*citizer) -who 
 is a r|eighbop, or, if h)e dwells at th)e extrergity of tbje lar)d, 
 of ar)y stranger who is corjtiguous to tjinr), corjsidering tJQat 
 this is truly to rrjove the imrqovable." 
 
 Plato : Laws, IV, 357. 
 
 " ^nd to tt)e god Ternginus, or bourjdary, they offer to 
 th)is day botbj public ar)d private sacrifices upor) thje borders 
 and sfcone-nnarks of tbjeir larjds ; livirjg victings r)ow, thougt) 
 ar)cier)tly tbjose sacrifices -were solengnized -without blood ; 
 for J^unga reasoned tbjat tlge god of boundaries, "wlgo 
 watched over peace, should Igave no concerr) with) blood." 
 
 Plutarch : 1,2/e 0/ Numa Pompilius. 
 
 "Cursed be he that removeth) l]is rjeighbor's larjdmark. 
 ^nd all ttje people shall say anjen ! " 
 
 Deut., XXVII, 17. 
 
 306 
 
CHAPTEE XXIIL 
 
 |OPOGEAPHICAL pursuits," ob- 
 serves the learned Southey, in that 
 most eccentric of all curious books, 
 The Doctor^ &c.^ " tend to preserve 
 and promote the civilization of 
 which they are a consequence and 
 a proof." 
 
 Being about to inflict upon the 
 reader of this work some results 
 of my own topographical studies 
 at Oakfields, I gladly avail myself 
 of so high an authority as a justi- 
 fication. Southey continues : 
 
 " Whatever strengthens our local 
 attachment is favorable both to in- 
 dividual and national character. 
 Our home — our birthplace — our native land! — think for 
 awhile what the virtues are which arise out of the feeling 
 connected with these words; and if thou hast any intel- 
 lectual eyes thou wilt then perceive the connection between 
 topography and patriotism." 
 
 For the choice of so plain a subject as that I treat of in this 
 chapter, I am sustained, also, by the countenance of that 
 eminently respectable writer of verse and poetical prose, 
 Thoreau, who somewhere remarks : " I omit the unusual, — 
 the hurricanes and earthquakes, and describe the common. 
 This has the greatest charm, and is the true theme of 
 
 poetry." 
 
 ^ -^ 307 
 
308 FORESTS — TO W^'SRIFS. 
 
 This poet-naturalist in another place repeats : " Give me 
 simple, cheap, and homely themes." 
 
 "We may add to the above the names of Irving, Words- 
 worth, Crabbe, and various other elegant writers, as those of 
 men who believed in the doctrine expounded by Thoreau^ 
 and taught the same by precept and example. It will be 
 perceived, then, that my subject is one fit to employ the 
 noblest pen, and my treatment thereof shall be — well, such 
 as I shall be able to give it. 
 
 In the first place, mindful of the spirit of the laws quoted 
 as mottoes for this chapter, I will proceed to attend to the 
 question of boundaries, only pausing to state, for the better 
 understanding of what follows, that the farm lies upon the 
 south line of its township, in a very new district, and even 
 at the date of this writing is almost entirely surrounded by 
 forests. The latter for the most part, however, are dead, and 
 have been decimated by fire and storm so as to present an 
 unpoetic, nay, a ragged and forlorn appearance. Only here 
 and there among the tall timber are seen oases of green — oak, 
 ash, elm, and maple trees — but even where the fire has de- 
 stroyed the life of the larger growth, and only the stark and 
 stiff trunks of the pines remain to mark the ruin, a thrifty 
 undergrowth of poplar, birch, and alder bushes may usually 
 be discovered. 
 
 Our townships, when full and exact, are divided into thir- 
 ty-six sections of land, each of the latter being one mile 
 square, and containing six hundred and forty . acres. These 
 sections the surveyor begins numbering at the north-eastern, 
 and counts toward the northwestern corner, one, two, &c., to 
 six, and then dropping to the tier south, numbers back ; 
 and so continues alternately until the last section, which is 
 numbered thirty-six, is reached. This section lies in the south- 
 eastern corner of the township. The last, or southern row 
 of sections (which count from the western side of the town- 
 ship toward the eastern), are numbered thirty-one, -two, etc., 
 to thirty-six. Sections are sub-divided into lots, described 
 
OUR TERRITORY. 309 
 
 as eighty-acre lots, forty-acre lots, etc., according to extent. 
 Oakfields, wbicii at present comprises four hundred and 
 eighty acres of land, lies mostly upon section tHrty-three of 
 its township. The latter is technically written down, T. 15, 
 N. of R 2 E. 
 
 That portion of the farm upon thirty-three is formed of 
 the entire western half of the section — four eighty-acre lots 
 — and' the north half of the south-east quarter of the sec- 
 tion, a single eighty-acre lot, and called the "east eighty" of 
 the farm. In addition to these descriptions there is another 
 eighty-acre lot lying just north of the west half of section 
 thirty-three, on section number twenty-eight of the same 
 township. This lot is termed in surveyors' parlance the 
 south half of the south-west quarter of its section. By this 
 it will appear that the western segment of the farm is a great 
 parallelogram, one and a quarter miles in length fi'om north 
 to south, and one-half mile in width, and consists of five 
 eighty-acre lots in a tier ; while the eastern wing (a single 
 eighty-acre lot) is a parallelogram one-half mile long from 
 east to west, and one-fourth of a mile in width. The state 
 road, extending north and south and bisecting the township, 
 runs along the eastern extremity of this last-described lot, 
 and another highway (known here as the west road) running 
 parallel to the last, and one mile further west, follows the 
 Y'cstern side of the farm its entire length, viz. : one mile and 
 a quarter. Both these highways, coming from the wilds to 
 the northward, lead to the county-seat (my " Dreamthorp ") 
 direct. By the western road it is some two and one-half 
 miles from the nearest corner of the farm to the "coriDoration 
 line " ; and a trifle above three and one-half miles from the 
 farm-house to the court-house. By the state road it is a tri- 
 fle over two and three-fourths miles from the entrance to the 
 farm to the village line, and from the farai-house to the 
 court-house some four and one-half miles. 
 
 The farm is longest from north to south, viz. : one mile 
 and one-quarter ; at its widest part it extends from highway 
 
310 TBE FARM BUILDINGS. 
 
 to highway, a distance of one mile. In circiuoference my 
 territory measures just four and one-half miles. 
 
 The farm buildings stand a trifle (about fifteen rods) east- 
 ward from the geographical center of the western half of section 
 thirty-three. The house is upon the northern side of the 
 northern half of the south-west quarter, and the barn is upon 
 the extreme southern edge of the southern half of the north- 
 west quarter of the section aforesaid. Hence the surveyor's 
 quarter-line, bisecting the section from east to west, passes 
 between the buildings, and in front of either, as they face 
 each other. 
 
 By tracing out the descriptions as above given and mak- 
 ing computation, the reader will learn that the group of farm 
 buildings stands aloof from both highways: distant from 
 that on the west some ninety-five, and from that on the east 
 about two hundred and twenty-five perches. It will also ap- 
 pear that it is a half mile from the group to the southern hne 
 of the farm, and three-fourths of a mile to the northern. 
 
 Isolated thus from the public highway, it has become nec- 
 essary to provide private ways to communicate with the 
 outside world, and these have been projected. One is des- 
 tined when completed, to bisect the " east eighty " fi'om east 
 to west, and from the point where it cuts the north and south 
 quarter line of the section, to continue due west about sixty- 
 five perches, where it will make a grand curve (describing an 
 arc of ninety degrees), and come around upon a line with the 
 drive that passes upon the eastern side of the farm-house and 
 leads to the barn. This way, or lane, which it is destined 
 to be, is not fully surveyed as yet, and is one of the many im- 
 provements planned to be made in the future. The other way, 
 not yet marked out, is one leading south-westerly from the 
 house to the ridge, and thence westward to the highway in a 
 course parallel to, and a few yards south of, the quarter-line. 
 The form of the farm may appear a trifle odd and incon- 
 venient to some, who, perchance, would like to inquire why 
 I did not purchase a more compact body of land, and not 
 
THE FARM— SHAPE AND SURFACE — RIDGES. 311 
 
 have a small segment extending, peninsular-like, out into 
 space, as does the so-called east eighty. The advantage 
 given is the communication with another road. I like road 
 fronts upon a sizeable farm ; I have two now, and anticipate 
 the opening of another highway anon which will bound my 
 southern border upon the township line. However, I will 
 assure my critical reader that I would still make the shape 
 of my temporal kingdom to their notion, square and hand- 
 some, only for one little difficulty : I lack the means to 
 purchase the requisite territory to fill the corners ! 
 
 To describe the surface, I may state, in general terms, that 
 the farm consists of a plain, diversified by low ridges. 
 Entering at the eastern gate, we are upon a flat, with a ridge, 
 some twelve or fifteen feet in height, a few rods to the right. 
 Proceeding westward, upon the private road heretofore 
 described, a distance of some fifty yards, we rise to the top 
 of the ridge, which curves to meet us here, and which, 
 already diminished in height, grows ' ' finer by degrees and 
 beautifully less " as we travel toward the setting sun, but 
 finally angles so as to leave us to the right, and is never 
 quite lost until it has traversed the length of the lot and 
 joined the base of a higher ridge — which adorns the 
 southern portion of the farm — near the north-eastern corner 
 of the southern lot. 
 
 This higher ridge, which is distinguished from all others 
 on the place by being referred to invariably as " the ridge", 
 while others are known as "the east ridge", "the west ridge," 
 etc., has its greatest elevation where it enters my domains 
 from neighbor Hitchcock's realms on the east. It runs 
 thence angling toward the northwest, and makes its exit 
 over my western limits under the equatorial line cutting the 
 section into northern and southern halves. It fails to " hold 
 its bigness ", however, and goes out " at the little end of the 
 horn ", but swells again, directly it has crossed the line, intO' 
 a mound of some prominence, which has received the name 
 of Mt. Tom. The ridge we have been describing is of the 
 
312 OUR MOUNTAINS — FORT TI. 
 
 character sometimes designated as a " hog's back". It forms 
 the line of demarcation between the light, sandy soils upon 
 the south side and the rich clay-loam, sand -loam, and allu- 
 vion of the beaver-meadows and creek flats of the northern 
 and eastern portions of the farm. It shades off upon its 
 southerly side into a wide expanse of light-soiled country, 
 where formerly stood a pine forest, skirted by tamarack 
 swamps which are rapidly being drained and dried. The 
 descent to the flats upon the northerly side is much more 
 abrupt. 
 
 There is another sandy ridge worthy of note, which runs 
 along upon the west, following the line of the road in a loose 
 sort of way, advancing and receding, and serrated with 
 depressions caused by little water-courses. Only the edge 
 •of this ridge is mine. Here a spur and there another pene- 
 trate toward the interior of my dominions. One of these, 
 about half way up from the south, probably the most con- 
 siderable of any in points of length and altitude, has received 
 the name of Bunker Hill. Pilot Knob, another fine spur, 
 stands upon the northern lot (Hyperborea) and is the site of 
 The Fort^ where General Allen and Mrs. A. II. now reside, 
 and of which more, perhaps, hereafter."^ 
 
 The Beaver-Meadow par excellence lies along near the base 
 of this western ridge. This is an elongated open space of 
 low and most fertile ground, and constitutes the water-course 
 through which is drained a large area lying to the north and 
 cast. Its course is approximately a meridian. Across this 
 beaver-meadow from the ridge lies the greenwood, — as truly 
 my joy and pride, doubtless, as Grreeley's woods were his ! 
 The meadow and forest coquette with each other, crowding 
 
 ^Tlie Fort (Ticonderoga, in honor of General E. Allen, the architect, 
 builder, and occupant) is a snug and substantial block-house, and was 
 •erected in the summer of 1885. The artist, in the corner-piece on ante 
 page 40, has given a measureably correct view (from the south) of the 
 Fort and surrounding scenery. This post guards our northwestern 
 frontier. 
 
SYLVAN SCENERY AT OAKFIELDS. 
 
 313 
 
314 THE WOODS. 
 
 and yielding, receding and advancing, alternately, and some- 
 times the meadow, but never quite the woods, is lost en- 
 tirely. It is near the northern line of the southern section- 
 where the forest is densest and the meadow is missing ; and 
 here there is truly a fine piece of live woods ! It is the 
 thickest and noblest portion of that narrow, but continuous 
 covert, three-fourths of a mile in length (and all belonging 
 to Oakfields), which loosely parallels and lies in plain view 
 from both highways. At its best it is nearly one-half a 
 mile in depth. This tract is the " real woods" of Beecher,, 
 "that man never planted nor pruned," — the genuine article, 
 — the "straight goods". That I prize this forest very highly^ 
 "I shall neither attempt to palliate nor deny". 
 
 "Here are old trees, tall oaks and gnarled pines 
 That stream with gray -green mosses; hei-e the ground 
 Was never touched by spade, and flowers spring up unsown 
 And die ungathered. It is sweet 
 To linger here among the flitting birds 
 And leaping squirrels, and winds that shake 
 The leaves."* 
 
 "Woods have in all ages," says Howitt, "vividly im- 
 pressed the human mind ; they possess a majesty and sub- 
 limity which strike and charm the eye. They soothe the 
 spirit by their grateful seclusion, and delight it by glimpses 
 of their wild inhabitants, by their novel cries, and beautiful 
 phenomena peculiar to themselves, "f 
 
 And, to descend from generals to particulars, here in my 
 own noble woods and sweet wild meadows, where, in win- 
 ter, old Boreas plays the grand organ of Nature's cathedral, 
 in the pleasant summer-time doth Zephyrus make delightful 
 music upon his harp, million-stringed with leaves and grass- 
 blades, and here, at this mild season, excepting the gentl© 
 god, are "crickets and grasshoppers the only players upon 
 instruments.":}: 
 
 *Bryant. \BooJc of the Seasons. JH. W. Beechek. 
 
CHIMES WE COMMIT. 
 
 315' 
 
 The time is rapidly approaching, so sadly have our wil- 
 dernesses been devastated by the frequent fires, when a 
 green forest tree upon this portion of the footstool will be a, 
 rarity, and the wisdom of that pioneer who has preserved 
 such as it has been within his power to save, will be ac- 
 knowledged and applauded ! I tell you, fellow farmers, we 
 are committing crimes in our wilful wholesale destruction 
 of our noblest forests ! We shall be punished for our sins 
 of this character, too, by and by ; but it is a matter to deplore 
 that many must suffer with us who are innocent of the great 
 transgression, — for it takes long to grow forests to fill the 
 places of those our reckless vandalism has annihilated ! 
 
 The forest described, with one or two other little skirts — 
 one in particular lying on the south side of the " east 
 eighty " — I regard as the peculiar glory of my estate. 
 
 What money would I accept and consent to their re- 
 moval ? Away, wretch I you insult me ! 
 
Emm FOR CHAPTER III¥. 
 
 " Still happirjg." 
 
 Shakespeare : Hamlet. 
 
 ■Ve "wtjo love fel]e haur|fes of JSIature, 
 Lxove feVje surjlighfe of the meadow, 
 Lsove the shadows of the forest, 
 Ljove the ■wirjd among the branches, — 
 Lsigter) to thjege wild feraditiorjs." 
 
 Longfellow: Hiawatha. 
 
 316 
 
CHAPTEE XXIY. 
 
 HOSE wlio read the last chapter 
 and enjoyed it, did well. Those 
 who read it without enjoyment, 
 fared ill. Whoso read it and 
 means to read on, is brave if not 
 wise. Who read and cried "woe I" 
 I warn him to skip this ; for if he 
 have heard of the "worse and 
 more of it" and deem it, like 
 Eabelais' giants, a fiction, he will 
 soon be undeceived. Fully alive 
 to the fact recognized by Wliittier 
 that 
 
 ' ' Pipes by lips Arcadian blown 
 Are simply tin-horns at our own"; 
 
 nay, that 
 "What sounds so sweet by Doon or Ayr" 
 
 may even 
 
 Sound simply silly hereabout," 
 
 still I madly push on. 
 
 "If I linger proudly among my trees," observes Greeley 
 in his Recollections^ "consider that here most of my farm 
 work has been done, and here my profit has been realized in 
 the shape of health and vigor. When I am asked the usual 
 question, ' How has your farming paid ? ' I can truthfully 
 answer that my part of it has paid splendidly, being all 
 
 317 
 
318 th:ereby sang the profits. 
 
 income and no outgo, — and wlio can show a better balance- 
 sheet than that? " 
 
 "Poor Greeley/' you exclaim, "and that was about the 
 sum of his profits to the end ! " 
 
 But you are wrong. I can tell you of another class of 
 profits — of other gains — he realized besides those he speaks 
 of, and besides those you would seek, oh, you prosaic monster ! 
 who subscribe only to the sordid creed of Hudibras : 
 
 "What is worth in anything 
 But so much money as 'twill bring!" 
 
 Beecher recognized the reality and the great value of the 
 intellectual and moral harvests which every enthusiast in like 
 case reaps, — not annually, but diurnally, hourly, momentarily, 
 if he dwells upon the subject, — and we have quoted the Ply- 
 mouth pastor elsewhere as asserting that " Large crops are the 
 result [of such farming as his own, mine, Greeley's, Thoreau's, 
 :and that of the Brook-farmers], of great delight, and fancies 
 more than the brain can hold ! " 
 
 " The true harvest of my daily life," Thoreau somewhere 
 says, " is somewhat as intangible and indescribable as the 
 tints of morning and evening. It is a little star-dust caught, 
 a segment of the rainbow which I have clutched." 
 
 Then, again, there was Christopher North, — bless his 
 hearty, kindly, poetical, jolly, old soul ! he was the boy for 
 such harvests ! Hear how, in his pleasant Recreations^ he 
 rhapsodizes concerning the moor : 
 
 " Oh, * * the moor ! Hundreds, thousands loved it, as 
 well as we did ; for though it grew no grain, many a glorious 
 -crop it bore — shadows like ghosts — the giants stalked — 
 the dwarfs crept ! Sunbeams that nestled with the shadows !" 
 And so he goes on for pages. 
 
 Then if / linger proudly among my trees — my groves — 
 my "real woods" — henceforward in this the last and most 
 original of all books, " good friends, sweet friends, " you 
 surely cannot find it in your hearts to censure me, — can you 
 now ? Eeflect : 
 
IN THE 3IEAD0W. 319 
 
 " Steeped in the fragrant breatli of leaves, 
 My heart a hermit peace receives ; 
 The friendly forest thrusts a screen 
 My refuge and the world between 
 And bathes me in its balmy green ! 
 No fret of life may here intrude, 
 To vex the sylvan solitude ! "* 
 
 If I wander wliat seems a tedious while over my sweet and 
 "flowery wild meadows, where, in early spring, just as the 
 fresh green of the new grass is perceived, 
 
 "The little violet, 
 Penciled with purple on one snowy leaf," 
 
 appears, with the spring-beauty, anemone, and many other 
 gems ; and in later summer and autumn the bright flame of 
 the cardinal flower is visible, and 
 
 "Golden-rod and aster stain the scene 
 With hue of sun and sky ; " 
 
 where the crickets chirp, the bees murmur, the birds sing 
 and flit, where floats 
 
 "The yellow butterfly 
 Wandering spot of sunshine by," 
 
 and the fragrance of mint and balm is on the air, — why, 
 you'll forgive me, and, as I cannot help thinking, love me all 
 the better for my waywardness. 
 
 Now that that point is settled I feel easier ! 
 
 It has been my deliberately -formed purpose in the present 
 chapter to take my reader about the farm in order to examine 
 more minutely its natural divisions ; to inquire concerning 
 the different soils, and to discuss to some extent the phe- 
 nomena we shall meet. 
 
 Following along upon the northerly side of the long bank 
 known as the ridge, is a water-course, which is dry in sum- 
 
 *Bayard Taylos. 
 
320 
 
 TEE WATER-WATS. 
 
 ^■^xy^Mfy/. ^ ^ Ay ' 
 
 
 .;ttr 
 
 
 ?^ 
 
 
 r f. f 
 
 \ 
 
 
 mer, but wTiicli drains a large area of 
 country lying to the north-eastward 
 This water-way pursues a north-west- 
 erly coui'se, running nearly parallel 
 with the ridge, and forms a junction 
 with the beaver-meadow brook, before 
 spoken of, at a point some three hun- 
 dred yards eastwardly from the western 
 line of the farm. From this point well 
 defined banks begin to appear, the val- 
 ley suddenly grows narrow, and here, 
 in sti'ong probability, a few generations 
 since was a not inconsiderable stream 
 flowing perennially. This creek dries 
 up completely now very early in the 
 summer, but it perfonns the useful 
 function of an outlet for the drains 
 of the greater portion of the farm. 
 
 From things that do appear it is 
 evident that at one time the beavers 
 exercised undis23uted sovereignty over 
 all the region which now constitutes 
 
THE BEAVERS — THE SOILS. 321 
 
 the flats and meadows of Oakfields and mucli adjoining ter- 
 ritory. Water-courses and remains of other works of theirs 
 are visible on every hand. Euins of a large dam are plainly 
 discernible below the junction of the two creeks we have 
 described; and, doubtless, it was owing to the continued 
 maintenance of a dam here by the curious and sagacious 
 spatula-tailed rodents, through many ages, perhaps, — causing 
 the overflow of the country above and preventing the 
 growth of trees, — that our meadow was formed, 
 
 "What ingenuity was here displayed ! what cunning ! sagac- 
 ity approaching reason ! It is due to these industrious, 
 social and courageous little creatures, the christening of this 
 lowland the beaver-meadow. That is the name, then, which 
 it shall bear forever ! 
 
 But not in the meadow alone were the traces of the beaver 
 and his works discoverable ; everywhere over the flats which 
 I have cleared in making the farm, could have been seen, ere 
 obliterated by the plow and harrow, little water- co arses, 
 scooped out as neatly as human hands ever performed such 
 work, leading from all points toward the bed of the creek. 
 Some of them were very ancient, for in one or two instances, 
 at least, I have observed huge pine trees growing fairly from 
 the middle of the drain. 
 
 The soil of these lower bottoms is, for the most part, sand 
 intimately commingled with vegetable mould. In some 
 places I have found this stratum of soil — plainly an allu- 
 vial deposit — fully four feet in thickness. From these old 
 creek-beds the surface gradually rises to the level of the old- 
 time creek-flats, where the soil is a rich sandy loam, and the 
 subsoil usually a mixture of sand and clay. No better land 
 for husbandman's use was ever discovered ! It is product- 
 ive from the beginning, and appears to be practically inex- 
 haustible. 
 
 The soil of our ridges varies through all the gamut of sandy 
 ground, from the most nearly worthless, pure white sand, 
 
 21 
 
322 AS TO SAND-EIDQES. 
 
 (only a very little of this !) to the deep, red, iron-oxide-tinted 
 loam. He who deems, however, that any of these ridges 
 are utterly valueless for the farmer's use was never more in 
 ■error in his life ! They have a characteristic which I have 
 seldom heard commented upon, and which I deem of great 
 importance in estimating them, and this it is : Upon being 
 cleared and left lying at commons awhile, or if employed as 
 pasturage, they grow better — increase in fertility — from year 
 to year. A grass of the red-top family begins to grow up- 
 on them and anon makes a handsome sward. Where the 
 surface is cut or torn you shall now soon perceive white clo- 
 ver creeping in. Then red clover appears, and afterward 
 other grasses, as the June grass, etc. After this, in process 
 of time, under the hand of judicious management, good 
 orops of grain and vegetables may be grown upon the light- 
 est ridges. 
 
 Another feature of these ridges : Moisture does not re- 
 main upon their porous soils to any extent, but, after every 
 rainfall, sinks forthwith, and is held deep below the sur- 
 face for an indefinite period — so long that the most extend- 
 ed drought I have known here has failed to exhaust this 
 store of pure, soft and sweet water. Here I indicate a char- 
 acteristic which renders the presence of one or more of these 
 ridges upon a farm a thing greatly to be desired. 
 
 Speaking of these very soils, in a lecture prepared by him 
 .■and read before a number of farmers' institutes, held in va- 
 rious portion sof Michigan in 1878, the eminent scientist. Dr. 
 E,. C. Kedzie, as quaintly as truthfully observes : 
 
 " No farmer need question the virtue of any soil that, 
 with instinctive modesty, covers its nakedness with a robe 
 ■of grass. "'^ Eeference is here had to a habit I mention above. 
 
 It is to me a thing inexplicable that such immense tracts 
 of these lands — aggregating many hundreds of thousands 
 
 *Tlie lepture may be found in the Report of the Michigan State 
 .Board of Agriculture for 1878, and is well worth reading. 
 
A THING INEXPLICABLE. 323 
 
 of acres in the northern half of the lower peninsula of 
 Michigan alone — should have been hitherto allowed almost 
 to go begging for purchasers at merely nominal prices, — for 
 it can be considered little better than that when they remain, 
 as they have lain from a dozen to a score and more of years 
 since they were stripped — i. e., since their more valuable 
 timber of pine and oak was cut off — and only a small frac- 
 tion of the whole area as yet in the hands of actual settlers. 
 The surface and soil of Oakfields, as described in this and 
 the preceding chapter, will serve to give some idea of what 
 the quality of these lands for the most part is. Some light 
 sandy soils here, it is admitted, and many pine stumps 
 which are to be removed not without considerable expense ; 
 but on the other hand, a large proportion of these lands is 
 of surpassing fertility ; the soils are deep, rich, and mellow 
 loams ; the subsoil is usually of clay. Many of these lands 
 are easily and cheaply cleared ; and one of the best features 
 of the whole is that the ridges and the flat lands so alter- 
 nate with each other almost everywhere that a fair-sized 
 farm will, as a general thing, afford one about the variety of 
 surface he should most desire. 
 
 Just think of property like that I have described in Oak- 
 fields, lying from three to ten miles distant from a thriving 
 railroad town — a county-seat of noble aspirations and great 
 expectations — with fair roads, excellent markets, — think, I 
 say, of such lands being offered at from three to ten dollars 
 per acre, with easy payments, and no buyers ! Our lum- 
 bermen are, as I have often argued, practically giving away 
 some of the finest lands in the nation, and this, too, to half- 
 reluctant recipients, because, forsooth, both parties are ig- 
 norant of the value of the gift ! I have been looking about 
 some. I find that in other states, and in remote parts of 
 my own beautiful state, lands no better than those I here 
 speak of, and situated but little, if any, more advantageously 
 as regards roads, markets, propinquity to town and railroad, 
 etc., are selling at from forty to one hundred dollars per 
 
324 TOO CHEAP. 
 
 acre to farmers whose intention it is, of course, to use them 
 for naught but agricultural purposes ! True, in some in- 
 stances, there are clearings and other improvements upon 
 the lands last mentioned ; but, in these cases, many draw- 
 backs exist, such as deterioration of soil from bad husband- 
 ry, of markets by competition, etc., etc. In many instances, 
 however, stark wild-lands, in situations such as I have last 
 described, command the figures last mentioned. 
 
 " Oh, judgment! thou art fled to brutish beasts, 
 And men have lost their reason ! " 
 
 Our lands worthless ! Show us an intelligent and indus- 
 trious farmer who has occupied any of them for ten years, 
 and who has been blessed with ordinary good luck, who has 
 not prospered beyond all his own anticipations, and who is 
 not (fortune continuing to smile upon him to the extent of 
 keeping himself and family in health) in a fair way soon to 
 become independent ! Nay, I contend that almost any man, 
 blessed with health, strength, the will to work, and an am- 
 bition to succeed, may begin upon a forty-acre lot as good as 
 these hundreds of thousands of acres will average, and by in- 
 telligent management may, within five years, become perfectly 
 independent of fortune. I do not mean by this that he will 
 by any means become wealthy ; but he may possess a modest 
 competence. 
 
 Time will demonstrate the correctness of the views I herein 
 announce, and a few years hence men will wonder at the 
 fatuity which made them believe our "stripped" pine lands so 
 utterly worthless, 
 
 I have no lands to sell ; nor am I agent for any one who 
 has ; nor interested am I in any real-estate enterprise of what- 
 ever sort. But I often reflect upon the thought : What a 
 blessing it would be if the poor families of the large towns, 
 needy, suffering and hopeless, without steady employment, 
 and only inadequate stipends at the best, could each be sup- 
 plied with a forty-acre lot of these fruitful lands, and enabled 
 
BOW LONG, OR LORD? 
 
 325 
 
 to go forward and work out their temporal salvation in tlie 
 form of an honest, comfortable livelihood for every member, 
 while they converted the howling wastes into myriads of com- 
 fortable, smiling homes ! Beautiful lands are here ! A fine 
 climate is here ! and yet the cities are and will remain over- 
 crowded, and poverty, disease, and distress of every name 
 and nature will continue to afflict the helpless, cringing 
 
 massea 
 
 "How long, oh Lord, how long! " 
 
MOTTOES FOR CHAPTER IM, 
 
 ""We are, ■we kr)ow r)ofe what ; light.«sparkles floafcirjg ir| 
 
 febje efcVjep of 'Deity." 
 
 Sarior Resartus, Book I., Chap. 8. 
 
 "Ve children of mar), 
 W^hjose life is a span, 
 
 J^aked ar)d featherlesg, 
 Feeble ar)d garrulous, 
 
 Sickly, calarrjitous creatures of clay." 
 
 Aristophanes : The Birds. 
 
 " ^pusfe to your phjilosophy, my njasterg ; ar)d brag tljat 
 
 you tjave found tlje bear) in the cake ; -what a rattle is tjere 
 
 ■witt) §o rqany pt)ilosopV)ical Ijeads." 
 
 Montaigne : Essays, Chap. 54, 
 
 " His talk -was like a strearn, -wl^ich rur)s 
 
 With) rapid cb|arjge fpon^ pocks to poses J 
 
 It skipped fpon) politics to puns, 
 
 It passed fponj N|ab)on]et to IS^oses ; 
 
 ^eginnir)g witt) ithe la-ws wtjich keep 
 T^lje planets in tbjeip radiant coupgeSr 
 
 .?S.r)d endiijg iq songe precept deep 
 
 Fop dressii^lg eels op shoeing horses. * 
 Praed: The Vicar. 
 
 336 
 
CHAPTEE XXY 
 
 F it sTiould please the reader to 
 denominate tHs a "chapter of 
 accidents ", I should quarrel nei- 
 ther with his definition nor his 
 taste. 
 
 Eeflecting upon the lines of 
 Ben Jonson, beginning 
 
 "Boast not these titles of your ancestors. 
 Brave youth," 
 
 I ran on the other day, to thinking 
 of Saxe's comical verses : 
 
 " Of all the notable things on earth, 
 The queerest one is pride of birth 
 Among our ' fierce democracie '; 
 A bridge across a hundred years, 
 Without a prop to save it from sneers, — 
 Not even a couple of rotten peers, — 
 A thing for laughter, fleers and jeers,. 
 Is American aristocracy, 
 
 ' English and Irish, French and Spanish, 
 German, Italian, Dutch and Danish, { 
 
 Crossing their veins until they vanish : 
 
 In one conglomeration. i 
 
 So subtle a tangle of blood, indeed. 
 No heraldry-Harvey will ever succeed 
 
 In finding the circulation."* 
 
 *T?ie Proud Miss McBride. 
 
 327 
 
328 ANCESTOR-WORSHIP. 
 
 But no queerer is this disposition among our " fierce dem- 
 ocracie " than among the still fiercer aristocracy of the old 
 world. 
 
 Pride in a patronymic I of all shabby things ! 
 
 Let us see : your name is Howard ; as you fondly deem, 
 
 "All the blood of all the Howards" 
 
 courses through your veins. Does it ? 
 
 You had two parents, — one was a Howard : that halves it, 
 does it not ? You had four grand parents, of which one 
 spelled his name with a haitch, a ho, a double hu, a hay, a 
 bar, and a dee ! In the twentieth generation back (say about 
 the year A. D. 1200), providing there have been no inter- 
 marriages among the members of your family, you had 
 
 a thousand? — yea, many, many more than a thousand an- 
 cestors ; in short, 
 
 "To be exact about the fact," 
 
 the number is expressed by the following figures : 1,048,576 
 — one million, forty-eight thousand, five hundred, seventy 
 and six ! Pshaw, you are not much of a Howard, after all ! 
 
 But do not be unduly dejected, therefore, and blush and 
 shrink from sight. It is about the way with all human 
 " greatness," and of everything earthly. Nothing will bear 
 close scrutiny. Analyze the regal magnificence of Dives 
 and it will be found as the filthy rags of Lazarus. 
 
 Of course, however, as much as I despise cant and detest 
 gush^ I do not half hope I shall be able to laugh the world 
 out of its sins in these directions. The vanity which leads 
 up to them is too deeply ingrained in human nature, I fear. 
 But some of its manifestations, and especially in the line of 
 ancestor-worship, are comical enough — if sad — and make 
 one think of Mark Twain at the tomb of Adam,* — which 
 
 *Tra veiling in Asia, Makk approached a spot where a broad, flat 
 stone was inscribed with this legend, "The tomb of Adam." " I leaned 
 upon a pillar," writes the great humorist, "and burst into tears. I 
 
VARIOUS VANITIES. 329 
 
 delicious little bit of satire (if satire it be I) tbey appear to 
 justify. Yes, we have in democratic America the " families" 
 of the Bayards, the Adamses, and numerous others. 
 
 " Lady Clara Vere de Vere, 
 
 I know you're proud to bear your name; 
 Tour pride is yet no mate for mine, — 
 Too proud to care from whence I came!"* 
 
 "Behold the child, by Nature's kindly law, 
 Pleased with a rattle, tickled with a straw; 
 Some livelier plaything gives his youth delight, 
 A little louder, but as empty quite; 
 Scarfs, garters, gold, amuse his riper stage. 
 And beads and prayer-books are ths toys of age; 
 Pleased with this bauble still, as that before. 
 Till, tired, he sleeps, and life's poor play is o'er, "f 
 
 You were only tickled with another kind of straw. I, too, 
 am a sinner in this kind — "the chief of sinners," indeed! 
 I have been proud and foolish likewise, as what son of Adam 
 has not? I have no right to ridicule, though I expose you. 
 
 " Have I not known all earthly vanities. 
 Learned the inane, and taught inanities V'X 
 
 Here have I long been ambitious of owning a broad do- 
 main and stately hall, — have dreamed of it, thought of it, 
 schemed for it, wrought for it, and am at length about con- 
 vinced that my castle in Spain is only another vain phan- 
 tom, a thing all of vanity, whether it is ever destined to be 
 •achieved or not — and hence not worth achieving ! 
 
 deem it no shame to have wept over the grave of my poor dead relative. 
 * * * Noble old man — he did not live to see me — he did 
 not live to see his child. And — I — I — alas, I did not live to see him. 
 Weighed down by sorrow and disappointment, he died before I was 
 born — six thousand brief summers before I was born. But let us try to 
 bear it with fortitude." — Innocents Abroad. 
 
 *Tennyson. 
 
 fPoPE's Essay on Man. 
 
 :]:Goethe's Faust, Act I., Scene 5. 
 
330 
 
 MT CASTLE IN SPAIN. 
 
OSSIAI^ — ECCLESIASTES — EMERSON. 331 
 
 " Why dost tliou build the hall, son of the winged days ? 
 Thou lookest from thy tower to-day ; yet a few days and the 
 blast of the desert comes ; it howls in thy empty courts !" 
 
 So sang Ossian, son of Fingal. And that raven Ecclesi- 
 astes is heard to croak as follows : 
 
 " I builded me houses ; I planted me vineyards ; 
 
 " I made me gardens and orchards, and I planted trees in 
 them of all kinds of fruits. 
 
 " I made me pools of water, to water therewith the wood 
 that bringeth forth trees. * * 
 
 "Then I looked on all the works that my hands had 
 wrought, and on the labor that I had labored to do ; and be- 
 hold all was vanity, and vexation of spirit, and there was no 
 profit under the sun."* 
 
 Yes, yes, yes ! And next we have the poet-philosopher. 
 A long line of land-hungry men have cheated themselves 
 into temporary happiness thus : 
 
 '"Tis mine, my children's, and my name's! 
 How sweet tlie west wind sounds in my own trees! 
 How graceful climb the shadows on my hill! 
 I fancy these pure waters and the flags 
 Know me as does my dog: we sympathize; 
 And I aflSrm mj actions smack the soil. 
 
 "Where are these men? Asleep beneath the ground; 
 And strangers, fond as they, their furrows plow. 
 Earth laughs in flowers to see her boastful boys 
 Earth-proud, — proud of the earth which is not theirs; 
 Who steer the plow, but cannot steer their feet 
 f Clear of the grave. 
 
 "They added ridge to valley, brook to pond. 
 And sighed for all that bounded their domain: 
 This suits me for a pasture; that's my park; 
 We must have clay, lime, gi-avel, granite-ledge. 
 And misty lowland where to go for peat. 
 The land is well, — lies fairly to the south. 
 'Tis good when you have crossed the seas and back 
 
 *Eccles., II., 4, 5, 6, 11. 
 
332 THE EARTH-SONG — JOB. 
 
 To find thy sit-fast acres where you left them. 
 Ah, the hot owner sees not Death, who adds 
 Him to the land, a lump of earth the more.* 
 Hear what the earth says : 
 
 "Mine and yours; 
 Mine, not yours. 
 Earth endures; 
 Stars abide — 
 
 Shine down in the old sea; 
 Old are the shores; 
 But where are old men? 
 I who have seen much 
 Such have I never seen. 
 
 "The lawyer's deed 
 Ran sure. 
 In tail. 
 
 To them and to their heirs 
 Who shall succeed. 
 Without fail 
 Forevermore. 
 
 "Here is the land. 
 Shaggy with wood. 
 With the old valley, 
 Mound and flood. 
 But the heritors? 
 Fled like the flood's foam,f 
 
 *The best expression of this solemn truth in all literature occurs in 
 the book of Job: 
 
 "Man that is born of a woman is of few days and full of trouble. 
 He cometh forth like a flower, and is cut down ; he fleeth also as a 
 shadow and continueth not. * * Man dieth and wasteth away; 
 yea, man giveth up the ghost, and where is he? As the waters fail 
 from the sea, and the flood decayeth and dryeth up ; so man lieth down 
 and riseth not; till the heavens be no more, they shall not awake nor 
 be raised out of their sleep." — Job, XIV., 1, 3, 10, 11, 12. 
 And St. James witnesseth: 
 
 " For what is your life? It is even a vapor that appeareth for a little 
 time and then vanisheth away. " — St. James, IV. , 14. 
 f Holmes facetiously expresses it thus : 
 
 " Gone like the tenant that leaves without warning, 
 Down the back-entry of time." 
 
ONLY W-AITINO. 
 
 333 
 
 ■ONLr WAITING. TILL THE SHADOWS ARE A LITTLE LONGER GROWN." 
 
334 THE ^^EVERLASTING HILLS" NOT STABLE. 
 
 The lawyer and the laws. 
 And the kingdom 
 Clean swept herefrom! 
 
 ■" They called me theirs 
 Who so controlled me; 
 Yet everyone willed to stay 
 And is gone! 
 How am I theirs 
 If they cannot hold me, 
 But I hold them? 
 When I heard the Earth-song 
 I was no longer brave ; 
 My avarice cooled 
 Like lust in the chill of the grave."* 
 
 Tlius the diPeam ends in smoke, and, alas ! the dreamer in 
 dust. 
 
 " Oh, why should the spirit of mortal be proud? " 
 
 But Tennyson goes a step farther and declares (what we 
 ■all know to be the truth) that 
 
 "The hills are shadows, and they flow-|- 
 
 From form to form, and nothing stands; 
 They melt like mists, the solid lands, 
 Like .clouds they shape themselves and go. "% 
 
 *Emerson : Hamatreyer. 
 
 fWhat Tennyson expresses so poetically is thus prosaically stated by 
 the geologist : 
 
 " The earth, like the "body of the animal, is wasted, as the philosoph- 
 ical HuTTON tells us, at the same time it is repaired. It has a state of 
 augmentation; it has another state, which is that of diminution and de- 
 cay; it is destroyed in one part to be renewed in another; and the op- 
 erations by which the renewal is accomplished are as evident to the sci- 
 entific eye as those by which it is destroyed. A thousand causes, aque- 
 ous, igneous, and atmospheric, are continually at work modifying the 
 external form of the earth, wearing down the older portions of its stir- 
 face, and reconstructing newer out of the older; so that in many parts 
 'Of the world denudation has taken place to the extent of many thou- 
 sand feet." — Louis Figuiek: IrttroducUon to The World Before the 
 Flood. 
 
 XIn Memoriam. 
 
THE WORLD SHALL PASS AWAY. 335 
 
 'Shakespeare goes still farther, and mortals fare worse. He 
 leaves us finally not a solid spot to stand on : 
 
 " Our revels now are ended. These our actors 
 As I foretold you, are all spirits, and 
 Are melted into air, into thin air: 
 And, like the baseless fabric of this vision, 
 The cloud-capped towers, the gorgeous palaces, 
 The solemn temples, the great globe itself, 
 Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve, 
 And like this insubstantial pageant faded. 
 Leave not a wrack behind.* We are such stufE 
 As dreams are made on: and our little life 
 Is rounded with a sleep, "f 
 
 Lucifer, in a familiar conversation with Festus, one day, 
 thus gave in his testimony : 
 
 " The earth * * shall end. 
 The stars shall wonder why she comes no more 
 On her accustomed orbit, and the sun 
 Miss one of his apostle lights; the moon. 
 An orphan 'orb, shall seek the earth for aye, 
 Through time's untrodden depths, and find her not; 
 No more shall morn, out of the holy east. 
 Stream o'er the amber air her level light, 
 Nor evening, with the spectral fingers, draw 
 Her star-sprent curtains round the head of earth; 
 Her footsteps never thence again shall grace 
 The blue sublime of heaven. Her grave is dug. 
 I see the stars, night-clad, all gathering. 
 In long and sad procession. Death's at work.":]: 
 
 One would be inclined to think that this were enough ; 
 :and that poet, and philosopher as well, might be content to 
 pause here. But not so. Not satisfied that others have pre- 
 
 *" And the world passeth away," /. John, II., 17. See also Il.Peter, 
 II., 10. Also: "And I saw a new heaven and a new earth: for the 
 first heaven and the fir?t earth were passed away; and there was no 
 jnore sea." — Revelationfi, XXI., 1, 
 
 \Tempest, Act IV., Scene 1. 
 
 ::]:Bailet: Festus. 
 
336 irOW NEWTON REGARDED THE MATTER. 
 
 dieted the sure destruction, yea, annihilation of tlie solid- 
 seeming earth, there are who proceed to demonstrate that it 
 never possessed solidity. 
 
 Sir Isaac Newton, the great physicist, comes forward and 
 ventures the proposition that nothing about us — no material 
 thing — is, or ever has been, actually what it appears to us. 
 In other words, he believes that " the most solid matter is a 
 most delicate and airy net-work, if net-work it may be 
 called, of which the infinitesimally invisible atoms are a thou- 
 sand, or, perhaps, a million times their own diameters distant 
 from one another." 
 
 ' ' Atom from atom yawns as far 
 As moon from earth, or star from star."* 
 
 He believed that all the matter of the universe, compacted, 
 might be put into a box whose capacity is one cubic inch ! 
 Think of that ! 
 
 But how fortunate it is for the most of us that matter 
 never becomes so "compacted"! I know a gentleman, I 
 think, ("a real-estate man" is he of the town), who, finding 
 it thus, would e'en take the little lump, coolly pocket and 
 walk off with it, leaving the rest of us to whistle ! 
 
 The worst has not yet been told. It would really seem, 
 indeed, as if Uncle Ikef had "got it down pretty fine" ; — 
 so fine, in fact, that the universe begins to appear to our 
 apprehension like the traditional " little eend of nothing, 
 whittled off ", — but others have found 
 
 " In the lowest deep, a lower deep 
 Still threatening to devour! "% 
 
 *Emekson: Nature. 
 
 f Charge me not with irreverence: 'tis but a term of endearment. 
 Remember "Old Put.", "Honest Old Abe.," etc. Yea, and did not 
 the Shepherd, at the very last of the ambrosial Noctes call Alexand"r 
 the Great, King of Macedon, " Sandy"? 
 
 ^: Milton : Paradise Lost. 
 
NO MATTER — IDEALISM. 337 
 
 The great Grerman metaphysician, Kant, conceded, indeed, 
 that such a thing as matter exists ; but his theory makes it 
 out no great matter to us, for he held that we can know 
 nothing of it, for it is not at all like what it appears to us. 
 
 " Things are not what they seem."* 
 
 Then came Bishop Berkeley and John Fearn (the latter is 
 almost forgotten, by the way ; but I stand for justice, and 
 here restore him his rights) and jiroved that there is no such 
 thing existent as matter, f it being all a figment of the mind.;}: 
 And all these theorists are backed by numerous followings.§ 
 
 *LoNGFELLO"w : Psalm of Life. 
 
 fCARLYLE words it thus: So that this so solid-seeming world, after 
 all, were but an airy image, our me the only reality; and nature, with 
 its thousand-fold production and destruction, but the reflex of our own 
 inward force, the fantasy of our dream. — Sartor Besartus, Book VIII. 
 
 But of course the physical part of the me, the ego, is in the same con- 
 dition as all other matter. 
 
 :j:All visible things are emblems; what thou seest is not there on its 
 own account ; strictly taken, it is not there at all. Matter exists only 
 spiritually, and to represent some idea and body it forth. — CAELTiiE. 
 
 §This doctrine one of its most able and candid opponents admits it is 
 impossible to confute, at the same time he asserts it impossible to believe 
 it. Many anti-idealists, however, have contented themselves with in- 
 dulging in ridicule of the system of philosophy formulated by the 
 learned and benevolent bishop. Thus Byron has his quirk : 
 
 " "When Bishop Berkeley said there was no matter, 
 And proved it, 'twas no matter what he said; 
 They say his system 'tis in vain to batter, — 
 Too subtle for the airiest human head. , 
 
 But who yet can believe it?" 
 
 Voltaire said: "According to this doctrine, ten thousand men 
 killed by ten thousand cannon-shots, are in reality nothing more than 
 ten thousand apprehensions of the mind." 
 
 The great Dk Johnson, speaking to a man who had been defend- 
 i ng the Berkeleyan system, and who had risen to go, observed : ' ' Pray, 
 sir, don't leave us, for we may perhaps forget to think of you, and then 
 you will cease to exist." 
 2% 
 
338 I ONLY AN IDEA. 
 
 Doesn't all this make you feel small, and light, and shad- 
 owy? To think that this feeling, thinking I, which has all 
 along believed it was enjoying good jokes, suffering physical 
 pain, and growing muscular on solid food, should be thus 
 itself resolved into a mere idea ?* Had Hamlet realized all 
 this he would never have given utterance to the exclama- 
 tion: 
 
 " O that this too, too solid flesh would melt, 
 Thaw and resolve itself into a dew. " 
 
 Poor Hamlet ! the metaphysicians have melted all flesh into 
 a finer, thinner, more attenuated or ethereal something than 
 was " dreamt of in your philosophy ". 
 
 But there is one thing I am more than half resolved up- 
 on : To sell the farm before the news gets abroad that it has 
 only an apocryphal existence — or, in other words, that its 
 existence is all in the eye, or the idea ! My faith in the real- 
 ity of realty is much shaken. So is the substance of a solid 
 investment reduced to a shadow ! Pope avers that 
 
 "A little learning is a dangerous thing." 
 
 I am almost persuaded, regarding certain of the erudite 
 philosophers whose systems have herein been cited, that 
 much learning hath made them mad, and am hence ready to 
 
 Among Americans the learned Dk. Samuel Johnson and the cele- 
 brated Jonathan Edwakds, embraced Bishop Berkeley's philosophy, 
 and even Dr. McCosh is reported to have written (in an article for a 
 review) concerning the system: "Many are turning toward it with 
 longing." 
 
 Fichte followed Kant and elaborated the system which has been 
 called the " selfish philosophy", which comes closer to the idealism of 
 Berkeley than any other. 
 
 *Are we not spirits that are shaped into a body, into an appearance; 
 and that fade away again into air and invisibility? This is no meta- 
 phor, it is a simple scientific fact. We start out of nothingness, take 
 figures, and are apparitions; around us, as around the veriest specters, 
 is eternity; and to eternity minutes are as years. — Sartor Eesai'tm, 
 Book III., chap. VIII. 
 
" THROUGH A GLASS, DARKLY." 339 
 
 -concliide that the much is more dangerous than the little ; 
 and, having been made to feel uncomfortable by these learned 
 speculations, I am about prepared to acknowledge the truth 
 of Grray's aphorism : 
 
 " Where ignorance is bliss 
 'Tis folly to be wise," 
 
 •(which to this date I have always questioned), and to wish 
 from my heart that these old worthies had kept their philos- 
 ophy to themselves ! Yea, of a verity, might we ask with 
 Elephaz the Temanite: "Should a wise man utter vain 
 knowledge? Should he reason with unprofitable talk, or 
 'with speeches wherewith he can do no good?"* 
 
 "Yet let not this too much, my son. 
 Disturb thy youthful breast, "f 
 
 Many of the discoveries of natural science which have 
 heretofore disturbed the equanimity of people, and for a 
 time destroyed the peace of mind even of statesmen, rulers 
 •and high-priests, have finally been generally accepted as true, 
 ^nd yet the world has continued to marry and be given in 
 marriage, to traffic, to write, read, eat, drink, sleep, laugh, 
 .joke, plot, in the old accustomed ways. It was reckoned flat 
 blasphemy in Galileo when he maintained the doctrine that 
 the earth revolves, and we all remember the posing query of 
 the good old rustic deacon when the then generally admitted 
 fact was first brought to his notice : " Then why don't the 
 ^ater all slop out of my mill-pond, hey?" 
 
 "We now indeed " see through a glass darkly " ; the time 
 may come, or, if the glorious event cannot be conceived of as 
 likely to occur in time, in eternity, to which we are all rap- 
 idly hastening, we may at last find the explanation of all the 
 m.ysteries which 
 '• So trouble us here." 
 
 *Job, XV., 3, 3. 
 
 •j-BuBNS: Man was Made to Mourn. 
 
340 AS TO PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 In tlie meantime I would again say, probably it will not^ 
 on the whole, pay us to regard too seriously these stated results 
 of the " lucubrations of old philosophers ", nor to suffer them 
 to interfere greatly with our every-day concerns. It is bare- 
 ly possible that mista]$:es have been made by others besides. 
 Moses, Eead what the poet Byron, himself a thinker, too^ 
 has to object against philosophy in general : 
 
 " If that I did not know philosophy 
 To be of all our vanities the motliest, 
 The merest word that ever fooled the ear 
 From out the school-men's jargon, I should deem 
 The golden secret, the lost ' Kalon ' found 
 And seated in my soul."* 
 
 Perhaps there is some ground for the accusation ; but not- 
 withstanding all this the ingenious but ingenuous Grascon, 
 Montaigne, lamented that philosophy had so fallen into dis- 
 repute in his own day. 
 
 " 'Tis a thousand pities [quoth he] that matters should bft 
 in such a pass in this age of ours that philosophy, even with 
 men of understanding, should be looked upon as a vain and 
 fantastic name, a thing of no use, no value, either in opinion 
 or effect, "f 
 
 The writer has no mind for the fine-drawn cobwebs of met- 
 aphysics, and hence will not undertake at present to demon- 
 strate the truth or falsity of any of the various systems now 
 in vogue. I remember Plato says that " philosophy must 
 inevitably fall under the censure of the world ";:{: but this 
 might be and it not be entirely the fault of philosophy. I will 
 only pause here to express my feeling of mild wonder that 
 the learned and acute hair-splitters whose trade is metaphys- 
 ics should be led by their studies to such antipodic conclu- 
 sions as they sometimes are ; as, for example, where m his. 
 theory of the non-existence of matter the good and pious 
 
 * Manfred, Act III., Scene 1. 
 \ Essays, Book I., Chapter XXV. 
 XRepublic, II. 
 
BIVJOUS THEOREMS. 341 
 
 BisHop Berkeley beheld tlie proof of divine revelation, wliile, 
 on the other hand, the genial, free-thinking philosopher, 
 Hume, saw therein a conclusive argument against revelation ; 
 ^nd to state, after further and full consideration of the some- 
 what important matter (no pun intended — such levity 
 would be inexcusable in discussing subjects so grave and 
 ■weighty !), to proceed, for the present, at least, with my farm- 
 ing, and scribbling, in the virtuous manner and according to 
 the honest plans I had sometime since marked out, turning 
 for sanction and encouragement to the words of the 
 preacher : 
 
 "I perceive that there is nothing better than that man 
 should rejoice in his own works ; for that is his portion : for 
 who shall bring him to see what shall be after him ? "* 
 
 Neither let us forget the philosophical counsel of the great 
 Dr. Browne: 
 
 " In bivious theorems and Janus-faced doctrines let virtu- 
 ous considerations state the determination, "f 
 
 I shall not allow myself to be troubled too greatly, lest 
 when I go to my pasture to find my spotted heifer that, ac- 
 cording to the theory of Kant, I shall be in danger of driv- 
 ing up the brindled bull instead, or the eccentric Ettrick 
 Shepherd's Bonassas;:^ or, providing Sir Isaac Newton's 
 ■compacting idea is correct, that I shall get much too little for 
 my trouble ; or, again, should Berkeley's doctrine stand, that 
 I shall pursue, perhaps secure, drive to the yard and endeav- 
 or to draw milk from a dry abstraction ! 
 
 If it should transpire at last that I do not own the farm, 
 b)ut that, according to the Earth-song, the farm owns me;--- 
 or if it turn out according to Kant that the farm is not at all 
 what it appears to be, and hence, I suppose, that the soil 
 may be a great deal better, or as much worse, than I deem 
 it;— or if, according to Tennyson, my hills are destined one 
 
 *Eccles., II., 22. 
 
 fSiR Thomas Browne: Christian Morals, Part III., §3. 
 
 |See Noctes AmbrosianoB. 
 
342 I AM TROUBLED THEREBY, 
 
 day to fall into the habit of flowing like water, my solid cla3r 
 fiats to melting like mists, and nothing will stand (not even 
 the pine stumps !) ; — or if, as Newton taught, I don't own 
 enough in the whole domain to make a compact village lot ; — 
 or, finally, if we accept Berkeley's deductions, and hence are^ 
 forced to the conviction that there is no land here at all, no 
 spotted heifer, no milk (what a doctrine for the milkmen !),. 
 no physical /even, and if I sold there would be no material 
 purchaser, naught but immaterial impressions all round, — im- 
 ages of the mind, — why, it is pretty certain that all these' 
 things will never be generally-recognized, positively-admitted, 
 facts during my day, and hence it is all one, so far as the 
 present generation is concerned, anyhow. 
 
 I don't know : I am only a plain, blunt, conservative old 
 farmer, and I hate, and I can't help it, to have my honestly- 
 imbibed, if old-fashioned ideas of things disturbed in this- 
 manner. I do dislike to think of my beautiful, "gazelle- 
 eyed " heifer as a spotted idea, simply, or a " gazelle-eyed "" 
 "net-work of infinitesimally small particles", which are,, 
 comparatively speaking, very distant one from another,, 
 (though, to be sure, neighbor Kinney has an animal that, 
 would answer that description measureably well !), or that, 
 she may not be even gazelle-eyed, or spotted, if a " solid "" 
 heifer at all ! 
 
 Ever since I began (and it is only comparatively recently) 
 to look a little into metaphysics, and despite all my efforts 
 to overcome the weakness, I have been troubled with this- 
 sense of the shadowy indefiniteness of things, — of the' 
 insecurity of material possessions. When my white Cochin 
 rooster crows to rouse me from my slumber these late morn- 
 ings, I start up, yawn and rub my eyes abstractedly^ and 
 involuntarily image to myself a chanticleer so thin and 
 spectral that the rays of light shine through his body, flap- 
 ping wings that may not be wings at all, but ears, perhaps, or' 
 sails, or oars, or fins, or carpets, or flags, or broadswords, — or 
 perhaps they don't flap, and the old cock only thinks they 
 
PHILOSOPHY OF NO PRACTICAL USE. 343 
 
 do ; or perhaps he don't think so, but is only making me 
 think so; and then I persuade myself that it was not a 
 cock's crowing at all, that this was all in my mind, and so I 
 turn over and fall asleep again. Thus my business suffers ! 
 It will not do, my friends, to mix too much philosojjhy with 
 our farming. 
 
 In the meantime my taxes must be paid : there's nothing 
 indefinite nor uncertain about that matter ! And the interest 
 upon the mortgage is about due : there is no way that I 
 know of to so compact that as to make it seem small. The 
 grocer's bill has been presented : wonder if he will accept 
 payment for his groceries in my ideas ! Alas, I see not how 
 metaphysics are to be made useful to us poor husbandmen 
 during these hard times ! And verily do I now perceive the 
 wisdom of the maxim of Eochefoucauld : "Philosophy tri- 
 umphs easily over past and over future evils, but present 
 evils triumph over philosophy." "This also is vanity and 
 vexation of spirit I " 
 
MOTTOES FOR KSAPTER IX¥L 
 
 " ^ub for fehe glorious privilege 
 ©f beirig igdeper)der)t. " 
 Burns. 
 
 For this he chjoge a farm ir| Oeva's vale. * ^j^ * 
 In th)is calm geafe !ge drew the bjealthful gale, 
 
 J-Iere rqixed tlje chief, thje patriot, -ttje swain ; 
 
 T^he happy morjarch of his sylvar) train, 
 J^ere, sided by tl]e guardians of tlje fold, 
 
 f^e walked his rour|ds, and cl^eered Ijis blest domain 
 pis days, the days of ur)stair|ed qatupe, rolled 
 fieplete witb) peace aqd joy, like patriarcljs of old." 
 
 Thompson : Castle of Indolence. 
 
 344 
 
... ", 111 ''I ,"nli' 
 i,iiii'i'"''i" ''.ii;iii.i|; 
 
 At}" " "'■' 
 
 I.I J i'"'.j 
 
CHAPTER XXYL 
 
 visible, but 
 
 AIR and sweet are many of the 
 pictures of my past life which 
 memory still fondly holds ; — 
 and this is one of them. 
 
 It was a beautiful summer 
 evening. Several persons were 
 gathered upon the eastern ve- 
 randa of the farm house, enjoy- 
 ing the clover-scented air that 
 came to them, cool and delicious, 
 over the rich and extensive 
 meadow, near-lying. The latter 
 had been gladdened in the after- 
 noon by a succession of soft, pleasant 
 showers. Later the sky had cleared, 
 and the sun had set in golden splendor. 
 Now, a half hour after, only a few 
 fleecy clouds remained. No moon was 
 
 " Through the luminous air, 
 Large, loving and languid, the stars, here and there, 
 Like the eyes of passionate women, looked down 
 On a world whose sole tender light was their own."* 
 
 My father was here on a visit, and he and myself were 
 engaged in discussing a question which had been the sub- 
 ject of conversation with us already, and frequently, as the 
 reader has been faithfully apprised in foregoing pages. 
 Malvina was of the group ; near at hand a flirtation pro- 
 
 *Lucile. 
 
 345 
 
346 SYJIP0SIU3I AT THE FARMSTEAD. 
 
 gressed between the black-eyed coquette who had quasi 
 charge of the kitchen, and a new man hired to help us 
 through haying and harvest ; while two or three others of 
 the boys constituting the farm-gang lounged about and 
 listened to the debate, or to the notes of the whip-poor-will 
 which occasionally sounded sharp and clear, "like a flute in 
 the forest," or conversed with one another in subdued tones. 
 The low musical murmur of the bees, in their snug little 
 village on the lawn, came soothingly to our ears. Let's 
 break in upon the discussion at any convenient point. 
 
 "What work in the world," queried my interlocutor, — 
 much at his ease in a large rustic rocking-chair, and pausing 
 in his talk occasionally to stroke caressingly a handsome 
 gray cat, which had wooed and won him during his present 
 visit to the farm, — "What work in the world would it best 
 satisfy your ambition to accomplish ? " 
 
 " To write a good book," I answered unhesitatingly. 
 
 " What sort of a book ? " was the next question. 
 
 "Oh, something in pure literature, I think," was my 
 response. 
 
 "A poem ? " persisted my questioner. 
 
 "Well, yes ; if I could make a really good one," I said. 
 
 "One like Paradise Lost, for instance," suggested my 
 companion. 
 
 "Yes," I returned carelessly, "or one'just half as good." 
 
 " If I was going to write a book, I'd like it to be one 
 something like Swift's Tale of a Tub, or Gulliver's Travels,''' 
 cried my father with enthusiasm. " There's wit for you," 
 he added, "and sense and courage, too." 
 
 Then there was a little pause, while a cricket chirped 
 among the plantain leaves by the side of the path leading ta 
 the gate, and a zephyr toyed with the leaves of the Lom- 
 bardy poplar close at hand. Presently my father began 
 again, thus : 
 
 " What do you think of the school-teacher's lot ? " 
 
WjETY JVOT A TEACSEB. 34T 
 
 " I believe the business of the teacher to be one of the 
 holiest works given man to do ! " I asserted with an earnest- 
 ness that was perfectly sincere. 
 
 " You do ! " ejaculated my companion in a surprised tone. 
 
 "I certainly do," I replied. 
 
 "Well, you used to be a teacher; why didn't you stick 
 to the business?" inquired my tormentor with a little 
 chuckle. 
 
 I replied : " Yes, I taught quite a number of terms when 
 a boy ; and I shall never enjoy anything better than I en- 
 joyed that. And I shall never lay down the tools of any 
 trade with a more comfortable sense of having done my 
 work thoroughly and conscientiously than I felt when I laid 
 down my pen and rule after making out my final last-day's 
 report as a teacher ! " . 
 
 " Should have thought you would have worked along in 
 the line of teaching, then, instead of switching off into law, 
 journalism, and, at length, into this farming ! " exclaimed my 
 father. And then he asked : " "Wouldn't a professorship at 
 some good institution, say, like your Alma Mater you have 
 bragged so much about, or some similar school, or college, 
 have suited your taste better than these things ? " 
 
 "Why," I answered, laughing, "I didn't have any such 
 thing offered me." 
 
 " Don't you suppose it might have been?" was the nest 
 troublesome query ; to which I replied by quoting: 
 
 " ' Of all sad words of tongue or pen 
 
 The saddest are these : " It might have been." '" 
 
 " But," persisted my father, " if you think the teacher's is 
 so sacred a calling " , 
 
 " I do ! " I exclaimed. 
 
 " And you spent so much time in qualifying yourself " 
 
 he was going on. 
 
 "Only a few years," I interrupted again, "and then 
 that " 
 
 But he wanted to talk, and broke in here : 
 
348 • MY ALMA MATER. 
 
 " Now see liere : there's your old college. "Wliat a beau- 
 tiful — delightful — place it is according to your tell " 
 
 "A perfect elysium, particularly in the spring and sum- 
 mer seasons ! " I exclaimed enthusiastically. 
 
 " Well, it seems to me you ought to have been content to 
 stay there and teach — and write, if you must — instead of 
 trying so many things and to so little purpose ! " exclaimed 
 my father with some warmth, for my numerous interrup- 
 tions had irritated him, and he felt hke inflicting a slight 
 punishment upon his undutiful son, 
 
 Thereupon we all laughed merrily, until the echoes, 
 
 "The horns of elf -land faintly blowing," 
 
 replied from the forest — dimly seen in the gloaming hke a 
 sable curtain down beyond the great gray barn. 
 
 "Yes, father," I began to discourse, after a pause, "it has 
 indeed ever appeared to me that the excellent men who give 
 instruction at my dear old college have their lines cast in 
 pleasant places. The college grounds are most beautiful, 
 and are fairly situated with reference to town for conven- 
 ience, and with relation to streams and woods for prospect 
 The society is intellectual, and of the best. They live close 
 to nature there. They have books, — cultivate science, hter- 
 ature, art. The work of these instructors is as holy as that 
 of the clergy. Peace reigns : improvement is the watch- 
 word ! Why shouldn't these professors, who are known, and 
 respected, and looked up to, far and wide — why should they 
 not felicitate themselves upon their earthly lot ? And yet — 
 and yet — " I added, half musingly, and with hesitating ac- 
 cents, " I could not be contented as one of these ! " 
 
 " Well ! " my father burst out in astonishment, " I thought 
 you had it fixed up just in shape to thoroughly captivate a 
 romantic taste like yours ! And now you don't want it ! 
 And why not ? " 
 
 " I'll tell you why I could not be contented as a teacher," 
 I answered slowly and deliberately. " It is nothing inher- 
 
"board" dictation. 
 
 349 
 
 ent in tlie calling ; but it lies in this : Teachers are not suf- 
 ficiently independent. Almost every teacher, from the 
 sweet-faced, white-aproned, dimpled school-ma'am, or the 
 more pompous and pretentious, if not more learned, male 
 pedagogue who conducts the country school during the win- 
 ter, to the scholarly and dignified personages who preside 
 over our most illus- 
 
 trious universities, is 
 subject to the dicta- 
 tion of a 'board'. 
 This board is com- 
 posed of members of 
 whom a majority may 
 or may not be edu- 
 cated, liberal. Christ- 
 ian gentlemen. Hard- 
 ships sometimes grow 
 out of this matter of 
 which the public 
 press takes notice. 
 There is injustice 
 done and heart-burn- 
 ing caused of which 
 the public never 
 knows. But if I could 
 teach, like Plato, in 
 yon grove by the east- 
 ern road ^" 
 
 "The sun would 
 scorch your class 
 among those scat- 
 tering trees .f'' cried 
 my father, his voice 
 betraying a certain 
 contemptuous tone 
 
S50 DESULTORY DEBATE. 
 
 ■when it sounded the last two words, for which I was not at 
 all unprepared. Whereat the speaker, and Malvina, and I 
 laughed again, and awoke my old friend of the Stryx family 
 down in the dim north-west, and he laughed in reply, " Hoo- 
 hoo, hoo-hoo, hoorer-hoo." Then we relapsed into silence, 
 and all listened to the stridulous notes of a katy-did which 
 seemed to come from among the hollyhocks, or the morning- 
 glories, near the eastern door of the low southern wing of the 
 dwelling. Anon I spoke again, addressing my father : 
 
 "Why are you so persistent in arguing against my farming 
 enterprise ? " I demanded. 
 
 Then he laughed good-humoredly and replied: "Well, 
 I hardly know." 
 
 " Am I not very pleasantly circumstanced here ? " I fur- 
 ther inquired. 
 
 " Yes ; it's as pleasant a place as /want !" he returned with 
 ■emphasis. 
 
 " I have my books," I rejoined, "and my friends; Mal- 
 vina has her bees, and her painting, — and we are both very 
 happy, — nothing to trouble us — — " 
 
 " That mortgage ! " whispered a voice at my ear. 
 
 The night grew some shades darker, and silence once more 
 fell upon the little group. 
 
 After an interval my father sighed and again spoke : " I 
 wish the old 'Squire had been as contented upon his farm as 
 you are here," he said. 
 
 " Yes," I assented, " 'twas very foolish of him, / think, to 
 leave his pleasant home to wander nomadically in the wil- 
 derness with that portable shingle-mill." 
 
 "I wish you would write him about the matter, urging 
 him to sell the mill and come back to the farm," said my 
 father. 
 
 " 'Twould do no good," I answered gloomily. 
 
 "But try it, anyhow," he persisted. 
 
 To please him I promised to wi'ite my cousin very soon ; 
 and if the reader will complete the present chapter he will 
 
I WRITE THE OLD 'SQUIRE. 351 
 
 discover with what faithfulness I carried out the wish of the 
 Jdndest parent in the world. 
 
 JTY EPISTLE TO THE OLD ROMAN. 
 
 Yenerable 'Squire : — From this my pleasant tabernacle 
 in the green wilderness of the land of Oakfields, do I send 
 thee greeting : 
 
 Thou and I have come down in company from a former 
 generation ; yea, from an early age of the world, even from 
 a hoary antiquity are we together descended. 
 
 We have beheld the bare boughs of the early spring, have 
 seen them put forth buds, the buds unfold to blossoms, the 
 blossoms turn to fruits, the fruits ripen, then decay, and the 
 seeds thereof sprout again in the beginning of another cycle, 
 for many and man}^ a year ; until lo ! and behold ! the crow's 
 feet have left their ominous imprint in our faces, the calipers 
 have become deeply graven upon our cheeks, and one of 
 ns has lost the hirsute appurtenant which of yore invested 
 ^nd ornamented his cranium. 
 
 Side by side we mounted the horizon walls in the morning 
 of life, twin suns, abounding in joy and light and life ; side 
 by side we passed the meridian ; side by side let us descend 
 in the evening of our days, our joy chastened by experience, 
 our light dimmed a little by sadness, our life a little less full 
 and abounding, but still with sufficiency of each abiding 
 with us to enable us to find happiness in the span that re- 
 maineth unto us, and to gaze with pleasure upon the past. 
 
 Time hath dealt not unmercifully with us ; and if he hath 
 robbed us of aught which we spared but reluctantly, he hath 
 kindly supplied us with strength and fortitude to endure the 
 affliction. 
 
 Ancient J. P.: I have been constrained to break the pro- 
 found silence maintained between us, for lo ! these many 
 months, by a matter that oppresseth my spirit. 
 
 It is with concern that I have learned of thy resolution, 
 which thou hast already acted upon, to abandon thy pleas- 
 
352 BEAUTY OF THE HUSBANDSMAN' S LIFE. 
 
 ant abiding-place, and thy calling as a tiller of the soil, to 
 take to the wilderness and to what thou conceivest to be, or 
 hopest will prove to thee, a more remunerative, if not a 
 more agreeable and honorable calling than that which thou 
 quittest. 
 
 It is, I am aware and must confess, a move perfectly con- 
 sistent with thy former teaching, and thine oft-expressed 
 inclination ; but I am loth to believe now, as before, that 
 thy teaching hath been marked by wisdom ; and I should 
 have been glad to have had to commend in thy practice 
 what I should have termed a glorious inconsistency, hadst 
 thou continued steadfast in the noble calling of the hus- 
 bandman, — the walk of thy forefathers,* — that walk in 
 which the first man trod,f — the calling of the patriarchs, — 
 the calling nearest to and most blest of God in all ages.:j: 
 
 It is- a practice or profession, too, that is safe and secure, 
 and by which the faithful worker may, if not, indeed, always 
 become great and opulent, like the man of Uz at the last,§ 
 at least compass a livelihood,! and lay up treasure against 
 an evil day, the coming whereof no man foretelleth.C 
 
 Alas ! how short-sighted is man ; and how often, in the 
 feverishness of his desires and the perverseness of his nature, 
 doth he put away from him those things provided by a wise 
 Providence for his highest behoof, and choose idols for his 
 worship that in the end will cruelly destroy him, — even as 
 the Israelites in the wilderness, forsaking the true faith, 
 bowed down to brazen images \A 
 
 *" Remove not the ancient landmark which thy fathers have set." — 
 Prov., XXII., 28. 
 
 fConsult Oen., Chap. Ill, 33. 
 
 :j:"The husbandman that laboreth must be the first partaker of 
 the fruits."— IZ". Tim, Chap. II., 6. 
 
 §See Joh, Chap. XLII., 12. |] Prov., XH., 11. 
 
 ZEccl., Chap. XI., 8. 
 
 ^Consult Exodus, Chap. XXXII., 1 to 6. 
 
EXHORTATION AND REPROOF. 353 
 
 Let not thine anger kindle against thy correspondent and 
 kinsman, oh, venerable 'Squire ! that thus he is moved to 
 put these sayings upon thee, — for, indeed, his heart is con- 
 cerned for thee, and he can but believe that in the trans- 
 action of which he here speaketh, thou hast displayed some 
 of the prominent characteristics of the beast which Balaam, 
 the son of Bozor bestrode, and which, as it is recorded in 
 the sacred text, once opened his mouth and spake.* 
 
 The scribe may be wrong in the views which he here 
 advanceth, and his words may appear harsh and unkind ; 
 pardon, I entreat thee, all that in this thou perceivest amiss, 
 and believe for the sake of our early and later companion- 
 ship, that had I loved thee less I had spoken less plainly. 
 
 Nay, indeed, well I know that if aught there be in this 
 friendly epistle that thou canst not approve, then wilt thou 
 be the last person upon the green footstool to swallow the 
 nauseous dose with a pleasant countenance but a bitter 
 soul,f or to chew in silence the quid of discontent against 
 thy sincere, if over-zealous friend and ancient play-fellow ; 
 but I adjure thee to remember the words of Solomon con- 
 cerning reproofs.:]: 
 
 Then verily say I unto thee, oh, thou Eelic of Ages that 
 are Past ! if matter hath escaped my pen which thou likest 
 not, aught that disturbeth the serenity of thy soul, stay not 
 thy hand, but put thy pen to paper and freely speak thy 
 thoughts against an erring fellow-mortal ; then let thine 
 anger have an end. Banish me not for my transgressions 
 I beseech of thee, from the light of thy countenance forever 
 
 But, oh, my time-worn Kinsman I be not over hard o 
 heart, nor severe in thy verbal chastisement of the offender 
 but look with all forbearance upon the fault of thy friend 
 for the reasons I have above set forth, and for a further and 
 perhaps, stronger reason, of which it will be sufficient only 
 to remind thee: 
 
 *See Num., Chap. XXII, 28, 30; also JZ Peter, II, 15, 16. 
 \Eev., Chap. X, 9, 10. XProv., XII, 1, 15; also Prov., XY, 33. 
 
 23 
 
354 SUNDRY CONSIDERATIONS. 
 
 Thou wilt find tlie undersigned a truly dangerous man to 
 have contention withal ; for though, physically speaking, 
 his strength be weakness, and by this untoward circum- 
 stance he might be prevented from administering unto thee 
 the bodily castigation which thou mightst well have de- 
 served, still far is he from being helpless or unable to 
 inflict punishment upon his enemies, for he yet maintaineth 
 his interest with and exerciseth a measure of control over 
 that tremendous monster, — more terrible to encounter than 
 the great beast of seven heads and ten horns which St. John 
 describeth,* — huger than the leviathan referred to in the 
 book of e7b5,f — more powerful for mischief than the old ser- 
 pent which tempted Eve in the garden,:}: to wit: the Briarias- 
 armed, Hydra-headed, Argus-eyed Press ! 
 
 But very far indeed was it from the purpose of the scribe 
 in this epistle to scold, vilify, or threaten thee, oh, time-hon- 
 ored Pilgrim through this Vale of Tears ! or to fill thy heart 
 with bitter feelings, or thy head with vain imaginings. 
 
 I have earnestly desired to lead thee into greener pastures, § 
 and to forestall the hanging of thy harp on the willows of 
 Babylon ! "|| 
 
 I would fain prevent thy wandering in the wilderness 
 forty years, C or for a season longer or shorter, reminding 
 thee that not in worldly wealth,^ not in fame, not in popu- 
 
 *Rev., XIII., 1. f Consult Job, XLI. 
 
 XOen., Ill,, 1—5. %Psalms, XXIII., 3. 
 
 II" By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down, yea, we wept when 
 we remembered Zion ! "We hanged our harps upon the willows in the 
 midst ihareoV— Psalms, CXXXVII., 1, 2. 
 
 ^Consult Ex. , Lev. , and I. Num. 
 
 "Harden not your hearts, as in the provocation, as in the days of 
 temptation in the wilderness: 
 
 "When your fathers tempted me, proved me, and saw my works forty 
 years."— ^e&.. III., 8, 9. 
 
 jd"llQ that loveth silver shall not be satisfied with silver; nor he that 
 loveth abundance with increase: this also is vanity." — Eccles., V., 10. 
 
 " The love of money is the root of all evil." — /. Tim., VI., 10. See 
 also Prov., XXIII., 4, 5. 
 
Air HONEST SECURITY. 355 
 
 larity, doth, happiness consist ; but in a mind that is at ease, 
 inhabiting a body that retain eth its health and its sound- 
 ness. 
 
 I would remind thee that the so-called goods of this world 
 are but filthy rags,* indeed, in comparison with a mind that 
 is void of offense, f and the approval of good men and 
 angels.:}; 
 
 I admit to thee, beloved Kinsman ! that in the husband- 
 man's pursuit are no sudden and showy successes, no for- 
 tunes made in a day, nor yet in a few weeks — "explosively," 
 as one has adopted the term — and the advantage I claim 
 therefor is an honest and comfortable security, a success mod- 
 erately certain, to be reaped by years of patient — and, if we 
 will it so, pleasant — industry; no violence done to our 
 neighbor, nor yet to our consciences, with few perturbations 
 of any sort, and amidst what we may make for ourselves and 
 our loved ones, the most agreeable and wholesome associa- 
 tions and influences. S 
 
 *" Go to now, ye rich men, weep and howl for your miseries which 
 shall come upon you. 
 
 ' ' Your riches are corrupted and your garments are moth-eaten. 
 
 ' ' Your gold and silver is cankered ; and the rust of them shall be a 
 witness against you, and shall eat your flesh as it were fire. Ye have 
 heaped treasure together for the last days." — James V., 1, 2, 3. 
 
 f " Better is a handful with quietness than both hands full with travail 
 and vexation of spirit." — Eccles., IV., 6. 
 
 j;." A good name is better than precious ointment." — Eccles., VII. > 1. 
 See alsoProv., XXII. , 1. 
 
 §1 deem the claim is authorized by the following, as well as by many 
 other passages of scripture, viz: 
 
 " Seest thou a man diligent in his business? he shall stand before 
 kings, he shall not stand before mean men." — Prov., XXII., 29. 
 
 " Drink waters out of thine own cistern, and running waters out of 
 thine own well. 
 
 "Let them be only thine own, and not strangers' with thee. 
 
 ' 'Let thy fountain be blessed, and rejoice with the wife of thy youth." 
 — Prov. v., 15, 17, 18. Bead the entire chapter. 
 
 '' Behold that which I have seen ; it is good and comely for one to eat 
 and to drink, and to enjoy the good of all his labor that he taketh under 
 
S56 METEORS AND ROCKETS. 
 
 I agree witli thee, moreover, that in divers other callings 
 at sundry times there seemeth to the eye of him who look- 
 eth only on the outward appearance, such instant and bril- 
 liant flights in prosperity, on the part of certain fortunate 
 men, that they can be likened to naught so well as the me- 
 teor, which appeareth to vault into the air from nothingness, 
 and to pursue his triumphant way through the heavens, and 
 which, while he remaineth visible, doth proceed in a blaze of 
 glory that dazzleth eveiy beholder. 
 
 But verily, verily say I unto thee that couldst thou a 
 little further pursue the flight of that bolide which hath 
 with its great splendor both so blinded the eyes and con- 
 fused the minds of the sons of men that it seemeth to them 
 fit to be likened to nothing less than a visitant from Heaven 
 itself, then shouldst thou find that the light thereof goeth 
 out, — is extinguished in utter darkness, — and the remnant 
 thereof falleth to earth ignominiously, a dull, dead stone ! 
 
 So it is, oh, Surviving Link, which unitest the present 
 with a former generation ! so it is with the upstart splendors 
 which thou viewest around thee in that portion of the 
 earthly heritage known as the business world. 
 
 In nine cases out of ten, — yea, in the proportion of nine- 
 teen and one-half out of every score, — where thou markest 
 the shooting and in its rapidity and its glory it doth recall 
 to thy mind the career of the beautiful rocket, the descent 
 thereof — to employ ancient symbolism — shall be as that 
 of the stick which formeth the nucleus of the devoted toy, 
 and the end shall be darkness and eternal oblivion ! 
 
 the sun all the days of Ws life, which God giveth him; for it is his por- 
 tion." — Ecdes., v., 18." 
 
 " I know that there is no good in them but for a man to rejoice and 
 do good in his life. 
 
 "And also that every man should eat and drink and enjoy the good 
 of all his labor, it is the gift of God. 
 
 "Wherefore I perceive that there is nothing better than that a man 
 should rejoice in his own works; for that is his portion; for who shall 
 bring him to see what shall be after liim? " —Ecdes., III., 12, 13, 22. 
 
A PASTORAL SCENE. 
 
 357 
 
358 A BEAUTIFUL VISION. 
 
 History maketh note mainly of those who succeed,* and 
 the stars which have been lost from the firmament, no man 
 numbereth or holdeth in recollection ! 
 
 How beautiful, like a vision of that promised land which 
 visited the slumbers of the Israelitish wanderers in the wil- 
 derness, would it appear to me to view thee seated, in abid- 
 ing content, by thy cottage door, in thine own goodly 
 domain, which thou art now deserting, under thine own 
 vine and fig-tree, f the wife of thy bosom and thine olive 
 branches:}: by thy side, thine own flocks and herds feeding 
 in thy fields and on thy hill-sides, thy presence an orna- 
 ment, thy reputation a fragrance in thy community, the whole 
 afternoon of thy life passing like that of a bland day in our 
 golden season of Indian summer ! 
 
 But Lingering Kemembrance of days that are no more I 
 Monument of Ancient Justice ! Twin Kelic (with the wi'iter 
 hereof) of the Golden Age ! the waning evening warneth 
 me that this epistle must have an end. Forgive, I again 
 pray thee, whatever thou findest herein that appeareth harsh, 
 or ill-said. 
 
 May the frosts of years rest lightly upon thy venerable 
 crown, — in short may they (as they well may) slip off 
 altogether ! 
 
 May peace be thine, and much good material for jokes ! 
 
 May thy days still be long in the land and (in the lan- 
 guage of the humorous but unlettered Hibernian) thy nights, 
 a mere nothing ! 
 
 Mayst thou, in any walk whatsoever, aye "flourish like 
 a green bay tree " ; and when the summons to " join that m- 
 numerable caravan," that moves so mysteriously to "that 
 bourne whence no traveler returns" — alive — of which the 
 
 *Consult Prov., L, 10 to 19; also Prov., XIII., 11. 
 fMcrr/i, IY.,4. 
 
 i" Children like olive plants round about thy table." — Psalin^ 
 CXXVIIL, 3. 
 
FAREWELL. 
 
 359 
 
 bright poets have spoken, finally comes to thee, may it find 
 thee prepared to meet it with that same sweet smile — " child- 
 hke and bland," and audible — with which thou hast ever 
 been able to meet and to greet a good joke ! 
 
 By the hand of thy kinsman, the fourth day of the ninth 
 month of the one hundred and seventh year of the inde- 
 pendence of our common country. Hez. 
 
MOTTOES FOR KHiPTER IIYII. 
 
 "" l^istory, -vvVjiclr) is, indeed, litfcle more tlgar] tl^e regigber 
 <of fehe crimes, follies and misfopfeurjes of marjkirjd." 
 
 Gibbon : Decline and Fall, Etc. 
 
 "This is fche feputb) tlje poet, sirjgs." 
 
 Tennyson : Locksley Hall. 
 
 " ^y -whicl] I dor)'fi -wigh to be understood as intinjatiii]' 
 tb)afc tl^e §calpin' -wpetches ■wh)o are iq tb)e Injii] bigqegs at 
 the present day are of arjy account, op calculated to nrjake 
 tjonge happy." Artemas Ward: His Travels. 
 
 " Lxo ! the poop Irjdian ! " 
 
 Pope : Essay on Man. 
 
 " If fporq tVje evidence Ijepe advanced the reader ghould 
 corjclude that the coupge of events was, or) tVje wljole, ag I 
 Kave here traced it, l;)e would got be far wror|g." 
 
 Thucydides. 
 
 360 
 
CHAPTEE XXYIL 
 
 T will never cease to be a matter 
 of regret with me that there is 
 nothing of a remarkable or roman- 
 tic character connected with the 
 history of that territorj^ which 
 now constitutes the farm. No 
 battle was ever fought here, — no 
 murder, pillage, or robbery com- 
 mitted. There are no ruins here 
 save those of the works of that 
 very interesting little animal, the 
 beaver. If the Indians ever 
 hunted, trapped, fished, or fought 
 here, they left no mark or monu- 
 ment from which to determine the 
 facts. To be sure it is much more 
 than barely possible that the abo- 
 rigines, at a day long anterior to 
 my own time, knew intimately every foot of this ground ; 
 for the fact is patent that here at one time were to be found 
 valuable fur-bearing animals in great numbers, and lying, as 
 my tract does, at the head-waters of a branch of the Sturgeon 
 •creek (the Waterloo) on the one hand, and very near those 
 of the Kawkawlin river, — which flows to the eastward, and 
 is a tributary to Saginaw Bay, — on the other, both of which 
 streams, as is well known, they were quite familiar with, 
 there can scarcely be a doubt entertained by the intelligent 
 person who gives the subject a little consideration, that the 
 red-man — indolent, cowardly, and little enterprising as he 
 
 361 
 
362 
 
 THE INDIAN QUESTION. 
 
 undoubtedly for the most part is, and ever has been — ven- 
 tured thus far from the shores of the larger streams, — which 
 they were at all times — I have it from the lips of an unusu- 
 ally bright half-breed who dwelt among them, as well as by 
 personal observation — very loth to leave. An Indian is. 
 a craven : whatever else he may be, he is, always and every- 
 where, at heart a most abject and unmitigated coward! a 
 white-livered, if a red-skinned, animal ! He is ever fearful, 
 in broad-day and upon his most accustomed paths, of meet- 
 ing some traditional foe of his tribe. He is full of super- 
 stition, and usually apprehensive of the sudden appearance^ 
 of Oimnetoes^ or evil spirits on "the night-side of nature". 
 Nothing is easier than to create a panic in the camp of Chip- 
 pewa braves^ by report- 
 ing the sudden approach 
 of "Sauks", or Sioux. 
 The red brethren have 
 likewise been known to- 
 suffer to such an extent- 
 with their nerves from, 
 the narration of an even- 
 ing by a good pale-faced 
 yarn-spinner in camp, 
 of certain mild-flavored 
 ghost-stories, as to be 
 unable to go to sleep 
 for long hours after ly- 
 ing down. 
 
 Had there existed here 
 an ancient growth of 
 sugar-maple trees, the 
 unsightly gashes made 
 by the axes of the dusky 
 sugar-makers, would 
 have remained, the 
 plain evidence of their 
 
TWO WAYS OF TREATING A SUBJECT. SGS 
 
 former presence here, if such presence had been. But 
 notwithstanding the absence of all direct proof, I deem it 
 perfectly safe to assume that this ground was in olden days 
 well known to Indian hunters and trappers, that " the camp- 
 fires of the red-men " have lighted up the old forests herea- 
 bout, and irradiated the low-hanging mist-clouds of the 
 marshes, that the gabble of the squaws and the cries of the 
 pappooses have here echoed in the hollow woods, and that 
 here the " Indian warrior has wooed his dusky mate " in his 
 own peculiar and disgusting fashion ! 
 
 If all things be, then, as I have herein surmised, there is. 
 certainly something resembling an early human history con- 
 nected with this spot, although, as the reader may gather 
 from what is here written, it is not of a character to render 
 the present owner of this territory vainglorious. I entertain, 
 rather more respect for the still earlier inhabitants here, viz : 
 the fish (for undoubtedly at a very early day all my flat land, 
 at least., was covered with water which was filled with aquatic 
 life, both vegetable and animal), beavers (particularly), bears, 
 deer, elks, etc. (for these were a sober and honest citizenhood !) 
 than I do for those featherless bipeds whom Longfellow, 
 Cooper, and certain other chaps, more poetical, or romantic, 
 than practical, have been at sach pains to glorify. 
 
 Now I should grieve to have the reader believe from what 
 I have herein written that I do not admire the Song of Hiawa- 
 tha and the LeatherstocMng Tales^ for I do. I can repeat 
 hundreds of verses of the poem, which I have read with de- 
 light several times. That was one wa}^ of treating a subject. 
 Crabbe and Ebenezer Elliott have taught the world another. 
 Theirs, mutatis mutandis (there, that's Latin ! and first-rate 
 Latin, too !), would be my way of treating the Indian, — the 
 plain, severe method. I should be much in favor of this 
 severe method of dealing with the red brethren in every in- 
 stance.* Don't know what I mean? Well, let's have au 
 illustration : read this 
 
 *Af ter you have perused my "poem" •wMcli, confessedly, closely 
 resembles that celebrated effusion of .'Mauk Ty*"aim's in Ihe same meter. 
 
364 THE SUBJECT INTRODUCED. 
 
 SONG- OF LO, THE SWARTHY. 
 
 Ye who've read the pretty stories, 
 Told in flowing verse, concerning 
 Hiawatha, Minnehaha, 
 And the ancient Arrow-Maker, 
 Of the land of the Dakotas, — 
 Who believe the dainty fiction 
 "Written by the Cambridge poet 
 Paints the naked savage truly, — 
 Read, for little have I written, 
 Eead the little I've here written, 
 Eead the song of Lo, the Swarthy ! 
 
 Should you ask me whence these stories, 
 Whence these legends and traditions 
 With the odor of the forest. 
 And of other smells suggestive, — 
 Whence these savage scenes dramatic, — 
 I should answer, I should tell you, 
 (I should be obliged to tell you !) 
 I repeat them as I've seen 'em 
 By the savages enacted, — 
 Paint the Indian as I know him ; 
 I depend not upon hearsay, 
 Nor on second-hand traditions. 
 Looking close, have I failed ever, 
 Ever made a signal failure 
 In an Indian to discover 
 Aught poetic or romantic. 
 
 wherein, for his father's benefit, he had turned the dry phraseology of a 
 deed into "poetry" — and, it may be added, was duly clubbed for his 
 pains by his unappreciative male parent — you will doubtless admit 
 that if the general government had early adopted my method of dealing 
 with the "Indian Question ", trouble with its copper-colored wards 
 would long since have ceased. The wards, aforesaid, could not have 
 stood it, you see, and would have faded away — slowly, it may be, but 
 surely! 
 
A SQUAW, ANCIENT AND UGLY. 
 
 I might further go, to finish 
 
 This my lengthy introduction, 
 
 Give my sanction to the saying 
 
 Of a certain candid red-man : 
 
 *' No good Indian 'cept dead Indian ! " 
 
 At the doorway of her wigwam. 
 Made of poles and bark of basswood, 
 
 365 
 
 Standing in the ample shadow 
 
 Cast by elm-trees large and spreading, 
 
 On the right bank of a river 
 
 In the land of the Ojibwas, 
 
 Sat an ancient squaw, Demoyah, 
 
 Dusky, grim, unprepossessing : 
 
 Eestless, deep-set eyes, dark, shining. 
 
 Peered into th' adjacent forest ; 
 
 Face broad, hair coal-black, coarse, wiry,- 
 
 Features these of this old woman, — 
 
 Uglier than the Medusa, 
 
 Uglier than pen or pencil — 
 
 Goethe's, Milton's, or Dore's — e'er 
 
 Painted Phorkyad, Sin, or Gorgon ! 
 
 From her eyes a light uncanny 
 
 Like a lambent flame played round her. 
 
;366 HOW SHE WAS RIGGED OUT. 
 
 What if dainty city dweller, — 
 
 Tender-footed, superstitious, — 
 
 Loitering in rural places 
 
 Idly duj'ing warm vacation, 
 
 .In a forest after twilight, 
 
 Suddenly in lonely valley, 
 
 Chanced t' encounter such weird creature? 
 
 Would she not to him appear there 
 
 ^Grislier than any specter 
 
 By imagination morbid 
 
 'On a sad sick-bed up-conjured? 
 
 I Smoking sat the low-browed creature, 
 
 Idly, listlessly, sat smoking, 
 
 Waiting for her husband's coming. 
 
 This dark dame a print dress sported, 
 -Begged last New Year from a lady 
 Living in a distant village ; 
 'On her shoulders, though not chilly, 
 ^Bright day this in glad September, 
 Wore she proudly as she sat there 
 At her solitary doorway,— 
 Pi-oudly, consciously, she wore it, — 
 'Oft the pipe from lips removing, 
 -So to gaze upon it better. 
 Pausing oft to gaze upon it, 
 All its colored stripes admiring, — 
 Fragment of an old rag carpet, 
 Picked up in some farmer's door-yard, — 
 Soiled, and stained, and dim and dirty. 
 On her head no covering had she, 
 Barring hair like darkest midnight; 
 All unclothed and bare her feet were 
 Save for soil which miglit adhere there 
 When she roved through muddy pathways 
 .'Since the dews of morning laved them. 
 
 She was thinking as she sat there 
 
SSE WAS THINKING — LO. 367 
 
 "What the deuse she'd have for dinner, 
 Should her good-for-nothing husband 
 Fail to shoot a deer, a washkash, 
 .And return — 'twould be just like him — 
 Bringing not so much as muskquash, 
 Not so much as rat or squirrel, — 
 Eat, raccoon, cat, skunk or squirrel ! 
 •For the poor Demoyah's larder, 
 Never fat, was leaner never 
 Since she first 'gan wigwam-keeping 
 'Than 'twas at this blessed minute ! 
 
 True, she has some sturgeon's entrails 
 -Dried and laid away for winter, — 
 But not much ; then there's a deer-skin 
 T^hich she long has used for mattress, 
 •On a pinch she that can eat, too ! 
 
 Through her thoughts she heard a footstep, 
 Heard a rustling in the bushes, 
 •^Soon with glowing cheek and forehead, 
 ^W^ith — his head upon his shoulders, 
 '(That was all, you may believe me, 
 -Gun and ragged shirt excepted), 
 Xeisurely from out the woodland. 
 By three starveling dogs close followed, 
 Xo, the Swarthy, stalked before her. 
 i:Slow he moved with gait unsteady. 
 Dull his sunken eyes and bloodshot, 
 'Gone his powder-horn and shot-pouch, 
 Xabored was his breath and foetid : 
 Ugh ! the wretched Nish-e-naw-ba, 
 Wretched, thriftless, hopeless sinner ! 
 Much firewater, skoo-da-wah-boo, 
 Much bad skoo-da-wah-boo, whiskey. 
 At a white-man's bar had purchased, — 
 Bartered there his horn and shot-pouch, 
 iFor a pint of skoo*da-wah-boG ! 
 
368 KAWEEX-NESHIN NISH-E-NAW-BA, 
 
 Poisonous as juice of hemlock I 
 Such vile stuff as wicked pale-face 
 Brews from alcohol, tobacco, 
 Brews from drugs and herbs unwholesome, 
 Brews to sell to his red brother, — 
 Villainous, destructive compound ! 
 This the thirsty, thriftless red-man 
 Purchased with his horn and shot-pouch, 
 Then when eager he received it 
 Drank it off without once winking, 
 Drank it off, nor paused for breathing. 
 Many hours the thirsty Indian 
 Near the white-man's lodge had lingered : 
 Begged for whiskey, and received it, 
 When no more 'twas freely given. 
 Leaped, and ran, and sang for whiskey. 
 Thus amusing pale-faced loungers, — 
 Till with such poor pastime weary 
 From the place they ruthless drove him, — 
 Drove him sheer, despite reluctance. 
 Threats and bluster, and remonstrance, — 
 Drove him past the village bound'ry. 
 Forced him thence to seek his wigwam, 
 Which he, reeling, empty-handed. 
 Pretty drunk, but very hungry, 
 Squibbee, drunk, but famished nearly, 
 Eeached at length, as we have witnessed. 
 
 But as he had homeward zigzagged 
 Through the forests old and noble, 
 That bright day in glad September, 
 While the songsters round him carolled. 
 While the birds sang in the thickets, 
 Konked in air, or piped in streamlet. 
 To his mind this was their burden : 
 Sang the bluebird, the opeechee, 
 Sang the robin, the owassai. 
 
TSE BIRDS — II02£E AGAIN. S69 
 
 The blue heron, the shah-shuh-gah, 
 
 Mahng, the loon, the wild goose, wa-wa, — 
 
 On the wing the clamorous wa-wa, — 
 
 Coo-coo-witch, the owlet, chanted, 
 
 Chetowaik the plover sang it : 
 " Happy are you, oh, De-mo-yah ! 
 
 Happy are you, dusky woman ! 
 
 Having such a man to love you,— 
 
 Having such a noble husband ! 
 
 Heap gen-e-be-naw, big Indian ! 
 
 Whoop ! brave Indian, Nish-e-naw-ba ! " 
 When the reeling, worthless Indian, 
 
 From the forest forth appearing. 
 
 Paused in front of squaw and doorway, 
 
 Paused without a word, and lingered. 
 
 Straight the ancient dame, De-mo-yah, 
 
 Looked up gravely, then ceased smoking. 
 
 Looked up gravely, nothing uttered ; 
 
 For these dusky forest ladies 
 
 Do not scold their worthless husbands, 
 
 Waste not lengthy curtain lectures 
 
 On their lazy, thriftless spouses 
 
 As do ladies more enlightened. 
 
 But the quiet woman travelled 
 
 Fast as her flat feet could move her 
 
 To the casket where the conserve 
 
 Made of entrails of the sturgeon 
 
 Eested in the farthest comer 
 
 Of the rude and mossy wigwam. 
 
 Spake she then to her dark husband. 
 
 Calling him to come to dinner. 
 
 Telling him that dinner waited : 
 " Wee-wip ! marchon ! " come to dinner I 
 Now behold those hungry natives, 
 
 Filthy, thriftless, famished natives ! 
 
 Entrails dried of the huge sturgeon, — 
 
 34 
 
370 I COULD SAY MORE. 
 
 Scanty fare and doubtful dainty, — 
 Quick those entrails dried demolish. !* 
 
 Much, could I add to my story, 
 Many curious things could tell you, 
 Showing how these boastful beings, — 
 Drunken, cowardly, dishonest, 
 Dirty, unambitious Indians, — 
 Fail to answer to the standard 
 Set by gen'rous, sanguine people, 
 Who still dream of "noble red-men". 
 But my labor would be wasted, — 
 Wasted all my time and paper, — 
 Ink, and time, and paper wasted, — 
 Truth has not the charm of fiction ;f 
 
 *A friend, to whom I had read the MS. of this parody, offered the 
 criticism that he believed I was herein too severe upon poor Lo, — that, 
 although there are many red-men and red women who would answer 
 well enough the description given of the hero and heroine of my po- 
 em, there are some others not quite so utterly forlorn and hopeless in 
 their good-for-nothingness. I replied to my friendly critic thus: "I 
 don't write poetry often ; I publish very seldom. This is probably the 
 only public characterization of the aborigine, as I have seen him, the 
 world will ever have; and while I have desired to make the likeness 
 faithful, in every particular, I have also endeavored to make it a strik- 
 ing one." Then, to illustrate my position, I gave the details of an ac- 
 tual occurrence, which has never been in print, but which in my himi- 
 ble opinion is quite good enough to publish: 
 
 An Oakland county, Michigan, father, dying, the bereaved family 
 made preparations for a solemn and impressive funeral scene by pur- 
 chasing or borrowing sable siiits, trimmings, etc. One son of the deceased 
 person bought some three or four yards of wide, black ribbon, and 
 giving it one turn about his hat, allowed the ends to hang loose down 
 behind. His elder brother remonstrated with him, telling him that it 
 was neither fashionable nor becoming to sport so extensive a hat-band 
 at a funeral. The mentor was silenced, however, by the following ex- 
 clamation, drawled out by the ribbon-bedecked youth: "Might as well 
 put it all on, Harry; father don't die every day ! " 
 
 f One will recall the anecdote of Ben Jonson and his friend Sylves- 
 ter, which I do not care to relate here. If the above is not poetry, it is 
 ;it least truth, which is far better, though not one-half so pretty. 
 
 But, you growl, I esteem just as highly the poor, ignorant, and bib- 
 
WSr I DON'T. 3V1 
 
 Law exists not to compel you, — 
 (Mercy 'twas in legislators !) 
 Hence should I a lengthy poem, 
 Epic poem, long and ornate, 
 Filled with truth to overflowing, 
 Griving all the facts in detail, 
 Write, full well am I persuaded 
 Not a single soul would read it ! 
 
 ulous savage as I do the wretched pale-face who "puttisth the bottle to 
 him and maketh him drunken also." "Well, an that will comfort you 
 -at all, so do I — and ten times more! 
 
MOTTOEg FOR gSAPTER nYIII. 
 
 "Thjus be tbjege good yoemen gone to the ■woods 
 ^S lig^jt as leaf on lyrjde ; 
 "Thjey laugl] and be merrie ir| feljeip nnood, 
 "Their erjerqies are far behind." 
 
 Ballad of Adam Bell. 
 
 I 
 
 " Vifas there a mar) dignnayed ? 
 
 J^ot thougb) the soldiers kqew songe one had blur|deped."' 
 
 Tennyson : CAar£-e of the Light Brifcade. 
 
 "^r)d if ye pedagogue be snr^alle 
 W^bjer) to ye battaille ledde. 
 In such a plighte ©od sende hym ngighte 
 T'o break ye rogue l^is hjedde." 
 J. G. Saxe. 
 
 373 
 
CHAPTEE XXYIIL 
 
 ELL, it probably pleased the 
 children, at least ; and we must 
 make some exertion to gratify 
 them — the imps — the darlings 
 — even if in so doing we shall 
 chance to incur the displeasure 
 of certain of the old folks. To 
 tell the truth, too, I did much 
 better in my first attempt than 
 I had ever expected to do I 
 'Twas a pretty good story, in- 
 deed, — and, oh, so true! It 
 took so well, moreover, that I 
 have quite made up my mind 
 to hazard a second essay : 
 
 "Know I'll try, an' guess I'll win, 
 An' so here goes for hit 'em ag'in ! "* 
 
 Then again, you see, there are certain characteristics of 
 ■^'men and women I have met" in the back-woods that are 
 worth setting down for the amusement and instruction of 
 myself and others, both now, while this sort of thing may 
 be studied, — and the faithfulness of my pen-pictures veri- 
 fied by a comparison with the subjects who sat, — and in the 
 future; for changes are rapidly taking place, and many 
 things which have been matters of daily experience upon 
 
 *Holmes. 
 
 373 
 
374 REAL HISTORY AND BIOGRAPHY. 
 
 our borders — in our settlements, lumber-camps, hunters^' 
 lodges — will soon bave passed away forever ! I bave 
 mingled witb tbese pioneers, lumbermen, buntsmen, — bave 
 sjmpatbized witb, loved and studied 'em, and speak of tbat 
 only " wbicb I bave seen ", and " testify of tbat wbicb I do 
 know ". 
 
 Wbile penciling out tbis sketcb memory bas called up in 
 review multitudes of apparitions, — personages witb. wbom 
 tbe writer's acquaintance long since ceased. Tbe story com- 
 pleted, and tbe writer sitting alone in bis little study, 
 
 "Linking fancy unto fancy," 
 
 long processions of sbadowy figures bave filed atbwart bis- 
 mental vista : Litbe, graceful forms of young girls, stalwart. 
 woodsmen, sloucbing, grotesque figures, bronzed visages, 
 pale and patbetic faces of suffering women, love-lit eyes,, 
 frowning brows, smiles, tears, stormy grief, bilarious joy ! 
 
 "Again returned the scenes of youth, 
 Of confident, undoubting truth ; 
 Again his soul he interchanged 
 With friends whose hearts were long estranged 
 They came, in dim procession led. 
 The cold, the faithful, and the dead.* 
 
 Tbe scenes and incidents described bave been — are — 
 realities to tbe autbor, and be desires tbe reader to feel tbat 
 wbat is said about Ned Eoss and Becky, bis wife, Pal and 
 tbe rest of tbem, and tbeir adventures, is real bistory and 
 biograpby — for tbat tbey are ! Sbould you tben demand 
 of me to know wbo is tbis scboolmaster, 
 
 " I should answer, I should tell you " 
 
 tbat once upon a time did tbe writer bereof bimself 
 "Rule a district school," 
 
 in tbe far backwoods, during several successive seasons.. 
 
 *SCOTT. 
 
A 'RUPTIOJSr OF BARBARIANS. 375 
 
 A EUPTION OF BAEBARIANS : A BACKWOODS SKETCH. 
 
 " And when music arose with its voluptuous swell 
 Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again, 
 And all went merry as a marriage bell : — 
 But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell! 
 Did ye not hear it?" Byron. 
 
 The scene opens in one of the nnmerous rude, flat, log- 
 ribbed, and forest-environed lumber-camps in the northern 
 pineries of the lower peninsula of Michigan. Two men are 
 seated upon the lengthy " deacon-seat " that extends along 
 upon one side of the centrally located and wide fire-place. 
 One of these individuals is our old friend, the long, slim, 
 thin-featured, light-eyed, freckle-faced, ugly Ned Eoss, and 
 his companion, a burly, rough-hewn specimen of the genus 
 camp-man, who is clad in the ordinary winter garb of the 
 lumbermen, is Tom Brodie, the "boss" or foreman of the 
 camp. ISTed is just in from the settlement, and is in quest of 
 Jose, the fiddler, whom he wishes to engage to furnish mu- 
 sic for a little dancing party to be shortly given at a settler's 
 cabin some ten or twelve miles down the river. Jose him- 
 self is a settler — one of the hugest of the settlers, by the way 
 — and is at present the only one of them who works at the 
 camp. In making his inquiries for the musician Ned had 
 incautiously divulged the object of his mission here, and 
 his companion was now all agog to win an " invite " to the 
 merry-making. 
 
 " Didn't they send for the rest of us boys, Ned ? " he de- 
 manded. 
 
 The messenger perceived at once that he had been guilty 
 of a bad blunder (sometimes worse than a crime !) and he 
 set his wits to work to develop means to correct it. 
 
 " Not by me they didn't," was his ungrammatical but per- 
 fectly truthful reply. , 
 
 " But ain't they goin' to ! " persisted Tom. 
 
376 A CONVERSATION IN A LUMBER-CAMP. 
 
 " That I don't know," replied Ned laconicallj. Then he 
 added • " I s'pose yes, — if they want ye ! " 
 
 This didn't appear to help the matter any with the brawny 
 lumberman. He grew very red in the face and pretty soon 
 burst out angrily : 
 
 " Ain't we shanty fellows good enough to dance with you 
 moss-backs ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes ; good enough, I guess," returned Ned very 
 coolly, " but that hain't the thing, ye see. The gals down 
 there don't know ye, an' then there'll be three or four boys 
 to every lady, anyhow, an' the house hain't any bigger 'n a 
 peck measure." 
 
 " Tell ye what. Sorrel-top," said Tom with a ferocious 
 frown and a very determined air, "you jest tell 'em for me 
 down there that they'd better send up an invite for all the 
 boys here, for we got wind of this thing some time ago an' 
 have talked it over an' intend to come down to that dance 
 anyway, an' if we ain't treated 'bout right there 's goin' to be 
 trouble for somebody. We don't mean to be slighted all the 
 time as we have been this winter so fur." 
 
 " What ! " exclaimed Eoss, "would ye rush your drive in 
 there where ye wa'n't wanted, in that style, and brow-beat, 
 and abuse innercent wimmin-f oiks ? " 
 
 " You bet we'll be there, asked or not," asserted Tom, 
 " so'f you want peace and good treatment you'd better hev 
 'em send up the invite." 
 
 "Now see here, ole feller," said Ned, squaring around so 
 as to look his dark-browed companion full in the face, 
 " Becky (that's my wife) ull be there, an' I don't want her 
 insulted, /shell be there, an' shell be door-keeper. I don't 
 purpose thet anybody shell git inter thet house thet hain't 
 wanted there. You'll hev a big crew, but there'll be some 
 good boys at tny back, too. I'm good fer you, Tom, an' 
 about two more, an' " 
 
 "Haw! haw! haw!" interrupted Tom's coarse laugh. 
 
 "Wal, ye can haw-haw if ye want ter," cried Ned, "but 
 
A COUNCIL OF WAR. 377 
 
 Tom, ef I see your uglj mug poking syrup — syrip — stitious- 
 ly inter thet cabin door the niglit o' the dance, by the great 
 smoke-stack ! it'll be a darned sight uglier'n 'tis now when it 
 goes out ! " 
 
 " Don't, IN'eddy, you might scare a feller," said Tom, who 
 appeared to have no notion of engaging in a preliminary 
 skirmish at this time; "but," he continued, "you jest tell 
 'em when you git down to the forks of the stream what 
 you've heard, an' maybe they'll think better on't and send 
 along the invite." 
 
 "I don't hardly think they will," sneered Ned, " I don't 
 think you're the sort o' animils they want, anyhow." Ross 
 was red-headed and thin-skinned, and further consideration 
 of Tom's threat had failed to smoothe the temper ruffled by 
 "the first hearing thereof. 
 
 But ISTed, at Tom's request, stopped to dinner at the camp, 
 saw Jose aside, and obtained a promise of the latter that he 
 would be on hand with his violin upon the evening of the 
 party ; then the messenger mounted his horse and rode slow- 
 ly down the snowy " tote-road " which wound now through 
 ■dense growths of pine and hemlock, and anon ran across 
 openings, known as barrens, now followed closely the bank 
 of the frozen stream, and again plunged deeper into the 
 woods, in an obvious effort to shorten the distance by cut- 
 ting directly across territory where the river went far around, 
 and within a couple of hours he was again at the settlement 
 and had related to several of the boys, whom he had called 
 together at Pal's hostelry, the substance of the conversation 
 which, as a special privilege, the reader has been permitted 
 to overhear, 
 
 " Sho ! there won't be any trouble," exclaimed mountain- 
 ous, good-humored Pal. 
 
 " 'You cahn't sometimes, most alrus tell,' " quoted Sam., the 
 State o' Mainer, with much earnestness ; '• I wouldn't wur- 
 rant that gang o' Canadians to do the decent thing at any 
 time. I'll jest bet my boots thet they've gone an' done the 
 
378 WILL THEY 'RUPT? 
 
 very thing Tom Brodie told Neddy they'd done, an' they 
 mean to come down an' run the drive through." 
 
 " There's a slew uv 'em up there," observed Pal, the pub- 
 lican ; " ef they come down in force they'll make you think 
 there's another 'ruption of Groths and Vandals." Pal was, 
 quite an attentive student of history about these days, and 
 liked occasionally to exhibit by his conversation his famil- 
 iarity with that branch of learning. 
 
 " ' 'Euption' is a good word, I guess," calmly commented 
 the sorrel-top, "though I, for one, don't begin to know 
 what it siggerfies ; but no doubt it's all right or Pal wouldn't 
 spout it. But let the ghosts an' — an' the other fellers Wupt^ 
 ef they want ter, — we've got to be there in shape to pertect 
 the wimmen-folks, anyhow." 
 
 " That's even so," said Sam. with decision ; " I like your 
 gi'it, Neddy, an' I know you won't fail us when the pincli 
 comes." 
 
 " Ef I do ! " said Ned. 
 
 " Ned '11 be 'bout climbin' out the winder with his wife on 
 his hiiokjest before the pinch comes," observed Hank Silver^ 
 
 slyly. 
 
 " I ken lick any man thet thinks so ! " howled Ned, quak- 
 ing with rage, and tearing himself loose from his outer 
 wrappings in remarkable time. 
 
 " Tut, tut, Ned ! " cried Pal, rushing forward and seizing' 
 that irate individual about the shoulders and holding him 
 by his immense strength as in a vise. " Don't git mad at. 
 Hank,'' the publican resumed, " he wuz only jokin'." 
 
 "Thet's all, Ned, ole feller," said Hank, who had been 
 visibly disturbed by Eoss' hostile demonstrations, and was. 
 anxious to mollify him now ; " shake hands," he added. 
 
 " All right, then," said Ned, in a more friendly tone, and 
 extending his fin, " but you teched me in a tender spot, an' 
 ef I thought you meant it I'd whale you so quick you. 
 wouldn't hev time to — to suffer! " 
 
 " Why, Neddy ! what makes you so blood-thirsty to- 
 
APPRHHENSIONS DISMISSED. 379' 
 
 day ? " exclaimed the man from tlie pine-tree state ; " never 
 saw you half so fnrs afore ! " 
 
 "Wal, boys, I'm 'shamed of myself, an' thet's a fac," re- 
 plied Ned sheepishly ; " but it reely seemed, jest fer the 
 minute, thet ole Hank there wus on the side o' them ghosts 
 an' — an' t'other fellers that Pal spoke of ; then I thought o' 
 little Becky, an' their comin' there to scare 'er, an' I jest, 
 wanted ter eat somebody up ! " and the benedict turned and 
 walked oS in an agitated manner in the direction of his 
 own homestead. 
 
 As time passed on, however, it came generally to be be- 
 lieved among the settlers that the lumberman's threat had 
 been mere bravado, and when Jose came down the morning 
 previous to the party and reported that although the boys 
 of the camp, — who, by the way, were mostly Canadian 
 Frenchmen, of the kind usually found in the lumberwoods, 
 rough men and ignorant to the last degree, — were greatly 
 incensed because, as they alleged, they had been slighted^ still 
 there was little or no cause for apprehending an " irruption 
 of the barbarians ". Only one thing, as Jose thought, would 
 bring that event about. If the supply teams — or " tote 
 teams " as they are always called in the woods — arrived at 
 the camp that afternoon from the base of supplies below, 
 and should happen among the other " provisions " to bring 
 a few gallons of whiskey, as sometimes had been known to 
 be the case, trouble of the kind that had been apprehended 
 might arise. But the teams not being expected until the- 
 day following, it was not at all probable that an attack 
 would be made,' as the requisite courage on the part of the 
 lumbermen, which the liquor alone could furnish, would be 
 lacking. 
 
 Thus it befell that the young as well as such of the 
 middle-aged people of the settlement as still occasionally 
 indulged in the innocent diversion of dancing, gathered at 
 Chris. James' cabin upon the evening selected for the party 
 without having made any preparation for war, offensive or 
 
380 THE EVENING AT THE CABIN. 
 
 defensive, and with little or no fear of any unpleasant inter- 
 ruption of their sport. All the belles and beaux of the 
 border were of the company, and the latter, when complete, 
 consisted of some ten or twelve matrons, young ladies, and 
 misses, and about a score of gentlemen, young and older. 
 Ned and his lady were present, Mr. and Mrs. Pal, Sam., 
 Hank Silver, and various others whom it will not be neces- 
 sary to introduce specially. The fair Ellen Strickland, 
 though she seldom danced, had consented to accompany the 
 schoolmaster to the place of merry-making the present even- 
 ing, and it was observed here as on former occasions that 
 she and Mrs. Eoss, or Becky, as all the neighbors called 
 her, were on terms of sisterly intimacy. There must be 
 something in these Bosses, I thought, or so sensible a girl 
 as Ellen would not set so much by them. 
 
 Little useless ceremony was observed at the cabin. All 
 were well acquainted with one another and on familiar foot- 
 ing, and hence there was no need of formal introductions. 
 No tedious delays were tolerated, either. It was at once 
 
 " On with the dance; let joy be unconflned," 
 
 and very soon 
 
 " The mirth and fun grew fast and furious." 
 
 The space allotted to the dancers was, it is true, "cab- 
 ined, cribbed, confined ", and this despite the fact that it 
 comprehended the entire ground-floor (and indeed this was 
 all the floor there was) of the cabin, excepting a very lim- 
 ited portion occupied by a bed (in one corner), the stove 
 (which was snuggled against the wall), and a narrow space 
 by the rear wall where the non-combatants and the musi- 
 cian sat. One thing is certain, the dancers made the very 
 most of the advantages they possessed, and no thought of 
 grumbling at their narrow limits or rough, unwaxed floor, 
 appeared to enter their minds. 
 
 "All went merry as a marriage bell " 
 
BOYSy THEY'RE COMIN' / 381 
 
 for hours, and every fear of anything like an intrusion of 
 unwelcome guests from the distant camp had long since been 
 dismissed and forgotten, when suddenly, Ned, who had 
 stepped outside the door for a few moments to take the air 
 after a half -hour's vigorous exercise in a reel, came rushing 
 back with standing hair and staring eyes, and announced in 
 tones that well served to show the intense excitement he 
 was laboring under: 
 
 " Boys, they're comin' ! " 
 
 " Who's comin' ? " demanded Pal in a voice that, quiver- 
 ing a little with emotion, evinced that he had divined the 
 cause of Ned's unusual agitation, 
 
 " The Goulds an' — an' the Vanderbilts ! " cried poor Ned, 
 who was confounding things badly under this gi'eat stress. 
 
 There was a smothered, shuddering sort of a laugh on the 
 part of one or two who perceived Ned's error and its origin, 
 but Pal kindly corrected him: "The Goths and Yandals, 
 Neddy means," he said, " and I'll bet old Tom Brodie, drunk 
 as a lord, is at the head of 'era" * 
 
 " Where are they? " 
 
 "Who told you?" 
 
 "What's to be done?" 
 
 These questions and half a hundred others, amid much 
 excitement and no little joking and laughter, some of the 
 latter of the semi-hysterical kind, showed that there were a 
 variety of ways of looking at this " coming event " which 
 had thus " cast its shadow before ", from the present dis- 
 tance. 
 
 " Pal's chore-boy jest rode up here like mad, an' told me 
 that Brodie's crew, more'n thirty of 'em, an' drunker'n owls, 
 jest passed the tarvern an' wuz comin' out this way with 
 blood in their eyes, swearin' to tear the roof off the shanty, 
 and whale every man to death that sassed 'em, or interfered 
 with 'em." 
 
 Ned told this off rapidly and in a voice that trembled 
 with excitement 
 
.382 SOME SENTIMENT — AN EMBASSY. 
 
 "Boys!" spoke now tlie calm, manly voice of Pal, "we 
 must put things in condition for defence. ISTed, you keep 
 tkat door." 
 
 " I'm tkere ! " was the prompt response of the slim gen- 
 tleman addressed, from his post. 
 
 "Sam., you, an' Chris., an' the rest o' the boys, back Ned 
 up if he needs it, an' see that the ladies are taken care of," 
 commanded our leader ; "the school-master an' I will step 
 out an' see what we can do talkin' to them fellers," he 
 added. - 
 
 As I started to follow the manly publican out of doors I 
 ielt a slight pressure upon my arm. I turned and my eyes 
 met the dark, expressive ones of Miss Strickland, and I saw 
 something therein which thrilled me like an electric shock, 
 flattered me, and nerved me mightily throughout the trying 
 scenes of the next thirty minutes. " She is apprehensive for 
 my safety ; she cares for me ! " I thought. 
 
 I should here speak of the remarkable behavior of the 
 ladies of the company generally. The coolness and courage 
 they displayed, and the good sense they exhibited from the 
 beginning to the end of the turbulent scenes that were en- 
 acted upon that little theater during the ensuing half -hour, 
 appeared to me worthy of all praise. There was little or no 
 weeping or wringing of hands, no outcries, nor insane sup- 
 plications to be taken home, nor lamentations that they had 
 come. A belief in the impracticability of a sudden exodus 
 at this juncture seemed to be unanimous, and the righteous- 
 ness of making as good a defense as possible against this in- 
 vading crew of semi-civilized and drunken ruffians, who 
 were known to be approaching by the only road that afford- 
 ed egress from this nook in a vast forest, seemed to be 
 affirmed by a general, if tacit, agreement. 
 
 I followed Pal to the door with little idea of the part that 
 was expected of me, and as little faith in the utility of any 
 ;sort of " palaver " with the hostile crew now marching down 
 upon us. I believed from the first bringing of the news of 
 
A PALAVER THAT BIDN'T COUNT. 383 
 
 the approach of the enemy, as Patrick Henry is said once 
 upon a time to have expressed himself, that " we must fight !" 
 that " an appeal to arms was all that was left us ! " But I 
 ■quickly placed myself by the side of our huge champion, and 
 was abreast of him at the moment he confronted the advance 
 guard of the foe, which proved to be no other than the 
 redoubtable Brodie himself, drunk enough to be reckless, 
 and looking easily a dangerous customer. 
 
 I detained the man a moment and began to discourse con- 
 cerning the lawless character of such expeditions as the 
 present he and those men, his companions, were upon, but 
 he merely replied, " Young feller, don't you know there's no 
 law in the bush ? " and attempted to push on. Little parley 
 was he disposed to make with either of us, and, followed 
 pretty closely by his grim and unkempt crew, he dodged 
 past Pal and rushed toward the door. 
 
 " Keep out of that ! " commanded Pal, but the command 
 was unheeded by the lumbermen. 
 
 I caught at the unbuttoned collar of Brodie's coarse, flan- 
 nel over-shirt as he was passing me, and experienced the satis- 
 faction of tearing that to the waist, but did little to check 
 his progress toward the cabin. He shook me off roughly 
 -and growled, "Stand back, schoolmaster; I don't want to 
 hurt you, but don't interfere with me ! " 
 
 His formidable gang close at his heels, he rushed for the 
 ■door of the little cabin, and it was a neck-and-neck race be- 
 tween the foreman. Pal and me to see who should first enter. 
 I, slight but active, enjoyed the advantage of leaning upon 
 my companion's enormous strength, or I might have been 
 crushed down and trampled to death in the jam. Ned 
 opened the door slightly in an endeavor' to admit his friends ; 
 Brodie's grim features filled the upper portion of the aper- 
 ture thus made. " G-et out of the way, you scantling," he 
 bawled contemptuously at ISTed, " or I'll break you in two !" 
 Then Ned's stuff showed. " I don't break easy," he retorted, 
 '^and I saw a long, slim arm withdrawn, a red, bony fist was 
 
384 THE ATTACK. 
 
 at the end thereof; it came back like a flash of "chain- 
 lightning," and the fist-end took effect full upon the flushed 
 face of the burly Tom. The latter, howling with pain and 
 rage, fell backward into the arms of his companions. Pal 
 and I, taking advantage of the momentary confusion occa- 
 sioned by this unexpected and surprising incident, slipped 
 inside and attempted to close the door. We were not suc- 
 cessful in this last maneuver. The doorway was full of 
 fierce, brutal faces, the owners whereof paused there an 
 instant from lack of leadership. Brodie soon rallied, and 
 with loud oaths started again to rush into the dwelling. 
 
 It was one of the most exciting scenes I ever witnessed. 
 The women, with pale faces and dilated eyes, had shrunk 
 close to the rear wall of the room, and helplessly watched 
 the proceedings, with what interest in the result of the 
 struggle may be imagined ; the boys, with the single excep- 
 tion of the fiddler, whom at this juncture I noted as missing, 
 and whose absence, as I now remember, somewhat puzzled 
 me, were standing manfully up to the work in hand, and 
 appeared determined to defend the citadel at any cost, 
 although at this time probably no one guessed how far the 
 drunken fury of the camp-men would carry them. Now, 
 indeed, did more than one of us regret that we had not 
 taken w^arning by the threat that had been made and re- 
 ported to us, and provided ourselves with more effective 
 means of defense. The presentation by a firm hand of a 
 brace of good revolvers, as I figured it, would have been an 
 effectual answer to the demand of the lumbermen for admis- 
 sion to that cabin. As it was there did not appear to be a 
 single firearm in possession of either party. 
 
 It requires tedious time to describe events which trans- 
 pired there with marvelous quickness. At the re-appearance 
 of Brodie a rush was made by the assailants en masse for the 
 interior of the dwelling, and the fight became hot about the 
 entrance. Again the lender of the invaders received a set- 
 back from the fist of Ned Ross. I saw two camp-men go to 
 
THE COMBAT DEEPENS. 385 
 
 the floor like weak children beneath as many blows admin- 
 istered by the heavy hand of our leader. Poor Hank Silver 
 received a cuff from a brawny Frenchman which " tried his 
 metal ", while it damaged his looks, and meanwhile I had 
 found opportunity to get in a stroke or two at the foe, 
 which, however, were rather disappointing in their results, as 
 my men wouldn't " down " like those whom Pal dealt with. 
 By this time probably one-half the camp-men had succeeded 
 in effecting an entrance into the dwelling, and the direst 
 confusion reigned in the confined space within. Ned and 
 Pal still stood yeomanly at the door, and the "harrying 
 crew " without had learned that every attempt to re-enforce 
 their companions within would cost them dear. 
 
 It appeared at length that a new scheme for forcing an 
 entrance had been hit upon by the hostile band outside the 
 walls. Three stalwart camp-men rushed in upon Pal at once 
 and clinched with him, and wrestled with and tugged at the 
 giant with all their might, striving not so much to prostrate 
 him as to shove him back from the entrance. In this 
 maneuver they were completely successful, and the mo- 
 ment his place was vacant at the doorway three or four 
 others from the exterior rushed upon Ned and bore him 
 struggling to the floor. The entire force of lumbermen still 
 in fighting condition was soon in the cabin, and our boys 
 were pushed back to the rear. Several of the brave fellows 
 were already badly hurt ; a number of the camp-men were 
 still clinging to the arms, legs, neck and hair of Pal, render- 
 ing him helpless for the time ; I had made an attempt to 
 assist Ned, and had run my face against something hard — 
 very hard, in fact — a Frenchman's fist it was, and I had 
 marked its owner for vengeance, but for the present I had 
 retired, not in the best of order, and (quite involuntarily) 
 taken a seat upon the floor in the corner of the room to 
 study the new constellation of stars which ail-suddenly had 
 burst upon my view ! Sam. was down in the close, warm, 
 but not tender, embrace of a muscular young Frenchman. 
 
386 SAVED BY A WOMAN. 
 
 Ned was being pummeled with huge fists about the head 
 and strangled with murderous fingers : it looked dark, very- 
 dark for us, and I had almost given up the battle as lost ! 
 
 But relief came ; and from a quarter whence none of us 
 could have anticipated it. Just at that identical moment, 
 when it really seemed as though no earthly power could help 
 us, a voice — a woman's voice — was heard to ring out clear 
 and distinct above the din. It was the voice of Ned's wife, 
 Becky, and it said: "Loose your hold there, quick, or 
 YOU DIE ! " 
 
 I was on my feet and at the side of the heroine in a 
 breath. There stood she, — her cheeks aflame, her eyes 
 emitting sparks of fire ; she held a cocked revolver in either 
 hand, and these deadly weapons were directed full at the 
 heads of her husband's principal assailants. Consternation 
 appeared to seize the foe : our little band was electrified. 
 The threatened men and their helpers fell back as if already 
 they felt the cold lead in their flesh. Ned rose to his feet 
 the moment the murderous hands were loosed, he paused not 
 an instant, his eye had rolled over the scene as he got up, 
 and he cried out with a loud voice, albeit one made husky 
 by the choking he had received : 
 
 " Now's the time, boys ! charge 'em ! " 
 
 Immediately the swingle-like movement of his arms re- 
 commenced, and camp-men began to fall around him as de- 
 cayed trees fall about the path of a cyclone. Pal, too, was 
 loose, and now thoroughly aroused, raged like a lion amidst 
 his prey. Hank, Sam., Chris., and the other boys " were up 
 and at 'em ", hewing away at the foe like Byron's sturdy old 
 Turk at Ismail, 
 
 "Like doctors of divinity" 
 
 in polemics, and as for myself, obtaining a view of the ugly 
 phiz of the wretch whose fist had marred my personal beau- 
 ty, I contrived to give him such a salute- with the heavy part 
 of a three-footed stool as rendered him useless for any pur- 
 pose for the remainder of that evening at least 
 
THE HISTORICAL BRIDGE. 
 
 387 
 
388 VICTORY IS OURS. 
 
 "We soon cleared tlie cabin of the miserable wretches and 
 ran them far down the road, over the rude bridge spanning a 
 creek that crossed the latter, and on toward the river, many of 
 them begging for that mercy which none merited, and, to tell 
 the truth, few obtained, "We then returned to the cabin tO' 
 count the cost of our victory. Hardly a man of our gal- 
 lant little crew had escaped without severe bruises, and some 
 even had rather serious wounds. The " dress suits " of sev- 
 eral of the beaux were in a sorry condition indeed. But as 
 no one was dangerously injured, and as we were all cared for, 
 petted, and praised by the poor, pale, nervous, but still pit- 
 eous women, who, after all, had been the real sufferers in 
 this affair, we made very light of our injuries, and one gaily 
 chaffed another concerning his personal appearance. "We all 
 hailed Becky as our deliverer, and the little heroine received 
 our compliments as modestly as she had borne herself brave- 
 ly in performing the feat which had earned them. 
 
 If ever I saw adoration in man's eye turned upon woman, 
 I saw it that night in Ned's when, after the trouble was; 
 over, the debris cleared away and all wounds had been 
 washed and dressed, he dragged his negligent length along 
 and reclined like a great noble hound (aye, he looked noble 
 to me then with all his ugliness !), at his wife's feet as she 
 was seated on a low bench by the aide of the stove, rested 
 his arm across her lap, and looked up into her face. Bless 
 her sweet face and brave heart ! I loved her at that mo- 
 ment, too, almost as much as did Ned. But there was one 
 closer to my side whom I loved still better ! 
 
 The fun of the whole thing was our finding that great, 
 over-grown coward, Jose, the fiddler, .after the melee^ under 
 the bed and fast asleep ! The question was started by some- 
 one, "Shall we not have another cotillion ere we go home?" 
 
 "But where's the music? " another asked. 
 
 "That's so," exclaimed a third, "what has ever become of 
 Jose, anyhow ? " 
 
 "He never went out at that door," asserted Ned. 
 
WHERE WE FOUND JOSE. 389 
 
 " He couldn't liave fled by the window, — 'tis too small," 
 laughed another. 
 
 " He must be under the floor, — or the bed," observed 
 Sam. 
 
 And sure enough, it was under the bed we found him. 
 There he, unperceived in the terrible excitement, had sought 
 refuge at the beginning of the fight, there he remained until 
 a peace had been conquered, when he was ashamed to come 
 out, and there he had finally fallen into a sweet slumber. 
 He was ridiculed and " run upon " unmercifully once we 
 had him out, and had naught to say for himself, only that 
 he didn't want to quarrel with the boys of the camp where 
 he worked, which was thought to be a very poor explana- 
 tion to offer to these his neighbors, whom he had so basely 
 deserted in the hour of their direst distress. However, he 
 stated that he would furnish all the masic required, and 
 make no charge for his night's services ( ! ) providing his ac- 
 tion should be overlooked, and in the exuberance of our 
 joy anent our handsome victory over the camp-men, gained 
 without his aid, we concluded we could afford to be mag- 
 nanimous. Considering, also, that Jose's business was fid- 
 dling, not fighting, and, moreover, experiencing a feeling of 
 pity — albeit the feeling liad a large admixture of contempt — 
 for the poltroonery, of the huge fellow, which he could not 
 help, perhaps, we voted, amidst much laughter and chaffing, 
 to accept the terms he proffered, to forgive him, and to say 
 no more about it. 
 
 Ned inquired archly of Becky why she had not revealed 
 to him her possession of the revolvers at an earlier moment. 
 "Why, Neddy," cried the little woman, with great earnest- 
 ness, " I was afraid you would want to use them, and 
 I wouldn't have you shoot and kill a man for the whole 
 world ! " 
 
 " Would you have used them if the men hadn't let Ned 
 go ? " inquired Hank, 
 
390 HOW CERTAIN MATTERS OCCURRED. 
 
 "Oh, I am glad I didn't have to," exclaimed the little 
 heroine, while tears glistened in her bright eyes. 
 
 We learned sometime later that the "tote teams" had 
 arrived at Brodie's camp, with the whisky as a portion of 
 their lading, about the middle of the afternoon of the event- 
 ful day of which I write, and that soon after the work for 
 the day was done, the camp-men, thirty-two in number, first 
 imbibing, three or four times around, of the infernal juice, 
 had hitched up a couple of horse-teams, and taking the rest 
 of the liquor with them, had driven to an old building 
 which stood upon the right bank of the creek, a short dis- 
 tance below the bridge above mentioned, and within a couple 
 of miles of the James cabin, where they had left their ani- 
 mals, and whence they had pushed on afoot. It was well for 
 them at last that their sleighs were so convenient, for several 
 of the wretches had been so badly treated by the "moss- 
 backs " that it was with much difficulty that they walked 
 at all. 
 
 I also learned, upon inquiry, that, although Pal had not be- 
 lieved the lumbermen at Brodie's camp (with all of whom he 
 was well acquainted from being the keeper of the only hos- 
 telry in the place) would be reckless and wicked enough to 
 attempt any assault upon the citizens in the manner we 
 have seen, he had taken the precaution to leave his faithful 
 night-boy on watch, and thus it was that we received our 
 warning of the enemy's approach. It is also true that the 
 boy had experienced some difficulty in passing the camp- 
 men in the narrow, snow-bound forest-road, and only suc- 
 ceeded in getting the start of them when they had left the 
 thoroughfare to seek the old building where they desired to 
 leave their animals. 
 
 No prosecutions against the lumbermen on account of this 
 outrageous assault were ever instituted by the settlers ; and 
 I was thus persuaded that Brodie's boast that "there was no 
 law in the bush ", had some foundation in fact. 
 
ONCE AND OUT. 
 
 391 
 
 I was acquainted in this border district a number of 
 seasons after tbat in wliich occurred tbe events recorded in 
 this chapter, but I never heard of a second settlers' party- 
 there being interfered with by the lumbermen. Threats of 
 such a thing were made, it is true, but the fame of Ned and 
 Pal and Hank and Sam. and Chris, had spread far and 
 wide, and no crew of camp-men was found near that set- 
 tlement afterward which possessed such a thirst for glory 
 as to care to put the powers of the boys to the test. 
 
lOTTOEg FOR CHAPTER IXII. 
 
 "^n a^e feyraijnically regulated -with reference to fel^e 
 marjufacturer, the mercharjii, tl^e finar|cier, thje politiciar), 
 ©r)d the day'w^opkmar)." 
 
 Walt 'Whitman; On Death of Longfellow. 
 
 "Teach tl-|y tongue to say, I do r)ot kr)ow," 
 
 The Talmud. 
 
 393 
 
CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 N reflection, I deem I owe the 
 reader an apology for the cavalier 
 manner in which, in a foregoing 
 chapter, I allowed myself to refer 
 to the romantic literature of the 
 English and other tongues. I do 
 not desire to lay myself open 
 either to the charge of being a 
 vandal, or of wanting taste. I 
 will acknowledge, however, that 
 I am feeling the effects of age, and 
 of the hardening influence of bus- 
 iness cares, of politics, of courts, 
 of modern society ! I can recall a 
 season when fable and romance, 
 dressed with the pleasant and 
 piquant sauces of poetical diction, 
 were all my mental pabulum. 
 Then was I a dreamer, — an innocent, ignorant, useless 
 dreamer, — like the rest of the moon-stricken race. 
 
 That sort of merchandise has no fixed and definite value 
 in the markets of this age and nation ; and the soft-handed, 
 soft-hearted, and soft-headed youth of this school, who finds 
 himself floundering in the crowd which is engaged in the ter- 
 ribly-in-earnest struggle for life which is on-going all about, 
 with no better theories of the management of the work in 
 hand than are to be drawn from that which his brain has fed 
 upon, is in a fair way eitlier to perish miserably, or to have 
 the larger half of his poetry and romance knocked out of him 
 
 393 
 
394 A PRACTICAL AGE — YET I READ ROETRY. 
 
 riglit speedily !* He has far other lessons now to learn ; and 
 well is it for him if he do take kindly to the new ways, and 
 not attempt to stem the tremendous tide which is running 
 directly counter to the course he has been steering. He must 
 certainly, I repeat, yield in the end and move with the cur- 
 rent, or be overwhelmed and lost to view. 
 
 "This accursed, sesthetical, ethical age 
 Has so fingered life's horn-book, so blurred every page. 
 That the glad old romance, the gay, chivalrous story, 
 With its fables of faery, and legends of glory 
 Is turned to a tedious instruction."! 
 
 But I have not entirely given over the reading of poetry. 
 Within a few weeks I have had the Faery Queen in my hand 
 on several occasions, I have glanced again, once or twice, 
 at the Canterbury Tales the current week. And upon my 
 table at this moment lies the Faust^ — in fact, I have just, 
 been reading how that sly, slim and slippery old character, 
 Mephistopheles, in the lowest deep of gloom discovered the 
 Phorkyads, those triplet sisters of ugliness, who have but one 
 eye and a single tooth among them ! Think what a poor 
 " setting-up for house-keeping " that is ! Methinks these are 
 the sort of people I should like the critics of my book to 
 spring from. Couldn't see very well, — nor bite I 
 
 The poet Moore assures us that the great Fadladeen was 
 "a judge of everything": I write this chapter in order to 
 inform the reader wherein I differ from Fadladeen. I am 
 not a critic of anything. In the line of poesy I only know 
 what suits my taste, and commonly do not pause to inquire 
 wherefore I am pleased. And I find also that what delighted 
 me yesterday may possibly disgust me to-day. 
 
 If, after the above preamble, I might presume to venture a 
 little objection to Grtoehe's master-piece, it would be that he 
 
 *"The age of chivalry is gone. That of sophisters, economists, and 
 calculators has succeeded." — Edmund Bubke: French Revolution. 
 •j-OwEN Meredith: Lucile. 
 
POETS AND POETRY. 395 
 
 has employed too great an amount of machinery therein, so 
 that whether or not he was at all times clear as to the mean- 
 ing of every part himself, he has at least succeeded in bewil- 
 dering his readers and tormenting his comentators. 
 
 An observation of the author is upon record to the effect 
 that he had carried Faust in his brain for thirty years, and 
 " until it had become all pure gold ". There is quite a pro- 
 portion thereof which, so far as the meaning is concerned, is 
 already dross to many of his most careful students, — and 
 these don't confess all their misgivings either !* 
 
 But Goethe and Bailey (and the English poet, I observe, 
 has been receiving some good words of late, too) both teach 
 one very encouraging doctrine, and that is the superiority 
 of a manly man to all the forces of the pit combined. For 
 this I thank them ! I long have held something of the same 
 theory, but I couldn't have begun to work it out so prettily I' 
 
 Yes, I still write a little verse, now and then. Don't take 
 much pride in it any more. Used to feel a little spiteful 
 toward the world because it so persistently refused to recog- 
 nize the beauty of my "effusions." Have lost that feeling 
 absolutely, and now do not experience even an emotion of 
 mild wonderment when one of the little waifs of my pen, 
 which in some manner has found its way into the "poet's 
 corner " of a weakly newspaper, fails to elicit a single audi- 
 ble or visible comment ! 
 
 I do believe, however, that it lies within the range of pos- 
 sibility for even me to produce a poem which would take 
 the public by storm — and no great praise implied to the 
 critical taste of the public, nor merit in poem or author, in 
 the belief ! 
 
 The history of literature is full of strange incidents in 
 this line, and the reputations of poets have undergone curi- 
 ous vicissitudes. Poems that commanded the enthusiastic 
 
 *See Notes to Taylor's Translation, Etc. 
 
S96 NO SCIENCE OF CRITICISM. 
 
 admiration of contemporaneous readers, have been neglected, 
 or damned by the succeeding generation. On the other 
 hand, there are grand productions, like the immortal epic of 
 Milton, the beauties whereof the poet's contemporaries ut- 
 terly failed to recognize, and it has been left to other ages 
 to accord them their true places in literature. Who but 
 recalls how Jeffrey's ridicule served to prevent the sale and 
 reading of "Wordsworth's poetry for a full quarter of a cen- 
 tury? 
 
 These things should teach us to exercise great caution in 
 judging of the merits of fresh literary performances. I 
 have recently devoted some time to a re-perusal of certain 
 of the writings of the reviewers of the last age or two, — to 
 those of Johnson, Jeffrey, Christopher North, Hunt, Hazlitt, 
 Lamb, (if he may be classed among critics), and to Carlyle, 
 who hammers all or most of the others. I am at length 
 about prepared to announce a startling truth in connection 
 with the subject in hand. It will be a novelty to all, and 
 may prove a shock to the nerves of some ; but I feel it no 
 less my duty to make it known. It is this : There is as 
 yet no such thing as a science of literary criticism ! 
 
 There are theorists and theories ; there are dogmatists and 
 dogmas ! Only one little rule of all I have read commends 
 itself to my judgment ; it is that of Coleridge, and I find 
 its enunciation in the Biogra'phia Literaria. The rule and 
 the process by which it was developed is thus given : 
 
 " But as it was my constant reply to authorities brought 
 against me from later poets of great name, that no authority 
 could avail in opposition to Truth, Nature, Logic and the 
 Laws of Universal Grammar ; actuated, too, by my former 
 passion for metaphysical investigations ; I labored at a solid 
 foundation, on which permanently to ground my opinions, 
 in the component faculties of the human mind itself, and 
 their comparative dignitv fmd importance. According to 
 the faculty or source from which the pleasure given by any 
 
COLERIDGE'S RULE. 397 
 
 poem or passage was derived, I estimated the merit of such 
 poem or passage. As the result of all mj reading and med- 
 itation, I abstracted two critical aphorisms, deeming them 
 to comprise the conditions and criteria, of poetic style ; — 
 first, that not the poem which we have read, but that to 
 which we return with the greatest pleasure, possesses the 
 genuine power, and claims the name of essential poetry ; — 
 secondly, that whatever lines can be translated into other 
 words of the same language, without diminution of their sig- 
 nificance, either in sense or association, or in any worthy 
 feeling, are so far vicious in their diction. Be it however 
 observed, that I excluded from the list of worthy feelings, 
 the pleasure derived from mere novelty in the reader, and 
 the desire of exciting wonderment at his powers in the 
 author." * 
 
 Carlyle complains of the " Puseyism and thin moonshine "f 
 of Coleridge. None of these qualities observable in that 
 extract ! 
 
 Tried by this standard the greatest poem in the world for 
 me (after my own) is the Paradise Lost. And judging from 
 the fact that the author of our canon himself has shown quite 
 a partiality for the 
 
 "God-gifted organ- voice of England "^: 
 
 and quotes him with approval hardly less frequently than 
 lie similarly honors Wordsworth, and even himself^ in the 
 work from which we take the above extract — and, in short, 
 passim — I should judge that the application of the rule pro- 
 duced like results for its author. The matter is one worth 
 thinking about. 
 
 In the chapter from which we have quoted, Coleridge has 
 a remark or two concerning the rhymed couplet. I am 
 pleased to know that so eminent an authority in these mat- 
 
 *Biog. Lit., Chap. I. \Beminiscencea. 
 
 :j:Tennyson. 
 
S98 TSE BISTICm 
 
 ters as is our learned author, holds opinions upon this sub- 
 ject which I, imbibing from a different source, have long 
 entertained. In fact, although it is a little singular that it 
 sliould be so, for I have been in the habit of the frequent 
 reading of Coleridge's prose and verse since boyhood, I had 
 never become aware of what his views specifically were regard- 
 ing this matter until my observations thereon contained in 
 the after-part of this chapter had been put in writing. I 
 propose not here to quote further from the " Logician, Meta- 
 physician, Bard " * or to argue the question at all. 
 
 I desire to speak just one little word regarding the rela- 
 tive beauties of the distich and what has been called the 
 ■enjambment.j' I do not believe the critics have settled this 
 question so that it will stay settled. Edmund Waller :]: is said 
 to be the poet who demonstrated the superiority of the 
 method which in the rhymed heroic concludes the sense with 
 the couplet and the rhyme. The case of this poet, we may 
 •observe in passing, affords a striking illustration of the fate 
 of the first class of writers above mentioned, viz : those who 
 were tremendously popular in their own day and generation, 
 and later have met with lasting neglect and oblivion. Dry- 
 den § followed Waller, and improved upon his method, 
 which he took occasion to commend. And I have to remark 
 right here, that if all who have employed the distich had been 
 able to make so noble a use of the same as this wonderful 
 man, it would have left me little to say against the fashion. 
 But so far is this from being the case, that it has long been 
 an open question whether or not the next great writer who 
 loved the rhymed couplet, viz : Alexander Pope, wrote 
 poetry at all ! That he produced something very admirable 
 in its way, is beyond all doubt, — but is it poetry in the true 
 sense of the term ? 
 
 *Lamb's Characterization of Coleridge. 
 
 \Webster is guiltless of the word. 
 
 tBorn 1605; died 1687. §Borii 1631; died 1700. 
 
MT RULE, ETC. 399 
 
 • T^ow the rule I should announce is this : Ehymed and 
 iinrhymed heroic verse, the first distinction aside, should be 
 measured by the same standard throughout. Anything 
 .short of this and you must make the essential features of the 
 work — the 5omZ, if I may so speak — conform to the acci- 
 dental — the body ; you must sacrifice the substance to pre- 
 serve the shadow. We can conceive of such a thing as a 
 Paradise Lost in rhymed verse. But a Paradise Lost in 
 distichs a la Waller, or Pope ! Horrible incongruity ! 
 
 But, I repeat, I am ignorant of the true canons of criti- 
 'cism. I perceive that what is meat and drink for one gen- 
 eration is naught to the next, and hence conclude that the 
 science is nothing if not a progressive one, — and but little 
 even then. I also discern dimly that 
 
 " What in the captain's but a choleric word, 
 In the pnvate is flat blasphemy !" 
 
 and hence dare not take the liberty with words and things 
 which the giants with perfect impunity have taken. 
 
 ' "What woeful stuff this madrigal would be 
 In some starved, hackneyed sonneteer, or me; 
 But let a lord once own the happy lines, 
 How the wit brightens! how the style refines 1* 
 
 It has been pointed out, for instance, that Milton mistook 
 iihe form of the Italian word which stands as the name of one of 
 the most delightful of his minor poems, and nobody has been 
 l)old enough to insist upon it to this day, nor to intimate that 
 it happened through the great bard's ignorance of the tongue. 
 I only speak of the matter here by way of illustration of the 
 subject in hand, and, to point the moral, as it were, attempted 
 to be taught in another chapter of this book, viz : To avoid 
 the use of foreign or dead languages in English books, where 
 our noble vernacular affords terms equally expressive, 
 
 * Pope : Essay on Criticism. 
 
400 AI^ INTER-CHAPTER. 
 
 thougli you may have the gift of tongues in a degree equal- 
 ling that of the Learned Blacksmith, Sir William Jones, or 
 even the great Cardinal Mezzofanti* himself ! 
 
 Eeader, this (without being so designated) must be taken 
 as a sort of inier-chapter. Do you know what an inter-chap- 
 ter is? No! Well, example thereof is given in The Doc- 
 tor^ &c., which see. It bears little relation to anything 
 that precedes or follows it in the book. It contains a 
 few thoughts which had accumulated, and of which I 
 desired to rid myself, f A late biographer of Thoreau 
 remarks of Walden " that it contains much that might as 
 well have been written anywhere else " as at W. Well, of 
 this chapter it may be said that it contains a great deal that 
 might just as well have been written elsewhere as within 
 the little library at Oakfields ; by another as by a farmer ; or, 
 perhaps, that it might just as well have been left unwritten 
 altogether ! But it is only brief, and hence you lose but 
 little of time if you read it, and only a trifle of space if 
 you skip it. " You pay your money and take your choice !" 
 
 But * * after all * * * * " it makes nothing," 
 as the Germans say. 
 
 * » * * * 
 
 ***** 
 
 How little either pertinent or coherent is found written 
 
 *It is said he could read and compose in upward of seventy different 
 languages. 
 
 f And Montaigne: "There is no pleasure to me without communica- 
 tion. There is not so much as a sprightly thought comes into my 
 mind that it does not gi'ieve me to think I have produced it alone, and 
 that I have no one to tell it to." — Essays, Book III, Chap. IX. 
 
 He also quotes his favorite Seneca upon the subject: "If wisdom 
 was conferred with this proviso, that I must keep it to myself and not 
 communicate it to others, I would have none of it." — Epist. 6. 
 
A MAD WORLD. 
 
 401 
 
 in any book * * produced in these latter days. 
 "A mad world, my masters I "* * 
 It is indeed doubtful * * whether — ^in strict reality — 
 
 * * 
 
 there be any single sane man extant * I am light to you. 
 * * * And you are a raving maniac to me (in your last 
 pamphlet, leader or review article). 
 
 Bead between the lines this chapter * * * is as good 
 — and as sound, perchance — as another. * Prove your 
 kindness, * not sanity, * by attempting such a reading 
 hereof. 
 
 3d 
 
MOTTOES FOR KSIPTER HI. 
 
 )^all I sonqet^ging you about myself? 
 
 !)o I live in a house you would like to see?' 
 
 Robert Browning. 
 
 " Fipst on the greer) I'd l^ave a low, broad Irjouge ! " 
 
 Leigh Hunt. 
 
 "Vasfee, ar)d feeling, ar)d thought, ar)d experience, and 
 kqow^ledge of fetjig life's cor)cepr)s, are all irjdispensable to 
 t^e delighjts the ingagiqation experierjces ir) beholding a 
 beautiful bor)a fide cottage. * * * It must be thje dwel" 
 ligg of tlje poop." Recreations c/CkristcMer North. 
 
 403 
 
CHAPTEE XXX. 
 
 HEKE are in the old books of 
 husbandry divers strange plans 
 for farm-houses, with outhouses 
 and accompanying conveniences ; 
 all with more or less to commend 
 them. Many modern works con- 
 tain new schemes for farm dwel- 
 lings, with improved appoint- 
 ments and a greater multitude of 
 details. There are in each and 
 every plan offered for a rural 
 establishment certain excellent 
 features with others not so good, 
 "Whenever the time shall arrive 
 — and it is yet far in the future — 
 that the human brain contrives 
 and the human hand constructs a 
 farm-house with all its necessary 
 
 belongings, embodying all the good and avoiding all the bad 
 
 elements suggested, then, and not till then, shall we have the 
 
 perfect rural home. 
 
 This domicile Beecher would term "the model house," 
 
 and he gives us, in the Star Papers some hints as to the 
 
 manner in which such houses are produced : 
 
 " But then [he says] a large house ought to have great 
 
 diversity; some rooms should have ceilings higher than 
 
 others ; doors should come upon you in unexpected places ; 
 
 403 
 
404 BEECRER'S HOUSE AND MINE. 
 
 little cosy rooms should surprise you in every direction. 
 Where you expected a cupboard there should be a little con- 
 fidential entry-way. "Where the door seems to open into the 
 yard you should discover a sweet little nest that' happened 
 into the plan as bright thoughts now and then shine into the 
 soul. All sorts of closets and queer cupboards should by 
 degrees be found out." 
 
 All of which is very pretty indeed, — and very indefinite. 
 
 But brother Beecher continues his observations, and, kind 
 reader, please commit to memory what follows from his pen, 
 for it is not only excellent in itself, but it will be useful ta 
 you in forming your judgment of my farm-house when you. 
 come to the place, further along, where I give a description 
 and detailed account thereof, and its building. Mr. Beecher 
 says : 
 
 "Now such a house never sprang full grown from an 
 architect's brain as did the fabled deity from Jupiter's head. 
 It must grow. Bach room must have been needed for a long 
 time, and come into being with a decided character impressed 
 upon them [it]. They [it] will have been aimed at some real 
 want, and meeting it will take their [its] subtle air and 
 character from it."* 
 
 All the above excepting only the grammatical construc- 
 tion, which is confessedly a trifle lame, we take to be truly 
 orthodox teaching. 
 
 Now, my house is not a large house, nor a costly, nor a 
 fine house ; and very possibly it resembles the ideal structure 
 existing in the great preacher's mind at the time he penned 
 the paragraphs above quoted, in but a single respect : it was 
 evolved, — it grew! With this solitary exception it is, I 
 believe, unique — like unto nothing that ever was on land or 
 sea, in heaven or earth ! It may be to the " cold eye of crit- 
 icism" my farm-house is no less ugly than odd; but the 
 
 *8tar Papers. 
 
A HOUSE SHOULD GROW. 405 
 
 image thereof that is cast upon the retina of my own partial 
 eye* is picturesque and beautiful, f 
 
 On an earlier page of his book the Plymouth pastor had 
 spoken as follows : 
 
 " But a genuine house, an original house, a house that 
 expresses the builder's inward idea of life in its social and 
 domestic aspects, cannot be planned for him, nor can he all 
 at once sit down and plan it. It must be a result of his own 
 growth. It must first be wanted, — each room and each 
 nook. But as we come to ourselves little by little, and 
 gradually, so a house should either be built by successive 
 additions, or it should be built when we are old enough to 
 put together the accumulated ideas of our life. * * * 
 The best way to build, therefore, [Beecher still goes on] is 
 to build as trees grow, season by season ; all after-branches 
 should grow sjonmetrically with older ones. In this way, 
 too, one may secure that mazy diversity, that most unlocked 
 for intricacy in a dwelling which pleases the eye, or ought to 
 please it if it be trained in the absolute school of nature, and 
 which few could ever invent at once and on purpose."' 
 
 *"It is a law of all healthy mind that what is one's own has an 
 attraction for one's self far beyond that possessed by much finer things 
 which belong to another. A man with a little country abode may have 
 more real delight in it than a duke in his wide demesnes. Indeed, I 
 heartily pity a duke with half a score of fine houses. He can never 
 iave a home feeling in any one of them. While the possessor of a few 
 acres knows every corner and every tree and shrub in his little realm." — 
 Boyd's Recreations of a Country Parson. 
 
 f I use these terms advisedly. DeQuincey defines the picturesque 
 to be "the characteristic pushed to excess". That definition fits my 
 case. Emerson cites Moller to prove that the building which is fitted 
 accurately to answer the purpose for which it was designed would 
 turn out to be beautiful, though beauty had not been aimed at. The 
 same doctrine is clearly taught in DeQuincey's obeservations upon the 
 Dalesmen's cottages in the lake region of England. See DeQ.'s Essays. 
 That this was the theory of Socrates is shown by Xenophon in his 
 Memorabilia. It is also the doctrine taught by Allison, Jeffrey and. 
 other British writers. 
 
406 A LOW-BROWED COTTAGE. 
 
 "My house a cottage more 
 Than palace, and should fitted be 
 For all my use, no luxury." 
 
 That was Cowley's idea Cowley was a poet. Anotlier 
 poet, and no mean one, and he an essayist, also, alive at 
 every pore, Christopher North Wilson hight, in one instance 
 takes a contrary view. 
 
 " Have you any intention, dear reader, [says Kit] of build- 
 ing a house in the country ? If you have, pray for your own 
 sake and ours, let it not be a cottage."* 
 
 But that the above was mere sportiveness on the part of 
 the bluff and hearty old pedestrianf is proved by remarks of 
 his further along in his essay, and in particular do we desire 
 to quote against him one of his sentences which says : " It 
 does my heart good to look upon a cottage". 
 
 Mr. Beecher, in writing of his worshipped farm at Lenox, 
 speaks of his "farm-house that is to be". "For," says he, 
 " we have resolved that it shall be a farm-house and not a 
 mansion.":}: 
 
 The taste of the author of this book and the length and avoir- 
 dupois of his purse corresponded and conspired to determine 
 that his country home should also "be a farm-house and not 
 a mansion "; if, indeed, it were not more correctly described 
 as a cottage. It has the " low-browed look " which, as the 
 author of the pleasant Edgewood books asserts, " belongs to 
 country dwellings, "§ only one portion having a second 
 floor, and that just affording space for two small bed-rooms, 
 which are lighted respectively by a little window, one look- 
 ing westward, and the other, like a half-shut eye, squinting 
 toward the east Humble sleeping apartments are these, but 
 pleasant, despite their low walls and narrow floors. 
 
 The rooms described are in the low second story of the 
 oldest part of my house — the upright, technically so called,, 
 
 *Prof. Wilson: Essay, Cottages. 
 
 ■{■"Poet we may not be, but pedestrian we are." — Wilson: Essay, 
 
 The Moors. 
 
 \S(ar Papers: Essay, Oone to the Country. %My Farm of Edgewood. 
 
A STRANGE JU3IBLE, 407 
 
 the nucleus of the whole structure — which, since it was so 
 far completed as to serve for the accommodation of a sizable 
 family of pioneers, has been buttressed on every side with 
 " wings " and " lean-tos " — the latter skirted on the northern 
 and western sides by a low veranda — until, of a verity, it 
 would be difficult from most points of view, save for the dif- 
 ference in height, for the stranger's eye to determine what 
 portion of the fabric is limb and what body. 
 
 A strange jumble of buildings it has become by the suc- 
 cessive accretions of years; and when my present plans 
 with regard to the house are quite consummated the tout- 
 enserrible promises to be something still more odd and outre. 
 
 I am not, at best, a great stickler for conventionalism, 
 either in building or living, and would prefer that my house 
 should possess a marked individuality than that it should 
 have been constructed, at much greater expense, after the 
 most approved models of the Grrecian or Gothic schools of 
 architecture. Though, perchance, inferior in many respects 
 to most men, I would not consent to be changed myself, nor 
 would I study a model, so as to become precisely like any 
 other man that exists, or ever existed, however exalted that 
 personage may be, or have been ; nor would I, so long as my 
 home affords the comfort and conveniences I crave, consent 
 to sacrifice its originality in an exchange for walls and pil- 
 lars of marble and interior trappings of gilt It is the great 
 Bacon who says : ^^ 
 
 " Houses are built to live in and not to look on ; therefore 
 let use be preferred before uniformity, except where both 
 may be had Leave the goodly fabrics of households for 
 beauty only, to the enchanted palaces of the poets, who build 
 them with small cost."* 
 
 Eesuming the descriptive vein, I would say that, in its 
 original form, that portion of my dwelling first built, the 
 core, as it were, of the whole, had three rooms on its first 
 floor, to-wit : The front or eastern room, a moderate sized 
 
 * Essays, Housefiold Edition, p. 164. 
 
408 WINGS AND LEAN-TOS. 
 
 affair, designed to be used temporarily for tlie general pur- 
 pose of kitchen, dining- and sitting-room ; a small bed-room 
 in the nortb-western, and a buttery in tbe soutb-western cor- 
 ners, witb a straight stairway slanting upward toward the 
 evening sun, between the two. 
 
 This upright, composed of undressed lumber for the most 
 part, was hastily erected in the months of October and 
 November, A. D. 1877, and occupied on the sixth of the 
 latter month, when but little more than half completed, still 
 unplastered, and as innocent of paint as a healthy country 
 maiden. 
 
 The succeeding summer the south wing was added, with 
 roof running at right angles to that of the upright, and con- 
 taining rooms designed for a permanent dining-room, a bed- 
 room, a bath-room and a clothes press. 
 
 The following year an addition with the gables " in the 
 same directions looking " as those of the upright, and abut- 
 ting upon the latter at the west end, was built. This wing 
 contained the above-ground cellar with hollow brick- walls 
 and double windows, and a narrow ante-room thereto with 
 floor two steps lower than that of the buttery with which it 
 communicated : this last is called the cheese-room. The floor 
 of the cellar is three steps below that of the room last 
 described. 
 
 Some three years after the cellar was completed further 
 progress was made upon the house, and the structure began 
 to assume a form probably destined to be somewhat perma- 
 nent. Another western wing — a long, low and narrow 
 structure — was added. This abutted upon the south wing, 
 and is, in point of height, nearly equal thereto. It runs 
 parallel to the cellar-wing, and is separated therefrom by a 
 narrow space (we call it a court — and the reader may so 
 term it if he choose — to lend it that dignity the builders 
 failed to give it) which permits the lighting of the various 
 rooms thereabout through windows opening thereinto. This 
 last addition contains three rooms in a row, viz: kitchen, 
 wash-room, and bee-shop. 
 
OTHER ADDITIONS. 409 
 
 During tlie same season we also constructed a lean-to 
 running across tlie northern side and eastern end of the 
 " upright," and a re-arrangement of the interior so altered 
 the appearance of things that an early occupant of the ori- 
 ginal shell might now easily be persuaded that nothing 
 thereof remains. One end and a portion of one side of the 
 wall of the old front room were removed by the carpenters, 
 a partition was put in, a hall, with glass doors at either 
 extremity, runs through the body and the lean-to from north 
 to south, and the original north-western bed-room is enlarged 
 by the width of the addition there. As stated above, a low 
 veranda skirts the northern and eastern sides of the lean-to. 
 The roofs of the two last having the same slope, and both 
 being rather flat, an odd appearance is given to the build- 
 ing thereby. Perhaps the first thought that would suggest 
 itself to a whimsical mind on viewing the house from a point 
 north or east, — the steeper roof of the main portion sur- 
 mounting the flat, shingled roof of the addition, and the 
 latter bordered by the white-painted board-roof of the veran- 
 da, — would be of a chubby school-girl, decked out in a 
 dingy apron with a stiff-starched, broad, white frill ! 
 
 A bay-window stands out, like an after-thought — which 
 it was not — upon the southern end of the lean-to. 
 
 All the work upon the house is as plain as the habit of a 
 •Quaker matron. 
 
 Other wings and lean-tos are in contemplation ; but I 
 reserve a discussion of them for another chapter, or, possibly, 
 for another volume. I have also taken occasion to speak 
 more in detail of a particular room of the farm-house in 
 other portions of this book. 
 
 In the meantime my "home-stead" stands, 
 
 " Cosy as nest of bird inside, 
 Here is no room for show or pride, 
 And tlie open door swings free and wide! "* 
 
 *Phebe Caret. 
 
MOTTO FOR. giAPTER UIl 
 
 " Consider -wtjafc you b)ave in fcl^e smallest cl^osen library^ 
 ^ corr)par)y of the -wigest ar)d wittiegt njer) tbjat could be- 
 picked out of all civilized countries, in a tl-)ousar)d yearg, 
 have §et ir) best order the results of their best learning. 
 ar)d ■wisdom. T^lje irjen thjenggelves "were hid ar)d irjacces^- 
 ible, solitary^ ingpatierjt of interruptior), fenced by cti'^ 
 quette ; but thje tFjougljt wbjich) they did not uncover feO' 
 their bosom friends is Ijere -written out ir) trarispQ-renfe 
 ■words to us, the strangers of another age." 
 
 Emzrson. 
 
 410 
 
CHAPTEE XXXI 
 
 HE library to which I have been 
 wont to make those occasional 
 excursions, notice of which is 
 duly served upon the reader in 
 the sub-title to this work, is situ- 
 ated in the north-east corner of 
 the farm-house at Oakfields. 
 
 It is a small room ; but what of 
 that? Beecher it is who asserts 
 that " a philosopher is not meas- 
 ured by the size of the room in 
 which he writes," a remark giv- 
 ing utterance to a truth to which, 
 I entertain no doubt, every reader 
 of these pages will assent. 
 The room is not quite ten feet square, and has a low 
 ceiling. It is lighted by two fair-sized windows, one look- 
 ing toward the north-star which stands directly over the 
 large barn from this point of observation, and the other let- 
 ting in the full glory of the rising sun, whenever that lumi- 
 nary rises in glory. The low veranda on the eastern and 
 northern sides of the dwelling makes an awning for both 
 windows. 
 
 To me the room is a pleasant one. It commands a pretty 
 good view of my possessions to the east and north, save 
 where skirts of woods intervene. From the eastern window 
 we may see all that territory lying between the dwelling and 
 
 411 
 
412 MY STUD T WIND OWS — THE INTERIOR:. 
 
 the state-road three-fourths of a mile distant. This road at 
 present forms the boundary of the farm on that side. From 
 this window also we may view, besides various other objects, 
 the little skirt of woods on the south-western border of the 
 east eighty, and the small grove near the entrance from the 
 state-road to the private way upon the farm. The large oak 
 tree in the field long known as the " twenty-acre lot " (the 
 same being a part of the east eighty) stands nearly due east 
 from this window and is distant some five hundred yards. 
 
 The north window looks out upon the pleasant lawn in 
 front of the house, and the major part of the live forest still 
 standing upon the northern portion of my domain is in line 
 with the observer's eye directed from this point. There are 
 shade trees — maple, Lombardy poplar, etc. — standing 
 within the yard and near these windows, and altogether, 
 although the country is still new and bears a wild aspect, 
 the outlook far and near is rather agreeable than otherwise. 
 
 Within the room, at the present writing, are two large 
 black-walnut book-cases with glass doors, two open book- 
 racks, a round table, side shelves, etc., all laden with books 
 which will aggregate something like one thousand volumes. 
 The large book-cases occupy the north-western and south- 
 eastern corners respectively, a sofa stands across the eastern 
 window, the northern side holds one book-rack, the south- 
 western corner another, a large globe stands near the door, 
 bound volumes of newspapers and magazines lean lovingly 
 against sofa, book-case and window-seat, a handsome Web- 
 ster's Unabridged lies open on the center-table, Worcester's 
 large dictionary is at hand in a patent wire-holder, some 
 microscopes and other optical instruments, a pruning-knife, 
 a pocket compass, rule, etc., lie upon a little shelf which 
 ornaments the northern wall, glass jars — in one of which is 
 a huge spider and in another a little snake, both in alcohol 
 ■ — stand on another shelf, a newspaper-rack, well filled, 
 and a picture or two hang on the eastern wall of the room, 
 
A PICTURE. 
 
 ..■€-. 
 
 413 
 
 A PICTURE ON MY WALL. 
 
414 A SLANDER — GREELEY' S COTTAGE. 
 
 while portraits of the master and mistress of Oakfields, witli 
 a small case of lepidopterous specimens, occupy the northern 
 wall. 
 
 As may well be imagined, but little space remains in the 
 library for the writer, and, fortunately, he needs but little. 
 
 " In the close precincts of a dusty [a slander] room 
 That owes few losses to the lazy broom, [a downright malicious 
 
 libel!] 
 There sits the man i * * * 
 Scribbling away at what may chance to seem 
 An idler's musing, or a dreamer's dream."* 
 
 In Horace Greeley's Recollections^ it will be remembered, 
 the author states that he had,».besides his regular farm-house 
 at Chappaqua, " a cottage in the woods". Of this he speaks 
 as follows : 
 
 "It is still my house, where my books remain, where I 
 mean to garner my treasures, and wherein I propose to be 
 *■ at home ' to my friends at stated seasons, and ' not at home ' 
 to anyone when I address myself to work, and especially to 
 the consummation of a yet unaired literary project. But 
 these are dreams." 
 
 I have to confess that I have never half admired Mr. 
 Greeley's arrangement regarding his literary work-shop. 
 For my part, although I often desire to be, and insist upon 
 being "left alone in my glory " when I have literary work to 
 do, I do not want to be so isolated from the family as I 
 must be in a separate building remote from the dwelling. 
 The time is, frequently, when I like to invite in company 
 from the ladies' rooms ; and seldom, indeed, do I have a 
 visitation from that part of the house when it is not heartily 
 welcome. 
 
 Neither am I so much of a recluse, I think, as was 
 Southey, who, although his richly furnished library occupied 
 a room in his beautiful home of Greta Hall, near Keswick, 
 
 *J. G. Saxb. 
 
SOUTHET'S AND WHITTIER' S STUDIES. 415' 
 
 appears almost to have entombed himself alive therein, and, 
 notwithstanding that social disposition of his, to have had 
 time for very little society, domestic or other. This at least 
 is the impression made upon me by my readings upon the 
 subject. Does not the tone of the following stanza, written 
 hj that prolific poet and voluminous historian, seem to bear 
 me out in this opinion ? 
 
 "My days among the dead are passed; 
 Around me I behold, 
 Where'er these casual eyes are cast, 
 
 The mighty minds of old; 
 My never failing friends are they. 
 With whom I converse day by day." 
 
 There's something to me cold and clammy about these 
 verses, — the first in particular. I shouldn't think of using 
 them to describe my sojournings in my own library. Whit- 
 tier's lines are much more to my taste : 
 
 " What lack of goodly company. 
 
 When masters of the ancient lyre 
 Obey my call and trace for me 
 
 Their words of mingled love and fire? 
 I talk with Bacon, grave and wise ; 
 I read the world with Pascal's eyes ; 
 And priest and sage, with solemn brow austere, 
 And poets, garland-bound, the lords of thought draw near." 
 
 It is certain, also, that the study of the Quaker poet is a 
 very pleasant, home-like place, as it could not fail of being, 
 cheered by his kindly and venerable presence. 
 
 Montaigne in his essays gives very interesting accounts of 
 Ms own work-shop, which was situated in the stately dwell- 
 ing upon the patrimonial estate of Montaigne. I introduce 
 here the talented, vivacious, but shockingly indolent old Gras- 
 con for the purpose of quoting a pleasant paragraph from 
 ■one of the papers I have mentioned. Speaking of his study, 
 the gossippy essajdst says : 
 
 " ' Tis there I am in my own kingdom, and there I 
 endeavor to make myself an absolute monarch, and to seques- 
 
416 MONTAIGNE' S LIBRARY. 
 
 ter this one corner from all society, whetlier conjugal, filial, 
 or social ; elsewhere I have verbal authority only, and of a 
 confused essence.''* 
 
 That word "endeavor", which I have marked above in 
 italics, has always amused me. We learn from other por- 
 tions of M. Montaigne's works the significance of the phrase 
 " confused essence " as applied to his authority about home. 
 I may add, from what I glean from his own works concern- 
 ing the personal habits of this entertaining writer, that, in my 
 humble opinion, if he had been left entirely alone to man- 
 age his own apartments, the "essence" of order therein would 
 also have shortly become slightly " confused ". 
 
 But be all the matters last foregoing as they may (we will 
 not quarrel about them), here am I in my own kingdom ; and 
 whether it be an absolute or only a limited monarchy, I will 
 not take the time to inquire. Being most happy and proud 
 to occupy this goodly throne, and to exercise the preroga- 
 tives that are indubitably mine in this realm, I feel little dis- 
 posed to jealousy about names. Indeed here is imperio in 
 imperium^ and I govern both ; for do I not boast — have I 
 not often boasted in the language of the old poet : 
 "My mind to me a kingdom is "? 
 
 And why ? Because 
 
 "Such perfect joy therein I find, 
 That it excels all other bliss 
 That God or nature hath assigned ; 
 Though most I want what most would have. 
 Still doth my mind forbid to crave. "| 
 
 Now I do most humbly, and with a truly contrite spirit, 
 entreat the kind pardon of the long-suffering reader for these 
 flights, these antics ! What business have I to fly off thus 
 at a tangent on every slight provocation with my everlast- 
 ing poetical extracts ? Don't blame you, reader, for growing 
 
 *MoNTAiGNE: Essays, Chap. Ill of Book III, Hazlitt's Trans. 
 
 fBYED. 
 
BEG PARDON ONCE MORE — THE CENTER. 
 
 417 
 
 to hate me. I will promise better conduct for tlie future. I 
 really had determined some time ago to have done with 
 these bojrish tricks, and am surprised at myself that I have 
 so soon broken my resolution. But I have stopped all that 
 now for a finality. I will behave much better in future, — in 
 the words of Topsy^ " 'deed I will ! " 
 
 But, as I was about remarking, here I sit in my library — in 
 point of size, in fact, an insignificant room — one of the 
 most so in the farm-house ; but — to me the kernel of the whole 
 nut, — the treasure-house of the whole establishment, — yea, 
 the capitol of the whole realm of Oakfields, — the center of 
 the world, — of the solar system, — of the universe! Here 
 I sit, as I was saying, and put the finishing touch to this, the 
 thirty-first chapter of the hook. 
 
 27 
 
MOTTO FOR gSlPTER IIIll 
 
 Oear ^nrja, — betweer) frier|d ar)d frierjd, 
 *?-*rose answerg every commor) end ; 
 Serves, ir) a plaiq and bjomely 'way, 
 "T' express feh' occurrence of feb)e day ; 
 '<f)ur Vjealfeh, tl^e weather, aqd th)e rjewg, 
 "Wbjafe -walks we take, \vl3at books -we choose, 
 ^qd all tlge floating thjoughts vi'e figd 
 Islpor) tl]e surface of the mind, 
 ■^ut when a poet takes the pen, 
 Far n]ore alive thjan other ngerj, 
 J^e feelg a gentle tirjglirjg corrje 
 Oowr) to his finger and his thjungb, 
 Oerived from JSIature's noblest part 
 T^he center of a glow^irjg heart, 
 ^ijd this is w-hjat the world, -which] kr)ows 
 J^Io fligb|ts above the pitch of proge, 
 [^ig n-)ore sublime vagaries sligl^ting, 
 "Oerjominates the ' itclQ for -writing'." 
 
 Cq-wter. 
 
 418 
 
CHAPTEE XXXII. 
 
 I HE attentive reader will remem- 
 ber certain remarks in a preced- 
 ing chapter concerning my 
 brother Horace, in the course of 
 which the writer took occasion 
 to commend in warm terms the 
 great complaisance with which 
 that gentleman has been accus- 
 tomed to listen to the reading of 
 the rhymes produced from time 
 to time by me. I think I also 
 stated in that place that my 
 good brother was, .at one period 
 of his life, himself devoted to the 
 muses. I know not whether I 
 made an explicit promise to 
 sometime furnish the reader of 
 this book with a sample of the 
 poetical effusions of ttis modern Horace; but think I did 
 not. However, lest some might have misunderstood me, 
 and would hence feel disappointed and aggrieved i£ I should 
 not again recur to the subject, I have determined to exhibit 
 a single specimen in order that such may understand what 
 these poetical " scintillations " were like. This specimen fol- 
 lows. 
 
 I think it was entitled 
 
 419 
 
420 BUCOLICS. 
 
 BUCOLICS. 
 
 " The STin is setting o'er the woods there, 
 All crimson 'tis, and hence, 
 It looks, 'fore all the world, like my old rooster, 
 Setting on the fence. 
 
 " The clouds are strung along horizon — tally, '' 
 
 They're reddish and bluish, whence 
 ;, They do resemble my last winter's flannels, 
 
 Hanging on the fence. 
 
 " The pale moon I see out in the east there, — 
 A great hole in the sky ! and thence 
 My mind wanders back to where the geese there. 
 Pass through a hole in the fence. 
 
 " I now conclude my little ditty ; 
 
 No doubt you'll allow it has sense ; 
 If it don't beat Drummond 'tis a pity ! 
 I hope there's no offence." 
 
 I used to tell Horace that he ought to polish his rhymes 
 more carefully; but he was a little touchy, and was apt to 
 reply : 
 
 " Oh, durn the polish ! they're good enough without. 
 'Nough sight better'n yours, anyhow. "Why don't you fix 
 tip your own some way? " ■ 
 
 Of course, after such a rebuff, the like of which I should 
 never have received from my gentle brother in conversation 
 upon any other topic whatever, for poets are easily piqued by 
 having aught of an unfriendly character hinted concerning 
 the children of their brain, I did not generally pursue the 
 subject further. But on the whole and at this distance, I 
 am inclined to subscribe to my brother's view of the matter. 
 Taking the poem quoted, for instance, I don't believe any 
 
THE MORNING WALK. 421 
 
 amount of polishing would improve it 'Tis a " little gem " 
 as it stands. 
 
 Hem I a-hem ! I once ; — tHat is to say, I composed a Ut- 
 tle poetical epistle to Horace shortly after I took up my resi- 
 dence at tlie farm, and what I have written and cited in the 
 present chapter to this point has only been designed to lead 
 up (gradually, and, as it were, by easy stages) to that It 
 will be here entitled 
 
 THE MORNING WALK. 
 
 My brother Horace, whom full well 
 
 I love, I have't in mind to tell 
 
 Thee of my pleasant past'ral life. 
 
 Since I from journalistic strife 
 
 Withdrew, and in these smiling fields 
 
 Have proved the sweets seclusion yields ; 
 
 With peace, with books, and tranquil thought, 
 
 And thousand joys which can't be bought, 
 
 Or found in " busy haunts of men ", — 
 
 Domestic bliss, my goose-quill pen, 
 
 (As doth become the farmer), used 
 
 For pastime, not for bread abused ! 
 
 'Twere long with all at once t' acquaint thee. 
 
 This time a morning walk I'll paint thee. 
 
 Me picture, Horace, starting out 
 
 Clad in my "homespun frock", 
 With coarse et ceteras, with stout 
 And heavy boots my feet decked out, 
 
 I' the morn at four o'clock. 
 Oh, view me gay as any missel,* 
 
 Or bob-o-link o' the meadow, 
 Steer for the woods, with merry whistle, — 
 
 The woods still fraught with shadow ! 
 
 *A European song thrush of Kvely disposition. 
 
422 WSAT MAS RE- STRUNG THE LYRE, 
 
 For tardy Sol hath not as yet 
 
 Peeped forth with jolly eye ; 
 The bright green grass with dew is wet^ 
 And scarce e'en are the sweet stars set 
 
 In yon gray western sky ! 
 " What seek'st thou ? " What I lost in town \ 
 
 " How find it here ? and now ? 
 A pet dog was 't ? or tame deer flown ? 
 
 Thy pony ? or thy cow ? " 
 Nay, none of these ; of worth far more ; 
 
 I'd not exchange for wealth 
 (When 'tis regained), or fame, or lore ; 
 
 'Tis thus I seek my health ! 
 
 How sweet the breath of this bright morn! 
 
 How lovely is the earth ! 
 'Tis at this hour the Muse is born ! 
 
 That Poesy hath birth ! 
 For when I hear the glad birds sing, 
 
 The bluebird, lark, and linnet,* 
 (I guess !) while all the forests ring 
 With th' blackbird's notes, and everything 
 With the sweet sound is echoing 
 
 As if a soul were in it. 
 Can I sit dumb, like stock or stone? 
 
 Nay, nay ! I'll join the choir ! 
 And thou shalt know, if thou alone, 
 
 What hath re-strung my lyre ! 
 At this sweet hour my heart is filled 
 
 With love for all God's creatures ; 
 For e'en the crow in yonder field, 
 
 (Ah, well I know his features !) 
 High-perched on yon tall oak agild 
 
 *The guess is not a random one. It is the belief of the author that 
 the bird meant is the lesser redpoll linnet {^giothus hnenus). 
 
UNUSUAL TENBEBNESS — THE FABM-YARD. 423 
 
 Now "with the sun's first rays ; last morn 
 I clubbed the black thief from my corn I 
 Yea, for my man felt much good will 
 When late he sought that bird to kill I 
 Old crow ! thou'rt not so very dark ! 
 
 And, if thou'lt spare my grain, 
 I promise thou shalt ne'er be mark 
 
 For my man's gun again ! 
 
 But how I linger in the clearing 
 
 "Who for the forest started ! 
 As now the farm-yard I am nearing, 
 
 I hear the merry -hearted 
 Young lads, who there the "sweet-breathed kine" 
 
 Of wholesome milk despoil, 
 A- whistling cheerily, — good sign 
 
 That 'tis a pleasant toil. 
 I pass the door, a gentle neigh 
 
 Saluteth from the stable, 
 And from their home above the bay, 
 Swift by my head, with twitters gay, 
 Two little swallows flit away, 
 Another, following, doth stay 
 
 In th' door that's in the gable. 
 I pass my flock of sheep (I've two — 
 Two sheep, not flocks — a lamb and ewe) ; 
 
 "What flieth there — a plover ? 
 I hear the blatant calves halloo 
 
 Behind the barn in tender clover. 
 Loud crow the crested cocks ; pigs squeak ;, 
 The turkeys laugh ; the peafowls shriek.. 
 The fowls pursue — an eager train — 
 
 For soon they learn the ready hand. 
 Most apt to strew the daily grain, — 
 
 Enough for fowls to understand!': 
 
424 A GREEN LANE. 
 
 I quit the yard and down the lane 
 In winding path of cows I pass ; 
 
 The air were fragrant here and bland 
 Had not the south breeze faint 
 A slight mephitic taint. 
 
 But now I view on every hand, 
 I' the dew-bespangled grass 
 Close-nestled, dandelions there, 
 "With humble heads and yellow hair ; 
 Here, older, hoary grown are some ; 
 Some taller there have bald become. 
 
 The pleasant path which I pursue 
 Euns westerly through pastures new, 
 And soon I walk among the trees ; 
 Preserved for shade are those, and these 
 "Which closer grow and make a part 
 Of yon long skirt of woods, my heart 
 Is set, in some near future year, 
 T' include within a park for deer. 
 
 Ifot unhistorical this ground ; 
 For on my left, there most abound 
 'The graceful poplar growths, is where 
 My man Bazil once met a bear ! 
 At least 'tis what he always said, — 
 And certain 'tis he wildly fled 
 'The spot, with many a loud halloo, 
 And looked as men in terror look, 
 And faltered in his speech, and shook, — 
 Behaved in short as scared men do ! 
 Upon the right, near yon green wood, 
 "Where white-barked birches thickly stood, 
 Stark, stiff and ghastly, tall and slim. 
 Is where Greorge Norton broke his limb. 
 
THE OWL AND OTHER FEATHERED FRIENDS. 425 
 
 But, liist ! in yonder elm tree green 
 I saw a motion then I ween ; 
 Again 'tis there ; ah, ha ! I'll send 
 A greeting ; 'tis my great-eyed friend. 
 The owl ! he long this scene hath haunted ; 
 He vieweth me with eye undaunted. 
 
 I see, old friend, thine owlish fancies 
 
 Are much disturbed by Sol's bright glances ! 
 
 He meaneth now to go ; he bringeth 
 His great wings up in solemn way ; 
 
 He slowly moveth ; up he springeth ; 
 He flappeth, wheeleth, now away 
 To deeper covert for the day, 
 He floateth, — slow and soft away ! 
 
 Don Eedbreast on yon ancient pine 
 
 Discourseth music very fine. 
 
 See farther there upon the right. 
 
 Perched on the hedge is plump " Bob White ". 
 
 In deeper woods the partridge drummeth, 
 
 While nearer the mosquito* hummeth. 
 
 About, the purple phlox I see ; 
 
 Hepatica, anemone. 
 
 And fragrant violet smile on me. 
 
 Too damp as yet t' attract the bee. 
 
 Behind yon screen of alder bushes 
 
 That bound the forest lane, 
 A brook now gurgleth 'mong the rushes, 
 
 Swoll'n by the last eve's rain ; 
 It is the Beaver-Meadow Brook, 
 
 It vanisheth with June ; 
 I'll pause a moment here to look 
 
 *" These are the forests' prime evil." — Horace. 
 
426 
 
 THE BROOK. 
 
THE RETURN. 42 f 
 
 On cliarms I'll miss so soon ! 
 I set my foot and liglitly leap 
 
 The laughing, dimpling rill ; 
 E"ow, toward the west, behold the steep 
 
 We here name Bunker Hill ! 
 
 But, ha ! a sound upon mine ear 
 
 Sonorously doth swell ! 
 It drowns all other music here ; 
 
 'Tis harsh, and yet right well 
 I love it, and with merry cheer 
 
 I greet the breakfast bell ! 
 
 I turn about, with smarter pace 
 The path I've trod I now retrace ; 
 But find my heavy boots a weight 
 That doth prevent a rapid gait. 
 
 I reach the yard and gaze abroad 
 "Where field of green stretch to the road 
 That on the east the farm doth bound, — 
 From which by private way is found 
 My humble cottage in the glen, — 
 Withdrawn from curious eyes of men. 
 
 The dazzling sun doth swim above 
 
 The east in softest blue — 
 Etherial sea ! — with eye of love 
 He looketh down where mortals move, — 
 On hill, and vale, and stream, and grove^ 
 
 And field of emerald hue. 
 
 My old black crow hath quit his tree ; 
 Aye, perched upon a rail is he 
 That tops the fence beyond the corn, 
 Near where I found him yester-morn I 
 'Tis much I fear he thither went 
 
428 THE CROW AND THE KINGBIRD. 
 
 "Witli a felonious intent ! 
 
 Beware old bird ! tempt not too far, 
 
 Or we "let slip the dogs of war " ! 
 
 But what hath happened to our crow ? 
 
 What causeth him to flutter so ? 
 
 Aha ! my friend, I plainly see 
 
 Thou hast the king bird after thee ! 
 
 That valiant bird, which late his nest 
 
 Hath reared near where thou took'st thy rest 
 
 Upon the fence ; a watchman brave 
 
 And vigilant, henceforth I'll have, 
 
 Who'll be on duty every day. 
 
 And help to keep thee, thief ! away I 
 
 It is a pleasant thing to see 
 
 The little soldier harrass thee. 
 
 Whilst thou forget'st to use thy claws. 
 
 And duck'st thy craven head with caws ! 
 
 Attacketh he above, below, 
 
 By flank, in rear, whilst thou dost go. 
 
 With, heavy, flapping sable wing. 
 
 In tortuous course to 'scape the stroke 
 Of this small foe, and hurrying 
 
 To reach thy covert in the oak ! 
 
 Ah, crow ! now is thy character 
 Of all good qualities deflowered ! 
 
 No more respect from me, thou cur ! 
 Thou'rt both a thief and coward ! 
 
 John, shoot that bird whene'er thou wilt ;* 
 
 *Just ready to send this chapter to the printer, I caught up, the other 
 day, a very sweetly written, yea, delightful volume by C. C. Abbott, 
 M. D., (this year published by the Harpers), and had only perused a few 
 pages when I ran upon the following lines, which affected me like a 
 merited rebuke from a superior pei'son, viz : 
 
 "Poor crows! really useful, and to the lover of nature an unfailing 
 source of interest, they have suffered so much and so long that it would 
 
'■^ THIEVES AND COWARDS." 429 
 
 No longer can we doubt his guilt ! 
 What can ennoble thieves and cowards ? 
 " Not all the blood of all the Howards! "* 
 
 Here endeth now my song ; and in 
 I go where breakfast doth begin ! 
 
 not be strange if they often wondered why, indeed, they were created. 
 I have said they are useful, and I stand by the unqualified assertion, 
 I admit their fondness for corn; I know that they love watermelons, 
 and are excellent judges of them, always pecking a destructive hole in 
 the choicest of the patch. What of it? The same crows have eaten 
 grubs and young mice for ten months, and have paid thereby better 
 prices for the corn and melons than ever farmer got from any purchaser. 
 Frighten the crows, if you will, from the cornfields and melon-patches, 
 but do not kill them. This is not the whim of a crank, but the advice 
 of a farmer." — Upland and Meadow, p. 52. 
 
 With a rueful remembrance, too, of including this bird in my black- 
 list in a foregoing chapter (VIII.), after I had read the above aloud to 
 my wife, I could only mumble in excuse of my conduct something con- 
 cerning "mercy to the grubs and young mice". But, come to reflect, 
 I never killed a crow in my life, or caused the death of one, so far as I 
 am aware. 
 
 *Byron. 
 
Emm FOR (5MPTER iniii. 
 
 *' Wljat is man ? a foolisl] baby I 
 
 Vainly gferives, and figl]t§, ar)d frets j 
 'Oemarjding all, deservir|g r)othir|g, — 
 ©ne sir|all grave i§ what bje gets ! " 
 
 Carlyle. 
 
 " '©rother, I have looked or) men, their ir|sect cares and 
 tt)eip giant projects, — tbjeip god-like plang and n^ouse^like 
 occupatiorjs, — their irjterjsely eager race after Vjappirjesg." 
 
 Schiller: The Robbers. 
 
 " J^o'w various are the irjspiratiorjs 
 ©f differerjt mer) of differegt stations ! 
 ^S genius points to good op evil, 
 Sorr|e call the nr^uge, some raise thje devil J " 
 
 A dapted. 
 
 " It is the voice of the yeaps tl]at are gorje ! Tlgey 
 roll befope n-)e -with all tbjeip deeds ! " 
 
 OSSIAN. 
 
 430 
 
CHAPTER XXXni. 
 
 EEFECTLY hatli memory pre- 
 served the picture ! One day, 
 when I was a lad perhaps a 
 dozen years of age, I sat upon 
 the top-rail of a high fence 
 which ran along one side of a 
 meadow upon my father's beau- 
 tiful, though then comparatively 
 new farm, and wondered what 
 great work there was in the 
 world for me to do which would 
 render me famous — immortal ! 
 For I was an ambitious boy, 
 emulating the spirit of young 
 Cowley breathed in the follow- 
 ing lines : 
 
 "What shall I do to be forever known, 
 And make the age to come my own ?" 
 
 Somehow, also, I had quite a 
 'settled belief that I should eventually find the work, and 
 that fame, yea, and immortality, such as men find "below 
 the moon ", would be achieved. 
 
 In the above paragraph I speak of one particular day; 
 I care not to have it believed, however, that this was the 
 only time I was ever visited by such thoughts during boy- 
 •hood.f By no means think it ! They were with me con- 
 
 fNor the only time that I sat on the top-rail of a fence when I 
 'Ought to have been -at work. 
 
 431 
 
432 
 
 A RUSTIC PICTURE. 
 
 tinually. I mention 
 this occasion espe- 
 cially because it 
 stands out ratlier 
 more clearly in memory tlian 
 others of the kind, and be- 
 cause I am able to give the 
 reason of this circumstance. 
 
 It was a wondrously beautiful day in 
 September. I had been set by my father 
 at picking up small roots, chips and other rub- 
 bish which cumbered the ground in one of the 
 lots, and it was not only rather laborious, but, 
 having been left quite alone, I soon found it 
 very slow and monotonous work. It was a much 
 more agreeable situation for me a-top of the 
 fence where I could gain a wider view of the world, feel the 
 soft breezes fan my warm cheek, and dream uninterruptedly 
 of the herculean labors I was one day to perform whereby I 
 was to win undying renown ! The contrast between my 
 present every-day occupation and the glorified work of the 
 future — between my present actual and my future possible — 
 was so marked that it made an impression 
 upon me which was destined to be lasting, and 
 hence I have, in my mind's eye, Horatio, a 
 vivid picture of an indolent lad of slight frame, 
 who ought to have been plodding nearer 
 earth, roosting upon a high rail-fence, with 
 mind aspiring far higher ! 
 
 I suppose other boys — thousands and 
 millions of them — have indulged in 
 these day-dreams, and found them vastly 
 agreeable (by the same sort of contrast) 
 
 and have 
 surrendered 
 themselves 
 up to a sim- 
 
 m;-*^ 
 
 
AMBITION — AND THE EJS-D. 433 
 
 ilax blind faith that their day-stars of glory would some- 
 time dawn ; for as Emerson well says, "A force of illusion 
 begins life with and attends us to the end. We are 
 coaxed, flattered and duped, from mom to eve, from 
 birth to death."* Such dreamers, if they have been farmer's 
 boys, have seldom in vision seen the realization of their 
 ambitious hopes in fields of labor allied in any manner to 
 that of the husbandman ! Nay ! nay ! It is in something 
 widely different from this. It is to be a warfare where 
 courage^ and strength^ and hrilliancy, and hrain count for some- 
 thing ! Let those creep who will ; these lads intend to soar ! 
 Certain of such youngsters, with whom the disease has devel- 
 oped in a mild type, soon recover, and in time become 
 steady-going farmers, just as their fathers were. Others, 
 more grievously afflicted, run away to the cities, and may- 
 hap find their field of " glorious achievement " in the arena 
 of ward politics, or behind the bar of some glittering saloon. 
 Others, more hopelessly victimized, write for the newspapers, 
 or go to Congress ! 
 
 It is a rare thing that any of this latter class ever get back 
 to aught like wholesome and cordial relations with the soil. 
 Some there are, indeed, who return to the farm, blase, 
 broken-down, embittered with the disappointments incident 
 to the unnatural sort of life they have been leading, and find 
 there an asylum in which, bereft of ambition and hope of 
 shining, but still dreaming of " what might have been ", they 
 may spend their few declining days ; and gentle and tender 
 old mother Earth, unresentful of past shabby treatment, 
 kindly receives back her wayward sons, yields them support 
 ungrudgingly while they live, and when at length with them 
 " life's fitful fever is over ", gives them a lasting resting-placo 
 in her bosom ! 
 
 In justice to the writer, it should be borne in mind that, 
 although it be admitted that he has dabbled a little in poli- 
 
 *Works and Days. 
 
 28 
 
434 SANGUINE, BUT NOT SANGUINARY. 
 
 tics, and, alas ! had even fallen so far at one time as to be 
 a regular contributor to the newspapers, he was (and is) a 
 man of strict temperance principles, and never, never went 
 to Congress ! 
 
 I think, on the whole, that the author of this book as a 
 lad differed greatly from the common herd of ambitious 
 boys. He discovered little desire for the splendid physical 
 conquests which so inflamed the imaginations of his com- 
 panions. He was never blood-thirsty. He was not one, not 
 lie ! who had the heart 
 
 " To wade through slaughter to a throne, 
 And shut the gates of mercy on mankind." 
 
 He cared not to encounter the great dragon, nor envied the 
 gory scout who took the scalps of a score of red men. He 
 was not cruel, but, on the contrary, as tender and pitiful as 
 a girl. " Many a time and oft " did he rebuke his young com- 
 panions for killing harmless reptiles, and since he first under- 
 stood its enunciation he has uniformly, by precept and, so 
 far as practicable, at least, by example, enforced the humane 
 doctrine of Wordsworth : 
 
 "Taught by what kind nature shows, and what conceals, 
 Never to blend our pleasure or our pride 
 With sorrow of the meanest thing that feels." 
 
 But I hardly believe that he has ever been prepared to carry 
 the principle so far that he would refuse to "count upon his 
 list of friends, one who would needlessly set foot upon a 
 worm " !* which would appear still a trifle extravagant. I 
 am quite confident, however, that even in those earlier days, 
 when his heart was most filled with ambitious dreams and 
 longings, if all the treasure, power and glory of a Cam- 
 byses or a Pyrrhus, an Alexander or a Csesar could have 
 been won by him at so cheap a rate as the killing of a child, 
 and a child wrapped in dusky skin, with the added condi- 
 
 *C0WPEB. 
 
GIVE THE DEVIL HIS DUE. 435 
 
 tion that no harm should come to himself on account of the 
 homicide, here or hereafter, he would have turned with hor- 
 ror and loathing from the thought and cried: "Perish the 
 wealth, the power and the fame ! " 
 
 His aspirations were rather in the line of letters. He did 
 not lust after power over men's bodies ; but it was an intel- 
 lectual kingdom to the throne of which he aspired. And, 
 lest there may have been a wrong impression left upon the 
 mind of the reader by the earlier portion of this chapter, I 
 hasten to say, that he never at any time expressed or enter- 
 tained a feeling of contempt for the profession in which he 
 was reared. Aside from literature (but more especially in 
 connection with literature)^ he deemed it one of the most 
 wholesome, elevating, yea, holy of the callings by which man 
 wins his bread. Herein again did he differ from the ordin- 
 ary country-lad into whose brain the maggot of ambition 
 has crawled ; and herein throughout his career has he shown 
 himself tolerably consistent. 
 
 Yea, let's be jast to the boy. Let's "give the devil his due"= 
 There may be other struggling souls in the world which it is 
 worth while to take a little pains not to discourage. He was 
 not a vicious lad, nor an indolent ; although his thoughtful- 
 ness and studiousness had often brought upon him the latter 
 reproach. He thirsted after knowledge, and was early plan- 
 ning worthy achievement in the field of literature. He had 
 a horror of ignorance which few about him could under- 
 stand. While still quite young he was a devourer of books ; 
 and he read all obtainable printed matter till he quitted the 
 scene of his boyish experience for a wider arena. 
 
 His means of instruction were scanty, and long, lonely 
 nights has he sleepless passed, pondering the problem of 
 how to enlarge them. He was poor, — poor as one can well 
 be ; and, alas ! so were all those to whom he had any right 
 to look for pecuniary assistance. He was, ere his emancipa- 
 tion came, at the end of the ability of the common schools 
 
436 A HAPPy HOUR. 
 
 to help him, long since. He had no near friends who were 
 qualified to give him further instruction. He was master of 
 all the books which, in the comparatively new and unsettled 
 region in which he lived, could be found. And — he was 
 daily growing older ! Probably never on earth will the per- 
 son of whom I write meet another hour fraught with as. 
 much of heart-felt gladness as was that when, the requisite 
 correspondence with the college authorities having taken 
 place, the question of the qualifications, etc, of the candi- 
 date, satisfactorily settled — in his own mind, at least — he 
 had at length won his parents' reluctant consent to his 
 entering upon a college course ! There Christian became 
 eased of his burden of long years ! But this consent was 
 based on the understanding that the youth was to depend 
 entirely upon his own resources for the wherewithal to meet 
 the expenses of the new phase of life he contemplated try- 
 ing. The condition was just and right, the circumstances of 
 the case fairly considered, and I have never for a single 
 moment deemed that it should have been different, how 
 pleasant soever it might have been to have it so. 
 
 The next seven years of the life of the person whose 
 fortunes we are here following constituted a season of close 
 application to books, and hard labor at teaching and other 
 work requisite to eke out the sums wherewith to meet those 
 " quarterly bills ", whose visitations are as certain to the stu- 
 dent as taxes to the property-holder and death to all men ! 
 Poor as poverty itself ; proud, in a sense, as Lucifer ; self- 
 reliant, feverish-patient, industrious, and determined tO' 
 succeed, — I feel that in the history of my life during the 
 six or seven years when I was a matriculated member of 
 college and university, there was little at least of which the 
 " moderate-minded " man need be ashamed ! I shall be 
 satisfied if, at the end, every page of my record shall be 
 found as honorable to me ! 
 
 But, in recording all this, let it not be thought that I 
 desire to lay claim to honors greater than those I would 
 
I SPEAK FOR A CLASS. 437 
 
 accord to others — and they are many — who have accom- 
 plished similar things. Bather let it be felt here that I 
 speak for a class — for at my own dear Alma Mater were 
 many youths whom I found engaged in the same noble war- 
 fare, and under similar disadvantageous circumstances. Some 
 fought it through, shoulder to shoulder with the writer, and 
 with him were mustered out. Others were in advance of 
 him there, and there have been many later. Yearly, still, 
 are new names of such as these entered upon the rolls of 
 this and many other like institutions over our land. Noble 
 soldiers are there in this cause as were ever enlisted under 
 the banner of any ! God bless the brave boys, everyone ! 
 Moved by the thoughts to which I have above given 
 utterance, my mind has been making a little further excur- 
 sion of its own since I penciled them out I have been 
 musing on the scenes of those four college years I Like a 
 moving panorama have faces and incidents passed before me. 
 
 "Where, oh, where are life's lilies and roses. 
 Nursed in the golden dawn's smile ? 
 Dead as the bulrushes round little Moses, 
 On the old banks of the Nile. "* 
 
 But less and less grave has my mood become, and now 
 
 " I remember all that one 
 
 Could wish to hold in recollection, — 
 The boys, the noise, the joys, the fun, 
 Though not a single conic section, "f 
 
 As matters only of yesterday do I recall them ! And at 
 last I reach the point where for me the whole play ended ! 
 The day of graduation ! There we sat in a row — ten of 
 us — the Deeaded Ten! Thus sitting and waiting for 
 the expected formal ceremony, and while the reverend gen- 
 tleman, whose task it was to deliver the address, was speak- 
 ing, I remember, (and others there are who will recall my 
 
 *HOLMES. fSAXE. 
 
438 GRADUATION — AN OLD HONG. 
 
 folly) I drew upon a piece of paper the figure of Death, 
 with the long index finger of one hand projected in the 
 direction of a scroll upon which was marked the word 
 " diploma ", while the other hand grasped wildly at the air, 
 and underneath I had written this adaptation from Shakes- 
 peare : 
 
 ' ' Is this a sheepskin that I see before me, 
 Thus handy to my hand? Come let me clutch thee! 
 I have thee not, and yet I see thee still ! 
 Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible 
 To feeling as to sight? or art thou but 
 A parchment of the mind, a false creation. 
 Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain? " 
 
 It was naughty, very naughty, of me, and made some of 
 the nervous-white boys giggle a little, — which you know 
 they ought not to have allowed themselves to do on any 
 account, then and there ! 
 
 Well, in due course of time each man of us " clutched '" 
 his "sheepskin" and rushed out therewith into the "wide,, 
 wide world ", and now often (yea, 'tis very often !) when I 
 think of the dear, the darling boys of the old class, the 
 " tears will unbidden start ", and, in a revery, do I seem to 
 hear their voices, with the old-time, pleasant ring therein^ 
 chanting the Excursion Song which it was mine to write for 
 
 them : 
 
 " Our books we now have cast aside, 
 And every care with them allied, — 
 And launched are we on pleasure's tide, — 
 What thought have we of sorrow?" 
 
 I ask with Holmes : 
 
 " Have any old fellows got mixed with the boys?" ' 
 
 Then, reflecting on news received of them, almost invariably 
 I recall the lines which Saxe wrote of his college class- 
 mates at the end of a score of years after graduation : 
 "Ah, me! what changes time has wrought! 
 And how predictions have miscarried! 
 A few have reached the goal they sought. 
 And some are dead, and some are married!" 
 
THE CHANGES TIME HAS WROUGHT, 
 
 439 
 
 Aye, one is dead; poor fellow! and there was that in 
 Ids end which, makes it doubly sad to think of ! And the 
 rest — all married but two! — and those two the quondam 
 " ladies' men " (if any) of the class ! Who shall account for 
 all the freaks of fate ! 
 
 But Saxe notes some items of this character in the history 
 of his own class : 
 
 " Tom Knox who swore in such a tone 
 
 It fairly might be doubted whether 
 It really was himself alone, 
 
 Or Nox and Srebun together, 
 Has since grown quite an altered man, — 
 
 And, changing oaths for mild entreaty. 
 Now recommends the Christian plan 
 
 To savages in Otaheite." 
 
 And, at last accountSi 
 
440 OLD VOLUlfES. 
 
 "Pious Jones was dealing faro in Chicago." 
 
 While, 
 
 " Sadder still, the brilliant Hayes, 
 
 Once honest, manly and ambitious, 
 Has taken latterly to ways 
 
 Extremely profligate and vicious; 
 By slow degrees (I can't tell how) 
 
 He reached the common groundsel; 
 And figures in Milwaukee now 
 
 A member of the common council." 
 
 Sitting in my little study alone at this late hour — for 
 
 '"Tis placid midnight; stars are keeping, 
 Their meek and silent watch in heaven; 
 Save pale recluse, for knowledge seeking. 
 All mortal things to sleep are given! "* 
 
 I gaze about at my somewhat motley collection of books, 
 and I see here an old battered front, another there, and 
 yonder still another, all of which are mementoes of those 
 college days, and about each are clustered many pleasant rec- 
 collections I Had those old books phonographic power might 
 they not unfold some tales! Those poor, precious, old, 
 worn volumes are more dear to this heart, — aye, ten fold — 
 , than are their spruce companions in morocco and Eussia ! 
 They have a history, and it is so intertwined with my own 
 that they seem almost a part of the ego. There they stand^ 
 — the old veterans ! — and smile down at me through their 
 " looped and windowed raggedness ! " That one (is it You- 
 man's Chemistry "l) standing like a finger-board on the way, 
 marks the completion of one-fourth of my college journey ; 
 it also indicates the point where I burst the chrysalis woven 
 by the freshman grub and emerged in all the glory of the 
 full-fledged sophomoric insect ! Lacking the wings, I was, 
 of course, however gay, not yet quite a butterfly, and still 
 "a little lower than the angels", but crowned sufficiently (I 
 then believed) " with honor and glory " ! Then there stands, 
 
 *Carlyle, The Moth. 
 
NO MORE — THE PARCHMENT. 441 
 
 " And holds me with his eye," 
 
 Herschel's Natural Philosophy ! 
 
 " Phcebus ! what a name I " 
 
 for such, a book ! 
 
 " Logic is logic, that's all I say I "* 
 
 Well might Shakespeare demand, 
 
 "What's in a name ? " 
 Truly this 
 
 " Rose by any other name would smell as sweet ! " 
 
 Well this mis-entitled book marked the precise point where 
 the middle of the course was reached. And then was it 
 Whately'i or Wayland'i or both together? that stood at 
 the turning post where the flower-strewn paths of the junior 
 year were left behind, and we became 
 
 " Potent, grave and reverend seniors ! " 
 
 (more or less I). 
 
 Then arrived the " last scene of all ", which is above 
 noted, and the coil of this pleasant life had been shuffled 
 off forever ! Other 
 
 " Candidates for college prizes "f 
 
 filled our places. Class after class since then, of bright, 
 ■earnest young men have completed the noble course, and 
 reaped the advantages and honors thereof ; and others will 
 €ome; but "never, ah, never! " will the "whirligig of time" 
 bring it about, or the proverbial habit history has contracted 
 of repeating itself, determine it so that within the sounding 
 halls of my Alma Mater will appear another class like the 
 famous Dreaded Ten ! 
 
 Hah ! yonder on the highest shelf of the book-case lies the 
 veritable diploma, intercoiled with another received at a later 
 
 *HoiiMES, Old Deacon's One-7iorse Shay. f Bykon. 
 
442 WHAT IT RECITES AND WHAT OJIITS. 
 
 date. Come, let me clutcli thee again ! Let me see what, 
 goodly thing had been done that thej gave me thee. Her© 
 is the recitation : 
 
 " Mum, mum, having completed mum course of study — 
 mum, mum — hereby conferred — mum, mum, — bachelor — - 
 etc., etc." Yes ; and here the board signed, and here are the 
 signatures — the very signatures — of those true and noble 
 men of the faculty — a cultured, Christian gentleman, every 
 man of them ; God bless 'em ! and well did they do their 
 duty by us all ! There is the president's round hand ; — how 
 well I know it, — for he helped me at the office that last year !' 
 
 But it seems as if there was a great deal omitted from the 
 record upon this parchment, which ought to be down. 
 
 Is there anything here of that long and dubious prelimi- 
 nary struggle passed through before beginning the course, — 
 the study, — the long, long, dark nights of lonely thought, — 
 the anguish of spirit ! 
 
 No ; not a word of that. 
 
 Does it speak of the hard work I had, all unassisted, to- 
 secure the means to meet the dues, — the plans, the strata- 
 gems, the overwork? 
 
 No ; that is omitted. 
 
 Is there aught said here of the abject poverty which con- 
 tinued to afflict, — of poor thin clothing, often even shabby, 
 and the sneers this sometimes occasioned on the part of 
 thoughtless and more fortunate companions, — of the anxious 
 thought of what to do next, — of hunger even ? 
 
 No ; not a word. 
 
 Nothing of all these things ? And nothing of night work ? 
 Nothing of labors performed, in spite of sickness, to win a 
 few more needed shillings? Nothing of twenty -five mile 
 walks to save a few pennies off stage fare ? Nothing off self- 
 denials of all sorts that this course might be completed, and 
 that I might graduate with those hoys f 
 
 No. 
 
ONE WHO WILL UNDERSTAND — WHO? M3 
 
 Then there is but little in the diploma, after all ; all the 
 more honorable matters are omitted 
 
 Yet it recites : " Having completed the course ". 
 
 Yes ; but that is what all their diplomas say. Men receive 
 such who complete the course, indeed ; but some there are 
 who are entitled to little credit therefor, and are as little 
 benefited thereby. But, gentlemen of the Board and Faculty,, 
 if it is the best that you could do, I will not complain, although 
 I think you yourselves must admit that this stereotyped 
 diploma possesses little significance as a testimonial of what 
 has been overcome and what accomplished ! 
 
 Ah, I see the name here of one who will appreciate what 
 I have said. He has known poverty's curse. He was a youth 
 who felt a craving for knowledge. He, also, knew what it 
 was to go cold and hungry. He supported himself at col- 
 lege, and understands well what that means, — he told me so^ 
 with tears dimming his eyes, twenty years after the hard 
 battle had been fought and won ! And I rejoice with him 
 that now he is receiving, in the esteem of his fellow-men, and 
 well-earned professional renown, the reward of his manly 
 conflicts ! 
 
 But money was proffered you to help you along ? 
 
 Well? 
 
 And you refused it ? 
 
 Yes ; for reasons. 
 
 Well, I can't pity you then ; you could have had assist- 
 ance, and were too proud to accept it when tendered. 
 
 Who the devil solicited your pity ! 
 
MOTTOES FOR KilPTER IIIIY. 
 
 "^1], me ! ■wbjat peril© do erjviror) 
 Vh)e mar) ^^'^)o ngeddles wifeb) a sirer) ! " 
 
 Adapted from Hudihras. 
 
 "T^he bee ig on the wirjg." 
 
 Nursery Hymn. 
 
 '"'Phe full 60ul loafcl-|efch aq hjoqeycorqb." 
 
 Proverbs, XXVII, 7. 
 
 444 
 
CHAPTER XXXIY. 
 
 ARBLESSLYtliusI: "Bees, 
 yes ; I've had my experience 
 witli these industrious gleaners 
 of the sweets of flowers, and 
 have some painful recollec- 
 tions thereof." 
 
 " But have you no pleasure- 
 able remembrances of bees and 
 the bee-business ? " 
 
 "Oh, yes; but I'm not 
 adapted to the business of 
 the apiarist, I fear." 
 
 " Well, and why not ? have 
 you ever tried handling bees?" 
 "Yes,— I've tried." 
 " "Well, what was the result ? 
 I have heard that you were 
 keeping them at Oakfields, 
 and meeting with gratifying 
 success." 
 
 " Yes, they are kept there, I believe ; but I seldom trouble 
 them if they don't interfere with me first In fact that mat- 
 ter is entirely in the hands of a much more competent per- 
 son, whose whole soul is absorbed in her work, and who 
 quite willingly excuses me from participating therein." 
 
 " But I should think you would like the work, — it is so 
 cleanly, so healthful, so full of interesting features and beau- 
 tiful associations." 
 
 A conversation, quite similar in character to the above, 
 once transpired between a lady and myself, and in reply to 
 
 445 
 
446 LETTERS TO HORACE. 
 
 Ler last proposition to give my reasons for not taking a more 
 :active part in the bee-keeping brancli of business at Oak- 
 fields, I unfolded to her a horrifying tale of my adventures 
 with bees. I can perhaps give the reader of this history no 
 livelier account of my woeful early experience in the apiary 
 than by re-producing here a series of four letters addressed by 
 the author of this book to his brother Horace during June, 
 1883. These epistles ran as follows : 
 
 Oakfields, June 1st, 1883. 
 
 Deae Horace: — "We have gone into the bee-business, 
 Malvina and I. It is true it is not an equal partnership ; — 
 I have but little to say — am, in short, only a silent partner, 
 whose humble opinion, if given at all, is to be expressed in 
 the most respectful terms to win a hearing, and, after that, is 
 to be respected and acted upon, or rejected with ignominy, 
 just as the senior member of the house deems best. M. lords 
 it over me rather high-handedly, I suspect ; but so long as 
 ;she takes the post of responsibility and — and — danger, 
 Horace, I submit with beautiful resignation. 
 
 We are very proud of our new bees (just imported from a 
 southern county), or, at least, the head of the firm is so, and 
 I think I shall be when I am better acquainted with them. 
 They are an emphatic sort of an insect in their working, hum- 
 ming and general behavior, and hence they are called Italics. 
 'They are a capital race I hear, and they are very beautiful — 
 so it is said — but my observations thus far have been made 
 at long range, and hence I cannot speak with that degree of 
 positiveness I should like to, concerning them. 
 
 Have you ever made this branch of entomology a study, 
 Horace ? If not, you ought to do so without further waste 
 of time. Is it not written : "Eat thou honey, because it is 
 good ; and the honey-comb, which is sweet to thy taste " ?* 
 
 *Prov. XXIV, 13. 
 
ORIGIN AND VARIETIES. 447 
 
 It is a most fascinating pursuit, Horace, and you will feel 
 your mind expand under the influence of the study like — 
 like the balloon-sack undergoing the process of blowing up ! 
 I have now been investigating in this line more than two 
 weeks, and the pleasure I have derived from it is quite 
 incalculable, and the novel facts I have become master of, — 
 the new beauties which have been unfolded in the economy 
 •of nature, Horace, have improved my mind and made 
 almost another man of me. 
 
 I find that bees were invented a great many years ago, 
 my boy, ever so many years ago, in fact ; that at first they 
 •didn't amount to any certain sum to man as a domestic, 
 honey-producing engine, were very roughly put together, 
 -and were never patented until the poets took the matter up, 
 after which event the little insect became very fashionable 
 within a short space of time. The name of the original 
 patentee of the honey-bee, however, is lost in hoary antiq- 
 uity. Since that day, from time to time, improvements in 
 iioney-makers appear to have been made, and at length, as 
 we bee-men fondly deem, our insect has reached something 
 like perfect perfection ! 
 
 I am informed (by much reading, Horace) that there are 
 various sorts and kinds of bees. There are the Germanic 
 races, the Italic tribes, the Cyprian, the Eigid Disciplina- 
 rrian (I think), and possibly others. They are all nice, Hor- 
 ace, — so Malvina tells me, — and I am learning as rapidly 
 as possible to love 'em and respect 'em. Ah, you "Blessed 
 Bees " ! (as the Eev. Oscar Clute has dubbed you), how I do 
 admire you ! At a distance, as yet, Horace, mind ; but the 
 admiration is none the less sincere, if more subdued. 
 
 "We have four whole colonies^ Horace, (we used to call 'em 
 hives ; certain of our neighbors speak of 'em as skips^ while 
 the Scotch call 'em skeps; but in the revised nomenclature 
 ^tis colonies), and we mean to make a great deal of money. 
 We are taking all the bee magazines published, and from 
 
448 AN' ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 these we learn that in this pursuit we are on the direct high- 
 way road to affluence. We don't want the folks in this 
 part to buy their sweetening of anybody but us. We mean 
 to supply all this and that portions of the state. 
 
 Should think, Horace, you would brush up and engage 
 in this lucrative and delightful business too. Of course 
 you could move into another portion of the country where 
 nobody had read up on this branch of industry, and where 
 you could enjoy a monopoly thereof, and we should be left 
 in the same happy condition here. It is so elevating a pur- 
 suit, Horace, and at the same time so remunerative. 
 
 You may be inclined to set me down as an enthusiast in 
 
 this matter, Horace, — and I fear that I shall be obliged to 
 
 plead guilty to the soft impeachment, at least to a limited 
 
 extent. I have always had a sort of hankering after bees. 
 
 Years and years ago, when I used to sing that little song 
 
 beginning, 
 
 " How doth the little busy bee 
 Improve each ehining hour? " 
 
 My heart was wont to yearn toward the beautiful and mus- 
 ical insect ; and the two following verses ever conveyed to 
 my mind a sweet image of " nature in her loveliness " • 
 
 "In gathering honey all the day 
 From every opening flower." 
 
 Honey is so delicious to the childish palate ! 
 
 Don't fail to give the suggestions contained in this epistle 
 your earnest attention, Horace, and believe me, though with 
 enthusiasm, with dignity, 
 
 Yours, Hez. 
 
 Oakfields, June 16, 1883. 
 Dear Horace: — It is still pleasanter m my rural retreat 
 since my banks have been 
 
 "Furnished with bees 
 Whose murmurs invite one to sleep ! " 
 
BEE LITERATURE. 449 
 
 as the sweet poet most sweetly sings. My enthusiasm in 
 this matter has not abated one jot, or one tittle, since I last 
 wrote ; but, on the contrary, has increased with the lapse of 
 time. I am reading all the works on my favorite subject I 
 have been able to procure, and have determined myself to 
 prepare an exhaustive treatise upon the subject of bees and 
 their products. There is something in this pursuit, my boy, 
 that causes us all to feel the cacoethes scribendi — sets us all 
 to scribbling — and I am only hesitating at present to deter- 
 mine whether or not I would better give my discourse the 
 poetic form, — or if you will have a pun (you rogue !), 
 whether or not it would be more meet to use m,eter than plain 
 prose in .treating of so beautiful — so delightful a subject. I 
 design that this work of mine shall not only supercede all 
 e±isting manuals as a text book for the practical apiarist, 
 but shall also form a valuable addition to the literary 
 wealth of the language, and become a classic. It is a sub- 
 ject that naturally appeals to the imagination, Horace, and 
 why. indeed, may not an immortal literary work, orna- 
 mented with all the graces of style and flowers of fancy, be 
 produced, with this science as its occasion and its ground- 
 work ? 
 
 If you desire to commence your studies of this great sub- 
 ject forthwith, Horace, I would recommend to you the 
 works of Langstroth, Huber, Quinby, Cook, Clute, New- 
 man, and Alley ; but if you feel as if you could wait a few 
 weeks, my great work will be out, and you will need noth- 
 ing further. 
 
 I am, dear Horace, growing bolder in my investigations 
 of the habits of the wonderfully interesting little insects, 
 with each succeeding day. To be sure, I have not at an}'- 
 time pursued my studies of them with the aid of a tele- 
 scope, as some of my neighbors have maliciously reported 
 concerning me ; neither have I recklessly exposed to utter 
 ruin (which might easily result from the stings with which 
 
 29 
 
450 WICKED GOSSIP. 
 
 these small winged creatures are known to be armed) what 
 little of personal beauty nature has endowed me withal, I 
 have adopted a mean. I have, indeed, ventured quite close 
 to the stands ; but this only at the point where the house 
 approaches nearest thereto, and I have usually exercised 
 the precaution to have a closed window between myself and 
 the objects of my ardent study. It was probably upon this 
 circumstance that the meddlesome people before spoken of 
 built their fabrication about the telescope. That is to say, 
 I have made my observations through a glass ! You will see 
 illustrated by this, Horace, upon how slight a foundation of 
 fact sometimes will rest a prodigious superstructure of 
 gossip 1* 
 
 *We cannot escape meddlesome neighbors — go where we will! Even 
 the Brook-Farmers had them; and, in the Blithesdale Eomance, Haw- 
 thorne has given a humorous and highly entertaining account of their 
 gossiping ways: 
 
 " To be sure," writes the novelist, "our next neighbors pretended to 
 be incredulous as to our real proficiency in the business we had taken 
 in hand. They told slanderous fables about our inability to yoke our 
 own oxen, or to drive them a-field when yoked, or to release the poor 
 brutes from their conjugal bond at nightfall. They had the face to 
 say, too, that the cows laughed at our awkwardness at milking-time, 
 land invariably kicked over the pails; partly in consequence of our put- 
 ting the stools on the wrong side, and partly because, taking offense at 
 the whisking of their tails, we were in the habit of holding these natural 
 fly-flappers in one hand, and milking with the other. They further 
 averred that we hoed up whole acres of Indian corn and other crops, 
 and drew the earth carefully about the weeds; and that we raised five 
 hundred tufts of burdock, mistaking them for cabbage; and that by dint 
 of unskillful planting, few of our seeds ever came up at all, or, if they 
 did come up, it was stern-foremost; and that we spent the better part of 
 the month of June in reversing a field of beans, which had thrust them- 
 selves out of the ground in this unseemly way." 
 
 And many more things the gossiping neighbors reported concerning 
 ihe Blithesdalers, including the story that the society had been entirely 
 ■exterminated by the awkward handling of its scythes one day in the 
 meadow, and that the world was none the worse off therefor, etc., etc. 
 
 "For people will talk." 
 
GROWING AUDACIOUS. 451 
 
 Later, however, from time to time, when the bees have 
 been quite quiet, and I have thought that perhaps they were 
 too busy to notice me, I have softly raised my window, 
 and sat boldly, with uncovered head, gazing with apparent 
 placidity at their little village, — situated so pleasantly there 
 in the middle of the pretty grass-plat to the north-westward 
 of the house, — almost wondering, too, at my own temerity 
 and often hardly daring to breathe for fear of disturbing 
 them. 
 
 Still later, one day I ventured, covered with netting from 
 head to heel as with a garment, to saunter forth with the 
 senior member of the bee-and -honey company, and, affecting 
 a bravery which I could not feel, walk up to within a few 
 feet of the first colony. But I did not linger long there- 
 about ; I had business at another part of the farm and so 
 was forced reluctantly (!) to withdraw. I regarded the 
 bubbling, boiling colony, Horace, and thought of its vulgar 
 name, and — I skipped! 
 
 Only a little while later I tried once again; and after 
 much urging, actually assisted the head of the firm in 
 removing the upper story of the hive. "Just look at the 
 little beauties ! " she exclaimed admiringly. I looked in : 
 what seemed to me a large mass of liquid, live and lively 
 coals, as nearly as I can describe it, was there. I felt a sort 
 of qualmishness at the stomach, brought on, doubtless, by 
 the intense heat of the sun that day (for we have had some 
 extremely warm weather of late, you know, Horace), and so 
 I went into the house and sat down to rest. 
 
 I presume I shall "tempt the fates" (as you will be sure 
 to term it) still further, Horace, ere long. Think not to dis- 
 suade me, nor upbraid me for my audacious conduct. I 
 mean to persevere, my boy, until I have mastered the beau- 
 tiful mysteries of this business. 
 
 Knowing how interested you are in this pleasant subject, 
 Horace, I shall endeavor to keep you informed as to our 
 progress, etc. 
 
452 BUSINESS CHANGE — THE CAUSE. 
 
 Hoping you will profit somewhat by my experience, and, 
 like me, learn to love bees, I remain yours as ever, 
 
 Hez. 
 
 Oakfields, June 21, 1883. 
 Dear Horace: — I have retired from the bee business, 
 I think permanently. In the first place, I can't persuade 
 myself that by temperament and habit I am just adapted 
 thereto, and, speaking from more extended experience, I 
 fear that it is not so lucrative a trade as I once had reason 
 to believe it. Yes, "Betsey and I are out". The business 
 continues at the " old stand ", the senior member of the late 
 firm conducting it, and she will settle all bills and collect 
 all accounts. Thine, Hez. 
 
 Oakfields, June 25, 1885. 
 
 Dear Horace: — Yours of the 23rd inst, at hand. Yes, 
 my last note was a trifle laconic, I believe. Forgive it, my 
 boy, my heart was full of bitterness, and it is hard for a man 
 to be facetious whose hopes have been wrecked — whose con- 
 fidence betrayed. 
 
 Yea, Horace, I have been made the wretched victim of 
 misplaced confidence in that insect which Auceps in the 
 Complete Angler so justly dubs " a little, contemptible creat- 
 ure ". Grown bolder by immunity from punishment, I had 
 pressed closer and closer to the side of Malvina as she pros- 
 ecuted her labors among the Italian vermin, and I even, on 
 a sudden occasion arising where my aid was needed during 
 "swarming time", sallied out in the thick of the skirmish^ 
 sans hat, net, or gloves, and then it was that one of the 
 marauding crew struck me in the eye and stuck there, whilj 
 I clutched, pawed and stamped. Others came to the varlet's 
 assistance, and I fled in agony wildly across the fields, while 
 shrieks of laughter from the whole Oakfields household pur- 
 sued me. I received many stings, a very painful one in the 
 
I WARN MY BROTHER. 453 
 
 organ of vision, but the great hurt of all was the moral one 
 when I reflected upon the black ingratitude of the Italian 
 beasts whom I had loved, and whose virtues and sweetnesses 
 I had for ,.the past four weeks been proposing to celebrate 
 in an immortal book ! 
 
 Therefore, Horace, am I done with bees ; and I conjure 
 thee, ere thou engagest in the care of them, to reflect upon 
 the state of those Greeks of the Ten Thousand, who par- 
 took of the honey of the Rhododendron in the village of 
 the Colchians, whereby they were intoxicated and made 
 mad, and had like to have perished miserably, and this after 
 surviving manifold adventures and untold hardships in the 
 wilderness, and when already come within sight of the sea ! 
 Shun the lot of the apiarist, Horace ; flee from the wicked 
 bee before she pursueth ; turn from her and pass away ! for 
 verily deceitfulness lieth within the golden bands, and much 
 misery in the envenomed sting, which, like a masked battery, 
 inhabiteth the " tents of wickedness " constituting her rear 
 apartments ! Suffer not your mind to be led captive by the 
 siren- voice of Cook, nor of him who wrote the Blessed Bees ; 
 permit not your imagination to revel in " Hyblsean sweets ", 
 nor covet the nectar of Hymettus ! 
 
 It is a small business at best, Horace, and, soberly speak- 
 ing, one fraught with danger. I adjure thee again to keep 
 out of it while thou art safe and whole. Behold one of my 
 eyes is in mourning, there are lumps, gigantic lumps, lumps 
 surmounting lumps, — Pelion upon Ossa, — 
 
 ' Hills over hills, and Alps on Alps arise," — 
 
 about my neck and forehead ; my heart is sore, and my tem- 
 per is not as angelic as it has been. Solemnly, Horace, don't 
 meddle with bees ! 
 
 Sorrowfully thine, Hez. 
 
 I trust, however, the reader will prove far too sensible to 
 take seriously to heart aught set down in the above series of 
 
454 ONLY A LITTLE NONSENSE. 
 
 ridiculous epistles to Horace. My brother is a kind, good, 
 
 and sensible person. These things would amuse him. You 
 
 know 
 
 " A little nonsense now and then 
 Is relished by the wisest men." 
 
 I could furnish them without straining my conscience very 
 seriously, — for some little foundation for such whimseys was 
 furnished me during my early experience in the apiary. For 
 these reasons and no others the letters were written. Hav- 
 ing been written, they were, of course, a part of the history 
 of the place and the persons we are herein concerned about ; 
 and the writer, as an impartial historian, was bound to give 
 them. 
 
 These trifling matters being thus happily disposed of, so 
 that they are not likely to become the subject of cavil in a 
 future day, I desire to embrace the present opportunity to 
 declare that I do love the honey-bee with an affection pure 
 and ardent. I also esteem the work of the apiarist as among 
 the most delectable employments man or woman ever 
 engaged in. Moreover, I love all men and women who love 
 bees ! and would carry the matter still further if I knew 
 how, and this in all sincerity, too ! 
 
 There is something fascinating, — of absorbing interest, and 
 exquisitely beautiful to me in this honey-producing busi- 
 ness! The decent, scrupulously-cleanly, and always-busy- 
 about-her-own-affairs little worker-bee, sets an example for 
 every good citizen to imitate, "Wonderful is the economy 
 of these industrious communities ! Most delightful are all 
 the steps and circumstances leading up to the production of 
 that pure vegetable sweet, — among the loveliest things it is 
 given man to eat, — and esteemed by the ancients — and lit- 
 tle wonder! — as food, fit for the gods! Is it a thing to 
 marvel at, that good men and women, — lovers of their kind 
 and lovers of nature, — are nearly certain to become enam- 
 ored of the honey-bee, and of the business of bee-keeping, 
 
THE BLESSED BEES. 
 
 455 
 
456 EXQUISITELY BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 once tlieir attention is directed this way ? The wonder would 
 be if they did not 1 
 
 The apiarist is called out among the most interesting 
 objects by his little filmy- winged servant, whose errand is to 
 the sweetest flowers of the field and forest, — whose arena of 
 labor embraces broad areas covered with the star-eyed clover, 
 mint-scented and blossom-jeweled wild meadows, cool wood- 
 lands, where the fanning zephyrs are early laden with the fra- 
 grant bloom-breath of the sugar maple and later with the 
 odor of the blossoms of the stately bass-wood, — and whose 
 season of activity embraces every " shining hour " of the 
 golden summer time. 
 
 I have seasons hours of richest enjoyment, as, in the pleas- 
 ant company of the dearest one on earth, on some bright 
 vernal day, I have wandered over my sweet fields, — those 
 same sunny fields which, even as I write, stretch under my 
 eye away to the distant highway on the east, — and looked 
 eagerly for our graceful, bright-ringed Itahans on every pre- 
 cocious, though modest, white clover-head, — and felt a 
 thousand-fold repaid when we had so found one of them — 
 the darlings ! And sweet, sweet has been the music of the 
 "numerous choir" from the nectar-stored hive, which has 
 greeted my ear on many a pleasant ramble through my 
 beaver-meadows and forest-glades, when the axillary blos- 
 soms of the mint have attracted, and the leaves of the plant 
 have all-concealed the busy musicians ! 
 
 Oakfields, thou hast, indeed, proved thyself a land flow- 
 ing with milk and honey ! and thou art dear, therefore, to 
 the heart that dictates this inscription to thee ! and the benefi- 
 cent kine — the gentle, mild-eyed. Shorthorn grades — which 
 have converted the rich juices of thy sweet tender grasses 
 and fragrant clovers into the one, and the blessed, dainty 
 insect which collects from thy fairy flower-cups freely for my 
 use, the other, do I celebrate in this my paean ! 
 
 So many lovely things are given for our enjoyment on this 
 sweet e^Tf.h '. Birds with soulful voices, exquisitely-dyed 
 
AND M4.N- SO DULL! 45*7 
 
 flowers witli honeyed fragrance, musically mummring bees 
 and otter insects, trees, sparkling running- waters, or placid 
 ponds, rainbows, stars, sunsets, cloud-curtains, evening zeph- 
 yrs, dews, grasses, — and we — ah, so bhnd, deaf and dull of' 
 all perception ! But a full chapter were not too much for ai 
 consideration of this subject. 
 
 "I have woven shrouds of air 
 In a loom of hurrying light. 
 
 For the trees which blossoms bear, 
 
 And gilded them with sheets of bright; 
 I fall upon the grass like love's first kiss; 
 I make the golden flies and their fine bliss ; 
 
 I paint the hedge-rows in the lane, 
 And clover white and red the pathways bear; 
 
 I laugh aloud in sudden gusts of rain 
 To see the ocean lash himself in air; 
 I throw smooth shells and weeds along the beach. 
 And pour the curling waves far o'er the glossy reach ; 
 Swing birds' nests in the elms, and shake cool moss 
 Along the aged beams, and hide their loss."* 
 
 *Channing : Tlie EartJi-spirit. 
 
MOTTOEg FOR KSiPTER JIM. 
 
 " Lxook how the floor of bjeaven 
 Is thick inlaid ■witl] patine§ of bright gold ; 
 Th)epe'§ rjot th)e §ir)allest orb whicl] fetjou beh)olde8t 
 ^ut in hjis ngotior) like ar) arjgel sings. 
 Still quiriqg to the yourjg-eyed cherubim : 
 Such hapmorjy i§ ir) immoptal souls." 
 
 Shakespeare: Merchant of Venicii, 
 
 "^ wilderrjess of sweets, for J^ature bjere 
 W^antons as ir) her pringe, ar)d plays at -will 
 l^er vipgir) farjcies-" 
 
 Milton : Paradise Lost, BookV. 
 
 " (2orr)e fopth, conge foptlg ! prove all the tinge will gain j 
 Fop JMatupe bids the best and rjevep bids in vain." 
 
 BsiSI JONSOII. 
 
 458 
 
CHAPTER XXXY. 
 
 EAUTIFUL, "beautiful indeed, i& 
 this world of ours, and it is but a 
 portion of a glorious and infinite 
 creation. 
 
 There are a few of us who are 
 endowed with senses and sensibilities. 
 — with bodies and souls — capable, 
 fair opportunity being given, both of 
 perceiving and enjoying a good deal 
 of these things, and of being made^ 
 better, wiser, stronger, yea, every way 
 worthier thereby. 
 
 Just consider what this earth is : 
 A floating, revolving ball in th© 
 ^^ infinitude of space ! 
 
 A beautiful traveller over an endless 
 1 1 xm I 
 
 An ether-borne car impelled by untiring, 
 though invisible steeds, on an endless jour- 
 ney, and carrying innumerable passengers 
 from time unto eternity ! 
 
 The filial daughter of the majestic sun ! Sister of all the 
 circling planets ! Mother of the beauteous, silver-haired 
 moon! Member of a resplendent family of golden-voiced 
 minstrels, moving in grand marches, with glorious harmonies, 
 through the illimitable imiverse of God ! 
 
 " In reason's ear they all rejoice, 
 And utter forth a glorious voice, — 
 Forever singing as they shine 
 The hand that made us is divine! "* 
 
 *Addison. 
 
 459 
 
460 OUR HERITAGE. 
 
 Consider, I say, our heritage : 
 
 The earth, the most beautiful earth, — fitted up in the 
 beginning to be man's perfect home ! Lo, its green conti- 
 nents, and islands! "poured round all," the grand old 
 ocean! its silver-bright lakes and streams! its sweet vicissi- 
 tudes of seasons and of day and night ! its blue sky ! its 
 ever-shifting scenery of clouds ! its rainbows ! its zephyrs 
 its dews 1 its showers ! its storms, grand, terrific, 
 
 "Yet lovely in their strength as is the light 
 Of a dark eye in woman ! "* 
 
 its mountains ! its flowers ! its trees ! its " innumerable life ! " 
 All, all this given to man for his use, his contemplation, his 
 delight ! 
 
 Beautiful, most beautiful 1 
 
 The bright stars are ours, too, — yea, as much, as truly 
 ours as if we were the only intelligent beings in the uni- 
 verse ; — far, far above us are they, ever-burning, golden 
 lamps, — so distant, so serene, — fixed, sublime, eternal ! yet 
 of man how tender ! of earth and its concerns how love- 
 ingly watchful ! f Who but has felt '' the sweet influences 
 of the Pleiades " ? Who would " loose the bands of Orion " ? 
 
 And the moon, — our own blessed orb ! peculiarly our 
 own ! our faithful mild-faced, darling moon ! Surely, surely, 
 * The undevout astronomer is mad "\X 
 
 What numbers innumerable of lovely things are close at 
 hand at all times if we will but look ! Under your foot as 
 you take your next step abroad you will crush a fairy 
 
 *Byron: Childe Sarold. 
 
 f'All lived to me — the tree — the flower — 
 
 To me the murmuring fountain sung; 
 
 What feels not felt, so strong a power 
 
 Of life my life o'er all had flung." 
 
 Schiller, "Wilson's Trans. 
 ^: Young: Night Thoughts. 
 
NATURES STOREHOUSE. 
 
 461 
 
 world of sweetness, beauty and mystery in a single blade of 
 grass ! In the small blossom of that common, and, because 
 common, despised weed you pass unnoticed by, is a perfec- 
 tion of beauty and grace surpassing all that art ever pro- 
 duced I In the dew-drop, in the rainbow, in the snow crys- 
 
 tal is there naught to excite delight and wonder? Yea, 
 Thoreau, we are indeed " rained and snowed on with gems ", 
 
462 WHEREFORE 'f 
 
 ;and it must ever appear to the poetical mind that these 
 lovely things are each the " product of an enthusiasm, the 
 creature of an ecstasy " ! 
 
 Why were flowers created with their perfection of color, 
 their various and exquisite fragrance? Why were the 
 clouds given their innumerable, fleeting, fanciful forms and 
 tints of beauty ? Why the infinitude of graceful shapes of 
 the vegetable creation, — the leaf, the blade, the tendril, tbe 
 spray? Why the eye-delighting curves and lines of the 
 figures of bird and insect, and the musical sounds these tiny 
 ■creatures produce by which the ear is gladdened and the 
 imagination fed ? Why the silver radiance of the moon, — 
 the diamond lustre of the stars, — the golden and glorious 
 effulgence of the sun? Wh}^ was there given to man all 
 these beautiful and lovely things, but that he should con- 
 template them, enjoy them, drink deep of them, and by his 
 •contemplation and enjoyment his soul should be expanded, 
 lifted up, glorified, until he becomes 
 
 "As one who in a silver vision floats, 
 Obedient to the sweep of odorous winds 
 Upon resplendent clouds " ?* 
 
 " Oh, Lord, how mxanifold are thy works ! in wisdom hast 
 thou made them all ! the earth is full of thy riches ! "f 
 
 And shall not all this loveliness-^ this perfection of grace 
 and beauty — and the thought that it has been designed so 
 wisely and so benevolently for his own instruction and hap- 
 piness, teach him 
 
 " To look through nature up to nature's God "1% 
 
 *Shelley, \Psalms, CIV., 24. 
 
 :}:Pope's Essay on Man. 
 
 And Caklyle writes: Oh, could T transport thee direct from the Be- 
 ginnings to the Endings, how were tliy eye-sight unsealed, and thy heart 
 set flaming in the Light-sea of celestial wonder! Thou sawest then 
 that this fair Universe, were it in the meanest province thereof, is in 
 "Very deed the star-domed City trf -God; that through every star, through 
 
NOT IN THE BIBLE ALONE. 463 
 
 Luther, somewhere as beautifully as truthfully says: 
 ** God writes the gospel not in the bible alone ; but in trees, 
 «ind flowers, and clouds, and stars." 
 
 " The harp at Nature's advent strung 
 Has never ceased to play; 
 The song the stars of morning sung 
 Has never died away. 
 
 "And prayer is made, and praise is given 
 By all things near and far; 
 The ocean looketh up to heaven 
 And mirrors every star. 
 
 "Its waves are kneeling on the strand. 
 As kneels the human knee ; — 
 Their white locks bowing to the sand, — 
 The priesthood of the sea! 
 
 " They pour their glittering treasures forth. 
 Their gifts of pearl they bring; 
 And all the listening hills of earth 
 Take up the song they sing. 
 
 '" The green earth sends her incense up 
 From many a mountain shrine; 
 From folded leaf and dewy cup 
 She pours her sacred wine. 
 
 "The mists above the mountain rills 
 Rise white as wings of prayer; 
 The altar-curtains of the hills 
 Are sunset's purple air. 
 
 "The winds with hymns of praise are loud, 
 Or low with sobs of pain, — 
 The thunder-organ of the cloud, 
 The droppings of the rain. 
 
 "With drooping head and branches crossed, 
 The twilight forest grieves, 
 Or speaks in tongues of pentecost 
 From all its sun- lit leaves. 
 
 •every grass-blade, and most through every Living Soul, the glory of a 
 present God still beams. But Nature, which is the Time-vesture of God, 
 and reveals him to the wise, hides him fiom the foolish." — Sartor 
 Besartus, Book 3, Chap VIII. 
 
464 NATURE'S WORSHIP. 
 
 "The blue sky is the temple's arch, 
 Its transept, earth and air; 
 The music of its starry march. 
 The chorus of a prayer. 
 
 " So nature keeps the reverent frame 
 "With which its years began, 
 And all her signs and voices shame 
 The prayerless heart of man."* 
 
 I feel that I liave not, heretofore, loved nature as I ought, 
 or rather that I have been so cowardly and so weak that I 
 have allowed myself to be drawn too much away from her ; 
 and I believe that had I lived closer to her it would have 
 rendered my life a fuller, happier, and a more profitable 
 one.f I know that I have not sinned in this kind so much 
 or so deeply as many others ; and my heart is sick when I 
 think of the narrow and unwholesome lives lived by grand- 
 souled creatures, who have never broken away from the 
 sordid ties which have held them in thrall to mammon, or 
 fashion, and who will go down to the tomb, dwarfed and 
 crippled things — ■ half developed — who have been content 
 to creep where they might have walked erect, — to grovel 
 when to soar was in their power. 
 
 " He hath made everything beautiful in his time; also, he 
 hath set the world in their hearts so that no man can find 
 out the work that God maketh from beginning to end.":]: 
 
 Shall I not do a service to my kind if, in the language of 
 
 *Whittier. 
 
 f" And hark, how blithe the throstle sings, 
 He, too, is no mean preacher; 
 Come forth into the light of things, — 
 Let Nature be your teacher. 
 
 She has a world of ready wealth 
 Our minds and hearts to bless; 
 Spontaneous wisdom breathed by health, 
 Truth breathed by cheerfulness." 
 
 Wordsworth : Nature, 
 XEcclesiastes, III, 11. 
 
AWAKi;, YE THAT SLEEP. 465 
 
 Coleridge, I shall be able bj effort of mine to awaken in 
 some of these "the mind's attention to the lethargy of cus- 
 tom, * * to the loveliness and wonders of the world 
 before us ; an inexhaustable treasure, but for which, in con- 
 sequence of the film of familiarity and selfish solicitude, we 
 have eyes yet see not, and ears that hear not, and hearts 
 that neither feel nor understand " ?* 
 
 "What fatuity is this — or is it rather a fatality ? — that 
 binds us mortals down to the service of fashion and conven- 
 tion ? Alas, we have caught from the world the maxim, 
 " Money answereth all things ! " f "We would be wealthy, 
 forsooth, to be respectable, influential, distinguished. And 
 we must pay the price. 
 
 "The horseman serves the horse, 
 The neatherd serves the neat, 
 The merchant serves the purse, 
 The eater serves his meat ; 
 'Tis the day of the chattel, 
 Web to weave and corn to grind ; 
 Things are in the saddle. 
 And ride mankind! 
 There are two laws discrete. 
 Not reconciled, — 
 Law for man and law for thing; 
 The last builds town and fleet, — 
 But it runs wild,— 
 And doth the man unking. ":j: 
 
 This is the age of gold : 
 
 "Gold! gold! gold! gold! 
 Bright and yellow, hard and cold."§ 
 
 Gold we must and will have, forgetting that it is written 
 that "he that maketh haste to be rich shall not be inno- 
 cent".! And, of itself, what is this wealth we covet? 
 
 *Biograp1iia Literaria, Chap. XV. ]Ecclesiastes, X, 19. 
 
 ■JEmerson: 0(Ze io Channing. §Hood. ||Pro®. XXVIII, 20. 
 
 30 
 
466 'tis pitiful. 
 
 " 'Tis pitiful ", says Emerson, " the things by which we 
 are rich or poor, — a matter of coins, coats, carpets ; a little 
 more or less stone, or wood, or paint, — the fashion of a 
 cloak or hat ; like the luck of the naked Indians, of whom 
 one is proud in the possession of a glass bead, or red feather, 
 and the rest miserable in the want of it."* 
 
 We are all forced to confess it ; but we do not all possess 
 the courage of our convictions. How brave was he, the 
 poet-hermit of Walden ! Here was one, if such there ever 
 were, who nobly dared be free. He declared that he went 
 to his hermitage beside the little pond because he "wished to 
 live deliberately ", to " front only the essential facts of life ", 
 and to see if he " could not learn what it had to teach " ; not 
 desiring, when he came to die, to discover that he had not lived If 
 
 With what a whole-hearted affection did this man regard 
 nature. It does one good to read his pages where this glow- 
 ing sentiment has inspired his pen. " It is as sweet a mystery 
 to me as ever what this world is," he writes. His heart and 
 his books are full of this. " There is a sweet world," he 
 somewhere poetically says, " which lies along the strains of 
 the wood-thrush, the rich intervales which border the stream 
 of his song, more thoroughly genial to my nature than any 
 other." 
 
 The life of Wordsworth has always seemed to me one 
 fraught with beauty, beneficence, and happiness. "He was 
 a poet, and a wise and good one ; " a man sent with a mission 
 to men ; and how well did he fulfill it ! He possessed the 
 requisite faith and courage to live the right life, — to be true 
 to his instincts ; and the world is better because he lived ! 
 How noble, indeed, the sweet and simple life led by this 
 modest, unassuming man in his rural home at Eydal Mount ! 
 How blessed he, 
 
 " Who had faith in God and Nature, "^: 
 
 *Essays, Works and Days. \ Walden. 
 
 fLONGFELLOW. 
 
THINGS I LOVE. 467 
 
 and made it manifest in a way that we every-day men, 
 cravens and traitors to our own better selves and interests, 
 dare not do !* 
 
 Is it for me who love the covert, the breath, and the leaf- 
 tinted light of the boundless woods, the murmur of the 
 brooks, the smiling ponds and pools which image heaven, 
 " TLe rushing of great rivers," 
 
 the hum of insects, the song of " nature's minstrels ", the 
 sweet grass, and every tree, shrub and herb, — the sight and 
 sound of everything wild and free, — and all the delightful 
 odors of wood and field, and that of the good earth itself, — 
 the grateful fragrance of the lovely forest flowers, seeming 
 like the ofierings of blessed spirits, — the fairy birds, flitting 
 from spray to spray under the wide canopy of the leaves, — 
 
 — the cuckoo's lone call, — the drumming of the partridge, 
 
 — the squirrel chattering in the wilds, with mischievous eyes 
 and impish pranks, — the wavering flight of the "painted 
 butterfly ", — the fresh-breathed, verdant fields, with all that 
 there inhabit, — the mellow lowing of the kine, — the free- 
 blowing winds, — the bellowing thunder and the sword-like 
 lightning, — the dew and the shower, — the roseate dawn, — 
 the golden sunset, — the hills, "the everlasting hills", and 
 mighty mountains, those 
 
 " Dread ambassadors from earth to Heaven! " — f 
 
 the blue dome above, — the light-rolling clouds, and the 
 dark-featured storm-cloud, — the moon, "burning with a pale 
 
 *The two men last named were of that small number strong enough 
 and wise enough to observe, in the ordering of their lives, the sage 
 counsel of Sir Thomas Browne : 
 
 "Though the world be histrionical," observes our quaint author, 
 " and most men live ironically, yet be thou what thou singly art, and 
 personate only thyself. Swim smoothly in the stream of thy nature, 
 and live but one man. To smgle hearts doubling is discruciating; such 
 tempers must sweat to dissemble, and prove but hypocritical hypo- 
 crites." — Ghristian Morals, Part III, Sec. 20. 
 
 f Coleridge: Hymn to Mi. Blanc. 
 
468 MORAL COURAGE. 
 
 flame ", — the glowing stars 
 ■wliich. look down upon man 
 as if they loved him ! — is it for me, I repeat,, 
 who love all these things with a love that some- 
 times becomes passionate and almost over- 
 mastering, to linger in the dry and dusty 
 haunts of men, and continue the tasteless pursuits of 
 the town, — among, and forced while there to be one of 
 
 " The petty fools * * * 
 
 Who shriek and sweat in pigmy wars, 
 Before the stony face of lime, 
 And looked at by the silent stars! "* 
 
 What a gift is moral courage ! How few possess it ! How 
 many can you, oh, you who read this page ! enumerate at. 
 this moment among your acquaintances who are gifted with 
 this quality in an eminent degree ? How few are there of 
 such among the writers of the books we read ! How few, 
 indeed, among historical personages ! 
 
 Burns, I think, possessed this quality ; it is breathed in 
 every line of the following : 
 
 ' ' Is there for honest poverty 
 
 That hings his head and a' that? 
 The coward slave, we pass him by, — 
 We dare be poor for a' that? 
 For a' that, and a' that, 
 Our toil's obscure, and a' that; 
 The rank is but the guinea's stamp, — 
 The man's the gowd for a' that I 
 
 " What though on hamely fare we dine, 
 Wear hodden gray, and a' that? 
 Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine,, 
 A man's a man for a' that! 
 For a' that, and a' that, 
 Their tinsel show, and a' that; 
 The honest man, though e'er sae poor,, 
 Is king o' men for a' that! " 
 
 *Tennyson. 
 
BUIIJ^S, THOREAU, AND OTHER EXAMPLES. 469 
 
 Here, again, was a man who dared follow the bent of his 
 own genius, live the life he loved, and utter his own manly- 
 thoughts ! Who at this day, with a full sense of the circum- 
 stances and surroundings of the writer of that glorious poem 
 at the date of its production, can read it through, albeit for 
 the one hundredth time, without tears ! 
 
 Thoreau was equally brave, and his " What is man is all 
 in all ; nature nothing but as she draws him out and reflects 
 him," is a noble piece of self-assertion. Wordsworth pos- 
 sessed wonderful moral courage, as I have before noted, and 
 was such a one, had his character lacked this essential attri- 
 bute, as would never have accomplished any worthy work in 
 the world. 
 
 Each of these poets wa^ great enough to dare to 
 
 •' Bend his practice to his prayer, 
 And, following his mighty heart, 
 Shame the times and live apart! "* 
 
 Of men in other walks of life, Dr. Johnson — whom I 
 could never bring myself to regard as a poet — was one of 
 the most gifted of men in this quality of moral courage; 
 and it was this moral quality, coupled with his confessedly 
 great mental endowments, which enabled him during his era 
 to so dominate the intellectual world. Pericles, among the 
 Greeks, was undoubtedly a gifted man in respect of this 
 moral quality. Wonderful was its development in old 
 Socrates ! What would Luther have been without it ? 
 George Washington, whose name is held in reverence by 
 liberty-loving people of a thousand languages, and whose 
 sacred tomb will remain a shrine to be visited by reverent 
 pilgrims from the world's ends, while the name of freedom 
 wakes an echo in human hearts, is an example of a person 
 whose character, ennobled by the presence of this quality in 
 an unusual degree, shed a luster over the cause of his coun- 
 
 *Emerson: The Poet. 
 
470 TOMB OF WASHINGTON — IS THERE HOPE? 
 
 try in its struggle for indeDendence, and brightened all tlie 
 age in which he lived ! 
 
 Every one of these great men, each according to his gift, 
 pursued the path of life marked out by nature, undeterred 
 by the sneers or the menaces of the opposers. 
 
 Thank Heaven that moral courage is a quality capable of 
 development by cultivation ! But it is sad to reflect that 
 the influences of modern civilization do not all tend to favor 
 that development. A greed of wealth, an ambition of shin- 
 ing, a distrust of the value of the objects of mental and 
 moral culture, — ^11 these mark this age, even as they have 
 marked the ages which preceded. But, perhaps there is prom- 
 ise of improvement, as the genial optimists believe. Per-' 
 haps we are nearer than ever to the time that Burns foresaw : 
 
 "Then let us pray that come it may, 
 As come it will, for a' that, 
 That sense and worth o'er all the earth 
 Shall bear the gree for a' that! " 
 
 Coming to the end of the year I find myself ever deeply 
 regretful that I have not given more time to observing, 
 
THE NEW SPRING. 
 
 471 
 
 reflecting upon, and enjoying the wondrous things of the 
 
 rich and varied stores of nature's magazine ! So much have 
 
 I missed ; so little of all have I caught ! 
 
 Consider the phenomena presented by the change of the 
 
 seasons : 
 
 In the new spring the first appearance of green at the bot- 
 tom of the brook, — the coming of the willow-pussies, — 
 the starting of the bud — the reddening, the growing 
 green, and then the bursting thereof in the sunlight, — the 
 opening upon the sunny knoll of the first violet — that 
 " wee earth-born star " — that delicate forest-waif with scented 
 breath and " look so like a smile ", — the growth of the 
 graceful leaf and the grass-blade, — the gradual unfolding 
 of the apple-blossom ! Ah, one should spend, the whole 
 season of the apple-bloom in the orchard ! Neither day nor 
 
 night should he dare quit his post ! Oh, the delicious fra- 
 grance, the heavenly tints of the generous bloom! Lo, 
 the flitting birds, delirious with joy, making earth ring with 
 their music, — the thousand and one voices of busy and 
 happy insects, conspicuous when the morning damp has dis- 
 appeared, the hum of millions of busy bees, — the sweet 
 new grass underneath — the diamond dew-drops thereoa 
 
472 FEATURES OF THE FOREST. 
 
 pendent in the rosy morn as the great sun appears in all his 
 splendor of golden flame, — the deepening blue of the sky 
 which succeeds, — the soft breezes ! — all these, 
 
 " Oh, how can you renounce and hope to be forgiven! " 
 
 Peculiarly, at this sweet vernal season, 
 
 " There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,"* 
 
 more wholesome, sweeter, more profound, and more lasting 
 than any I have ever found in the giddy amusements and 
 excitements incident to town life.f 
 
 The whole vast forest now, consciously as it seems, and 
 joyously, is undergoing its new resurrection ! On every 
 spray and bough are signs of renewed life, in color or in 
 form. There are a multitude of glad voices — vegetable 
 voices — "soft and soul-like sounds ",:{: heard by the close- 
 listening ear of the poet and the lover of nature, and a thous- 
 and delicate odors are perceptible. 
 
 The whole heart is filled with these things, and the feel- 
 ings grown tender, the bosom surcharged causes the eyes 
 often to overflow with tears of gladness, love, and gratitude. 
 The sweet echoes are close at hand now, and from their 
 lurking places in the dim caverns of the old woods, they 
 quickly and joyously repeat the "cheep" of the frog, the 
 carol of the bird, the hum of the bee, the gurgle of the rill, 
 or your own exclamation of surprise or delight. 
 
 What would nature be without the birds ? With us the 
 
 *Bykon: Childe Harold. 
 
 \" One impulse from a vernal wood 
 May teach you more of man. 
 Of moral evil and of good 
 Than all the sages can ! " 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 :t:C0LERir)GE: Hymn to Mt. Blanc. 
 And Keats has this couplet: 
 
 " A little noiseless noise among the leaves, 
 Born of the very sigh that silence heaves.' 
 
MUSICAL CREATURES — LATER SPRING. 473 
 
 robin whicli " loves mankind alive or dead ",* the meadow- 
 lark, that glad spirit with plumage of "heaven's own hue" 
 and voice angelic, and that whistler of merry catches the red- 
 thrush, — are among the most conspicuous, and certainly the 
 most welcome of our early songsters. Then later we have 
 the sparrow, the bob-o-link — " harlequin of the fields ", the 
 linnet, the epauleted black-bird, the yellow-bird, the oreole, 
 the social little wren, the pewee, martins, swallows, and vari- 
 ous others, among which we must not forget that musical 
 voice of the night, the whip-poor-will. 
 
 But it is not the birds alone which make the spring. We 
 must have the frogs first, then the tree-frogs, and the 
 toads, — yea, the toads, — the honest, harmless, musical toads ! 
 Among our early musicians we must not miss the " honey- 
 bees, God bless 'em " !f the wild bees, and the flies that love 
 the " sunny spots of greenery ". This were a sad world to 
 lose even its insect voices ! And, oh, the sweet-souled flow- 
 ers ! Old earth would never smile again were she bereaved 
 ■of these, her starry-eyed darlings ! 
 
 In later spring all is progress, and redundant life ! The 
 leaves, of myriads of graceful fonns, have clothed the forest- 
 frame in a garb of emerald hue, of varying tints, and all of 
 transcendent beauty. The new tendrils of the vines are 
 clinging to the " barky fingers of the elm ", a wealth of bloom 
 and fragrance is everywhere. The busy birds, "happy as 
 the days are long", are "setting up house-keeping" in curi- 
 ously contrived nests, or already brooding, with their pretty, 
 ■consequential airs, upon their tiny eggs of every delicate tint. 
 All is glad life and liberty in green fields and whispering 
 woods. 
 
 Now comes summer — leafy summer — summer with her 
 roses! summer with her thousand, thousand out-of-door 
 •charms! Vigorous vegetable growths are on every hand. 
 
 *IsAAC Walton: The Complete Angler. 
 -[•Christopher North. 
 
474 
 
 A WILD MEADOW IN SUM3IEB. 
 
 .^-^t::^ 
 
STJiniEB, AUTUMN, WINTER. 475 
 
 The fields are richly dight with growing grain and grass, 
 gemmed with flowers, and fragrant with the breath of red and 
 white clover. The pastures present a festive scene, with 
 skipping lambkins and sportive calves and colts. Young 
 birds, escaped from the nest, are essaying the use of their 
 wings, while their anxious parents flutter about them. The 
 cool shade of the trees is inviting, and field and forest are 
 still musical with bird-notes and the humming of the bee. 
 Summer! with its new generations of animals, its abounding 
 and joyous life everywhere, its Eden-like nights, blest with 
 mild moonlight or golden starlight, its " incense-breathing " 
 mornings, ushered in by the bird-choir, its deep blue skies 
 and fleecy clouds, its sweet showers, its sunsets, closing long 
 bright days, like benedictions, and its promise of rich 
 harvests. 
 
 Autumn, golden-crowned autumn follows. Indian-sum- 
 mer days, inviting out the sportsman, the naturalist, the poet, 
 are now. Long twilights succeed afternoons of azure haze ; 
 delicious evenings, calm, cool nights follow. Now begin to 
 appear signs of nature's decay, and a pleasurable, pensive 
 feeling takes possession of each breast. Anon visible to the 
 eye becomes a surprising, a miraculous change in the land- 
 scape • the entire forest doffs its green and dons its autumn 
 suit, '' tinged with a thousand dyes " Nature riots in bril- 
 liant colors. These, too, are the days of purple and golden 
 fruitage, and rich harvests are garnered — the fulfillment of 
 the spring and summer prophecies ! Pleasant is it to ramble 
 through field and wood, and feel renewed vigor of limb and 
 freshness of soul. These promise, or seem to promise, that 
 we shall survive this decay of nature, and give us intima- 
 tions of immortality ! 
 
 Old winter follows — rough, but kindly — with his superb 
 frost-etchings, his myriad-formed delicate snow-crystals, his 
 ice-gems, iridescent and of a thousand devices, his bright, 
 bright stars, burning planets, and moon whose radiance, like 
 
476 FEATURES OF WINTER — A QUESTION. 
 
 ^^S molten silver, fills the heavens to over- 
 
 ^' ^^ff _ flowing and floods all the earth ! 
 
 " Now glowed the firmament 
 With living sapphires; Hesperus that led 
 The starry hosts, rode brightest, till the moon, 
 Rising in clouded majesty, at length, 
 Apparent queen, unveiled her peerless light, 
 And o'er the dark her silver mantle threw." 
 
 Winter has his bright auroral displays, 
 in beauty surpassing dreams of fairy- 
 land ; his storms sublime, wrestling 
 with the old woods, torturing the naked 
 and writhing giants thereof, and threat- 
 ening their overthrow. His glooms 
 are black in the dense hemlock and 
 pine forests, but finely relieved by the 
 fitful sunshine upon the snow that 
 burdens their boughs. How invigorat- 
 ing the tempestuous breath of his giant 
 lungs! Not without beauty in his 
 every aspect, nor unfitted to teach 
 heroic lessons to all who love him, is 
 grand, hoary, benevolent old winter. 
 
 Can adequate excuse be devised for 
 the further lingering in the town of one 
 who has learned that he can enjoy more 
 — live more life — in a ramble of a few 
 hours duration on a bright spring after- 
 noon by some woodside green, than in 
 a whole year of that other existence — 
 to him by all comparison a life in 
 death ? When we feel that with nature 
 we are at home, and that, absent from 
 her, we are astray — lost, — should we 
 not, as in duty bound to make the 
 most of the gifts vouchsafed us, aim to 
 
 u ?^ >li 
 
 ^Z' 
 
LIVE TOUR OWN LIFE. 
 
 4;7 
 
 live the life nearest 
 nature, — in other 
 
 words, TO LIVE OUR 
 OWN LIFE? 
 
 Not forgetting our 
 obligations to society, 
 failing not in any so- 
 cial or civil duty, 
 keeping in mind, too, 
 that there are other 
 and important means 
 of culture, that litera- 
 ture, science, art, may 
 well serve as alternate 
 studies, and demand 
 a due proportion of 
 our attention, still 
 may we not so order 
 our lives, — nay, is it 
 not our imperative 
 duty so to order them, 
 — that the opportu- 
 nity, the leisure, may 
 be had for that so- 
 journing with nature, 
 that meditation upon 
 and enjoyment of her 
 works in which we 
 find our purest and 
 most delicious pleas- 
 ure, and by which 
 we feel our mental and moral natures are best developed ? 
 
 " Whoso walks in solitude 
 And inhabiteth the wood. 
 Choosing light, wave, rock, and bird, 
 Before the money-loving herd, 
 
 "WINTER IN THE WOODS, 
 
478 WITAT' DOES IT ALL MEAN? 
 
 Into the forester shall pass 
 
 From these companions, love and grace. 
 
 Clean shall he be without, within, 
 
 From the old adhering sin, 
 
 All ill dissolving in the light 
 
 Of his triumphant, piercing sight: 
 
 Not vain, sour, or frivolous ; 
 
 Not mad, athirst, or garrulous; 
 
 Grave, chaste, contented, though retired, 
 
 And of all other men desired. 
 
 On him the light of star and moon 
 
 Shall look with purer radiance down; 
 
 All constellations of the sky 
 
 Shed their virtues through his eye."* 
 
 " I wonder wliat it all means ? " murmured my sweet 
 friend, as we were driving along a country highway, one 
 pleasant summer evening, some years ago. Starting from a 
 reverie at the sound of her gentle voice, I saw that her eyes 
 were fixed dreamily upon a moss-rose held in her hand. 
 
 " What all what means? " I queried abruptly. 
 
 " All this beauty," she made answer. 
 
 Her exclamation chimed in a singular manner with my 
 
 thought, for I had been gazmg at the clouds above the set- 
 
 ing sun. At that time, I simply quoted in reply these 
 
 lines from Keats : 
 
 " Beauty is truth, truth beauty, — that is all 
 Ye mortals know on earth, and all ye need to know."-)- 
 
 But I have since recalled that simple episode a thousand 
 times.:}: 
 
 *Emerson: Wood Notes. j; On a Grecian Urn. 
 
 ijlWoRDSWOBTH declares of poor Peter Bell that, 
 \ "A primrose by the river's brim, 
 A yellow primrose was to him, 
 And it was nothing more." . 
 There are numerous Peter Bells in the world. 
 
 "Oh, the Bells, Bells. Bells!" 
 These are they whom Carlyle thus apostrophizes: 
 "Thou wilt have no Mystery nor Mysticism; wilt walk through 
 
SUMMER SUNSET. 
 
 479 
 
480 TRUTH AND BEAUTY. 
 
 " Then I said, ' I covet truth; 
 
 Beauty is unripe, childhood's cheat — 
 I leave it behind with the games of youth' 
 
 As I spoke, beneath my feet 
 The ground-pine curled its pretty wreath, 
 
 Kunning over the club-moss burrs; 
 I inhaled the violet's breath ; 
 
 Around me stood the oaks and firs: 
 Pine cones and acorns lay on the ground; 
 Over me soared the eternal sky. 
 Full of life and of Deity, 
 Again I saw, again I heard, 
 The rolling river, the morning bird ; 
 Beauty through my senses stole — 
 I yielded myself to the perfect whole."* 
 
 Depend upon it all this beauty of the physical universe — 
 and as comprehensive as that did I understand to be the 
 significance of the lady's observation — all this marvelous 
 beauty, grace, grandeur, and sublimity which we perceive or 
 may perceive in the natural objects about us mean something 
 for you and for me !f 
 
 Come let us bathe our souls in these divine influences, 
 hearken to those spirit-like voices, reflect upon and wonder 
 
 the world by the sunshine of what thou callest Truth, or even by the 
 hand-lamp of what I call Attorney- Logic; and explain all, " account for 
 all ", or believe nothing of it Nay, thou wilt attempt laughter; who 
 so recognizes the unfathomable, all-pervading domam of Mystery, 
 which is everywhere under our feet, and among our hands, to whom 
 the Universe is an Oracle and a Temple, as well as a kitchen and a cat- 
 tle-stall, — he shall be a delirious mystic; to him thou, with sniffing 
 charity, wilt protrusively proifer thy hand-lamp, and shriek as one 
 injured when he kicks his foot through it — Sartor Besartus: Book 1, 
 Chap X, 
 
 *Emekson: Each and all. 
 
 fBeautifuUy indeed has this thought been expressed by the Psalmist. 
 
 "When I consider thy heavens the work of thy fingers, the moon 
 and the stars which thou hast ordained. 
 
 '' What is man that thou art mmdful of him, and the son of man 
 that thou visitest him? 
 
 "For thou hast made him a little lower than the angels, and hast 
 crowned him with glory and honor. 
 
LET US SEEK TO LEARN. 481 
 
 at* these physical manifestations of power, wisdom, and 
 beneficence, and shall we not learn from them and their 
 most mysterious and beautiful relation to what is best in us> 
 to adore their maker and our own ! 
 
 ' ' Therefore am I still 
 A lover of the meadows and the woods 
 And mountains, and all that we behold 
 From this green earth; of all the mighty world 
 Of eye and ear, — both what they half create 
 And half perceive; well pleased to recognize 
 In nature and the language of the sense, 
 The anchor of my purest thoughts, the nurse, 
 The guide, the guardian of my heart and soul. 
 Of all my moral being ! "f 
 
 "Thou made him to have dominion over the works of thy hand; 
 thou hast put all things under his feet ; all sheep and oxen, yea, and 
 the beasts of the field, the fowls of the air, and the fish of the sea, and 
 whatsoever passeth through the paths of the sea." — Psalm VIII, 3 to 8. 
 
 * ' Wonder is the basis of worship ; the reign of wonder is perennial, 
 indestructible in man." — Carltlb. 
 
 f Wordsworth: Excursion. 
 
 31 
 
M0TT0E2 FOR CHAPTER IIIYI. 
 
 " WV)er)evep fcl^e last tpurrjp shall sound, I -will ppegegd 
 imyself before tVje govereigr) Judge -with thi§ book ig my 
 t)aqd, ar)d loudly proclairrj : T^h)us bjave I acted ; tl^ege 
 ■w^ere ngy thougbjtg ; such was I." 
 
 Rousseau : Confassions. 
 
 *' J^ere or) tl^e market cross aloud I cry : 
 I, 1, l! I itself I ! 
 
 The form and the substar|ce, tbje what arjd the "svl-jy, 
 T^l^e -wljen and ttje w^here, the low and tlje ^jigh, 
 T^l^e in§ide ar|d outside, the earth aqd the sky, 
 I, you and b)e, arjd hje you and I, 
 ^11 soul§ ar)d all bodies are I itself I ! " 
 
 Burlesque of Fichte'S Philosophy. 
 
 "Vhjis I tjas two qualities : It is unjust in itself, in ttjat 
 
 it makes itself the center of everytljing : It is aq agnoy 
 
 ance to otljers. in tbjat it would serve itself by their). Hacb) 
 
 I is the erjemy arjd w^ould be the tyrarjt of all othjers.' 
 
 Pascal: Pensees. 
 
 482 
 
CHAPTER 
 
 lis a hard and a nice subject 
 for a man to write of himself; 
 it grates his heart to saj any- 
 thing of disparagement, and the 
 reader's ears to hear anything of 
 praise of him." 
 
 So wrote the poet Cowley, a 
 very good man, a tolerably sen- 
 sible, if a rather self-conscious 
 and vain one. Now, as for the 
 author of this book, when he 
 has anything to say of himself, 
 good, bad, or indifferent, why, 
 he just blurts it right out, with- 
 out stopping to consider the con- 
 sequences so far as regards his 
 own feelings or those of his 
 neighbor. He is at this time 
 aware of certain things he has revealed which betray his pos- 
 session of weaknesses ; he may have been beguiled by egotism 
 or vatiity (for he frankly avows that these are failings of his) 
 into boasting of qualities, talents, &c., which he does not 
 own ; but if he have made false claims ot any sort it has 
 been through an honest mistake. He has ever assented to 
 the teaching of Solomon that "whoso boasteth himself of 
 a false gift is like clouds and wind without rain ", — a decep- 
 tive and unprofitable blusterer. Never in a single instance 
 has he intended to deceive the reader, desiring nothing so 
 
 483 
 
484 MY RULE FOR AUTOBIOORAPHERS. 
 
 mucli as to deal witti strict honesty and justice by all with 
 whom he has relations — himself included ! 
 
 ' ' Who dares think one thing and another tell, 
 My heart detests him as the gates of hell."* 
 
 It is true that as I understand the duty of an autobiographic- 
 author, while he should in every statement exercise the 
 utmost care to give the exact truth so far as he goes, I should 
 find much difficulty in agreeing that he is bound to go as- 
 far as witnesses in our courts of justice are sworn to do, to- 
 wit : "To tell the truth, the whole truth^ and nothing but 
 the truth ". To tell the truth so far as one goes, and nothing 
 but the truth, would strike me as the better formula to be 
 observed by writers of histories like this which employs my 
 pen ; — unless, indeed, beyond this point, a little latitude for 
 embellishment, merely, which possibly would result in advan- 
 tage to all concerned, might be allowed the imaginative 
 author. 
 
 I am free to acknowledge, however, that the question here 
 started of "latitude for embellishment " is one difficult of 
 decision. The privilege would be one liable to abuse in the 
 hands of a careless writer, and the degrees of latitude it might 
 be impossible to limit, once the license were granted. Still 
 an author has to answer for his offenses in this kind at the 
 bar of public opinion as well as to his conscience ; and the 
 dishonest one would learn anon that he could not sin with 
 impunity ; for is it not written that " His mischief shall 
 return upon his own head, and his violent dealings [with 
 truth] shall come down upon his own pate"'.f 
 
 But in looking over the long and somewhat tortuous route 
 pursued hitherto by the reader and writer of these sentences 
 in company, I am persuaded that I must be acquitted of 
 all suspicion of grievous sinning either in the way of self- 
 glorification or self-screening, thus far. I am aware that 
 
 •"Pope's Iliad, Book IX, 412 and 413. \Psalm VIII, 16. 
 
MY CASE — AN ILLUSTBATION. 485 
 
 Shakespeare somewhere says: "The web of our life is a 
 mingled yarn, good and ill together ; our virtues would be 
 proud if our faults whipped them not; and our crimes 
 would despair if they were not cherished by our virtues." 
 "While assenting in a general way to these dicta of an author- 
 ity too high to be idly questioned, I beg leave to submit 
 that in a close examination of self, made since I began this 
 •chapter, I perceive but few things worse in my disposition, 
 habits, &c., than I have either already confessed, or design to 
 .admit further along, when I shall have reached the proper 
 place; whereas, on the other hand, I think I see certain 
 "things about me which others have never yet discovered, or 
 discovering, have failed to mention in my hearing, and some 
 •of these, too, matters to be very proud of — to boast of, I 
 ■came very near saying — of which I have not yet spoken, 
 •do not intend to speak at this writing, nor yet to mention in 
 any future chapter of this book, — unless, indeed, as one 
 might imagine the case, I should be driven thereto by great 
 provocation ! 
 
 To illustrate this last contingency : Supposing that some 
 wicked busy-body, of whose class there are a number believed 
 still to be in existence, observing the care with which I 
 exclude from my pages quotations either from foreign tongues 
 or dead languages, and, mistaking continence for impo- 
 tency, should " rise in his place " and prefer against me the 
 charge of ignorance. "Would it be unseemly, nay, would 
 it not be esteemed a graceful act in me, who have rushed 
 into this realm of letters, and thereby incurred a certain 
 responsibility to such as may have become my disciples — 
 for, whether or not it be true of any particular writer, as is 
 ■declared of certain of the craft by the queer old author of 
 the Anatomy of Melancholy, that it is his end " to get a paper 
 kingdom ", it is quite apparent that that is what many of us 
 do get — to vindicate myself from this malicious aspersion, 
 and hurl back the charge to the teeth of the assaulter? 
 
486 LITTLE LATIN AND LESS GREEK. 
 
 Would it not be incumbent upon me to show by example 
 tbat perchance I, too, at some date in my life, " had been at 
 a great feast of languages, and had stolen the scraps " ? — that 
 citations from French and German authors, in their native 
 tongues, are easy for me, that Spanish quotations are not 
 entirely beyond my attempting, and, that, although, as in the 
 case of the great Shakespeare, and as it likewise was with 
 the master of Abbotsford, and the Ettrick Shepherd,* " little 
 Latin and less Greek " serve me, still it would not be diffi- 
 cult for me to throw together some sentences of the former^ 
 nor quite impossible to patch up for use an odd phrase or two 
 of the latter, — to say nothing of the classic Chippewa 
 tongue, which once I spoke like a very native ? 
 
 I sincerely hope that the charge will never be made 
 against me, that I shall be spared this pain — this provoca- 
 tion — and the necessity it would force upon me of abandon- 
 ing the principle adopted by me at the inception of the task 
 upon which I am now engaged. I am still of the mind of 
 the learned and judicious Sir Thomas Browne, who held it 
 *' an unjust way of compute, to magnify a weak head for 
 some Latin abilities, and to undervalue a solid judgment 
 because he knows not the genealogy of Hector ".f I desire 
 to pander to the taste of no polyglot person. As the 
 erudite author of The Doctor^ c&c, observes: "I write in 
 plain English, innocently, and in the simplicity of my heart. 
 What may be made of it in heathen languages concerneth me 
 not." I write for English readers, and for such alone; — 
 unless, indeed — which appears not so improbable a circum- 
 stance — some scholar, some gifted man or woman, recogniz- 
 ing qualities in this work which, as he (or she) perceives, 
 characterize those productions of all lands and times which 
 
 *"I canna read Homer — except in a Latin translation done into 
 English — the case I suspect wi' mony a one that passes for a sort a* 
 scholar." — Hogg, in Nodes Ambrosiance, XXVIII. 
 
 ^Christian Morals, Pt. II, 4. 
 
GOOD LORD, DELIVER US/ 487 
 
 "men will not willingly let die", shall make translations 
 hereof into foreign tongues. To this, methinks, I could have 
 no reasonable objection. But from that excess of quotation 
 in English books in these latter days, whether in foreign or 
 dead tongues, wherewith the piebald appearance of the fool- 
 ish author reminds one of, as being no better than of a piece 
 with the writer described in Moore's caustic lines, — a scrib- 
 bler who had 
 
 " A rabble of words at command, 
 Scotch, English and slang, in promiscuous alliance "; 
 
 which is learned only in appearance, and the height of impu- 
 dence in essence, good Lord deliver us 1 It is the work of 
 the literary mountebank. The quotations are for the most 
 part, as Emerson declares,* borrowed from former English 
 books, and not gained from the originals at first hand, as the 
 users would have you believe, sometimes garbled and the 
 point lost, mal-apropos^ and always in bad taste, unless, 
 indeed, which fortunately is not often necessary, they be 
 employed — as in the case we have been supposing — by an 
 honest and modest writer, unwillingly and by way of self- 
 vindication, f 
 
 * Essays, Quotation and Originality. 
 
 f The writers whose use it is to affect the pedantic style of composition 
 condemned in this paragraph, are thus satirized by Butleb. Describ- 
 ing his hero, our author says: 
 
 "When he pleased to show't, his speech 
 In loftiness of sound was rich ; 
 A Babylonish dialect. 
 Which learned pedants much affect; 
 It was a parti-colored dress 
 Of patched and piebald languages; 
 'Twas English cut on Greek and Latin, 
 Like fustian heretofore on satin; 
 It had an odd promiscuous tone. 
 As if he talked three tongues in one; 
 Which made some think, when he did gabble. 
 They'd heard three laborers of Babel ; 
 Or Cerberus himself pronounce 
 A leash of languages at once." 
 
 Hudibras, Canto 1, 
 
488 CERTAIN ERUDITE AUTHORS EXCUSED. 
 
 As to the use of quotations made by such writers as 
 Eobert Burton in his Anatomy^ Bacon in those works which 
 he has left written in Enghsh, and the Grascon, Montaigne, in 
 his Essays^ it is defensible both on the ground of necessity and 
 (from the peculiar education of the readers addressed) of com- 
 mon sense. There was little modern literature in the time 
 of Montaigne and Bacon ; the languages used by these two 
 great writers were as yet imperfect ; good translations of the 
 ancients into the vernacular of either author, were not as yet to 
 l)e found ; all persons capable of reading at all read Latin, 
 and many knew Greek, for these two languages, with a little 
 of mathematics and some Aristotelian philosophy, formed the 
 curriculum of study in all the schools and universities. 
 
 I have a good deal of patience with these old worthies, 
 and read them with much pleasure, especially where some 
 scholar of good abilities has done for me the pioneer work, 
 and well translated all the numberless apt quotations. 
 
 For the literary manner of Coleridge* in some of his prose 
 works, as well as for that of those who have aped the great 
 thinker in his worst defects, I have no good word to speak. 
 I have of late been trying to read the Biographia Liieraria, 
 and what with the author's own peculiarities, and what with 
 those worse ones of his editors, very often do I find myself 
 b)ecoming very much exasperated ! The difficult text of the 
 work is sought to be helped out with notes of explanation, 
 then notes explanatory of these explanatory notes, wherein as 
 the progress is downward, all becomes more metaphysical, 
 more involved in a cloud of Greek, German, Latin, French, 
 and Italian quotations, more obscure, more lost to view with 
 each succeeding stage of exegesis, until, were it not that I 
 know the result would be something still more involved and 
 mystical, I could wish as did Byron of a fellow poet, 
 "That they would again explain their explanation ", 
 
 *" Divil the like 'o sic books did I ever see wi' my een beneath the 
 Messed licht! * * TYiq Freen a.n' the Lay Sermons sxq ene\ich. tf> 
 drive ane tae distraction." — Shepherd, in Nodes Ambi-osianoB, XIV. 
 
HOW ABOUT MY OWN? 489 
 
 while I am continually reminded of that saying of Mon- 
 taigne's : " Difficulty is a coin the learned make use of, like 
 jugglers, to conceal the vanity of their art"* 
 
 I doubt not, as I have intimated in a former chapter, that 
 there are some who will censure me for my liberal citations 
 from English writers (for soberly, like the melancholy 
 author of the famous Anatomy ^ I must admit that " that 
 which I have is stolen from others ", at least in great part), 
 and I do not here desire to contend that it is the better way. 
 It was the course marked out when the skeleton of this book 
 was first articulated, and I have not seen fit to depart from 
 the original plan. I have well understood that I should 
 meet the reproach of having uttered 
 
 " Labored nothings in so strange a style" 
 
 as to have 
 
 "Amazed the unlearn'd and made the learned smile ".f 
 
 I cannot say that I am perfectly certain, had I to begin this 
 work again, that I should not pursue a different course. I 
 will confess that I do not so much admire the method of the 
 ancient author and philosopher Chrysippus, who was so much 
 in the habit of quoting, or, rather, copying, from other writers, 
 as to give occasion to the saying of Appolodorus of him, 
 that " should a man cull out of his works all that was none 
 of his, nothing would remain but blank paper ", as I do his 
 antithesis in this respect, Epicurus, who in the whole three 
 hundred books which he left behind him, had not made a 
 citation from a single author. Perhaps either extreme should 
 be avoided, and something like Aristotle's doctrine of the 
 Tnean embraced. 
 
 It should also be borne constantly in mind by the reader as 
 he peruses these pages, that this book is professedly autobio- 
 graphical, and that although the style is familiar, and oft- 
 
 *Essays, Chap. LIV. fPoPE: Essay on Criticism. 
 
490 THIS BOOK AN AUTOBIOGRAOHY. 
 
 times playful, as being an account of the recreations of art 
 easy-going farmer, in the writing whereof, to use the words, 
 of the quaint old Izaak Walton, " I have made myself a rec- 
 reation of a recreation ",* the purpose is none the less defi- 
 nite and fixed, and will be none the less carefully pursued. 
 The importance of the caution lies in this : It is the business 
 of a work like this to delineate the character of the writer ; 
 and as a corollary to that, the more clearly it sets that char- 
 acter out before the mind of the reader, the more perfectly 
 does it accomplish its work. On the contrary, in discourses 
 which treat of the subjects of geology, arithmetic, astronomy, 
 or of any of the other sciences, every allusion therein to the 
 personal habits, tastes, &c, of the author would properly be 
 esteemed an impertinence, and an offensive indication of the 
 great vanity of the writer. 
 
 Biographical in the truest sense of the term the book is 
 intended to be ; and indeed, I might here with propriety and 
 truth set forth in relation to it what Montaigne puts into the 
 preface to his Essays concerning the collection, namely : 
 
 " It was intended for the particular use of my relatives 
 and friends, in order that, when they have lost me, which 
 they must soon do, they may here find some traces of my 
 quality and humor, and may thereby nourish a more entire 
 and lively recollection of me. Had I proposed to court the 
 favor of the world I had set myself out in borrowed beau- 
 ties ; but 'twas my wish to be seen in my simple, natural 
 and ordinary garb, without study or artifice, for 'twas myself 
 I had to paint. My defects will appear to the life in all theu- 
 native form. * * Thus reader you will perceive I am 
 myself the subject of my book."f 
 
 Or, again, perchance the saying of Plutarch regarding his 
 own works might not be inapplicable here : "It was for the 
 sake of others ", he writes, beginning his sketch of the life of 
 
 *The Complete Angler, Introduction. 
 fHAZLiTT's Translation. 
 
WITH PLUTARCH AND MONTAIGNE. 491 
 
 Timoleon, "that I began writing biographies, but I find 
 myself proceeding and attaching myself to it for my own ". 
 Then after a break, he continues : " The virtues of these 
 great men serve me as a looking-glass in which I may see 
 how to adjust and adorn my own life. Indeed it can be 
 compared to nothing but daily living and associating 
 together," 
 
 In terms somewhat similar, I say, might the writer of this 
 biography make confession, as indeed, in the words of 
 another, he has already done, that he commenced this task 
 for the sake of others ; but he may add with no less truth 
 that he finds himself continuing it for his own, and his 
 reason strongly resembles that given by the older writer, 
 viz : He has fallen in love with his subject ! Haply, like- 
 wise, it may result in doing him an equal good, because that 
 may yet be found true in his own case which the Gascon, 
 already so copiously quoted herein, in one of his exceedingly 
 entertaining, if egregiously egotistical essays, claims to have 
 happened to himself from his habit of drawing (unconsci- 
 ously and without meaning to sin) rather flattering pen-por- 
 traits of his hero (to- wit: himself) and that "my book may 
 make me as truly as I make my book ",* as I may, peradven- 
 ture, like the author under discussion, mend my style of liv- 
 ing to make the actual me more nearly conform to the ideal 
 I have conjured up, and hence become both the reformer and 
 the reformed. " 'Tis a consummation devoutly to be 
 wished." 
 
 Precisely, then, is this the "life and opinions" of the 
 writer, which title, perhaps, does not require that I should 
 go back to the date of his birth (and even far beyond and 
 back of that, if one is to follow the precedent of an enter- 
 taining and humorous English authorf) but most certainly 
 something of an account of the writer's present opinions, 
 
 *Montaigne: Essays, Book III, Chap. XIX. 
 f Stebne, in Tristram Shandy. 
 
492 MENSCHLICH-ANECDOTISCHE. 
 
 and sucli a part of his personal history, anecdotally treated^ 
 perhaps, as will best serve to illustrate these opinions, make 
 them interesting to the reader, and, so far as possible, give 
 them force and authority. Perchance the title of " Confes- 
 sions ", in imitation of the great Genevese, Jean Jacques, and 
 of the English Opium Eater, might have been with propri- 
 ety selected for the present work, for it is truly intended 
 that it shall give the lie to the very first sentence of the 
 initial chapter of Eousseau's most celebrated production, 
 which declares that the accomplishment of his book " shall 
 have no successful imitator ". Yes, it shall also be said of 
 these chapters that they have " painted a man in all the integ- 
 rity of nature ".* 
 
 I am gratified to be able to plead good precedent for the 
 method I have pursued in this book, it being none other than 
 that of the gifted author of Sartor Resartus, in whose philos- 
 ophical work we read : 
 
 "But why, says the Holfrath, and indeed say we, do I 
 dilate on the uses of our Teufeldroeckh's Biography ? The 
 great Herr Minister Yon Goethe has penetratingly remarked, 
 that ' Man is properly the only object that interests man '. 
 Thus I too have noted that in Weisnichtwo our whole con- 
 versation is little or nothing else but Biography or Auto- 
 Biography ; ever humano-anecdotical (menschlich-anecdot- 
 ische). Biography is by nature the most universally profit- 
 able, universally pleasant of all things : especially Biography 
 of distinguished individuals." 
 
 Still a little further to quote this eminent authority in 
 support of my present attempt : 
 
 " Of a truth it is the duty of all men, especially of all 
 philosophers, f to record the characteristic circumstances of 
 
 *RoussEAu: Confessions, Book I. 
 
 fWhy it really appears as if the writer of the S. B. must have had 
 the author of this book particularly in view when he penned this par- 
 agraph, doesn't it? 
 
WILL IT FAY? 493 
 
 their education, what furthered, what hindered, what in any 
 way modified it."* 
 
 To all of which matters with my possible of care and punc- 
 tiliousness have I not attended in the present and other 
 chapters of this work ? 
 
 I fancy that at this point I perceive my reader draw back, 
 and, with a weary yawn, propound the query whether it 
 will pay to persevere and finish the work. 
 
 Alas, I know not ! Of course it might appear to me that 
 the ensuing chapters (in common, indeed, with those we 
 have passed) are replete with good things, matters which 
 one could not miss without grevious loss to himself ; but, 
 reflecting upon ^sop's teaching, that even to apes and 
 crows do their own offspring appear lovely, I hesitate to 
 hazard an opinion here. I feel not at all secure that I shall 
 not be blinded by conceit, and so disqualified from deliver- 
 ing a fair criticism of my own performance. And, further, 
 Montaigne avers that he finds it true that men are, com- 
 monly, as wide of the mark in judging of their own works 
 as of those of others, — not only by reason of the kindness 
 they have for them, but for want of capacity to know and 
 distinguish them.f I hold, and here announce, that Sir 
 Thomas More, the gentle author of Utopia, notwithstand- 
 ing his great and acknowledged ingenuousness, in the 
 beginning of the Apology exhibits more self-confidence 
 than I dare claim, and, as I do fear, is a self-deceiver.:|: 
 
 Therefore, dear reader, I repeat, I know not whether to 
 advise you to advance farther, or to retreat with precipita- 
 tion! How do you stand affected now? How has the 
 perusal of the past chapters repaid you for the time and 
 
 *S. B. Book II, Chap. II. ^Essays, Chapter LXXXI. 
 
 X" Good reader, I stand not so well, I thank God, in my own conceit, 
 and thereby so much in my own light, but that I can with equal judg- 
 ment, and an even eye, behold both myself and my own." — Sir 
 Thomas More : The Apology. 
 
494 FORWARD then: 
 
 patience expended upon them? How runs your pulse? 
 What is the general state of your health ? Do you keep 
 your appetite ? 
 
 I might say here, for your encouragement, that I do not 
 think it probable that anything will creep into subsequent 
 chapters which will be much worse than certain matters we 
 have already met ; but, on the other hand, I cannot make 
 you a promise, with any degree of certainty of its fulfill- 
 ment, that aught better than the best we have had will be 
 found. On the whole, then, if at this early hour you are 
 already half-disheartened, it will be better to " stop the pro- 
 cession," and for all time ! 
 
 What! No? Well, forward then ; but from this time on 
 remember that yours is the responsibility and the risk ! 
 
 I will conclude this chapter with a sublime passage from 
 the Religio Medici of Sir Thomas Browne, — a passage which 
 may, with some, justify various positions assumed by the 
 author in the present and some preceding chapters, with cer- 
 tain processes of thought of which they were the fruit in him, 
 while they stir similar trains of reflection in the reader, 
 which may fructify differently ; and with others it will 
 make compensation for the lack in interest and solidity 
 which they may have discovered in what has gone before. 
 The erudite doctor discourses as follows : 
 
 "The world I regard is myself; it is the microcosm of 
 my own frame that I cast my eye on : for the other I use 
 it, but like my globe, and turn it around sometimes for my 
 recreation. Men that look upon my outside, perusing only 
 my conditions and fortunes, do err in my altitude ; for I am 
 above Atlas' shoulders.* The earth is a point not only in 
 respect of the heavens above us, but of that heavenly and 
 celestial part within us. That mass of flesh which circum- 
 scribes me limits not my mind. That surface that tells the 
 
 *"I, a thing inevitable, and obliged to lead whithersoever it 
 could." — Carlyle: Reminiscences, Characteristics of Edward Irving. 
 
TSE SIZE OF J£T CIRCLE. 
 
 495 
 
 lieavens it hath an end, cannot persuade me I have any. I 
 take my circle to be about three hundred and sixty. 
 Though the number of the arc do measure my body, it com- 
 prehendeth not my mind. Whilst I study myself to find 
 how I am a microcosm, or little world, I find myself some- 
 thing more than the great. There is surely a piece of 
 -divinity in us ; something that was before the elements, and 
 owes no homage unto the sun." * 
 
 *Bel. Med. : Part II, S. XI. 
 
MOTTOES FOR gilPTER IIX¥II. 
 
 " Wher| there is no recreafeion op business for tb|ee 
 abroad, fehjou n^aysfe tbjer) Ijave a comparjy of honest old fel* 
 lo'wg, in leatb|ern jackets, in thy study, -wtjich rqay fiqd tVjee 
 excellerjt diveptisemerjt at home. 
 
 Thomas Fuller. 
 
 ' ^4y library -was dukedorig large enougV). 
 
 Shakespeare : Tetnpest. 
 
 " Songe books are to be tasted, others to be s^^allo■wed^ 
 ar)d some fevsr' to be chewed and digested." 
 
 Bacon, 
 
 " J^now fehjey the mysteries of rjature ? nevepthelcss 
 
 ttjey -write." 
 
 Koran. 
 
 496 
 
CHAPTER XXXYIL 
 
 HE writer of those pleasant papers 
 in the little volume entitled 
 Dreamthorp, tells us that in his 
 library was a shelf, handy to his 
 usual seat, whereon were ranged 
 those works which it was his 
 delight to read over and over 
 again. Prominent among these, 
 as I was pleased to find, this Eng- 
 lish author includes our own 
 Hawthorne.* The list he gives 
 us is not a lengthy one, and it 
 differs in some important respects 
 from one which would include 
 my favorite favorites. The author 
 named above would not be far 
 removed from my elbow it is 
 
 true. Him I much admire, but I have never yet perused 
 
 a volume from his pen beyond the second or third time. 
 
 Not but that many of them are well worth careful study, as 
 
 they are the work of an artist ; but 
 
 " Art is long and time is fleeting." 
 
 Yea, life is too short to enable one to express all the juice 
 from the delicious morsels which, even in this prosy and 
 
 *It may be added that elsewhere in his book Mr. Smith has also 
 professed a partiality for iRviNa. 
 
 33 497 
 
498 MY IMMETHODICAL METHOD. 
 
 time-worn world, fall to tlie share of him who is on the look- 
 out for good things ! Indeed, like butterflies in a flowerj 
 meadow are we book-lovers, or at least many of us, when we 
 find ourselves in a library where a wide choice is possible. 
 From blossom to blossom we flit, scarcely alighting any- 
 where, delaying only long enough in our wanton flight to sip 
 here nectar, there ambrosia, and desisting not in our delir- 
 ious pursuit of pleasure until the weary wing droops and 
 tired nature impels to rest. 
 
 " I seek in the reading of books only to please myself by 
 an irreproachable diversion," asserts Montaigne, and he has 
 many imitators. 
 
 There are certain of the brotherhood, however, who are 
 methodical readers, as they would be methodical book-keep- 
 ers. Their nerves are regulated as by machinery, and if it 
 is ten o'clock, and ten o'clock is the hour appointed for 
 reading and enjoying Shakespeare, or Shelley, why Shakes- 
 peare, or Shelley, must be read, and, I suppose, enjoyed, at the 
 tap of the bell. No vagrant foreign fancy will be tolerated. 
 Milton, although on tolerably good terms with his owner, 
 must keep his place, nor think of intruding upon the hour 
 in the system allotted by the methodical reader to Byron. 
 
 This kind of reader I am not. Nine times in ten I enter 
 my library door with little notion of what the feast will be. 
 I cast my eyes lovingly over the shelves, and the various vol- 
 umes, as they successively meet- my gaze, seem to smile 
 blandly out at me through their titles. There stand the 
 Household Poets — for few of my editions are of the costly 
 kinds — how pleasantly they return my " kindly regards " ! 
 If I hesitate I am lost, and Longfellow, Whittier, Lowell, 
 Holmes, Taylor, or some one of the others will be my compan- 
 ion for the hour, or until my changing mood directs me to 
 another store of sweets. 
 
 But possibly I greet these, and, not meaning to slight them, 
 but from a politeness which is habitual with me under these 
 circumstances, I allow my eyes to wander by way of recog- 
 
PLEASANT, BUT NOT COMMENBABLE. 499 
 
 nition to tlie features of some of my other darlings, — and 
 my first love is forgotten in a new fancy. Now, percliance, 
 it is Dickens, or Eliot, that wins my favor. In this vaga- 
 bond, but immensely pleasant way, do I make my choice of 
 a companion upon the occasion of one of these "excur- 
 sions ". 
 
 ISTow I know that this is wholly wrong, and a very 
 unprofitable method (if method that can be called where 
 method there is none), and one that will meet the disap- 
 proval of all judicious persons. I was taught better than 
 this, and when I behave in this reprehensible and vagrant 
 manner it is in despite of, and in opposition to, many most 
 excellent lectures delivered to me by several of the best and 
 best qualified men in the world. 
 
 Ah, I fancy 1 can see an amused smile — followed soon 
 by a troubled expression — overspreading the kind, worn 
 
 face of President , of College, as he reads 
 
 this chapter ! And there is Prof. , and Eev. . 
 
 Kind men ! Worthy preceptors ! How like seed sown on 
 barren ground was the counsel you erstwhile so patiently 
 and in such loving — and lovable — spirit gave ! 
 
 In justice to myself, however, I must insist that I do 
 labor in these realms, at times, methodically, faithfully, 
 and in pursuance of previously well digested plans. I burrow 
 in history ; I glean in biography ; I pursue some phantom 
 in poetry, or prose-fiction ; or I seek to clear up a 
 question in some branch of natural history, or in mythol- 
 ogy. Then, my very noble and approved good masters, 
 then^ if you could see me would you commend me, and say 
 (perhaps) : " I always thought there was stujf in the boy, 
 and that he would prove it some day ! " But it will not do 
 to gaze long at a time, gentlemen, for these heroic spells are 
 not of very extended duration, and the ruling passion is 
 sure to assert itself. 
 
 Now, had la" favorite shelf " in my study, a la Alex- 
 ander Smith, do you know what volumes would occupy 
 
500 MY FIRST FAVORITE. 
 
 the post of honor on that shelf — the chief of the favorites ? 
 Sir Thomas Browne's quaint and learned tomes ! Ah, there 
 is poetry,* and pith, and pleasantry, and pathos, in these 
 old books. There is deep thought, profound learning, 
 most serious, earnest feeling! No productions of any other 
 single uninspired writer could fill their place ! 
 
 I do not know but I shall be thought eccentric in the 
 above ; but let me be not misunderstood. Let it not be 
 supposed that I am a man of a single book, and would wil- 
 lingly be confined even to Dr. Browne, — excellent and 
 nutritious as is the mental aliment which he affords. I go 
 thus far : I can read these chapters over, and over again 
 and they seldom tire me or pall on my taste ; and I know 
 few if any other compositions in prose or poetry of which I 
 can say so much. Shakespeare, of course, is infinite ; and 
 I shall loose cast with many for preferring to him any other 
 writer whatever. But I had thought of him e'er I penned 
 
 *" Poetry! " one exclaims; " surely Sir Thomas Browne never wrote 
 poetry ! " 
 
 Technically, no; but many of his deep, musical, thoughtful passages 
 are of the very essence of poetry. Emerson testifies that "It would not 
 be easy to refuse to * * * the Fragment on Mummies the 
 claim of poetry. And so say we all. And he quotes the following 
 paragraph in exemplification : 
 
 " Of their living habitations they made little account, conceiving of 
 them but as hospiiia, while they adorned the sepulchres of the 
 dead, and, planting thereon lasting bases, defied the crumbling 
 touches of time, and the misty vaporousness of oblivion. Yet 
 all were but Babel vanities. Time sadly ovorcometh all things, 
 and is now dominant, and sitteth upon a Sphinx, and looketh unto 
 Memphis and old Thebes, while his sister Oblivion reclineth semi-som- 
 nous on a pyramid, gloriously triumphing, making puzzles of Titanian 
 erections, and turning old glories into dreams. History sinketh 
 beneath her cloud. The traveler as he paceth through those deserts 
 asketh of her, Who builded them? and she mumble th something, 
 but he heareth it not. " 
 
 No poetry in Sir Thomas Browne's books! Ah, my friend, you 
 have read them little, or to little purpose! 
 
SOMEWHAT NUMEROUS. 501 
 
 the paragrapli wliicli precedes this, and now feel no desire to 
 modify what is down. 
 
 Speaking of Sir Thomas, I'll tell you of a little affair 
 which occurred while I was engaged in reading his delicious 
 pages. I had set out with the determination of copying 
 into my common-place book his best passages, and what do 
 you think I did? Why, when I had proceeded through a 
 few chapters of the Qhristian Morals (of which, by the way, 
 some have professed to question the authorship, but have 
 only shown their total want of taste and discrimination 
 thereby) I found that I had written off nearly one-half of 
 what I had passed over ! And even then I had left uncop- 
 ied many things I wanted. Nor is the work I have instanced 
 in anything superior to his other and more celebrated writ- 
 ings. That is Sir Thomas Browne ! an author now singu- 
 larly much neglected, but worthy of the careful study of 
 every intelligent person in the land. 
 
 Along-side the volumes mentioned I should surely set 
 up the works of England's " myriad-minded," and close to 
 him would come Emerson I think, prose and verse, Bacon's 
 Essays^ Milton, Sterne, and not far off would stand Mon- 
 taigne's inimitable works as translated by Hazlitt, Words- 
 worth, Burns, Cowper's poems and letters, and it would be 
 handy to have Emerson's Parnassus there. 
 
 We will suppose that these gentry occupy the centre 
 upon the shelf, and come nearest my elbow. On either flank 
 would be found a number of authors whose names I am 
 disposed to write in a round-robin. All are admirable and 
 favorite : some for one quality, some for another : and all 
 fail at particular points. To my taste they are not equal 
 — that's the term the critics would here employ. And 
 then it would be difficult to make comparisons, or to set one 
 before another, when one is a philosophical treatise, one a 
 volume of poetry, another a novel, a fourth a book of 
 essays, etc. Some of Irving's writings would assuredly be 
 
502 A BOOK-MAKING AGE. 
 
 admitted into the ranks ; Hawthorne's Scarlet Letter^ and, 
 haply, the House of Seven Gables, and one or two others ; 
 Eliot's Adam Bede, etc.; Pickwick; Tennyson, and Byron, 
 and some six or seven of the American songsters ; the 
 
 Anatomy of Melancholy; and a whole host of others I 
 
 Some things of Carlyle's, Coleridge's, De Quincey's, Scott's, 
 John Wilson's, ought to be within easy reach, or else I 
 should be obliged to quit my study chair very frequently. 
 And what of Pope, Dryden, Bryant's Homer, Longfellow's 
 Dante, Taylor's Faust, and a hundred other old friends? 
 And how many, many "good friends, sweet friends" is the 
 press supplying us daily ! 
 This is a book- making age ! 
 
 That is what the doctors say without disagreement. I 
 read the assertion in the newspapers, magazines, and 
 reviews ; I hear it from the lecture stand and in learned 
 conversation ; I have lately run across the statement in 
 the prefaces of three different books by three different 
 authors, in my little library. I desire to add my testimony 
 to that of others ; and even though I believe it to be an act 
 of supererogation, I have a mind to set to work to prove the 
 preposition, — I have, by the shades of Epicurus and Friar 
 Bacon! And wherefore? Because I like to be on the 
 right side of a question ; I like to knoio I am upon 
 the right side ; and then I like to heap up arguments 
 on that side. The motive is in this : It is difficult 
 in most cases to be sure that your proposition will 
 stand all assaults of the great reasoners, — and the cobweb 
 arguments in favor of the questions which I, in past 
 time, have set out to prove, how have I beheld them„ 
 scorched and shrivelled in the glowing heat of the rhetoric, 
 or reduced to an impalpable powder beneath the tremen- 
 dous blows of the sledge-hammer-like logic of a well- 
 equipped opponent, borrow the wings of a zephyr and dis- 
 appear into the abyss of nonentity ! Like Gowper, 
 
 "I hate 
 A duel in the form of a debutw " 
 
WITT I LIKE IT. 503 
 
 while, like most persons, I dearly love to argue. But when- 
 ever I find myself opposed, "nose to nose," as the poet has 
 it, by an argumentatively- twisted face, my peace of mind is 
 disturbed, and for fear that there may be something wrong 
 in my position, I often forget the chain of reasoning where- 
 with I had intended to sustain it, and surrender without 
 striking a blow. I belong not to the same class as the 
 schoolmaster of Auburn, of whom it was affirmed that 
 "Even though vanquished he could argue still"; 
 
 Nor to that of Carleton's Uncle Sammy, for rarely indeed 
 do I stand to test my adversary. I have a horror of a 
 terrible polemical visage ! 
 
 Therefore is it, friends, that I most delight in proving 
 universally-admitted facts. I feel secure that no champion 
 of the reverse of the question will appear to take up the 
 gage of battle which I so defiantly throw down, and with a 
 calm consciousness of my own strength and that of my cause, 
 I lay down my premises, draw my conclusions, elaborate 
 my rhetoric, and proceed with a triumphant flourish to the 
 Q. E. D. 
 
 It is a pleasant and a harmless diversion ; it stirs up no bad 
 blood ; and for all practical purposes it is equally useful with 
 most disputations, " which are also a vanity and vexation of 
 spirit ". 
 
 I will not take the reader's time for the present, however, 
 to argue about the proposition with which I began this dis- 
 cussion. I propose to prove it in a more practical way e'er 
 I am done with the reading public ; and in the meantime I 
 have a few more propositions of a similar character which I 
 wish to announce : The age immediately preceding the pres- 
 ent was a book-making affair ; likewise the age next before 
 that ; and, moreover, that which went ahead still. And so 
 were they all, — all book-making ages, away back for hun- 
 dreds and thousands of years. If one may be allowed a 
 fair inference from a remark of the Wisest Man, even Solo- 
 
504 BOOKS DO NOT LIVE. 
 
 mon's age was a book-making one. Yea, " there is no end 
 of making many books ". 
 
 It is little to be wondered at. Book-making is a very 
 agreeable pastime, and in these later ages, it is a cheap one. 
 " 'Tis pleasant sure to see one's name in print ". 
 
 And, considering that so many are and have been indulg- 
 ing in this diversion, while brains are so scarce., it is no won- 
 der either that Byron should feel justified in the ironical 
 touch with which he closed his couplet : 
 
 "A book's a book, although there's nothing in't." 
 
 But so it is, books do not live. Most books that are pro- 
 duced have within them at their birth the seeds of death, 
 and bear upon their brows the mark of mortality."^ The 
 race with them is short : they belong to the order Ephemeridce. 
 ^' He cometh forth as a flower, and is cut down; he fieeth 
 also as a shadow, and continueth not."f 
 
 Some have foolishly complained of it as a hardship that 
 the infinite press doth so spawn its brood upon the country 
 every year and every day, not pausing even to observe the 
 Sabbath. Poetry and prose fiction, histories, biographies," 
 chemistries, natural histories, treatises on every branch of 
 human erudition, critical works, text books, guide books, 
 fables &c., &c., almost ad infinitum, are we deluged with con- 
 tinually. "Day unto day uttereth speech, and night unto 
 night showeth knowledge".:}: 
 
 Foolishly, I say, do men thus complain ; and wherefore 
 not ? All tastes are to be answered. And is any man to 
 
 *In his interesting Beminescences, Cabltle makes the statement that 
 there is not a book in a million that will endure as long as a well-con- 
 structed house. He deemed it possible, therefore, that his much re- 
 vered father, whom he represents to have been a mason or house builder, 
 und a very patient and faithful workman, might have reared more last- 
 ing monuments than had he with all his labor and all his thought. 
 
 ^Job, XIV; 2. tPsaims, XIX; 2. 
 
ONE CANNOT READ ALL. 505 
 
 read all ? Grod forbid ! Why, but last year the busy press 
 of the world threw of more new literature than the longest 
 life, and the best pair off eyes in the world (not to hint at any 
 possible assault upon the stomach), would enable one to 
 skim over. More is there to-day, good literature, or at least 
 fairly well worth reading, native to the English tongue, than 
 any ordinary man, hampered with this temporal, eternal nec- 
 essity connected with the bread and butter question, can read 
 and digest during his span. What a world of good things 
 are now accessible through English translations — the avenue, 
 no matter what is said, or what pretended, to the contrary, 
 whereby most of us have approached and will continue to 
 approach the great literary works first composed in ancient 
 or alien languages. Then our scholars are busy exhuming 
 old literatures (which somehow have been preserved, albeit 
 in a sort of life-in-death ; but which compose, probably, 
 not a single one hundredth of what was written in these 
 tongues) which have been buried for thousands of years. 
 Extensive and rich beyond all previous conception of 
 them, have some of these proved to be. A long life- 
 time's work for a rapid reader in each of several of them. 
 " It is as high as heaven ; what canst thou do ? deeper than 
 hell ; what canst thou know? The measure thereof is longer 
 than the earth, and broader than the sea."* 
 
 *Job XI; 8, 9. 
 
lOTTOEg FOR gSiPTER niYIII. 
 
 "^nd -whati, for fehig frail ■world, •were all'. 
 Thjat mortals do or §uffer, 
 ^id r)o responsive harp, r)o per), 
 
 Merrjorial tribute offer? 
 Yea, what were rr|ighty JSIature's self? 
 
 ^er features, could tt]ey -win us, 
 U.r|helped by tlje poetic veir) 
 
 "Thjat Ijourly speaks withjir) us ? " 
 Wordsworth. 
 
 *' Wtjere'er tl]e oak's thick branches stretcVji 
 
 2^ broader, browrjer shade, 
 W^here'er tb)e rude and ngoss-^rown beech 
 
 ©'er-canopies th)e glade, 
 ©eside sonje -water's rusljy brirjk, 
 With nje tbje muse shall sit ar|d tl;)ink, 
 
 (^2^i ease reclirjed ir) rustic state 1) 
 Ho^v vain the ardor of tbje crowd ! 
 How- low, b)ow^ little are the proud I 
 
 J-Iow^ indigent th)e great ! 
 
 Gray -. Ode to the Spring. 
 
 "Tljepe I was livirjg a quiet life in tbje courjtry ; 
 Sljaved orjce a week, may be, -wore ngy old clothes, 
 Full of my sljeep, ar)d goats, and bees, arjd vineyardg,' 
 
 Aristophanes: Tht Clouds. 
 
 506 
 
CHAPTER XXXYIIL 
 
 N tlie Recollections of a Busy Life 
 by the great and good man who 
 founded the New York Tribune^ 
 I read this record : 
 
 " ' You will be sick of living 
 
 in the country within two 
 
 years', I was confidently told 
 
 when I bought, ' and your place 
 
 will be advertised for sale '. ' Then 
 
 the sheriff's name will be at the 
 
 bottom of the advertisement,' I 
 
 responded." 
 
 Alas! Greeley's great heart has 
 
 ceased to beat ! the owner of Chap- 
 
 paqua has been dead and gone this 
 
 dozen of years, and during the spring of 
 
 1883 I observed in a newspaper a notice 
 
 of the sale of the farm at auction! So 
 
 much for the futility of human hopes — the vanity of 
 
 human wishes ! 
 
 But, what then ? The issue fated to be such, had not the 
 white-coated philosopher done well to give his over-worked 
 mind and body the recreation his beloved woody, rocky and 
 swampy farm afforded ? Ah, happy had it been for him, 
 and the saddest page of the noble, philanthropic, if eccen- 
 tric, Greeley's biography had remained unwritten could 
 he have withdrawn from political strife ere the fatal cam- 
 
 S07 
 
508 WB^O KNOWS? 
 
 paign of '72, and been content to pass the remainder of his 
 days in the peaceful pursuits of agriculture and literature, 
 sequestered in the rural retreat which he so loved ! In contrast 
 with the lurid lights of that political struggle, which for him. 
 and his ended so tragically, how sweet, how lovely appears 
 the dove-color of this pastoral seclusion ! I repeat : 
 
 " How sacred, and how innocent 
 A country-life appears! 
 ^ How free from tumult, discontent 
 
 From flattery, or fears! " 
 
 "No doubt can exist that of the hours of the last quarter of 
 Horace Greeley's existence, those most abounding in free- 
 dom from care, yea, in pure, unmixed joy — for he was still 
 capable of such emotion — were spent solitarily, or in com- 
 pany with his workmen, or some friend, or relative, in rustic 
 enterprises at Chappaqua ! 
 
 " How bland and sweet the greeting of the breeze 
 
 To him who flies 
 From crowded street and red wall's weary gleam, 
 Till far behind him, like a hideous dream. 
 
 The close, dark city lies. 
 
 " Once more let God's green earth and sunset air 
 Old feelings waken; 
 Through weary years of toil, and strife, and ill, 
 O let me feel that my good angel still 
 Has not his trust forsaken ! "* 
 
 "Who knows ", says Emerson, speaking of the farm, "how 
 many glances of remorse are turned this way from the bank- 
 rupts of trade, from mortified pleaders in courts and sen- 
 ates, or from the victims of idleness or pleasure ? "f 
 
 Alas ! who knows ? 
 
 I rejoice that Grreeley found, during his later years, that 
 wholesome enjoyment which nothing else but his farm 
 could have yielded, while I deplore the cruel fate — the sor- 
 
 *Whittier: Chalkley Hall. ] Essays: Tlis Farmer. 
 
A HEAL SERVICE. 609 
 
 rowful close of Ms earthly career — which prevented him 
 from passing a long pleasant evening of life amid the rural 
 and sylvan scenes he had loved so well. How peaceful, 
 how idyllic, how happy there and thus might have been the 
 last years of this venerable man ! 
 
 " How blest is he who crowns, in shades like these, 
 A youth of labor with an age of ease ! 
 Who quits a world where strong temptations try. 
 And, since 'tis hard to combat, learns to fly ! "* 
 
 But dismissing that portion of the subject, I begin now 
 to draw some outline sketches of my own pleasant environ- 
 ments and experiences at Oakfields. 
 
 I deem that in the work hinted at in the last paragraph I 
 am doing the world a real service, while, at the same time, 
 I know I am indulging myself in a darling pleasure ! 
 
 It must be a service to mankind in general to point out 
 thereto a way whereby it may at a cheap rate possess per- 
 fect happiness here below, such as I possess, and live at the 
 same time so innocently, and so usefully, as not to risk the 
 loss of blessedness in the life to come! I will not under- 
 take to say, however, that 6very person is " sufficient for all 
 this ". Nay, I fear there are very many who will consider 
 a life like that we lead here both insipid and unprofitable. 
 Lowell says: 
 
 " What we call nature, all outside ourselves. 
 Is but our own conceit of what we see, — 
 Our own reaction upon what we feel." 
 
 Sir Thomas Browne holds the same doctrine, and thus 
 enunciates it : " "We carry within us the wonders we find 
 without." 
 
 It is little to be expected, then, that everything I see 
 and enjoy in my sweet fields, green lanes, and generous- 
 
 *Goldsmith: Deserted Village. 
 
510 T03I, DICK AND JTABBT. 
 
 bosomed woodlands could be perceived and so enjoyed 
 by Tom, Dick and Harry, It is Thoreau who declares : 
 
 " The morning wind forever blows, the poem of creation 
 is uninterrupted ; but few are the ears that hear it. Olym- 
 pus is but the outside of the earth ever}'- where." 
 
 And that wonderful woman, George Eliot, impatiently 
 demands : 
 
 " How should all the apparatus of heaven and earth, from 
 the farthest firmament to the tender bosom of the mother 
 who nourished us, make poetry for a mind that has no 
 movement of awe and tenderness, no sense of fellowship 
 which thrills from the near to the distant, and back again 
 from the distant to the near ? "* 
 
 And yet, even 7! D. and H. may, possibly, discover more 
 in nature hereafter than they have been accustomed to 
 see, — may perceive more, or more clearly 
 
 " The unsTmg ibeauty hid life's common things among, "f 
 
 if I and the other poets and philosophers shall succeed in 
 interesting them to the extent of inducing them to look closer, 
 and with more loving hearts. 
 
 But, in reflecting upon my own part, I am reminded, also, 
 of some thoughtful words of a late writer : 
 
 "It ought to be [done] at all events with austere can- 
 dor and avoidance of anything which I can suspect o- 
 being untrue. Perhaps nobody but myself will read this — 
 but that is not infallibly certain — and even in regard to 
 myself, the one possible profit of such a thing is that it be 
 not false or incorrect in any point, but correspond to the fact 
 
 in all."t 
 
 But this precaution (to speak soberly) I have observed in 
 all my course hitherto, and that single circumstance it is which 
 
 *Baniel Deronda. 
 
 f Whittier : Dedication to Songs of Ldbor^ 
 
 4:Carlyle: Reminiscences,, Appendia^ 
 
NAKED TRUTH — A RETURN. 511 
 
 bas contributed very greatly to make this the most veracious 
 of all the books the world has welcomed since the appear- 
 ance of Knickerbocker's New York astonished and delighted 
 it ! and, as nothing can be truer than truth, the reader will 
 discern in my future course in this field little in this regard 
 that differs even infinitesimally from my conduct in the 
 past. Hence the public — if it read — and myself in any 
 event, will reap herefrom whatever advantage Truth — 
 whether in a pleasing garb or otherwise, according as I shall 
 ibe able to deck her out — may afford. 
 
 But, to return and dwell a moment longer upon the sub- 
 ject started of the differing aspects of a scene or object when 
 viewed by different persons, or by the same person under 
 diverse circumstances. Says that erudite Serbonde (who- 
 ever he might have been), of whom and whose thought Mon- 
 taigne speaks in one of his most delightful and instructive 
 essays : 
 
 *' The object we love will appear to us more beautiful 
 than it really is, and that we hate more ugly. To an 
 afflicted man the light of the day seems dark. Our senses 
 • are not wholly depraved, but stupified by the passions of the 
 soul. How many things do we see that we do not take 
 notice of. If the mind be taken up with other thoughts 
 it appears that the soul retires within and amuses [herself 
 •with] the powers of the senses. And so both the inside and 
 outside of man is full of infirmities and mistakes. They 
 who have compared our life to a dream were peradventure 
 more in the right than they were aware of."* 
 
 And much more to the same purpose. 
 
 Touching this subject also, Sterne has to say : 
 
 "The learned Smelfungu&\ traveled from Boulogne to Paris, 
 from Pans to Rome — and so on, — but he set out with the 
 
 *Montaigne's Essays, Cotton's Trans. 
 
 fThus in The Sentimental Journey the gifted autlier satirizes the 
 aiovelist Smollett, who once wrote a lugubrious volume of travels. 
 
512 IT IS ALL IN THE TRAVELLER. 
 
 spleen and jaundice, and every object he passed by was dis- 
 colored or distorted. He wrote an account of them ; but it 
 was only an account of his own miserable feelings." 
 
 Picture to yourself, reader, the companion you would now 
 have, had the author of the present work set out upon his 
 travels over his farm at a time when his soul was afflicted with 
 the same doleful humors that possessed the learned S. dur- 
 ing his continental tour ! 
 
 I can heartily agree with the last author, also, when he 
 says: "I pity the man who can travel from Dan to Beer- 
 sheba, and cry, 'Tis barren ! — and so it is ; and so is all the 
 world to him who will not cultivate the fruits it offers." 
 
 I would also commend for its good sense what follows 
 from the same source : 
 
 "What a large volume of adventures may be grasped 
 within the little span of life by him who interests his heart 
 in everything, and who, having eyes, sees what time and 
 chance are perpetually holding out to him as he journeyeth 
 on his way, and misses nothing he can fairly lay his 
 hands on." 
 
 To what purpose all this but to impress the reader with a 
 sense of the importance of making an effort to give unpreju- 
 diced heed — or, rather, of throwing himself into the mental 
 attitude which will best fit him to enjoy — what follows, 
 while it serves as a sort of introduction to a long epistle 
 addressed by the author, some months since, to two bright 
 young friends of his, brother and sister, who, having deter- 
 mined upon leading professional lives, were even at that date 
 resident at an illustrious institution of learning, and engaged 
 in a noble struggle for the mastery of those branches of phy- 
 sical science which serve as the basis of the noble profession 
 of their choice. The letter is introduced here with the apolo- 
 getic word merely that it covers the ground I wished to cover, 
 and answers every designed purpose of the present chapter 
 better, perhaps, than any new thing I should be able to com- 
 pose would perform these offices. 
 
ANOTHER EPISTLE. 513 
 
 Oakfields, June 10, 188-. 
 To ray learned Doctors^ L. and F. — Greeting: 
 
 I have determined, my dear children, to compose for you 
 a fragmentary idyl this evening, to-wit: To tell you pre- 
 cisely what we have done at Oakfields, this bright and beau- 
 tiful June day, 
 
 I arose early, for I had predetermined to forestall the " pow- 
 erful king of Day ", this delicious morning prophesied of and 
 foretold to turn out as it proved by an evening of wonder- 
 ful and star-eyed beauty ! And I found on emerging from 
 the eastern door that the first herald-streamers of colored 
 light were flashing athwart the low-hung clouds of the sweet, 
 cool east ; — 
 
 "The clouds, 
 Grain-tinctured, drenched in empyrean light; 
 And in the meadows, and the lower grounds. 
 Was all the sweetness of a common dawn — 
 Dews, vapors^ and the melody of birds."* 
 
 As I stood gazing, the fields and forests were vocal, and 
 I experienced to the full extent the significance of Willis' 
 words : 
 
 " One gets sensitive about losing mornings after getting a 
 little used to them by living in the country. Each one of 
 these endlessly varied day-breaks is an opera, but once per- 
 formed." 
 
 And never more forcibly did I feel the truth of what the 
 great Milton once said : 
 
 " In these vernal seasons of the year when the air is calm 
 and pleasant, it were an injury and suUenness against nature 
 not to go out and see her riches, and partake in their rejoic- 
 ings with heaven and earth." 
 
 You will smile, my children, as you have often before 
 smiled, at my persistent, yea, dogged enthusiasm when the 
 
 *WoRDSWORTH: ExcurdoTi. 
 
514 WHAT CERTAIN OLD WORTHIES HELD. 
 
 subjects of the country, farms, country houses, or country 
 living, were under discussion, be the time and place whatso- 
 ever they will ; but I'll e'en take my revenge by reminding 
 you of the saying of the philosopher Alcott : 
 
 "There is a virtue in country houses, in gardens and 
 orchards, in fields, streams and groves, in rustic recreations 
 and plain manners that neither cities nor universities enjoy." 
 
 Also, of what doctrine Menander inculcated : 
 
 " Men are taught virtue and a love of independence by liv- 
 ing in the country." 
 
 And Eufj&ni : 
 
 " If country life be healthful to the body it is no less so to 
 the mind." 
 
 But enough ; for while I am recalling what certain of my 
 friends have said to justify what others of them have been 
 pleased to denominate my indiosyncrasy, I find that in order 
 to " preserve the unities '', it is high time to record the fact 
 that the gentle sharer of my rural life is astir and abroad 
 among the bees upon the still dew-bejeweled lawn, even 
 while I stand and gaze and wonder at the panorama of the 
 heavens, and she murmurs no less sweetly in her glad greet- 
 ing to her innumerous pets in response to their matin music. 
 Oh what is so rare as a day in June! " 
 
 We must away, Malvina and I, nor wait for breakfast — 
 'tis the covenant between us of the foregoing day, as we 
 returned from our late walk by the woodside in the twi- 
 light — for the forest hath treasures at these early hours that 
 you lazy citizens and students know not of, and scarcely are 
 willing to credit the existence of when we poets sing them 
 in melodious verse, or only less musical prose. 
 
 "Gifted bards 
 Have ever loved the calm and quiet shades " 
 
 of the sweet woodlands at rosy morn and dewy eve. 
 
 Then it is away for the forests and wild meadows, where 
 
PICTURES, AND MILK. 615 
 
 last evening we wandered happier and as innocent as Adam 
 and Eve in Paradise, ere the fall, and had Browning's pic- 
 ture brought to mind by our own gentle flock : 
 
 " The solitary pastures, where the sheep, 
 Half asleep. 
 Tinkle homeward through the twilight, stray or stop, 
 As they crop." 
 
 Is it away, then, and wait not to break our fast ? or shall 
 we pause long enough to quaff a bowl of this rich and whole- 
 some milk now just brought in from the" farm-yard by the 
 good genii who haunt that realm, and whose rising this 
 bright, blessed morn after all did antedate ours and old Sol's, 
 notwithstanding, too, I had been indulging a little vanity 
 anent my achievement in early hours and opportunities. 
 Who hesitates is lost ! and we enjoy a draught — ah, such a 
 draught ! 
 
 "Not a full-blushing goblet could tempt me to leave it, 
 Though filled with the nectar that Jupiter sips! "* 
 
 Now, with substantial foot-gear all equipped, are we off ! 
 ISTow, we are in the shadow of the greenwood, and, as also 
 we experienced last evening, beside the jocund birds, 
 
 " Snout of fly, mosquito's bill, 
 And kin of all descriptions. 
 Frog in grass, and cricket's trill, 
 These are our musicians, "f 
 
 Troublesome, too, would prove some of the musical Gryp- 
 sies to less earnest and enthusiastic ramblers than those whose 
 fortunes we follow, — not to them ! 
 
 How fresh and sweet the breath of the morn in this covert, 
 and what a bewilderingly delightful emotion fills the breast 
 as one begins to feel — as anon he can not help feeling — 
 that the trees are tremulously conscious of his presence, 
 
 *2%6 Old Oaken Bucket. \Faust, Tatlok's Translation. 
 
516 
 
 MORN IN THE FOREST — RESOURCES. 
 
 and sigh, and mummr 
 with pleased good will, 
 while the sweet wild 
 s^flowers look up into his 
 eyes and smile. There 
 are besides the great poet 
 who can say and say 
 truthfully : 
 
 ' ' Thanks to the human heart by 
 which we live, 
 Thanks to its tenderness, its 
 joys and fears, 
 To me the meanest flower that 
 blows can give 
 Thoughts that do often lie 
 too deep for tears." 
 
 Among "resources for the coun- 
 try " discovered, Emerson in- 
 stances the study of natural his- 
 tory, as "most attractive", and 
 " immortal ". He further de- 
 clares that, " The first care of a man 
 settling in a new country, should be to 
 open the face of the earth to himself, by 
 a little knowledge of nature, — or a great 
 deal, if he can, — of birds, rocks, plants, 
 astronomy; in short, the art of taking a 
 walk ". Moreover, he continues and truly 
 asserts, "This will draw the sting out of 
 frost, dreariness out of November and 
 March, and the. drowsiness out of August". 
 Ipse Dixit! Emerson said it! But that 
 is enough for Malvina and I. Hence these 
 early and late walks ; hence our renewed 
 and more enthusiastic pursuit of natural 
 history ! And, as to this last, witness results: 
 
EVIDENCES. 517 
 
 Item 1st, one (1) enormous black spider, captured by Mal- 
 vina on the Ampelopsis quinque-folia tliat overruns to its 
 ornamentation all the eastern side of the south wing of the 
 farm-house, and which — the spider and not the vine — is now 
 afloat in (high) spirits in a wide-throated bottle which stands 
 upon a shelf in my study ; item 2d, a small green snake, 
 caught by the same daring hand (protected by the ample 
 folds of my large silk handkerchief, borrowed for the pur- 
 pose), and since — the snake and not the hand — condemned 
 to remain fast in the fires of an alcoholic bath, also, in a 
 second bottle, similar and similarly situated to the former. 
 
 On my part, I have birds eggs, a cabinet of bright-colored 
 lepidopterous insects, a collection of wild grasses, the pro- 
 duct of the farm, dried specimens of other plants, and an 
 accumulation of text books. And I know where there are 
 the ruins of an eagle's nest, superincumbent upon the dry 
 limbs of a dead-and-alive pine tree, down back of the fort, 
 and a little north of the Druid's Temple. And didn't I 
 see — and long and closely did I watch him ! — a golden 
 eagle one bright day as he sat high-perched upon a tall, slen- 
 der oak tree not far south of the ruins ? He appeared con- 
 scious of my regards, too, and, perhaps, a little proud to 
 attract such attention. He sometimes shifted his position, a 
 little uneasily, I thought, then he would spread his magnifi- 
 cent wings, and deliberately dropping into the air, grace- 
 fully swim, describing a few narrow circles, and again resume 
 his perch. What sought he with those piercing, peerless 
 eyes, and found it not ? I could not divine, though long I 
 tried. But finally the monotony of this pastime seemed to 
 weary his kingship, and of a sudden he uttered a wild shriek 
 of baffled rage, or, perhaps, of exultation (who shall inter- 
 pret ?), launched himself gallantly far out into the blue air, 
 careered about a moment or two, then with a noble sweep of 
 his grand pinions he passed swiftly westward over toward 
 the sluggish Sturgeon (lying like a half-dead serpent beyond 
 the tall dry pines on that side) and vanished from view. 
 
518 AN AMUSING INCIDENT. 
 
 I never saw this fine bird alive again ; but a young lad 
 from tlie county-seat, armed witb a murderous fowling-piece, 
 passed up the Sturgeon one day, a short time after, and when 
 he returned he bore with him the mangled body of a fine 
 eagle of this species, which he had shot, then clubbed with 
 the butt of his gun, and succeeded in killing, not, however, 
 without a severe struggle and himself receiving certain 
 wounds. The battle was fought near the point where my 
 elegant bird, in the glorious flight I have here described, 
 had crossed the course of the stream, and I doubt not that 
 my bird it was which a lamentable fate thus overtook. 
 
 I remember an amusing thing (at this distance) which 
 occurred to the writer while he was observing the eagle as 
 narrated above. I stood upon a decayed and mossy log 
 while I marked the gyrations of my noble bird, and for a 
 few moments I was oblivious of earth and self ; my soul was 
 an eaglet, and emulating the glorious aerial achievements of 
 the plumed king " cleaving the sky " above me. Ail-sud- 
 denly were more terrestrial things recalled ; for, my footing 
 giving way, I slipped sheer off my pedestal, and rolled quite 
 noiselessly, and altogether as helplessly, into a bed of black- 
 berry brambles. Chagrined, yea, wounded both in body 
 and spirit, I yet could not help giggling a little to myself 
 at the contrast betwixt my fine day-dream and the waking 
 reality, and I heartily gratulated myself, withal, that nobody 
 was near enough to see my ridiculous plight. I thought of 
 the anecdote of the ancient star-gazing philosopher in the 
 ditch, and the advice of the old woman who assisted him to 
 get out: "For the future, Thales," quoth she, "don't have 
 your head among the stars while your feet are on the earth." 
 
 But back returning from our tramp as the blue day 
 grows bluer, and older, and warmer, we lade ourselves with 
 brilliant-hued and fragrant wild blossoms, which at this 
 season convert our sylvan earth-fields into heavenly places, 
 and pause as we pass through close-cropped, green-carpeted 
 
A CURIOUS MATTEB — OUR RAMBLE. 519 
 
 lanes, dandelion-dotted, to caress innocent-faced lambs, 
 admire incipient geese, and other farm -yard broods. 
 
 How wonderful is it that tlie young of all animals are 
 interesting, and of most — a certain stage of development 
 reached — are beautiful ? An elderly goose may be respect- 
 able, at least, and all that ; but no one is so rash as to call 
 her " fine ". There is little in a full-grown, grunting 
 hog that is "nice", respectable, or, indeed, tolerable. But 
 a plump, two-week's-old, white, or even spotted, pig is both 
 " cute " and pretty, and he will command the admiration of 
 quite fastidious ladies who pause to observe him. Who 
 ever saw a baby that wasn't " just the sweetest little thing 
 in the world "? Even a cleanly Chippewa pappoose, or a 
 diamond-eyed African cherub, is not utterly uninteresting, 
 or devoid of charms — although I believe I — never felt an 
 irresistible impulse to kiss one of either sort. 
 
 What had we seen and done in the woods ? 
 
 We had visited that singular group of four fine young 
 oaks, standing on the hither side of the water-channel in 
 the beaver-meadow, and well up to the north line of our 
 first section, — four thrifty young oaks, quadruplits, stand- 
 ing some ten or twelve feet asunder, and so regularly 
 planted that they have at the base all the appearance of 
 having been set for the corner posts of a building, — this is 
 the Druid's Temple. Thence we had wandered by cow-path 
 through the dense covert to the northward — our most com- 
 pact body of forest — as far north as that beautiful little 
 meadow on our farthest lot, known as the upper beaver- 
 meadow, admiring the festooning vines of the grape, bitter- 
 sweet, and Virginia creeper which abound hereabout, pluck- 
 ing flowers, and breathing in the wholesome breath of the 
 sweet woods. We had seen many small birds, a scarlet 
 tanager, a cuckoo, and away above us in the illimitable 
 blue, a fish-hawk lazily sailing in wide circles. Could he 
 see us? Doubtless; but we interested him not, — nay, 
 
620 A CONSULTATION, A TOUR, A PARTY. 
 
 ^were of less consequence to him — 
 how much soever we esteemed our- 
 selves — than he to us. Think of 
 'Montaigne and his cat ! 
 Home again, warm, a little fatigued in body, and 
 ^hungry withal ; — but with mind and heart refreshed 
 with what a refreshment ! 
 "We lunch : Some ice-cold milk (upon which the cream 
 has been accumulating since early morn) from the refrigera- 
 tor in the cool, clean, airy cellar ; bread, white and light and 
 sweet ; and — ye gods ! this is a surprise ! prepared for me 
 against this hour at blessed morn ere our setting out by 
 Malvina — pure honey in the whitest and most fragrant of 
 sweet, colorless comb ! the first fruits of our hives ! 
 
 Now, pursuant to appointment, must I hold a consulta- 
 tion upon field affairs with thee, thou iron -jawed, grim, yet 
 kind-visaged veteran of two bloody wars, Greneral Allen I 
 A man he, who, every inch a soldier, knows both to com- 
 mand and to obey ! Long years hath he served me here 
 faithfully, until to himself, as to me, his tenure here 
 seemeth as good as, and almost of the same nature as 
 mine! 
 
 An excursion now it is into my library, and several 
 hours of deepest content are passed solitarily — and 
 lyet in such company is it, how dare I say solita- 
 rily ! — rather in the delightful companionship of 
 ^my many friends in cloth and leathern jackets. 
 
 i=i- A tour of inspection through the mead- 
 
 ows, grain fields and gardens in the after- 
 
 '~ noon, later is succeeded by a drive out 
 
 to and away northward upon the " state 
 
 road" — Malvina and I in company. 
 
 After an early tea we entertain 
 
 certain friends who have 
 
 driven out from 
 
 ■^ the village — ours 
 
 — ^^*being a very pleas- 
 
EVENINa. 521 
 
 ant and very informal and unconven- 
 tional lawn and veranda party, where, 
 for refreshment, honey is tasted again, and cool, 
 delicious milk is drank. The party breaks up 
 when the setting sun warns our kind visitors that it' 
 is time to turn homeward. 
 
 In the twilight we of the household linger until the 
 moonless summer eve grows dark, for a haze obscures the 
 sweet stars, and, one by one, our tired helpers drop off to 
 their grateful couches. Last of all, with a pleasant injunc- 
 tion to me not to write too long to-night, and her sweet 
 good-night kiss, Malvina goes 
 
 "And leaves the world to darkness and to me! " 
 
 The " glimmering landscape " had already " faded on the 
 
 sight ", 
 
 " And all the air a solemn stillness holds, 
 Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, 
 And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds." 
 
 I sit in my little lumbered-up study, the northern and 
 eastern windows of which are open, and through these from 
 where I sit at my slight round table, can I view the dark- 
 domed heavens. I work, or play, thus by a lamp all too 
 dim and eke inclined to waver as it feels that same gentle 
 breeze which sighs so softly and so sweetly through the 
 leaves of the trees standing close by the veranda on either 
 front, and brings in the fragrance of the new clover and the 
 June roses. 
 
 But the evening has been consumed since I began this 
 letter, 
 
 " 'Tis midnight's holy hour, and silence now 
 Is brooding like a gentle spirit o'er 
 The still and pulseless world! " 
 
 It is time my vigil should close — only a word or two more 
 and I am done. 
 
522 SWEET RURAL SECLUSION 
 
 " Tired of the country ? " " Sick of solitude ? " Never, 
 never, never ! 
 
 Oh, the wholesome influences and delightful opportuni- 
 ties of this sequestration ! Often in contemplation, in this 
 same little room, a sense of the cleanliness and simple 
 beauty of this rural life — peaceful seclusion — this soli- 
 tude, will steal over my spirit as sweetly and as fragrantly 
 as upon the weary traveler, who has seated himself on a 
 mossy rock beneath a wayside tree, breathes the " south- 
 west wind, which comes creeping over flowery fields and 
 shadowed water in the extreme heat of summer ".* 
 
 Emerson declares, 
 
 " We flee away from cities, but we bring 
 The best of cities with us."f 
 
 The world must frown upon this doctrine, and this is why 
 we turn our backs upon the world ! Were society less sordid 
 or frivolous, were the world less self-interested, they were less 
 harsh toward us recluses, — they were more innocent, and 
 more just. 
 
 Says Irving: . 
 
 "In rural occupation there is nothing mean and debasing. 
 It leads a man forth among scenes of natural grandeur and 
 beauty ; it leaves him to the workings of his own mind, 
 operated upon by the purest, and most elevating of external 
 influences.":|: 
 
 " Here innocence may wander safe from foes, 
 And contemplation soar on seraph wings; — 
 
 Oh, solitude ! the man who thee foregoes, 
 Where lucre leads him, or ambition stings. 
 
 Shall never know the source whence real grandeur springs. "§ 
 
 Of his retirement at Lenox Beecher wrote : 
 
 " Here then for a few weeks we shall forget the city and 
 
 *SiK Philip Sydney, in Arcadia. \The Adirondacks. 
 XSketch Book. §Beattie : The Minstrel. 
 
THE PLYMOUTH PASTOR ONCE MORE. 523 
 
 lay aside its excitements, and bathe with a perpetual lava- 
 tion in the bright, cool air. 
 
 "When one is young, and not yet entered on life, the 
 heart pants for new things and for excitements. But after 
 one has taken the burden of life upon his back, and lived 
 amid cares that never rest, but beat upon the shore like an 
 unquiet surf, then nothing is so luxurious as the calm of a 
 country neighborhood. 
 
 "Koristhe only experience that of pleasure. There is 
 ample space for retrospection, a mental state which is almost 
 denied to public men in the life of a city. No man in a 
 city parish, driven by new demands each hour, has leisure 
 to go a-gleaning over harvested fields. He must plow 
 again, sow again, reap again. But now, at this distance, and 
 separated from all daily solicitation, one can review the 
 whole year ; and if done with any worthy standard, it can- 
 not fail to furnish food for the most earnest reflection, and 
 for the most solemn resolutions for the future."* 
 
 "Fair Quiet, have I found you here. 
 And Innocence, thy sister dear; 
 Mistaken long, I sought you then 
 In busy companies of men; 
 Your sacred plant, if here below, 
 Only among the plants will grow; 
 Society is all but rude. 
 To this delicious solitude! "f 
 
 But the testimony is too voluminous — the subject infinite ! 
 You are yet too young, my children, to need such deep, 
 sweet repose ; but you will sometime understand all this, for 
 your spirits are also serious and sweet, — and may you cul- 
 tivate them and keep them so. Society is good ; universities 
 are good ; but these are preliminary merely in the education 
 of the largest souled ones of earth. 
 
 Now I see from a loop-hole of my retreat the first faint 
 
 *8tar Papers. fMARVELL. 
 
524 
 
 GOOD-BYE. 
 
 light in the east whicli warns of the waning night, as it 
 betokens the approach of the new day. It is late enough 
 certainly to bid you good night, and early enough to wish 
 you good morning; hence I say GOOD night and good 
 
 MOKNING. 
 
 THE END 
 
 
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